Chapter 1

Laura Miller idly tapped the amber plastic pill bottle with her freshly lacquered, pink fingernails, as she sat in her neat as a pin kitchen. She had a lot of emotionally charged capital invested in that small container of Nembutal. In addition to the white-capped bottle of pills, a packet of photographs and a long stemmed glass of chardonnay sat on the table in front of her.

The photographs had been taken last Christmas, a year ago tomorrow. They were the last images she had of her husband and daughter. A stupid drunk driver had made her new digital camera a relic three days later by ramming at high speed into the side of her husband's car and flattening the passenger compartment. Seth had been bringing Becky home from daycare while Laura was at her doctor's office getting a precautionary checkup. She and Seth had recently decided it was time for another child.

The memory of that day was seared into her memory as if it had been chiseled in granite...

Laura was home, fretting about what could be holding up her usually punctual husband, when the doorbell rang. She answered the door and knew immediately that something was terribly wrong. Standing on the porch were an uncomfortable pair of men with grim visages - a state trooper, and their family priest, Father O'Banyon.

"Mrs. Miller?" asked the trooper.

Laura nodded her head up and down, her vocal cords suddenly useless.

Mrs. Miller, there has been an accident and it's my sad duty to inform you that your husband and daughter did not survive."

Laura looked at him numbly, shaking her head back and forth in denial. No way could that be true; the daycare center was only four miles from their house. She looked at the parish priest; the daycare center was housed in his church's annex.

"I am so sorry, Laura," Father O'Banyon said. "A drunken teenager in a stolen car ran the stop sign at Ridgewood at over eighty miles an hour. Seth and Becky died instantly; I administered last rites to them both. They died in a state of grace," the priest continued, crossing himself.

Laura sagged against the doorjamb, the blood rushing from her head. Father O'Banyon caught her and the men helped her into the house. In fewer than five minutes, her idyllic existence had been replaced by a purgatory that even Dante could not have imagined.

Laura's mother and father flew in from Atlanta the day after the accident and took care of the arrangements. Laura was in a sleepless fog, unable to function. Her wonderful neighbors streamed in and out of the house, unobtrusively bringing food and tidying up.

Laura made it through the funeral somehow. She drew upon her inner strength and tried to move forward. Her progress was fitful as she pushed the burden of living up the steep slope of her mountain of grief. Laura went back to work the first week of February, her damaged soul tightly concealed in the daily routine. Her coworkers at the bank gave her plenty of space, while making themselves available if she needed to talk to someone - which she mostly did not.

After six months, she was recovered enough to vacation with her parents on an Alaskan cruise. The gentle rocking of the ship, beautifully scenery, and serenity of the cruise helped even more. She returned to Orlando thinking she might have reason for hope. After all, she was only twenty-seven, intelligent, and beautiful by any standard. By Labor Day, she was thinking about dating again. In October, she took the plunge and accepted a date with the brother-in-law of one of her coworkers. The date was a disaster, but not because of her. The guy was an egotistical, arrogant asshole who thought she should drop on her back and spread her legs just because he had asked her out. He was wrong and she didn't.

She had two more dates with different men that garnered much the same results. Oh well, at least dating, even bad dating, had gotten her out of the house and back among the living, she rationalized. Overall, though, she thought that she was going to make it.

Then the holidays hit. She flew to Atlanta for Thanksgiving with her folks; her brother and sister were there with their spouses and kids for the traditional family get together. Seth had loved Thanksgiving; he would stuff himself and sit in a stupor in front of the television watching football games. She used to chide him about being such a slug, even though she secretly thought it was cute.

Back in Orlando after Thanksgiving, things really started to go downhill for Laura, as everyday memories of the traditions she and Seth had started haunted her. And so it went, until she reached her present position of desperate decisive action. Laura was thirty-one pink pills away from never having to worry about grief again.

Laura took a slow sip of wine and spread the photographs from last Christmas onto the table for one last look. She smiled at the one of Seth pushing a joyous Becky on her new tricycle. She touched Seth's face on the photo of him grinning goofily as he held up the ugly sweater his Aunt Bertha had given him. Enough reminiscing, Laura thought as she reached for the bottle of pills; it was time to get this show on the road.

She was pressing down on the childproof cap when the doorbell rang. She contemplated just ignoring it, and then realized that whoever was there might conclude something was wrong and call the police. She got up and padded to the door in her slippered feet. Laura answered the door and smiled in spite of herself. Of all the people who could be darkening her doorstep, her visitor was the one person she did not mind seeing.

Standing on the stoop was Robby Davis, a neighbor and probably Laura's best real friend. Robby was Robert Jefferson Davis, newly seventeen; he was the pride of the neighborhood. Robby was the son you wanted, or wanted dating your daughter. He was a polite, well-mannered honor student, Eagle Scout, and star baseball player. In addition, Robert Jefferson Davis was completely, totally, hopelessly, head over heels in love with Laura Miller.

"Wow, Mrs. Miller, you look beautiful in that dress. Are you going out?" Robby asked.

Laura had spent some time on her appearance for this evening. She wanted to be looking her best when her cold body was found. She was wearing a dark pink wrap dress; her makeup had been expertly applied and her corn silk blonde hair brushed until it shone like spun gold. She had carefully bathed and shaved her legs but decided against confining pantyhose or stockings.

"Thank you, Robby. Nope, no plans. You look pretty good yourself. Hot date tonight?" Laura teased.

Robby had put some thought into his wardrobe as well. He had dug out some gray Dockers and a nice light blue shirt. He had eradicated the few whiskers he had on his chin and upper lip and slapped on some Drakkar aftershave. In addition, he wore a brass-buttoned blue blazer to complete his look.

"No, ma'am. I just thought you shouldn't be alone tonight," Robbie said simply.

Laura's eyes went big and round when he said that; he was the sweetest boy she had ever met. She knew it was his wonderfully sweet nature to care about people that way, but she was still touched that by his concern.

"Tell you what; I'll invite you in if you'll stop calling me Mrs. Miller. My name is Laura; Mrs. Miller sounds like I'm an old maid. If you want, I'll call you Rob or Robert like everyone else."

Laura was the only person who still called him Robby besides his sister, and, truth be told, he liked it. He liked it very much. The way she pronounced it, Rob-bie, always sent a shiver up his spine.

That's ok, Mrs. -- er -- Laura, but you can call me Robby if you want."

Laura smiled at his eager earnestness as she stepped aside so he could walk through the door. His scent wafted to her as he passed. She knew Robbie had a crush on her and thought it was cute. She did not tease or lead him on, but she did pay him attention and treat him like an adult. Robby really listened to her when she talked and was genuinely interested in what she had to say. They also both liked a lot of the same things, classic rock, Egyptology, and baseball, for instance. Laura let it slide that he sometimes talked to her breasts or stared at her trim butt and legs. His direct admiration was so sincere she could not help being flattered and not at all offended.

Laura seated him on the couch and went to fetch him a drink. On impulse, she poured him a glass of wine and topped off her own glass. She was startled that the wine bottle was empty. She carried the glasses back to the living room, handed Robby his, and sat on the couch next to, but not quite touching him. Robby surprised her by lightly clinking his glass to hers.

"Merry Christmas, Laura," he said in a deep steady voice. His eyes followed her every move as her lips touched her glass and she sipped.

Laura returned the toast and looked closely at her young friend. 'When had he grown up to be such a good looking young man?' she wondered. He had to be close to six feet tall now and his chest was broad and thick. Even his voice had changed; it was deeper and more masculine. 'My buddy must be breaking a lot of high school hearts, ' she thought. She mentally winced at the thought of him sweating with some vacuous gum-chomping high school hottie.

Robby broke her out of her reverie by reaching into the pocket of the jacket he had tossed on the back of the couch.

"I have something for you," he said quietly.

He handed her a small rectangular box wrapped in gold foil paper.

"Robbie, you shouldn't have," she admonished as she took the small package and wondered what was inside.

She slipped her manicured pink nail under the tape and neatly removed the gift-wrap. Then she flipped open the lid of the black velveteen jeweler's box. She looked down into the box, then quickly back up at Robby. Suddenly she felt she should snap the box closed and quickly give it back to him. The box contained a beautiful gold filigree chain with a dainty oval disk in the center. 'Laura' was engraved on the disk in a flowing script. She carefully took the chain out of the box and fingered the intricate design. She looked at him and beamed a megawatt smile from the core of her being.