VI
Casey found planting the rose on Joe's grave oddly comforting. The warm,
rich soil felt good in her hands and its earthy smell was soothing to her troubled
spirit. The sun's warmth felt good against her back. Closing her eyes, she took a
deep breath. With the back of her hand, she swept away a tear from her dirt
streaked face. Then she firmly settled the miniature rose into the hole and began
to gently push dirt around its base. Spotting a worm wriggling in the loose soil,
she pulled it free. For a moment she watched it wiggling about in her hand, then
smiling gently, she laid it into the dirt around the rose. Instinctively the
earthworm slowly dug its way back into the safety of the dirt. She placed the rest
of the dirt into the hole and pressed it firmly around the rose's base.
It was a beautiful rose, perfection in miniature. Set against deep moss-green
leaves, its tightly closed buds were yellow blushing to deep crimson. The single
open flower, with an interior of deep golden yellow was a perfect duplicate of a far
larger tea rose. She breathed deeply from the little flower. For something so tiny,
it had the deep heady scent of vintage wine. The rose was a lot like Joe, she
thought. It wasn't much to look at from a distance. You had to get closer to see
that it was truly something special. Joe had also told her that even though they
looked delicate and frail, miniature roses did not do well inside hot houses. It was
outside, exposed to the vagaries of the weather, that they did their best.
Falling over the headstone, a shadow came between Casey and the sun. She
flinched at the familiar voice. "That's a pretty flower," Britt said.
"Please go away," she said, forcing herself not to turn around.
A deep sigh, and the shadow shifted as Britt moved to crouch beside her.
"I'm sorry about Brown. I didn't want things to turn out the way they did."
"You were jealous of him," Casey accused as she locked her gaze on the
flower.
"Yes, I was," Britt admitted. "But that didn't affect the way I handled
things. If anything, it made me want to be more careful than usual, because I didn't
want you hurt."
Casey shook her head in denial, trying to stay angry, trying to hate him,
trying not to think of the horror she had felt when she had seen his body struck by
the shotgun blast. "You're lying. You just do whatever you want to do without
caring about who you hurt in the process."
"You know me better than that," Britt answered. "You know I care very much about what happens to other people. If I didn't, I'd be content sit behind my desk at the Sentinel and not give a damn about what was going on around me.
But I can't do that. I'm not built that way. I can't sit by and watch people like
Wrightman threaten this city and the people in it. I have to do something about it.
Unfortunately sometimes people do get hurt."
"Like Joe," Casey bitterly reminded him.
"Yes, like Joe," Britt agreed, "And you. I tried not to get you involved in
this. I wanted to find out the truth about Wrightman and Joe. If Joe was dirty I
wanted hard evidence of it before talking to you about it. I knew you would never
believe me otherwise." Britt grimaced, "Unfortunately, I was wrong about Joe. I
did let my personal feelings get in the way. I'm sorry about that. You have to
believe me that I never wanted to hurt you.
"Wrightman forced my hand by kidnaping you. It was all I could do to stop
Joe from going after Wrightman by himself. If I hadn't 'interfered' you and Joe
would be dead now. I tried my best, but I can't control everything. Sometimes
things go sour. It's not anyone's fault, it just happens."
"Joe was a sweet, wonderful man . . . " Casey began.
"Yes, he was," Britt admitted.
Still keeping her back to Britt, still avoiding looking at him, Casey started to
pick up her tools. "It took him years to develop this rose. He was very proud of it.
He said that he was going to plant it once he had found the right house," her voice
caught in her throat, "For us. He was going to name it Lenore."
Britt raised his hand to comfort her, but seeing her tense, he lowered it.
"What are you going to do now?" he asked.
Casey shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'll go home and live with my
parents for a while."
"Your job at the Sentinel is still open." Britt paused, taking a deep breath.
"The Sentinel needs you."
Casey looked at him, studying his face, focusing on his unusual pale blue-green eyes. "And what about you?" she asked.
"I don't know what to say, Casey. I've been in the newspaper business all
my life. You might say words are my business. But I write editorials and news
stories. I'm not a poet or songwriter. All I know is that I have been completely
miserable the past two weeks without you at the paper. It's like there's this big
hole in my life that I just can't fill. But whether that's love or not, I don't know.
"I've lost so many people in my life, first my mother when I only a little kid,
and then my father when he died in prison. And with this Green Hornet business.
There's so much uncertainty. Any time it could blow up in all our faces. I don't
know if I am capable of love or even if I should."
Britt sighed, "All I know Casey is that I want you back." He licked his lips
uncertainly. "I need you, Casey," he admitted.
Casey buried herself in his arms. They felt so strong and reassuring. She
began to cry. "I shouldn't have ever encouraged him. I didn't mean to. He was so
nice and I didn't want to hurt his feelings," she said through the hot tears.
Britt winced slightly. Despite the bulletproof vest, his chest was still badly
bruised from the shotgun blast. When she tried to pulled away, he pulled her
closer. He stroked her hair, shooshing away her sobs. "You didn't do anything
wrong."
"But Mr. Reid . . . " she began, looking up at him.
"Call me Britt," he said, tenderly wiping away her tears with his hand.
With a ghost of a smile shining through her tears, she whispered, "Britt."
