River’s End

child. “No, baby, not like a movie this time.”
    “The monster hurt her and I ran away. So she won’t come back. She’s mad at me.”
    “No, no, Livvy.” Praying for wisdom, Jamie eased back, cupped Olivia’s face in her hands. “She wanted you to run away. She wanted you to be a smart girl, and run away and hide. To be safe. That was what she wanted most of all. If you hadn’t, she’d have been very sad.”
    “Then she’ll come back tomorrow.” Tomorrow was a concept she knew only as later, another time, soon.
    “Livvy.” With a nod to his wife, David slid the child onto his lap, relieved when she laid her head against his chest and sighed. “She can’t come back, but she’ll be watching you from up in heaven.”
    “I don’t want her to be in heaven.” She began to cry now, soft, sniffling sobs. “I want to go home and see Mama.”
    When Jamie reached for her, David shook his head. “Let her cry it out,” he murmured.
    Jamie pressed her lips together, nodded. Then she rose to go up to her bedroom and call her parents.

Two
    The press stalked, a pack of rabid wolves scenting heart blood. At least that was how Jamie thought of them as she barricaded her family behind closed doors. To be fair, a great many of the reporters were shocked and grieving and broadcast the story with as much delicacy as the circumstances allowed.
    Julie MacBride had been well loved—desired, admired and envied—but loved all the same.
    But Jamie wasn’t feeling particularly fair. Not when Olivia sat like a doll in the guest room or wandered downstairs as thin and pale as a ghost. Wasn’t it enough that the child had lost her mother in the most horrible of ways? Wasn’t it enough that she, herself, had lost her sister, her twin, her closest friend?
    But she had lived in the glittery world of Hollywood with its seductive shadows for eight years now. And she knew it was never enough.
    Julie MacBride had been a public figure, a symbol of beauty, talent, sex with the girl-next-door spin, a country girl turned glamorous movie princess who’d married the reigning prince and lived with him in their polished castle in Beverly Hills. Those who paid their money at the box office, who devoured glossy articles in People or absurdities in the tabloids, considered her theirs. Julie MacBride of the quick and brilliant smile and smoky voice.
    But they didn’t know her. Oh, they thought they did, with their exposes, their interviews and glossy articles. Julie had certainly been open and honest in most of them. That was her way, and she’d never taken her success for granted. It had always thrilled and delighted her. But no matter how much print and tape and film they’d run on the actress, they’d never really understood the woman herself: her sense of fun and foolishness, her love of the forest and mountains of Washington State where she’d grown up, her absolute loyalty to family, her unshakable love and devotion to her daughter.
    And her tragic and undying love for the man who’d killed her.
    That was what Jamie found hardest to accept. She’d let him in, was all she could think. In the end, she’d gone with her heart and had opened the door to the man she loved, even knowing he’d stopped being that man.
    Would she have done the same? They’d shared a great deal, more than sisters, more than friends. Part of it came from being twins, certainly, but added to that was their shared childhood in the deep woods. The hours, the days, the evenings they’d spent exploring together. Learning, loving the scents and sounds and secrets of the forest. Following tracks, sleeping under the stars. Sharing their dreams as naturally as they had once shared the womb.
    Now it was as if something in Jamie had died as well. The kindest part, she thought. The freshest and most vulnerable part. She doubted she would ever be whole again. Knew she would never be the same again.
    Strong, she could be strong. Would have to be. Olivia depended on her; David would need her. She knew he’d loved Julie, too, had thought of her as his own sister. And her parents as his own.
    She stopped pacing to glance up the stairs. They were here now, up with Olivia in her room. They would need her, too. However sturdy they were, they would need their remaining child to help them get through the next weeks. • When the doorbell rang, she jumped, then closed her eyes. She who had once considered herself fearless was shaking at shadows and whispers. She drew a