Submerged

He pointed to the Victorian house with the lush gardens. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful. Very well kept. Charming.” She faced him, still looking unsure. “Do you know the owner?”

“I did. Mrs. Landry died a few weeks ago. The house is for sale. What comes to mind when you look at it?”

She smiled. “That’s easy. It’s close to the highway, but near a ravine. It would make a perfect bed and breakfast.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

He stared into her eyes, caught up in the churning emotions he saw there. Happiness. Excitement. Doubt.

“I don’t know, Marcus…”

“I do.” He grabbed her hands and kissed them. “For the first time in a long time, I know exactly what I want.”

They stood in silence, too afraid to speak. Too scared they’d ruin the moment―and all the possibilities.

“Don’t you think we’re rushing things?” she asked.

“Do you?”

“Strangely… no.” She lifted her face and he kissed her.

“I saw Jane and Ryan a few nights ago,” he said. “In my dreams.”

She hugged him tight. “Was it terrible?”

“No. They came to say good-bye. She said they’re both at peace now and want the same for me.”

“Marcus?” Rebecca said in a hesitant voice. “There’s something I haven’t told you. About Jane.”

“What?”

“Right before Tracey Whitaker visited my hospital room, I heard a woman’s voice. She was comforting me, telling me to stay calm. That same voice visited me when Walter came to my house and tried to kill me.”

“You think it was Jane?” he said.

“Who else could it be? You said you keep seeing her, so why would it be so weird if I heard her?”

He didn’t know what to say.

They strolled back to his house in quiet reflection. Instead of going inside, he led her around to the backyard. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Inside, he retrieved the wooden box from its hiding place. Then he headed outside, where he opened the box and showed her its contents. The drugs, the needle. His shame, his guilt. The latter two poured from the box, invisible yet potent.

“It’s time for me to let go of this,” he said.

He set the box in the fire pit. Removing a lighter from his pocket, he lit the kindling beneath the box and they stood a few feet away, watching it smolder, sizzle and burn.

“I spent a long time hiding from the truth,” he said. “I was good at that. Hiding things. Submerging myself in guilt.”

Rebecca took his hand. “You never have to hide from me.”

He kissed her again, pondering the complexity of fate. In his search to find Rebecca and her children, she had found him. And now the world opened to him with all its infinite possibilities.

~ * ~

If you enjoyed this book, please consider writing a short review and posting it on Amazon, Goodreads and/or Barnes and Noble. Reviews are very helpful to other readers and are greatly appreciated by authors, especially me. When you post a review, drop me an email and let me know and I may feature part of it on my blog/site. Thank you.

~ Cheryl

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And now here’s an excerpt from Cheryl’s international bestselling thriller, CHILDREN OF THE FOG…

prologue

May 14th, 2007

She was ready to die.

She sat at the kitchen table, a half empty bottle of Philip’s precious red wine in one hand, a loaded gun in the other. Staring at the foreign chunk of metal, she willed it to vanish. But it didn’t.

Sadie checked the gun and noted the single bullet.

“One’s all you need.”

If she did it right.

She placed the gun on the table and glanced at a pewter-framed photograph that hung off-kilter above the mantle of the fireplace. It was illuminated by a vanilla-scented candle, one of many that threw flickering shadows over the rough wood walls of the log cabin.

Sam’s sweet face stared back at her, smiling.

Alive.

From where she sat, she could see the small chip in his right front tooth, the result of an impatient father raising the training wheels too early. But there was no point in blaming Philip—not when they’d both lost so much.

Not when it’s all my fault.

Her gaze swept over the mantle. There were three objects on it besides the candle. Two envelopes, one addressed to Leah and one to Philip, and the portfolio case that contained the illustrations and manuscript on disc for Sam’s book.

She had finished it, just like she had promised.

“And promises can’t be broken. Right, Sam?”

A single tear burned a path down her cheek.

Sam was gone.

What reason do I have for living now?