Blood Moon Page 2

  I was pulled out of my misery when my mom knocked on the door and told me breakfast was ready. With a sigh, I stood up and washed my hair and every last inch of my skin—twice—still not wanting the solidarity of my shower to end.

  When the water finally started to run cold, I shut it off with a pout and grabbed my towel off the silver rack beside the shower stall. I draped the fluffy pink fabric around my body, fastening it around my chest, and squeezed the excess water out of my hair before stepping out to finish my morning routine.

  I quickly ran my brush through my hair once more and then opened the bathroom door. The frigid air attacked any and all of my exposed, damp flesh, causing goosebumps to prickle over my arms and legs. The smell of coffee was heavy in the air as I padded back to my bedroom to get dressed for the day ahead of me.

  I rifled through my top dresser drawer before letting my towel fall to the floor around my ankles so I could pull my underwear on, and then I made my way to the closet. I caught a brief glimpse of my slender reflection in the mirror before grabbing a pair of dark denim jeans and a purple long-sleeved shirt. While I wasn’t particularly vain, I did take pride in my looks, and I worked hard to stay in shape, both for work and for myself.

  As I pulled my clothes on, I felt more and more like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, once again going out to fake my way through the day in hopes of fooling everyone around me. In spite of that feeling, though, there was one person I could be myself around today, and I looked forward to my visit with him. It was the highlight of my birthday every year.

  As soon as I was ready, I walked toward my bedroom door and reached for the knob. My hand gripped the cold metal firmly and waited at the ready to turn it. Clenching my eyes shut, I placed my forehead against the solid wood door as I took one final cleansing breath. Pulling a smile from the very depths of my soul, I stood up straight, swung the door open, and walked out to face the day.

  The lively walk I sported was one I had worked hard at perfecting over the last seven years. Was I proud of my deceit? Not particularly, but it beat the constant stares of worry I received from my parents, my peers, and even strangers on the street who knew nothing about me and my…situation.

  I walked into my cozy little kitchen, a smile on my face, to find my parents laughing softly at something I missed. They were both seated around the small table in my modest dining nook that connected my kitchen and living room. The sunlight filtered in through the smaller bay window next to the table, warming the natural color of the wood. Smelling too delicious to ignore any longer, I filled the cup that’d been left out on the counter for me with coffee. Steam spiraled from the surface of the black liquid as I added a splash of cream and several heaping teaspoons of sugar before settling at the table between my parents.

  “There’s our birthday girl,” my mom cheered, leaning over to kiss my cheek as I brought my cup to my lips and took a tiny sip.

  “Mmmm,” I hummed with a nod as the hot beverage coated the inside of my mouth and slid smoothly down my throat. “Thanks for the coffee. It’s just what I needed.”

  It wasn’t an accident or an oversight that I didn’t acknowledge her comment, and it was evident by her jubilant expression that she never expected me to either. She understood how hard the day was for me…for all of us.

  Sitting at the light-colored table, sipping at my morning coffee and trying to keep the wall I’ve worked hard to build from faltering, I looked between my parents as they easily fell back into their conversation. They knew me well enough not to pressure me into opening up before I was ready. That only brought more pain for everyone when I was like this. They knew to give me time.

  Catching part of my mom’s story about her lunch with her friends yesterday, I smiled—even laughed a little—but didn’t say anything. She noticed my response, though, and reached out to grasp my forearm lightly in reassurance. She knew. There weren’t a lot of people who didn’t. I held her gaze, hoping to draw in some of the strength I so desperately craved.

  Laura Leighton was a stunning, well-put-together woman of fifty, and considering what she had been forced to deal with in her life, it didn’t seem to tear at her the way it did me. Which was a relief, because I hated feeling the way I did. It was too much most days, and I would hate to see anyone else have to go through it as well.

  As my mother leaned back in her chair, her soft blue eyes never left me, and my forced smile slowly morphed into one that was genuine as I watched her turn to tell my father more of her story.

  A momentary feeling of contentment flooded me, bringing me out of my misery long enough to be grateful for this one shining moment.

  The sun’s rays peeked in through the blinds above my kitchen table, bouncing off of her immaculately styled blonde hair, and when she laughed, I saw the subtlest hint of the laugh lines around her sparkling eyes.

  I was constantly told that I looked like her, but with my coppery-red hair and bright green eyes, it was hard to see the similarities. We were the same height and build, though. That much I could see, but where I was usually confident and outgoing, Mom was a little more soft-spoken and easy-going.

  This didn’t mean she was a pushover, though. Far from it. She’d let you know if you had gone too far. Believe me.

  But the fact remained that she was a gentle soul.

  My father’s boisterous laugh caused my attention to shift to him as I took another pull of the coffee from my mug.

  Normally, when somebody met Captain Keith Leighton for the first time, they considered him a particularly intimidating man. At fifty-six years old and standing six feet tall, he’d been with the Scottsdale Police Department for the past thirty-six years—Captain for the last sixteen.

  His green eyes were the mirror image of my own—in color anyway. I was aware of just how jaded I had become in the last seven years, and how it showed in my eyes the most. My dad, though? He had two different looks, and I knew both of them equally well.

  As we sat together around my little four-person table, drinking our coffee, his eyes exuded nothing short of pure happiness. However, when we were on the job, his eyes grew hard and determined. He never let anyone in. Not anymore.

  His dark brown hair was always kept short, and flecks of silver streaked through it from his years of late nights, both working and child-rearing. Yes, Captain Keith Leighton was an intimidating man, and not a man you messed with. But to me, he was nothing more than a big teddy bear—my daddy.

  As they continued to banter on about my mom’s latest interior design disaster, I realized that I was quite content to sit there and listen to the two of them talk for the better part of my day. It would be a welcome change to what I knew was coming tonight. My eyes suddenly drifted to the empty chair across from me, and my stomach rolled uneasily.

  My mother must have seen something deeper in my expression, because her eyes showed her concern. “Brooke, are you feeling okay?” she asked.

  Running my fingers through my long, wet hair, I smiled slightly. “Uh, yeah. I didn’t sleep very well last night. The guys at work wanted to take me out to properly celebrate my promotion to detective,” I partially lied, not wanting her to know that I’d been plagued with the same nightmare that had been haunting me annually.

  My father shook his head disapprovingly. “Samuels, of all people, should know to take better care of his partner.”

  With a sly smirk, I cocked an eyebrow in my dad’s direction. “It wasn’t just him. You have the entire department to blame.”

  I watched as my father’s warm smile reached across the planes of his face, his sparkling eyes meeting mine. “What are you up to this afternoon, kiddo?” he asked.

  “Well, I’ve got the party at your place tonight,” I said, trying to sound genuinely excited about it. It fell flat, though. “But this afternoon, I was thinking I would go and visit Bobby for a bit.” My posture suddenly slumped as my mood shifted right back into my previous state of depression.

  My mother’s hand reached back across
the table and found its way onto mine. “That sounds lovely, dear. Maybe we’ll join you.” She turned to look at my father. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Keith?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek and squinted my eyes. Hurting their feelings wasn’t something I intentionally set out to do, but this was something I did alone every year. “Look, I don’t want to sound unappreciative or anything, but this is sort of something that Bobby and I do alone.”

  Sad, my mother pulled her hand back slowly, the smile fading from her face at my sudden refusal of her idea. “It’s not that you shouldn’t go see him. You should. It’s just…well, we’ve always spent the morning together. Just the two of us, you know?”

  “No, it’s fine. Of course I understand, Brooke. We’ll stop by later then, okay?” Trying to hide her face as she stood up, I caught the slightest glimpse of her glistening eyes. Guilt consumed me, and I looked toward my father for some kind of answer as to what I should do.

  He placed his hand on my cheek and smiled softly. “It’s fine,” he whispered so low my mother wouldn’t hear him. “Well, we should get going. Make sure you’re at the house by seven. Wouldn’t want to miss your own surprise party, now would you?” He flashed his bright smile and winked at me as he stood.

  “Definitely not,” I replied, rolling my eyes. I stood from the table, my half-empty coffee cup still in my hand, and walked with my parents through the kitchen and to the front door, where I gripped my mom in a tight, one-armed hug. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  When she pulled out of the embrace, she was smiling again. Though it seemed a little more distant and sad. “No, sweetie, it’s all right. You should have your morning. Happy birthday.” She kissed my cheek and walked through my door, followed shortly by my dad.

  Once they were gone, I tidied up my kitchen before grabbing the keys to my white Mustang and heading for the door. As was part of the tradition, I stopped at the flower shop before I hit the highway. It seemed odd that a woman would be buying flowers for a man in most cases. However, my case was not most cases.

  The drive down E Roosevelt was quiet. I was alone with my thoughts, and I felt bad that it had been so long since I’d gone out to see Bobby. I used to make this trip more often, but with my promotion, it was difficult. I crossed the bridge and turned south on N Hayden Road until I saw the parking lot. As I pulled the car to a stop, I admired the flowers that spread far across the wide-open area. The overwhelming variety of different species in a rainbow of color against the grass that covered the ground was beautiful.

  It was warmer today than it had been, the rainy season over now that we were moving into fall, but I could feel that slight nip to the air, despite the sun being out and free of the clouds. The grass was starting to lose a little of its green luster, the drier weeks having taken their toll on the vegetation, but this was home. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. I loved the desert.

  My nerves grew, and my palms began to sweat as I made my way down the familiar paths, taking a series of rights and lefts that had become second nature to me. As I walked, I inhaled deeply, appreciating the trees, both the ones that were native to Arizona and the ones that weren’t. When I found our spot, I slipped off my low-heeled shoes to feel the plush green grass beneath my bare feet and sat down.

  With a smile brighter than any other one I’d sported all day, I sat in my usual spot and leaned against the cold stone. The bouquet of wildflowers I had picked up on my way here sat at my side, and the warm sun was beating down on me, keeping me warm. “Happy birthday, big brother,” I whispered into the soft breeze as it blew a tendril of hair across my face. “We’re twenty-eight today. I suppose that’s something to celebrate.” I turned my head to the gray headstone I was leaning against and sighed. “Unfortunately, I can’t seem to get into the spirit, considering the one person I want to celebrate it with most isn’t here.”

  Turning my body to face the solid stone completely, I stared at the beautiful script that held his name.

  Robert Alexander Leighton

  Beloved Son & Brother

  October 26, 1986 – October 26, 2007

  The irony of the dates engraved below his name taunted me. The day of his birth—of our birth—was also the day of his death.

  Pulling my knees to my chest, I wrapped my arms around my legs and rested my chin on my knees. “Mom and Dad said they were going to stop by before the party. They actually offered to come with me this morning, but I needed it to be about us, you know?” I laughed softly, reaching down and uprooting a blade of grass from beside my foot. “Mom didn’t understand at first, of course. Not until I explained that it was something you and I have been doing for as long as I can remember.”

  It never even occurred to me that I’d begun crying until I felt a warm tear trail its way down my cheek. “I miss you, Bobby. More than anyone can even imagine. Not a day goes by that I don’t feel your absence in everything I do.” With a sniffle, I wiped my tears on my denim-clad knee. “I made detective yesterday, and the first person I thought to call was you. I knew you’d have been so happy for me.”

  My wall of strength crumbled, and I began to cry into my knees. The muscles in my back strained against the sobs that wracked my entire body. Eventually, it seemed like too much work to try to hold back my cries of anguish, so I wrapped my arms tighter around my body in an effort to quell the pain that was ripping a giant hole through my heart. It didn’t matter how much time had passed; it never got any easier.

  “I’m sorry,” I sobbed through labored breaths. “I’m trying to be strong…to move on, but it’s just…” I sniffled. “It’s still so hard.”

  Moving onto my knees, I pulled my fingers through my hair, my eyes focused on the grass beneath me. “Especially today, when everyone expects me to want to celebrate. It’s all I can do to not think about how you should be by my side during it all.”

  A warm breeze picked up and wrapped itself around me, almost as though Bobby was here with me. I closed my eyes and allowed the feeling to overtake me, a few fallen leaves swirling around my feet. Even though I knew it was silly to believe it was him—or even a spiritual piece of him—there was a small part of my subconscious that clung to that tiny particle of hope I had left as though it was my lifeline.

  The air around me felt comforting and safe, and I figured that it was probably the best note to leave our visit on. Still sniffling, I wiped the tears from my eyes as I stood and smiled down at the headstone. “I should probably go. It’s a long drive back home, and I have a party to get ready for.” I grimaced at the thought, and I pictured Bobby laughing at me as I did. “I’ll come by again soon,” I promised before turning away and heading back to the parking lot.

  Back in my car, I sat for a minute and tried to get a hold of myself so I could drive home. I didn’t want people to be concerned about me today or any other day, so I knew I would have to pull it together. One look at the clock told me I had less than six hours to make that happen, so I put the key in the ignition and left the parking lot of the Green Acres Cemetery.

  When I finally arrived back home, my neighborhood alive with color from the various trees and cacti, I couldn’t help but smile as I approached the door to my 1,100 square-foot South Scottsdale bungalow. I’d bought the house about a year ago and fell in love with it. It was perfect for me, especially the low-maintenance, grassless yard that was filled with tiny stones and several different forms of desert plants that needed little to no care at all. Most people wanted a large, plush yard, imagining their kids running around in it, but that wasn’t who I was.

  I parked in the driveway and walked up the path to my front door, and there, beneath the eaves of my little light brown house, I found a vase full of white stargazer lilies waiting for me. I knelt down and picked them up by the exquisite crystal vase, pulled the huge blooms to my nose, and inhaled their sweet smell. For the first time since waking up, I found my happiness starting to shine through.

  I unlocked my door and set my flowers on the kitc
hen table before I removed the small card from the center of the bouquet. I already suspected whom they were from, but the written proof only lifted my mood a little more.

  Happy Birthday, B

  Love, David

  I sighed contentedly. Maybe the party won’t be so bad after all, I thought to myself. Okay, so it wasn’t so much the party that had me excited—it was getting to see David. His general empathy and compassion made him one of the easiest people to be around. He cared for me as deeply as I did him—quite possibly even more since he wasn’t guarded like I was. He accepted me for who I was, though, and that was huge, given my past.

  While the thought of spending the evening with David brought a smile to my face, that didn’t mean the party itself wasn’t still going to be tough. In fact, getting ready for my party was going to take a lot of preparation. Not just physical, but emotional as well. It was no secret to my family and friends that I didn’t handle parties very well, so to be expected to behave like a normal person celebrating their birthday today was actually asking a lot.

  I would try, though.

  I mean, it had to get better eventually, right.

  Chapter two | ghosts

  When I arrived at my parents’ beautiful home on Carolina Drive, most of the lights were out, which was par for the course when it came to surprise parties. However, knowing about the party did little to assuage my apprehensions, and my heart continued to thunder in my chest. It wasn’t typical for us to ruin a surprise party for others, but my parents felt it necessary after what happened five years ago when my friends attempted the same thing. To say I had a meltdown would have been an understatement. It had been two years since Bobby’s death, and I still hadn’t fully processed everything, which meant that I was still in a major state of depression. It wasn’t good; an ambulance ride and sedation were both required in order to subdue me. I sought grief counseling after that, at the behest of my parents.