Not Guilty by Patricia MacDonald Read Free Book Online

toddle down there while Mark was busy looking over some brief for court tomorrow.
    Dylan had gone off, and Mark had been absorbed in his brief, thinking Abby was playing somewhere near him. Somewhere safe. And meanwhile, Abby had wandered. It was a chain of carelessness. Each little oversight not significant in itself. Linked together, they had the power to devastate. And where had she been when this chain of carelessness had been forged? When her life was about to be upended again? Sorting through silk ties. Reading the jacket copy on a bunch of books and CDs. Each little decision a link in the chain. The chain that was squeezing the breath out of her now. Making her feel almost faint with fury at her son, who stood before her, apologizing for going out, not even acknowledging his part in all of this. His oversight was the worst—the fatal one.
    “How many times did I tell you to lock that gate around the pool?” she said through clenched teeth. “How many times?”
    “What do you mean?” he said. “I didn’t—”
    “Your skateboard was out by the pool. Don’t deny it. I saw it there after dinner.”
    Dylan was white with horror. “I know. But . . . I locked the gate, Mom. I did.”
    Don’t lie to me! she wanted to shout. You didn’t think about anyone else! Mark, the baby. You were mad about the bike, and mad at the world. So you went on your way and left that gate swinging open. You set this disaster in motion. Your sister nearly drowned. And Mark . . . She wanted to scream at Dylan. She could feel it rising in her throat.
    “I know I locked it,” Dylan cried.
    Keely turned away from him and dug her fingernails into her palms. Don’t do it, she told herself. Don’t rage against him. He’ll never get over it. He’ll never forget it. She could feel him beside her, staring at her helplessly. It would take every ounce of the love she had for him not to berate him. To be compassionate. To spare him. Desperately trying to stifle the words she could never take back, she looked wildly around her. The house, the pool. Their perfect little world. Hadn’t a little voice inside warned her not to agree to the house with a pool? Hadn’t she known better than to put that danger in their paths? Why hadn’t she followed her instincts? Wasn’t that the first act of carelessness, after all? Wasn’t she herself to blame?
    She turned back to face her son and saw his eyes, feverish with fear and anxiety. No point in blame, she thought bitterly. She remembered all the times she had blamed herself for Richard’s death, berated herself for failing him, and felt guilty. What good had it done? There was no use in it. It wouldn’t bring Mark back to her.
    She summoned all her will and her love for Dylan. “I’m sorry, honey. It’s not your fault,” she said. “It was an accident.” Then her tears welled up and spilled over again as she began to face the harsh reality of her life.
    “Mom, I didn’t—”
    She shook her head, needing to silence him. “Don’t. Please, let’s leave it at that. Let’s go in the house. We need to help each other now. And Abby. Please, Dylan. I need your help . . .”
    Sergeant Henderson came over and offered her an arm. The EMTs began the process of removing the body. He urged her to lean on him. She shook her head angrily and then stumbled as she started up the path to the house.
    “Dylan,” Keely called out faintly from the path. “Come inside.” When he did not respond, Keely turned to see her son, rooted to the apron of the pool, staring at the lifeless body of his stepfather. He did not flinch as the EMTs lifted the corpse and unzipped the body bag. “Dylan,” she cried. He remained staring, remote and dry-eyed, as if he were a bystander who had happened on the aftermath of a wreck.

4

    T he mourners at the funeral for Mark Weaver had filled every pew of Our Lady of the Angels Church, and now the crowd at the neighboring cemetery spilled out across a dozen graves. Keely sat