* * *
Cherie sat on the chaise in the family room watching the national news when a BREAKINGNEWSalert flashed across the screen. She sat riveted, unable to move or breathe when the anchor announced that the wife and son of vice-presidential candidate William Campbell were killed when a private jet crashed during a flight from Connecticut to the Caribbean; the two were en route to vacation with the candidate and other family members.
Cherie heard a scream and realized it had come from her because there was no one else in the house with her. Tears streamed down her face as she cried without making a sound. Her son was gone. The woman who had claimed him as her own was also gone.
She didn’t know how long she’d sat, staring with unseeing eyes at the television screen. Minutes became more than an hour when Cherie finally got up and turned off the TV. It wasn’t until later the following morning that text messages on her cell phone chimed in rapid succession. They were from her former Yale classmates, sending condolences for Weylin. There were questions about funeral services, and their class president wrote that he would contact Weylin and let everyone know if there would be a funeral or a memorial service.
* * *
A week later, on a cold rainy day in late March, Cherie found herself back in Connecticut to attend a memorial service for William Weylin Campbell III’s wife and young son. The Campbells had decided on a private funeral and had opted to hold a memorial service for family and close friends.
It was the first time Cherie had been inside the Campbell family mansion, and she knew it would be the last. Her legs nearly buckled when she saw the blown-up images of Michelle and her son resting on easels. The boy Weylin and Michelle had named Elijah, after his mother’s grandfather, had been an incredibly beautiful child. He’d inherited Cherie’s dark hair, and his large round eyes were a shimmering blue-gold that complemented his tawny-brown complexion.
She couldn’t believe how cruel life had been to her. She hadn’t seen or held her baby when he drew his first breath, yet she was given the opportunity to see him in death. Reaching for a tissue, she dabbed the corners of her eyes.Rest in peace, baby boy.
When she’d gotten the information for the memorial service, her first impulse had been not to attend, but Reese had encouraged her to go. He told her it was the least she could do for her friend, who needed the support of his former classmates. She’d made a reservation to fly into New Haven and stay overnight at a hotel before flying out the following afternoon.
“You came.”
Cherie went completely still when she recognized the voice of the man who had been so inexorably a part of her life that he’d shaped her into someone she hadn’t wanted to become. Turning around, she stared up at Weylin, seeing grief in his eyes and etched around his nose and mouth. It was obvious he was taking the loss of his wife and son hard.
“Yes, Weylin, I came because it was the proper thing to do. That’s what friends do. Support one another in their grief.”
He leaned closer. “What do you think ofourson?”
“He’s not my son,” she whispered. “He stopped being that when I signed that contract giving him to you and Michelle. And I’m sorry for your loss.”
Those were the last words she said to the man she’d once loved unconditionally, and she walked out of the house. She tapped her phone to hire a car service to take her back to her hotel.
* * *
Reese had noticed the difference in Cherie when she returned to Coates Island. The smiling, light-hearted woman he’d fallen in love with was now replaced with one who rarely smiled, and when she did, it resembled a grimace. He knew she was grieving because she’d also shared several classes with the politician’s wife.
He knew what she was going through because he’d attended his share of military funerals, and they were something he knew he would never forget. It had taken him weeks, if not months, to stop dreaming about them. The one time he woke up screaming at the top of his lungs, Reese knew it was time to leave the military.
Reese noticed the most profound change in Cherie on Mother’s Day. She refused to see him, saying she needed some alone time. He nearly lost his temper because he felt she was spending too much time alone, but he honored her wish and stayed away for the next week.
* * *
Cherie woke one morning and scrambled out of bed and raced to the bathroom to purge her stomach. Once she began vomiting, she couldn’t stop until she collapsed on the floor. She couldn’t remember what she’d eaten to make her so sick and wondered if she’d picked up a stomach virus. She brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth with a minty mouthwash and went back to bed. When she woke hours later, she sent Reese a text that she wasn’t feeling well, and that he should stay away because she suspected she had picked up a stomach bug.
* * *
Reese parked his cruiser in the driveway and rang the bell to Cherie’s house. He’d been troubled by her text. Yes, she’d been acting strangely, and he thought it was the result of losing her college friend, yet he didn’t want to believe there was something physically wrong that she didn’t want to tell him about.
He noticeably recoiled when she opened the inner door and he saw her face. There were dark circles under her eyes, which appeared haunted. “Open the door, Cherie.”
She shook her head, the profusion of black curls moving with the motion. “No. I don’t want to get you sick.”
“Open the damn door, Cherie, or I’ll kick it down!” He must have gotten through to her, since she complied. “How are you feeling?”
“How the hell do you think I’m feeling? I told you I have a stomach virus.”
“Did you go to the doctor?”
“Not yet.”
“When, Cherie?”
