CHAPTER NINE
SUNSHINE DONOVAN STILL trusted in the simple things—today’s weather report, for example. She should have known better.
Sunny had just left the Jacksonville airport—with the car radio blaring a bright afternoon forecast—when the leaden skies opened up. A torrent of semitropical rain spilled over the windshield, reminding her again of a recent tabloid headline.
Sunny Clouds Up.
Oh, you’d better believe it. Only yesterday, in a Manhattan court, in front of her favorite judge, Sunny had blown up. She’d gotten a contempt citation for her momentary loss of control, but the jury’s ruling really had been the last straw.
She was still as mad as blue blazes, even though she felt like a sun hat someone had left in the rain.
The disastrous trial verdict and a brand-new divorce decree weren’t the end of the world, if she took the longer view. But her life right now could be summed up in another too-cute banner from the New York papers.
Defense Rains on Sunny’s Parade.
If only the jury hadn’t, too.
Pulling into her parents’ suburban driveway a short while later, Sunny decided she deserved a rest. Coming back to Jacksonville was never easy, and this time, thanks to Nate’s official exit from their marriage, she was alone.
Prosecutors lost cases all the time, she reminded herself, but she still couldn’t believe the jury had bought the defense’s claim that their client was crazy when he’d killed an innocent girl. She could still hear his threats. Keep looking over your shoulder, Donovan. One day I’ll be there.
Sunny had heard such threats before. When she went back to New York, she’d no doubt hear them again, but she was determined to overcome this blot on her win/loss record. If she wanted to become DA, she’d have to.
And someday, she’d be able to think about the end of her marriage without wanting to cry. Even if, as Nate had always said, Sunny tended to wear her heart on her sleeve.
“Sunny?”
As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, her mother—a blur of flowered print shorts and top—swept her into a hug.
“We didn’t expect you until tonight,” she said, patting her hair back into place. It was even lighter than Sunny remembered, shot through with strands of silver. “Why didn’t you call? Dad planned to meet you at the airport.” She drew back to study Sunny from head to toe, and Sunny knew her mom wouldn’t miss the limp hair that hadn’t been combed all day, a rumpled suit and the laddered run in her pantyhose.
“Quite a mess, huh?” She forced a smile. “I caught an earlier plane. Staying in Manhattan for even a few more hours lacked—not to make a pun—appeal.” All she’d wanted was to flee, as if she were the guilty one, rather than Wallace Day.
Her mother’s blue gaze was probing. “Tell me everything.”
Sunny drew a sharp breath. “Mom. I can’t. Not yet.”
As if to save her, the back door opened. Her dad saw her and broke into a grin. Smile lines radiated from the corners of his brown eyes. “Hey there, Sunshine.”
He was still solid, tall and straight with the same brown hair that showed barely any gray. Still her hero.
Without hesitation she launched herself into his arms. Enfolded, cherished, she was still his girl. She loved her mother, too, but things often grew complicated between them. With her dad she always knew where she stood. He’d taught her to throw a baseball and to swim. He’d hugged her tight when she lost her first boyfriend. She never doubted he would see her side about the trial and Nate.
“Welcome home. How long has it been this time?” he asked.
“Too long. Last Christmas,” she said, “when you and Mom came to visit.”
“And, as usual, hated every second—”
“—in what you always refer to as The City.” On the verge of separation from Nate, Sunny had pretended everything was fine. “I think you were right years ago about me moving north,” she said. “Life in the fast lane doesn’t seem so exciting at the moment.”
His hold tightened, but he didn’t say I warned you.
“And can you believe that jury?” her mother said. “That dreadful man...”
Her dad shook his head. “If I were that poor girl’s father—”
“You’re not, thank goodness,” Sunny said, then slipped from his embrace. “But I know how you feel. I can’t stop thinking about Ana Ramirez’s sweet face. At least Wallace Day will be confined to a facility in upper New York State to undergo treatment for his ‘problem.’”
“Problem? He’s a killer.”
“That’s why he’ll stay there until—unless—a psychiatric review board decides he’s no longer a threat to society.”
Her father frowned. “He’ll also be eating three meals a day, watching TV, lifting weights, and sleeping in a clean bed. That child’s parents probably don’t sleep at all. She has no life.”
Sunny
