Regrets Only (33 page)

She
paused in her bustle to look out the back windows, realizing this could be the
last time she’d be in this beautiful place. Quietly as she could, she sneaked out
the back door and went to the deck. She was about to wander out to get a better
view of the mountains, when she saw something that made her smile. At the far
end of the deck, sleeping soundly in his favorite hammock, was Dylan Burke. She
watched him for a moment, knowing this meant he had not stayed all night, at
least, with Gretchen the redhead. It was small consolation, but it would have
to do. She grabbed her bag and tiptoed out the house and out to her car.

After
the most tumultuous spring of her life, the hot Atlanta summer slipped away in
relative quiet. Suzanne spent her time in June and July trying to establish a
new order in her life. The experiences of recent months had changed her
forever, and she was determined to make sure at least some of those changes
were positive ones. She continued therapy twice a week, and went to a prenatal
yoga class with Marci at least once or twice a week. Usually they would grab
coffee or breakfast afterward, and Suzanne worked hard on listening more than
she talked. She found that pregnancy was at least mildly fascinating, and that
she and Marci were growing closer all the time.

She
also made it a point to spend more time with Rebecca, and to force Marci to do
the same. They went out for Mexican food frequently, and they all became
spectators of Manuel’s wedding plans with his future wife. They oohed and aahed
over pictures of cakes and flowers and favors, and Suzanne consistently
declined invitations to help them plan professionally. Her parents had her over
for dinner at least once a week, and she and her dad would play cards for hours
after each meal.

She
signed up for a refresher painting course through the Atlanta campus of
Savannah College of Art and Design, and found that her talents had not atrophied
as much as she had thought during the last decade of neglect. By July, she’d
sold two paintings just by sending an email out with pictures to her Junior
League address list. Normally she would’ve been too embarrassed to accept money
for her artwork, especially from people she knew, but she couldn’t argue with the
four months’ rent the paintings brought in. She felt the same sense of pride
receiving those checks that she had felt when she made her first dollars as an
independent event planner.

Her
list of men was long gone, and she put it out of her mind for the most part. She
had called Rick, however, to apologize for the ungracious way that she’d left
him and the unfairness of the way things had ended. In her mind she also
apologized for thinking he was her stalker, but she was too embarrassed to say
it out loud. He’d sounded awkward but eventually laughed, told her he was
seeing a nice girl from Augusta, a kindergarten teacher. She saw William once a
week or so, for a movie or to wander through an art festival. They were just
friends now, and she knew the day was coming soon when he’d begin dating
someone else and be less available to her. But she enjoyed what she had.

Suzanne
wasn’t surprised that she did not hear from Dylan. They had not talked since
the night of Kate’s wedding. When really honest with herself, she thought it
was possible she might never talk to him again.

Suzanne
did, however, hear from Kate periodically. She had sent Suzanne a sweet
thank-you email when she and Jeff returned from their surprise honeymoon, and
the two of them had been corresponding off and on ever since. Once Jeff
rejoined Dylan’s tour, Kate had spent a couple of weeks at her parents’ home in
Nashville, and then flown to visit Carla and Guillermo in Madrid. She emailed
Suzanne beautiful pictures of her sightseeing trips into the Spanish
countryside, and mailed her a lovely inlaid-gold bracelet from Toledo “to thank
you for all your kindness.”

Only
once in their email exchanges did the subject of Kate’s brother come up. Kate
had been responding to a casual question about the challenges of a
long-distance marriage:
It is very hard, definitely, being apart. But
it’s easier knowing that Jeff’s job is with my brother. I know Dylan will look
after him and make sure he gets back to me whenever he can. He treats all the
guys like they’re his family. He treated Jeff that way long before he and I got
together. He’s a good man, Suzanne. I know it seems hard to believe when you
see the parties and the girls and everything, but Dylan is actually very kind,
and extremely loyal. He’s one of those people who, once you’re part of his
family, he will do anything for you and defend you at all costs. It’s hard to
find people like that.

Suzanne
had stared at the email for a long time after reading it. She knew or intuited this
about Dylan, but why had Kate made such a point of telling her? Had she sensed
the tension between them at the wedding? Or had Dylan said something to his
sister that he had not said to Suzanne? After a half hour or so, she decided
she was simply reading too much into it and responded with a casualness she did
not exactly feel:
You are so right. Dylan is one of a kind. :)

Though
she resisted contacting him, she looked at the online tour schedule
periodically to see where he was: Peoria, Illinois; Lubbock, Texas; Sacramento,
California. Sometimes she imagined what he might be doing or how he was
feeling, but she found this led her to a deep sadness from which it took a
while to recover, especially when she was alone. Only when she was with Marci
or her therapist could she really allow herself to talk freely about him. Even
those conversations became less frequent and lengthy as the oppressive summer
wore on.

The
one time she did see Dylan that summer, it was for a few minutes in late August,
and under tragic circumstances.

Suzanne
had been at Jake and Marci’s for a couple of days when it happened. Jake was
out of town filming for a piece on Olympic fencing, so Suzanne had been at
their house keeping Marci company. She still had two full months before the
baby was due, but Jake felt better if Marci had someone with her. He was so
cute and overprotective. But Suzanne hardly needed the excuse to spend entire
days with her best friend, taking walks and shopping for the nursery, and
evenings eating junk food together in front of reality television.

So
they had been doing that Wednesday evening, plowing through a gallon of Edy’s
and watching
Big Brother
, when a teaser for the ten o’clock news gave
them the first hint of what happened. “Atlanta PD Officer killed in traffic
accident. Details tonight.”

Marci
and Suzanne exchanged a sad look and shook their heads, but forgot about the
story when
Big Brother
came back on. At ten o’clock, Marci was
half-asleep and Suzanne was clearing the spoons and bowls from the coffee table
when the news returned. The anchor, a black woman with short-cropped hair and a
lavender suit, looked particularly grave as she spoke to the camera. “Channel
Two has received confirmation that an Atlanta police officer struck by a car
early this morning has died of her injuries this evening at Grady Hospital.
Officer Bonita Daniels—”

The
bowls clattered to the floor from Suzanne’s hands and Marci awoke with a start,
gripping her belly reflexively. “Shit! Suzanne! What’s wrong? Suzanne?”

Suzanne
pointed numbly at the television, where there was a picture of a younger Bonita
in dress blues and her patrol hat, in front of a blue background and an
American flag. She looked serious and confident, with bright lipstick standing
out against her dark skin. The lipstick was different, definitely, but it was
the same firm, confident face she had brought to Suzanne during one of the
hardest experiences of her life.

“—was
struck by a vehicle around two thirty this morning while assisting a stranded
motorist. Witnesses described a black or dark blue SUV, license plate ending in
384, that veered out of its lane and struck Officer Daniels as she assisted
with a disabled vehicle. She was airlifted to Grady Hospital, where she later
died. Police are still searching for the driver of the vehicle, asking anyone
with information on the car or its driver to contact Crime Stoppers or dial the
Atlanta police department directly.”

“Oh,
Suze,” Marci said.

“Shh!”
Suzanne hissed. It couldn’t be right. There was a mistake. The news had cut to
a man in a suit, standing in front of Grady Hospital, with a red cross symbol
lit up behind him.

“Thank
you, Wanda. I’m here at Grady Hospital where we were just told moments ago that
Officer Daniels had not recovered from her injuries. There is a heavy police
presence here, both in an official capacity and, I believe, paying respect to
the victim’s family. Officer Daniels leaves behind one daughter, who is
fifteen, and her mother, who also lived with her. We are told, Wanda, that at
one point she was conscious and able to speak to her daughter for a moment
before she had to be sedated for surgery. That may be the one bright spot amid
what is a horrible tragedy for this family, the police force, and of course the
city of Atlanta. Wanda?”

The
anchorwoman promised they would give additional details and updates as they
emerged, and then moved on to a story about a fire at a grocery store.

They
both sat in stunned silence for a while. “Oh, honey, I am so sorry,” Marci
said.

Suzanne
nodded. “Me, too.” She wanted to cry but the tears weren’t there. “He called
her directly.”

“What?”

“When
I was attacked. When I was…being held, Dylan called Bonita directly because he
knew she would believe him and come help me. And she did. And she was right
there the whole time with me. She held my hand; she…”

“I
know,” Marci said softly. She touched Suzanne’s arm, which grounded her.

“I
have to call him,” Suzanne said.

“I
think you do,” her friend replied softly.

#

It
had actually been Yvette whom Suzanne was able to reach that night. Dylan had
either been on stage or ignoring her calls, but she found it was easier to
break the news to Yvette anyway. Suzanne called her back the next morning when
she found out the memorial service would be Friday morning at Bonita’s church;
Yvette said that Dylan had back-to-back shows Thursday and Friday night, so he
probably wouldn’t make it.

They
were surprised, then, when Friday came and they saw him, standing on the steps
of the church in a simple black suit as Jake, Marci, and Suzanne filed in.
“Hey,” he said sadly, kissing Marci’s cheek and shaking Jake’s hand. He put his
arm around Suzanne and they walked in together, wordlessly.

The
service was one of the saddest and most inspiring things Suzanne had ever seen.
Nearly an hour and a half long, tributes came from Bonita’s family, fellow
officers, friends, and even the mayor. The most moving thing of all, however,
was when Bonita’s daughter, Chrysaline, went to the podium to speak, and found
that her voice understandably failed her. She squeaked out “thank you,” through
a face contorted with pain, and nearly collapsed before having to be helped
away from the microphone and back to her seat. Dylan put his head in both hands
and Suzanne thought she saw his shoulders shake with emotion.

Afterward,
the other three lingered awkwardly on the church steps while Dylan stepped
aside to call Yvette. Suzanne would later discover that he was giving her
Chrysaline Daniels’ name and asking her to set aside VIP tickets for a future
concert, to be given at a more appropriate time. His tour would be over in a
couple of weeks, but he’d make sure she got to see him next year. He would
write a personal note to go with them and let her know he’d been at the
service.

He
hung up and returned to the other three, face blotchy with the same emotion
they were all feeling, and sweaty. Even at eleven in the morning, the late-August
sun was already making downtown Atlanta intolerably hot. Marci looked
miserable, even in a sleeveless black cotton dress. No one seemed to have any
idea what to say.

Dylan
broke the silence. “I have to go get back on a plane,” he said, his voice strained.
“I’m already on thin ice with Yvette for cutting it so close.” Suzanne felt
herself nod, reluctantly. He hugged Marci, and Jake, too—one of those awkward,
male acquaintance hugs—and then gave Suzanne a tender kiss on the cheek. She
shivered despite the hot Atlanta morning.

“Are
you all right?” he asked, looking directly at her.

She
nodded. He let his hand linger on hers for a moment, as though he wanted to say
something else. The awkward pause lengthened; it was the place in the
conversation reserved for endearments, or promises to reconnect.
See you
next week. I’ll call you. I love you.
As they both searched for words and
found none, she realized with renewed sadness it was because neither of them
could point to a place in the future where they would be together again.

She
wanted to hold onto him, to grasp his hand and keep him close. But nothing would
change with another minute, or ten, or maybe forever. She let his fingers drop.
“See ya,” he said, and walked away. In seconds, he had disappeared around the
corner.

Marci
gave her a sympathetic look and Suzanne hugged her tightly, being cautious of
Marci’s big belly. They linked arms, leaning on one another for support, and
the three of them walked to a nearby diner for an early lunch.