Chapter 44

CHAPTER 44

Skye

T he grassy picnic area near the entrance of the apple farm is filled with families and kids. While some have managed to snag one of the scattered planked tables, most like us are seated on blankets spread out on the ground.

Next to the jug of cider we made is a big wicker basket. We've devoured almost everything Rosita packed for us. The scrumptious Mexican lunch included fresh guacamole and chips, tacos de carnitas , and esquites , a tasty grilled corn salad. Plus the yummy apple donuts I bought at the village bakery.

The early afternoon weather is divine. The clean, fragrant air is crisp, and the sun shines brightly in the clear blue sky. Everything is picture postcard perfect. Nearby, two aging musicians are playing oldies but goodies. Harmonizing, the shaggy-haired men, one paunchy, the other wiry, strum their amped up guitars. Despite their years, they're actually really good, and probably in their heyday in the early eighties, they were a popular duo that got lots of gigs. Children of all ages are frolicking on the grass to the classic songs, including Maddie. Leaving me alone with Finn.

After I stash everything in the picnic basket and move it out of the way, Finn sprawls out on the plaid blanket, propped up on his elbows, his tattooed biceps flexing as he holds his head between his fists. Admiring his long lean, muscular body, I reposition myself so I'm lying next to him. Both of us have our eyes on barefooted Maddie, who's uninhibitedly swirling and whirling to the rockabilly music. It's hard to believe that this robust little girl almost died of an asthma attack a few weeks ago.

At the sight of her, joy surges inside me. "She's such a free spirit," I say, adjusting the sunglasses I've put on.

Finn doesn't take his eyes off her either, but I can hear the smile in his voice. "Yeah, she is. Sometimes I wish her mother could see her."

At his unexpected words, my breath hitches. "Maybe she can."

"What do you mean?"

We turn to face each other. His eyes search mine, waiting for me to elaborate.

Keeping my gaze on him, I falter for words. "I mean, maybe her presence is here."

"Like an angel?"

"Yes. In a spiritual way."

His tone grows serious. "Do you believe in life after death, Scarlet?"

"Yes. I do." How could I not? I'm a living example. I died and came back. I was given a second chance like none other. "What about you?"

"I'm not sure though I'd like to believe we come back in other forms."

His response makes my skin prickle. "Do you think about your wife a lot?"

"All the time. I can't help it. Maddie is the spitting image of her." He pauses. "And not just physically. She inherited a lot of her mother's personality. Her inquisitiveness, spunk, and courage." A wistful smile lifts his lips. "They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"Your wife sounds like she is... I mean, was an amazing woman."

"Yes, she was." His voice is melancholic, like he's drifting back in time. "Perhaps, you know her."

My vocal cords are on the verge of imploding. I want to scream out I know her well. So well . I. Am. Her. Instead, I swallow back the words and ask, "What do you mean?"

"She was a well-known reporter for Conquest Broadcasting. Skye Collins."

"Skye Collins." I repeat back my name slowly, reflectively. It's the first time I've spoken it in ages. It feels so natural on my lips yet so alien. "Yes, I remember her. She died in a car accident, right?"

"Yes, a terrible accident. Her car went over Mulholland." His jaw ticks, hesitance etched on his face. "The police believe she was murdered."

"Oh my God! How horrible!" Jolting, I act like this is news to me. "Does Maddie know?"

"No, not at all. I don't want to frighten her. But that's one of the reasons I've been super-protective of her. Whoever did this to my wife is still out there. My daughter's life could be in danger."

At this reminder, I inwardly shudder. Yet, despite my unease, my inquiring mind is at work. What exactly does Finn know about the accident? Perhaps, he can shed some light on what happened that fateful night. He's in a talkative mood. The investigative reporter in me probes further. I need to know the truth. Dig deep, then dig deeper.

"Do the police have any clue as to who may have cost your wife her life?"

Finn shakes his head. "Believe it or not, the police initially suspected me."

His words rattle me. A chill runs down my spine. There's no way this beautiful, loving man could be a killer. "That's insane! What made them think that?"

He chews on his lip. "Because she had a substantial life insurance policy. Plus, they suspected she was having an affair. Put two and two together and you've got a classic Criminal Justice story: Jealous husband kills cheating wife and inherits her money."

A sick feeling washes over me. The thought of infidelity is unfathomable. "Do you think she was cheating on you?"

"The night of the accident she went out by herself. She was all dressed up in this hot little outfit... a black mini-dress along with some strappy high heels I'd never seen before. Not the kind of things she usually wore. Plus, she had on a ton of makeup and her hair was swept up. She told me she was working on a story. She was rushed and nervous." He fidgets with his watch. "To be honest, I didn't believe her."

My heart clenches at this revelation and my stomach churns. I try hard to remember, but nothing comes to mind. Not even a glimmer of that night. Flustered, I splutter, "Why didn't you believe her?"

"It wasn't the first time. She did the same thing earlier in the week and was very secretive about the story she was working on. She said she couldn't talk about it."

What story? What was I working on? I painfully, frantically try to recall that night. Think, Skye, think! My mind does somersaults. Nothing. I have no recollection. Not even of the dress I was wearing. My forehead scrunches as I squeeze my eyes shut in a desperate search for answers. Rubbing my temples, all I see behind my eyelids is a whirl of darkness. Why can't I remember?

"Are you okay?" Finn's concerned voice brings me back to the moment. My eyes snap open.

The possibility of having an affair has unraveled me. Did I? An acid blend of guilt and sorrow surges inside me. I swallow past the burn in my throat, then nod, "Yes."

"Scarlet, do you think I could be a cold-blooded murderer?"

"Of course not!" My voice is sharp. Definitive. I turn the tables. "Do you really think your wife was having an affair?"

He lowers his eyes, absent-mindedly picking at a tuft of grass. "It's very possible and with just cause."

Pausing, he tosses the green blades as my stomach clenches with dread. "What do you mean?"

"Though I loved her with all I had, I don't think I was good enough for her. I was a struggling artist. Never could make enough money. She was a huge success; I was a huge failure. Maybe, she wanted someone who could give her more than I could."

His words pain me. The ache in the pit of my stomach coils through me. "How can you say that? You're an incredible man! An incredible father! She had to love you!"

His gaze meets mine again. "You act like you know her."

I do! I am her! And I've always loved you, Finn! Every molecule of my being wants to shout out the reality of who I am. The words burn on my tongue, pleading to come out. Sucking in a lungful of air, I collect myself and swallow hard. My voice grows watery. "Finn, I understand her. I left my husband. But I never stopped loving him. Ever."

"And I've never stopped loving my late wife. She still lives in my heart and always will." A faint smile plays on his face. "You remind me a lot of her."

"How?"

My heart pounds as he lowers my sunglasses to the blanket and looks straight into my eyes.

"Your eyes. There's something about your eyes. The shape of them. Their intensity. The way you look at me." He plucks a dandelion from the grass and dusts the flower under my chin. My hypersensitive spot. The spot which when touched lights me up like a volcano. At the sensation of the saffron petals on my flesh, my neck arches and a soft moan escapes my lips.

"Stop," I mutter, fighting my arousal.

He doesn't. "It's weird. My late wife had a very sensitive spot on her neck too."

Memories of him kissing this spot and sometimes testing a new paintbrush along it dance in my head. Goosebumps pop along my arms as a flare of desire shoots up my legs. I bite down on my trembling lips, hoping they won't betray me. Taking no chances, I turn away.

"Look at me, Scarlet." The love of my life's voice is soft but assertive.

Slowly, I do as he asks and face him again. His heated gaze penetrates my depths.

He leans in closer to me, still sweeping the flower across my sensitive flesh in little circles. Figure eights. His head lowers, his lips part, his breath warms mine, my eyelids lower, and then...

A song drifts into my ears. A song that will stay in my heart forever.

Elvis's "Love Me Tender." Love me true. The song the Vegas preacher serenaded us with after he married us. At the memory, a rush of emotion wells up inside me. Tears seep from my eyes.

"What's wrong?" Finn asks, brushing the tears away with the flower. They salt the glistening petals.

"This song... it reminds me of my husband."

Does he remember? Silently, Finn stands up, then helps me to my feet. Facing each other, our hands laced, his soulful gaze burns a hole in my heart.

"It's special to me too."

While one of the musicians keeps singing, his baritone voice quite good, the other makes an announcement. "Okay, all you lovebirds, let's show these youngsters how to really dance."

One by one, couples of all ages flock to the grassy dance area, all wrapping themselves in each other in a slow, amorous dance. Neither Finn nor I move.

The nostalgic Elvis lyrics tug at my heartstrings. A breath away from Finn, my hands in his, every organ, every cell, every particle of my being quivers with need. I'm about to implode with love waiting for him to say something. Then, finally, he says softly, cupping his hands on my shoulders...

"Scarlet, dance with me."