drive back to Eau Boueuse, Raif said to Larkin, "Why am I being tested so? All these things really don't help me forget my wife and friends are dead. And nobody has an inkling who's behind it."
She patted his shoulder. There were no words to offer solace.
After Patrick's ordeal, Raif was met by Lindsay's car accident in Los Angeles. She was seriously injured, and for the first time, would not be able to come home for the holidays. He flew to Los Angeles for a week and brought his grandchildren home with him for the holiday season.
Life went on, and Raif did everything from habit. He still ran every day. He continued to work out three times a week. He even displayed his scale Victorian Christmas village at Christmas, but no new structure was added that year.
The holidays came and went. After Thanksgiving, Patrick moved off campus and showed off his Celtic cross tattoo at Christmas.
Parker, Ray's son, literally sat between Trista Gautier and Townes Johnson for his uncle at the Christmas gathering. "You're too close to each other," he told them with a wilting look. Little did anyone know just how close they were. That closeness almost proved to be the last straw on Raif’s back and left him even more broken than he had been.
Trista had been severely depressed since her mother's death. Raif had tried on numerous occasions to talk to her and spend extra time with her, but she seemed to push him away. So, when his daughter came into Raif's home office in April and said, "Dad, I need to talk to you," he was greatly relieved.
Raif swiveled on his drafting stool and asked, "What about, baby?"
Trista seemed nervous, shuffling her feet and looking at the floor. "I sure am glad you're not Uncle Ray," she mumbled. "If I were Courtney, he would strangle me."
"What would make you say that? You haven't done anything that bad. You're too sweet."
"You won't think so for long."
Trista looked so much like her mother Raif found it hard to be angry with her, but the way she was acting worried him. "Talk to me, baby," he said with love.
"Dad!" Trista flung her arms around Raif's neck and began to sob.
Raif held her tightly and soothed her long dishwater-blonde hair. "Shh, baby. It's all right. We're all going to be all right. It just takes time. I love you. Now, shush."
"Oh, Dad, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"For what, baby? What happened wasn't your fault."
"Do you really love me?"
"You know I love you. What's wrong?" Raif held Trista at arms' length.
She blinked back more tears and took a breath. "Dad, I'm pregnant."
Raif stared in utter silence at his daughter. He dropped his face in his hands and shed his own tears. He choked, "Oh, God! How much more?"
"Dad?"
He looked at his child. "Townes?" he asked.
She nodded.
He stood and held out his hand to his youngest. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
Raif snapped, "Where do you think we're going, Trista?"
"The Johnsons'?"
"Yes, ma'am. You didn't do this alone."
Raif took Trista's hand again when they got out of the car and knocked on the Johnsons' door. Terry Johnson opened and said in a dejected voice, "Hello, Raif. Townes just told us. Come in. I was expecting you."
Stepping inside, Raif sighed, "Well, where do we go from here?"
"I say the minister. Then, Sir Townes is going to the recruiter. Where Uncle Sam sends them after that"—Terry shrugged—"I don't know."
"They both graduate in a month, but only because Trista has gone to summer school and is graduating at sixteen. She's sixteen , Terry."
"I know. Townes will turn eighteen before he ships off to boot camp. I know they're babies, Raif. Graduation will be what?"
"About three months, I'm guessing," offered Raif. “I’ll get Trista into a doctor as soon as I can.”
"Where will we live?" worried Trista.
"Huh." Raif looked incredulously at Chris's little replica. "Maybe you should've thought about that beforehand," he snarled.
"Dad?" Trista whimpered.
"Don't drop another tear," commanded
She patted his shoulder. There were no words to offer solace.
After Patrick's ordeal, Raif was met by Lindsay's car accident in Los Angeles. She was seriously injured, and for the first time, would not be able to come home for the holidays. He flew to Los Angeles for a week and brought his grandchildren home with him for the holiday season.
Life went on, and Raif did everything from habit. He still ran every day. He continued to work out three times a week. He even displayed his scale Victorian Christmas village at Christmas, but no new structure was added that year.
The holidays came and went. After Thanksgiving, Patrick moved off campus and showed off his Celtic cross tattoo at Christmas.
Parker, Ray's son, literally sat between Trista Gautier and Townes Johnson for his uncle at the Christmas gathering. "You're too close to each other," he told them with a wilting look. Little did anyone know just how close they were. That closeness almost proved to be the last straw on Raif’s back and left him even more broken than he had been.
Trista had been severely depressed since her mother's death. Raif had tried on numerous occasions to talk to her and spend extra time with her, but she seemed to push him away. So, when his daughter came into Raif's home office in April and said, "Dad, I need to talk to you," he was greatly relieved.
Raif swiveled on his drafting stool and asked, "What about, baby?"
Trista seemed nervous, shuffling her feet and looking at the floor. "I sure am glad you're not Uncle Ray," she mumbled. "If I were Courtney, he would strangle me."
"What would make you say that? You haven't done anything that bad. You're too sweet."
"You won't think so for long."
Trista looked so much like her mother Raif found it hard to be angry with her, but the way she was acting worried him. "Talk to me, baby," he said with love.
"Dad!" Trista flung her arms around Raif's neck and began to sob.
Raif held her tightly and soothed her long dishwater-blonde hair. "Shh, baby. It's all right. We're all going to be all right. It just takes time. I love you. Now, shush."
"Oh, Dad, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"For what, baby? What happened wasn't your fault."
"Do you really love me?"
"You know I love you. What's wrong?" Raif held Trista at arms' length.
She blinked back more tears and took a breath. "Dad, I'm pregnant."
Raif stared in utter silence at his daughter. He dropped his face in his hands and shed his own tears. He choked, "Oh, God! How much more?"
"Dad?"
He looked at his child. "Townes?" he asked.
She nodded.
He stood and held out his hand to his youngest. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
Raif snapped, "Where do you think we're going, Trista?"
"The Johnsons'?"
"Yes, ma'am. You didn't do this alone."
Raif took Trista's hand again when they got out of the car and knocked on the Johnsons' door. Terry Johnson opened and said in a dejected voice, "Hello, Raif. Townes just told us. Come in. I was expecting you."
Stepping inside, Raif sighed, "Well, where do we go from here?"
"I say the minister. Then, Sir Townes is going to the recruiter. Where Uncle Sam sends them after that"—Terry shrugged—"I don't know."
"They both graduate in a month, but only because Trista has gone to summer school and is graduating at sixteen. She's sixteen , Terry."
"I know. Townes will turn eighteen before he ships off to boot camp. I know they're babies, Raif. Graduation will be what?"
"About three months, I'm guessing," offered Raif. “I’ll get Trista into a doctor as soon as I can.”
"Where will we live?" worried Trista.
"Huh." Raif looked incredulously at Chris's little replica. "Maybe you should've thought about that beforehand," he snarled.
"Dad?" Trista whimpered.
"Don't drop another tear," commanded
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