Part 103 (2/2)

pa.s.sed, Emma could still smell the stink of gin, she could still feel

the pinches and slaps and hear the curses.

It terrified her-terrified her so that just looking at the picture had

her digging bitten-down nails into her palms, had the palms themselves

sweating.

On a choked cry, she tore her gaze from Jane's picture and looked at her

father's. She prayed every night she was like him-kind, gentle, funny,

fair. He had saved her. She had read the story often enough, and even

without the printed words, she remembered. The way he had looked when

she'd climbed out from under the sink, the kindness in his voice when he

had spoken to her. He'd given her a home, and a life without fear. Even

though he had sent her away, she would never forget the years he had

given her. That he and Bev had given her.

It was hardest to look at Bev somehow. She was so beautiful, so

perfect. Emma had never loved another woman more, never needed one

more. And to look at her made it impossible not to think of Darren.

Darren who had had the same rich dark hair and soft green eyes. Daffen

whom she had sworn to protect. Darren who had died.

Her fault, Emma thought now. She was never to be forgiven for it. Bev

had sent her away. Her father had sent her away. She would never have

a family again.

She put it away, and spent some time going through older clippings.

Pictures of herself as a child, pictures of Darren, the wide, stark

headlines about the murder. These she kept hidden deep in her drawer,

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