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Savannah bit her lip and held Nora’s gaze. “I realized the other day that I blame God more than Hez. He could have prevented Ella’s death, but he didn’t. I don’t know how to get past that.”
“I’ve had to deal with that, too, Savannah. I think every parent who has lost a child feels that.”
“How did you get past it?”
“I didn’t really ‘get past it’—I don’t think anyone does. Honestly, I don’t understand why God took my precious boy and I probably never will—at least not in this life. Why couldn’t God let Preston grow up into a wonderful man, do great things in the world, get married, have children of his own? Why—?” Nora’s voice faltered and she wiped her eyes. She took a deep breath. “God doesn’t always call us to understand, though, does he? But he always calls us to trust him. I remind myself that God loves Preston even more than I do. I remind myself of that every day. I have to. My son will never have to suffer in this life. He’s in a perfect place. It’s hard for us to see eternity. Our children are experiencing it right now, though.”
Savannah let the words seep into her heart and wished she could trust the way Nora did. She believed what Nora said was true, but her heart still questioned. It would take time.
Nora got a text and read it. “I have to go in to work. I’m sorry. Will you be okay?”
Savannah forced confidence into her voice. “I’ll be fine. You go ahead and go. I’ll just hang out here for a while.” She could fill some of the hours with work, but the thought held no appeal.
Nora slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll call you later.”
Savannah’s phone rang, and she glanced at the screen. Maybe he had new information. “Hey, Beckett.”
“You doing okay, Savannah? I wanted to see how your visit to Ella’s grave went. I hope you weren’t alone.”
How sweet that he’d remembered it was the anniversary of Ella’s death. “I survived.”
The contrast between Hez and Beckett squeezed her chest. Why had she waited so long to see if Hez had changed? No matter what excuses Nora made for him, the fact remained he hadn’t been concerned enough about her to text or call. “University Grounds has their autumn cider tonight. Want to join me?”
“I can be there in thirty minutes.”
The lilt to his voice touched her, and she smiled. “I’ll meet you on the porch.”
The thought of a pleasant few hours to fill her evening lifted her spirits. Beckett was easy to talk to, and she wouldn’t have to think about ripping open that wound with Hez again. It wasn’t a date—just some cider with a friend. She’d have to be careful not to give Beckett the wrong idea.
Chapter 15
Hez leaned back from his desk and stretched. His spine crackled, which always occurred when he’d been sitting still for too long. His stomach rumbled and he glanced at his watch: 7:32. Paige had sent him the initial documents in the Morales case, and Hez had gotten more sucked in than he intended. He’d read through the entire thing and done some preliminary legal research—both tasks he’d planned to accomplish tomorrow. Litigation could be almost as addictive as Vicodin.
Time to give Savannah the good news about his discussion with Detective Richards. He took out his phone to call her, but he hesitated before dialing. Was her grief support group done meeting? He wasn’t sure how long it ran, but he couldn’t hang around campus all night.
His stomach rumbled again. Maybe he could tell her over dinner. What was the name of that little Italian place on the Pelican Harbor boardwalk by the old hotel? Maria’s—that was it. They used to go there when they were dating. They’d spend hours talking and laughing over an enormous family-style bowl of pasta. The boardwalk was right on the beach, so when they finished their meal, they’d take off their shoes and walk in the sand under the stars.
He pictured her sitting across a little table from him now, her beautiful face lit by candlelight as she listened appreciatively to his description of his meeting with Augusta. His pulse quickened at the thought, and he smiled.
He decided to text her. Hi! I’ve got some news about your case. When would be a good time to talk? Happy to buy you dinner if you haven’t eaten.
A few seconds later, the pulsing ellipsis appeared. Then, Now is fine. I’m at University Grounds. The ellipsis appeared again before he could respond. With Beckett.
He frowned. There went his dinner idea. He’d get to score some points in front of his rival, but he really didn’t like the idea of Beckett and Savannah being out together.
On my way, he texted back.
He switched off his computer and headed out. University Grounds was about a block from the edge of campus, where the oldest part of TGU bordered the oldest part of Nova Cambridge. He weaved his way among groups of students as he walked down narrow cobbled streets that had been designed for horse-drawn carriages rather than cars. Neoclassical statues presided over several corners, including a heroic marble figure of Joseph Willard looking much taller and more muscular than the old pictures Hez had seen. There was also a bronze bust of Louis Legare, Savannah’s great-great-grandfather. He had been TGU’s second president and the first in a long line of Legares who taught at the school.
Hez reached University Grounds after a five-minute walk. Strings of patio lights cast a warm yellow glow on the wrought-iron tables and chairs on the broad porch of the old hotel that housed the coffee shop. The tables were mostly full of students and faculty, and it took Hez a few seconds to spot Beckett and Savannah. They sat close together in a dimly lit corner along the porch rail, chatting and laughing. Beckett had his arm on the rail behind her—not touching her but familiar and possessive. Savannah noticed Hez and waved him over.
Rather than weave his way through the patrons, Hez walked over outside the rail. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg hung in the cool evening air. He sniffed appreciatively. “Mmm. University Grounds makes the best cider.”
“They really do.” Savannah took a long sip as if to illustrate the point. “You said you had news. What’s up?”
So she wasn’t going to invite him to join them. Maybe that was because the porch was crowded. Maybe.
“I talked to Augusta this afternoon.” He recounted his conversation with the detective, doing his best to navigate safely between bragging and false modesty. It seemed to work—Savannah seemed impressed, and a small frown creased Beckett’s forehead and the corners of his mouth.
