She could not tell what was real and what was still a bad dream clinging to her mind.At last the body came into focus. He was familiar, but he was not...Ryan McGuire. There was no blonde hair. No bloody Athamé held in his hand. She turned him to look at the face and tears flooded her eyes. Wesley! J. Wesley Allen. Her beloved. Her husband. What had she done?She raised him and cradled him in her arms, whispering his name over and over, unable to believe that she had injured him. Wesley would not. Mattie was already in her chair with her tablet to keep her occupied.We saw Sarah’s car pull in. There were a few moments of conversation, a hug, and Laura emerged from the car. We were ready. The timing was perfect.The door opened, and a surprised Laura was greeted by Hanna looking beautiful and composed. Before Laura could say anything, Hanna greeted her.“Mrs. Wilson! We’re glad you’re here. Your reserved table is ready, and the rest of your party is already seated.” She led Laura into the. Richard'd said he would've come, but I waved him off. A cab would be fine. I did intend to rest for a few days, and I didn't want to answer a lot of simplistic questions. A voice behind me and to my right got my attention. "Waitin' for a cab, big boy?" the voice said. I winced. "I sent him away." "What are you doing here, Jennifer? Here to gloat or laugh or maybe offer me another mercy fuck," I said. I could feel her frown even though I had not turned around to see her. "I can't do anything. ” Her eyes were still locked on my torso, and I wanted to change the subject.“I don’t think you came to look at my bruises. Why are you here?” Her eyes immediately dropped back to her clasped hands, and I felt my frustration growing. What was wrong with her? I leaned forward, and placed my hand under her chin, and gently turned her face up to me. She refused to meet my eyes, but at least she turned.“I—You probably hate me, I know, but… I… What I mean to say is… I wanted to… I don’t feel right.
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