Hard Evidence by Roxanne Rustand

no…” Janna’s eyes widened. “Not with your son.”
    “He was at the wheel. A drunk driver crossed the median and hit them head-on. The other driver and Elise died instantly. Ian was in a coma for several days—a blessing in some ways, I guess.”
    “In some ways?”
    “He remembers nothing about the horrific details of the accident…doesn’t have to live with the memory of seeing his mother at the scene.” Michael swallowed. “On the other hand, he refuses to believe that he couldn’t have avoided the abrupt, erratic action of the other driver.”
    “That poor boy,” Janna breathed, her face etched with sorrow. She reached out to take Michael’s hand, the warm and gentle touch conveying her compassion. “I just don’t know what to say.”
    “The irony is that it wasn’t Ian’s fault—it was mine.” The pain was always there—despite prayers for forgiveness, and countless prayers for the ability to let go of the past. Even now that pain tightened like a vise around his heart. “Elise and I did not agree on much, including what was best for Ian. I thought she was too controlling. She thought I let him do too much. When she said she didn’t want him to drive, I figured she was just being difficult about that, too. What boy doesn’t count the days until he can get his permit? So I insisted that she let him…and then I bought him a car.”
    “Oh, Michael.” Janna’s voice filled with sympathy. “Most kids learn to drive, but nothing like this happens to them. The accident was not your fault.”
    “There you’re wrong. Because I was stubborn, Ian’s mom and the other driver died. And my son will live with guilt for the rest of his life.”

     
    “Obnoxious boy. If that boy was mine, he would’ve learned a thing or two about manners and respect by now.” Claire stood in the door of Cabin Five, her arms folded across her chest. Her gaze was fixed on Janna, and from the glint in her eye, Janna guessed her mother was recalling some of their more memorable arguments during Janna’s teen years.
    Exasperated, Janna said her fourth silent prayer for patience since breakfast. “He’s had troubles in his life, Mom. He needs love and understanding.”
    “What he needs is a firm hand to the backside. You haven’t heard him talk back to his dad? That’s what I would’ve done.”
    “Hmm.” Janna made a vague gesture with her hand but kept polishing a grimy window, knowing that any argument would just release the floodgates for more complaints.
    Two down, five windows to go, and then she could start hanging some cheerful gingham curtains. After hours of work, she felt true satisfaction at seeing the place begin to sparkle. Concentrate on the positive , she reminded herself.
    Claire took a step into the entryway and planted her hands on her hips. “I wouldn’t worry too much about turning this place into a palace—maybe he and his dad will move on.”
    Janna laughed. “This will never be a palace, Mom. It’s a very rustic cabin. But it has to be clean and comfortable, and when the Robertsons move out of the lodge, you won’t have to see them as much.”
    “Humph.” Claire ran a finger along the top of the refrigerator and inspected it for grime. “You didn’t clean this.”
    Janna sighed. “It has to be replaced, actually. I found a nice used one in the want ads. It’ll be delivered later today along with a newer stove.”
    “Too much money. Way too much money you’re putting into this foolish idea. You never did have any business sense—not with that nose of yours in those books all the time. Now Tessa—she knew how to put in a hard day’s work.” Claire’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “A good gal, my Tessa.”
    Janna fought the urge to knock her forehead against the wall in sheer frustration. “Yes, she is. And she’s coming over this morning, remember? She said she’d take you back to the home place for the day, if you’d like to go.”
    Confusion and fear clouded