Staying Alive by Debra Webb Read Free Book Online

sidewalk, she focused on the details of her home. Anything to clear her head of the ugliness. She loved the Craftsman-style bay window that looked out over her front yard. She’d just planted lots of flowers last weekend. With April coming to a close the colorful, lush annuals were starting to bloom, the reds, yellows and purples brilliant against the pale green of her house and the rich brown of the eucalyptus mulch.
    She had a white picket fence, a detached garage and her own little garden toolshed in the back.
    So far, she had done good, if she did say so herself.
    Stepping up onto the covered porch, she admired her swing. She’d layered it with comfy cushions. She loved sitting out here reading with a cup of coffee on Saturday mornings. Her house faced east, so she could watch the sunrise as well.
    It was perfect for her. Felt like home in every way.
    That was something she hadn’t expected when she moved here. She had missed Alabama so badly,but she’d needed a fresh start. When she’d found this place, it had been in pretty sad shape. Like her.
    Claire unlocked the door and went inside. She’d spent all summer that year transforming the exterior into a showcase of curb appeal. Then, during those long dreary winter months that followed, she had, inch by inch, revitalized the interior. From the period crown molding to the rustic tile in the light-filled kitchen. She’d had to hire someone to do the wiring update. Most older homes didn’t meet the current code.
    But that overwhelming kitchen renovation was all that had gotten her through her first Christmas alone.
    “Enough.”
    Claire sat her purse on the table next to the door and engaged the dead bolt. She allowed the familiar smells and textures of home to soothe her as she walked toward the bathroom, shedding her clothes as she went. By the time she reached the bathroom she’d stripped down to her panties and bra.
    While the original claw-foot tub filled with steaming hot water, she fashioned her unruly blond curls into the closest thing to a bun she could manage in this condition.
    Big, dark smudges beneath her brown eyes made them look sunken. The first trace of bruises on her upper arms and throat had begun to surface. Good thing the weather was still cool enough fora long-sleeved turtleneck. Otherwise she’d look…just like her sister used to. She shivered at the images that resurrected.
    Banishing the memories, Claire poured her favorite scented oil into the tub and inhaled deeply as the luxuriant lavender essence infused the rising steam.
    She stepped into the tub and slowly lowered herself into the welcoming embrace of the hot water. After turning off the tap, she leaned back and let the neck-deep water do its work.
    It felt so good. The heat penetrated her muscles and urged them to relax. The steam filled the room, creating a cozy cloud of thick, damp silence.
    She didn’t need any music or candles. Just this glorious heat and the blessed silence.
    The phone rang, the muffled sound reached beyond the barrier of the door, cut through her cozy cloud, but she refused to open her eyes. She was way too exhausted to care who might be calling.
    Probably some of the other teachers checking up on her. The teachers were her family now. They had accepted her as one of their own. She received an invitation to every birthday, every wedding and funeral just as if she had always been here.
    This was home.
    The past was over and done with. No going back.
    No looking back.
    That was the hardest part. When things happened to provoke an old memory…like being forced to shoot that man today…she couldn’t help wondering. But going back was detrimental to her well-being. She could not think about the past and continue to be happy in her present.
    End of story.
    And just like that, the images of the terrorist she’d killed flashed one after the other in her head. His harsh words. His unflinching brutality. He would have killed little Peter Reimes with no compunction