“No one understands you, Brad.” Ken laughed.
“I don’t think we share thoughts, bro,” Jon offered doubtfully. “I don’t even want to know what kind of sick things go on in that noggin of yours.”
They moved forward when the first-class cabin door opened. Brad scowled at his brothers as they made their way out of the gate. “You know, dad is doing the thing with the straws tonight.”
Jon’s lips thinned. “I wish he wouldn’t do that.”
Ken shrugged. “Has to do something. Only one can be in charge, right?”
“I just hope it’s one of you. Maybe I can just abstain.” Brad rolled his head on his neck, thinking of his father’s idea to have the brothers draw straws to see who would become the next president of Dixon Contracting, one of the largest contractors in the southeast. “I cannot imagine sitting in the office all day, wearing a suit.”
“I can see it,” Jon said with a grin. “You’d clean up real good. You’re nearly as good lookin’ as me.”
“Dad feels like it’s up to God this way.” Ken gestured at the sign that pointed toward the train that would take them to baggage claim. “I told him we should cast lots. You know, keep it Biblical.” He laughed in his dry humor way. “But he thought drawing straws would be easier.”
“You did not.” Brad narrowed his eyes. “Seriously? Why would you encourage this?”
Ken shrugged. “Someone has to take over.”
“He should just divide it up.” Jon nodded at his own idea as if his brothers automatically understood his logic. “Then we’d each have an even share.”
Brad narrowed his eyes at Jon. “Then we’d all be stuck in an office wearing suits.”
Jon mocked a shudder. “I’d change the rules for my company. No ties.”
After a few stops, they got off the train and worked their way to baggage claim. “Don’t know about you two,” Ken said, “But I could use a steak.”
Immediately, Brad’s mouth started to water. “You know mom’s going to have some big birthday feast waiting on us. You trying to get us killed?”
“Oh, yeah. She’ll have cake,” Jon said, always the sweetest tooth. “Steak and cake. Perfect welcome home meal.”
“I’m just ready for a shower,” Brad said, thinking about the amenities, or lack thereof, of their trip. He and his brothers had gone on their first mission trip on their fifteenth birthday, and every single year, he came home humbled and broken by the wealth and luxuries he enjoyed.
He’d spent the last two nights writing plans in his journal—plans to make changes in his life so he could help benefit his community. He wanted to sit down with his mother and see what she thought about his ideas. He wished he had someone like his dad had in his mom—someone to encourage and support him as he maneuvered through life. How long had he prayed for God to reveal his wife to him? Since he had turned thirteen? He thought God had once, yet here he stood, a quarter of a century old, still single, still waiting.
Without encouraging it, Valerie Flynn’s face floated through his mind, but he shoved it aside. Valerie had made her own decisions regarding any future they might enjoy.
“I may skip the shower and settle straight for the hot tub,” Jon said. “Every muscle in my body hurts. Obviously, I’ve not spent enough time this year with a hammer in my hand.”
“If you’re looking for opportunity, I always have an in on charitable building work,” Ken said. “Just ask and I’ll send you out, hammer in hand.”
Brad closed his eyes in exhaustion, leaning his shoulder against the wall of the train, and listened to Ken and Jon talk about the details of Ken’s upcoming projects. His phone vibrated with a text message.
We are in savannah. Valerie Flynn is in the hospital. Dad left the car in the parking garage for you third level. Texting you a photo of the location. Welcome home! Birthday cake in fridge.
Brad looked up and saw Jon and Ken looking at their phones, too. Ken met his eyes, his own worry reflecting back at him just as the train came to a stop.
Valerie Flynn sat in thewitness stand. She wore a forest green skirt and an ivory silk blouse. She’d pulled her hair up and twisted it into a simple bun on the back of her head. On the outside, she looked calm, collected, and professional. However, her mouth felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton balls seconds before blow drying it. Sweat trickled down her back, making her want to fidget and tug at her blouse.
The prosecuting attorney stood in front of her, half facing her, half facing the jury on her left. She glanced at the water sitting on the table near her. Her stomach started rolling and she swallowed. That just made it worse. If her hands would stop shaking, she’d risk pouring a glass. She cleared her throat.
“Miss Flynn, can you please tell me about your relationship with Tyrone Baker?”
She couldn’t look at Tyrone or she would lose her nerve. Instead of making eye contact with him, she stared directly at the prosecutor. “He was an architect in the firm I work for. I’m an architect, too. We were working together on the design of a new hotel here in Savannah down on River Street. It was my first big project out of college. During the months we worked together on the project, our relationship formed and grew.”
She thought back to those days and the attraction she’d felt for him. She wondered when the manipulation began. In the beginning? Or later? How could she have been so naive and gullible?
“Mr. Baker was married at that time, wasn’t he?”
