Read Online Come Morning by Pat Warren - Free Book Online

knees, gazing down at her son’s toys, the ones that she’d stored away at the end of their visit last Easter. She’d locked the storage shed then, assuring Bobby everything would wait right there for him to return during his summer vacation. How could she have forgotten? Laden with memories, his things mocked her now like so much shipwrecked flotsam and jetsam.
    Her knees too wobbly to hold her, she sank to the grass, one hand landing on something rubbery. Blinking through her tears, Briana closed her fingers around a small swim fin in bright blue. Bobby’s, of course.
    A pain like the thrust of a very sharp knife stabbed through her chest. She heard a heartwrenching sound, hardly realizing the deep sob had come from her. She bent forward, hugging the rubber fin to herself, rocking through her grief as scalding tears flowed down her cheeks. Overwhelmed, Briana gave in to the wracking spasms. Let it all out, the doctor had advised. It’s better than locking it all inside.
    Better? She was never going to feel better. Didn’t the good doctor know that? Didn’t they
all
know that?
    How long she sat there letting the tears run their course while she clutched the small, blue fin Briana couldn’t have said. Until the pain—that terrible, deep, inside pain—had subsided somewhat. Finally, feeling wrung out, she started to get up.
    “Briana?” said a small, hesitant voice behind her. “Are you okay?”
    Drawing in an uneven breath, Briana slowly turned around. Staring at her, her little brow wrinkled with concern, was Annie Reed, the six-year-old daughter of the couple who lived in the house behind her grandfather’s place. Gramp had trimmed the shrubbery fence so there’d be a two-foot opening, a pass-through so Annie could come visit him because he enjoyed chatting with her.
    Swiping at her streaked face with the back of her hand, Briana nodded. “I’m okay, honey.” She glanced down at the scattered toys. “I’m just sad, that’s all.”
    “Oh.” Feeling less uncertain now that Briana was talking, Annie hunkered down beside her. “I get sad sometimes, too. Mommy says it’s okay to cry when you’re sad.”
    “I guess your mommy’s right.” Briana found a tissue in the pocket of her shorts and wiped her face.
    “Where’s Bobby? I want him to come over and meet my new kitten. Her name’s Rascal and…” Confused anew because Briana had squeezed her eyes tightly shut and bent her head back, Annie frowned. “What’s wrong?”
    How to tell a child that her playmate’s gone forever. Briana pressed her lips together as she searched for the right words. “Bobby won’t be coming back here, Annie. He … he died.” She felt the knife inside slice deeper, deeper. God, how she hated saying those words.
    Her brown eyes huge, Annie tilted her head. “How did he die?”
    Briana swallowed hard. “An accident. A terrible accident.”
    “You mean like a car ran over him?” Annie asked, trying to understand.
    What did it matter? A random bullet had killed her seven-year-old son, her life, her hopes and dreams. Nothing, nothing would ever be the same again.
    “Something like that” She couldn’t tell this little girl the truth. No child should have to deal with violence. Children were innocent victims of either careless or evil adults. And their mothers were left to try to put their suddenly meaningless lives back together.
    “Is his daddy sad, too? My daddy would be.” Annie’s lower lip quivered in sympathy.
    “His daddy’s gone, too.” A fresh wave of tears flooded Briana’s eyes. For all his faults, Robert Morgan surely hadn’t deserved to die with a bullet to the head on a sunny Saturday morning.
    Annie stood and slipped one arm along Briana’s shoulder. “Please don’t cry.” Big, fat tears dropped from her own eyes as it all became too much for the little girl to take in. “Bobby’s in heaven, you know.”
    Nothing could have stopped Briana’s torrent of tears more effectively than