“I hope so too. Are you sure you don’t want to come in? Maybe for a coffee or something?”
Carl glanced past Richard inside the house. “No, it’s all right. I don’t think I can face it right now. Too much has happened here. Too many bad things.”
Richard nodded sympathetically. “I understand completely. But this is a happy home now. What happened here is in the past. My wife and I will make new memories in this house. The present is what’s important. Giving Dean a great life is what’s important. And just make sure you tell him how wonderful his mother was.”
“That goes without saying.”
“Good.”
Carl nodded and then started to walk away again. “Thanks, Richard.” He then stopped and turned back. “You’ll let me know, right?”
“Let you know what?”
“If she ever comes back. You’ll let me know, won’t you?”
Richard hesitated. He could feel Carl’s desperation in his tone, his need to feel Christina’s presence at least one more time. “I will.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. I’ll let you know. But she won’t come back, Carl. She’s gone. She’s done what she set out to do. She’s gone to a better place. I’m certain of it. And you will see her again. You both will.”
Nodding, Carl forced a smile, trying to mask his sorrow, and then continued on down the street. Richard watched as they disappeared quietly around the corner. He then closed the front door. Inside, he leaned heavily against the door and let out a drawn-out groan of relief. He too found himself fighting off a bout of tears as he rubbed his eyes with his palms, before running his fingers through his hair.
Moving away from the door, he stepped back into the hallway. The newly fitted smoke detector caught his eye. For him, seeing it reattached was a symbol of how his life was slowly returning to normal now that Christina Long was gone, and that his house was once again his own.
Shaking off his feelings of remorse for Carl, he headed back into the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, he ogled the dreaded chair. Did it still hold the same dread, the same horror he had felt all those weeks ago? After all, Christina hadn’t made so much as a peep since he got back from St. Clears. She was gone for good. He was sure of it. And the dreaded chair was now just a kitchen chair, nothing more, nothing less. Just something that was barely used in the first place. Just a wooden, inanimate object that held no significance whatsoever.
He was sure of it.
So why hadn’t he plucked up the courage to sit on it since the incident? Why did he still find it difficult to even look at it? And why did it still send a shiver down his spine at the very thought of it?
He had to move past it. He had to face it once and for all if he ever hoped to make the house completely his own again.
Letting out a loud breath to prepare himself, he marched around the table to the kitchen chair. He grasped the wooden backrest and pulled it from under the table; the legs screeched as they dragged across the tiled floor. Exhaling loudly again, he sat on the chair. It’s not so bad, he thought. Don’t know what all the fuss was about. It’s not scary at all. He glanced around the kitchen, trying to seem as relaxed as possible, as if sitting on the chair was just an everyday thing for him; as if he had sat on it a million times before. You’re there, Gardener. This is your house again. No one else’s. Just yours. No one’s gonna scare you in your house ever again. You’re the man of the—
“You ready yet, Rich?” Nicky said, her face suddenly appearing in the kitchen doorway.
“Jesus Christ!” Richard yelled in fright, almost falling off the chair.
Nicky entered the kitchen, chuckling. “Did I scare you, babe?”
Sighing loudly, he held a hand to his thumping heart. “Yes you bloody did.” He leaped up from the chair and moved quickly away from the table. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry,” she said, still with a big grin spread across her face. “I didn’t mean to. Are you ready? We’ve got to go.”
“I think so.”