But whether DeMaris wants to hear them or not, the questionsarebeing asked. Every reporter worth their salt is sinking their teeth into the meat of this case. Bill Oglethorpe’s ledger hasbeen torn apart and led to a dozen other arrests, inquiries, indictments, and such already.
The Vainakh infestation was foul and far-reaching, but thanks to the Lazarevs and their friends, it’s quickly being obliterated.
Good riddance, in my opinion.
The chyron flips.SNYDER MURDER CHARGES DISMISSED — D.A. CITES “MATERIALLY ALTERED EVIDENTIARY LANDSCAPE.”
That one makes me almost as happy. From the start of this whole thing five years ago, I never cared much what happened to me. If I got hurt or killed or jailed in the process of avenging Giana, well, that’s just the cost of doing murdery business.
But it’s not just myself I have to live for anymore. I’ve got others who care. One whom I carry around with me all the time, and the other who would carrymearound all the time if I’d let him.
Regardless, the takeaway is simple: Mat and I are free now. Maybe some of the authorities—Detective Kramer comes to mind—suspect that we were involved in some nefarious shit. They’re correct about that. But the optics of nabbing a sitting congressman with obvious criminal ties are way more palatable than going after an abused wife and the man who dared to love her.
We’re free.Free.Free as freaking birds.
I like saying that word until it loses all meaning, because then when I think it again, it’s like I’m hearing it for the first time.
Free.
6 Weeks Later
The Mercedes rolls up to the wrought-iron gates of Green-Wood Cemetery a few minutes before ten in the morning. Mat puts the car in park without saying anything. He just looks at me, his hand on the gearshift, waiting.
“You don’t have to come in,” I tell him. “I mean, I want you to. Eventually. But not yet. Not today.”
“That’s okay, Cass. I’ll always be waiting where you need me.”
He shows absolutely no signs of being offended or put-out, which I appreciate more than I could ever say out loud.
Mat has a way of letting me lead in the moments that matter. That’s something I am still getting used to. After four years of being shoved through doorways by Raymond, I’m now with a man who waits patiently at the threshold with his hands in his pockets, asking,Where to next?
You’ll have to forgive a girl for needing a little time to adjust.
I look out the windshield. The path past the gates curves up a small hill, lined with maples just barely starting to put out their tiny, fist-clenched leaves. Up there and to the left, in a plot in the shade of the grove, is a piece of granite with my sister’s name on it.
“I left flowers in the back,” Mat says. “Peonies. The pink ones. Is that right?”
“Coral charm,” I correct. “They were her favorite. How did you know?”
He gives me a small, lopsided smile. “Because I listen when you speak.”
Oh, jeez. I’m going to cry before I even get out of the car at this rate. I take a deep breath, then another, and lean over the center console to kiss him.
“I’ll be back,” I tell him. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Dikarka,” he says as his palm comes up to cup my jaw tenderly, “I’m not going anywhere. Ever. Take your time.”
I get out before I lose my nerve and/or underwear. I retrieve the peonies from the trunk, then walk away, knowing the whole time that Matvei’s eyes are on me.
Watching.
Loving.
As blue and pure as the sky is wide.
The path up the hill is steeper than I remembered, or maybe I’m just out of practice on hills. I suppose that’s my fault; I haven’t had much of an appetite for getting back to my Pilates classes. I tell myself that Matvei and I are getting plenty of cardio of the horizontal variety, anyway.
Or I could do what I always do, which is blame the baby. For a juicy little lemon, she sure has a gift for making her presence known by tweaking various ligaments and stealing my breath at inconvenient moments.
