Chapter Four
STUDIO TALK
Amy was sure to finish work early on Wednesday. Today hadn’t been her best day – the onslaught of emotions and the testing case were both causing an array of stress and anxiety. Her boss understood, and allowed her to finish two hours earlier than usual. She was utterly grateful.
Throughout the drive home, Amy let a few of her tears escape. Now wasn’t the time to release them all.
Her emotions proved a great distraction, and sooner than expected, she arrived home.
Matthew was already home. He met her at the front door, embracing her in a silent gesture of unconditional support.
“Ready to go?” he asked quietly.
Amy nodded and headed to Matthew’s car, taking the passenger seat. They made a quick stop at their local nursery to collect an array of flowers before embarking on the half-hour drive to the cemetery.
It had been eighteen years since Peter Carter’s untimely death. Murder. Murder that was yet to be avenged. Ever since Matthew had become a steady aspect of her life, Amy had dealt with the anniversary in a much more stable way – yes, she became emotional, but she no longer acted on her impulsive emotions. And her health had improved significantly as a result.
When they arrived at the cemetery, they walked hand-in-hand, Amy clutching the flowers in her free hand. Tears began to fall more heavily, but she wasn’t afraid to show them.
At her father’s grave, Amy released Matthew’s hand and knelt down before the headstone, neatly placing her flowers with the others that had been laid throughout the day – her mother and sister (and other family members and friends) had already paid their emotional visit.
She had no idea what words to say – even if she could possibly formulate words – and so knelt in silence, reading the headstone over and over again, wishing that she could be in her father’s arms, just one more time.
Peter Samuel Carter
13.08.1970 – 24.01.2000
Beloved husband of Jennifer,
devoted father to Allison and Amy
If tears could build a stairway
and memories a lane,
we’d walk right up to heaven
and bring you home again.
As Amy read the message they’d had inscribed on the gravestone, she wished – longed – more than ever that it could be true. That he could come back. She soon felt Matthew kneel down beside her, and she leaned into his chest, crying silent tears into his shirt.
“I miss him so much,” she wept; Matthew wrapped his arms around her tightly, kissing the top of her head.
“He’d be so proud of you, Amy. You’ve become so strong.”
Amy looked down at her wrists where there was hardly a trace of the cuts she’d inflicted upon herself in her youth. She was stronger, but at this moment, she felt incredibly weak.
YOU ARE READING
Recovering Amy (Amy, #2)
Romance“You’re mine,” it told her in her dreams, “you don’t deserve happiness”. She would wake up screaming most nights, crying, begging for forgiveness that no one dared to offer her. She was sorry – she didn’t mean for anything quite so terrible to happe...
