Beginning Again
an excerpt

It had been a completely calm and clear Wednesday night. For the rest of her life, Morgan would curse the weather for not at least giving her a warning, clichéd as it might have been, that her life and the life of her three boys was going to be drastically altered. No, their lives didn’t even spin in a completely new direction; they were dropped-kicked in the stomach, run over by a bus, then drenched in gasoline and set on fire. One would think that the weather would at least have the decency to provide one tiny storm, even just a half-hour of nothing but rain, as warning.

When the doorbell rang at nine, her youngest, seven-year-old Matthew, had already gone to bed. Since he was a fairly light sleeper and the light from the computer monitor in their room would wake him up, Alex was finishing his fifth-grade social studies paper about Abraham Lincoln on Morgan’s laptop in the kitchen. Blake and Morgan were in the living room watching the History Channel, something about how bridges are built. Isaac wasn’t home, having warned them that morning that he had a meeting after work; he worked at the New England Aquarium, and was helping a marine biologist-in-training earn his diving certification so he could work in the tropical fish tank. So when the doorbell rang a little after nine, Blake had looked over at Morgan and smirked. “Dad lost his keys again.”

She rolled her eyes as she got to her feet. “That man, I swear,” she muttered, even as she cracked a smile. “He goes through so many keys; it’s a miracle that all of Boston hasn’t just let themselves into the house by now, picking up your father’s…” Her voice trailed off when she saw that it was a pair of police officers on her stoop, not her husband. The squad car was parked on the street, the lights not flashing, and both officers (men) were staring at her. “Can I help you?”

“We’re looking for a Morgan Danielson,” the one closest to her said gently, holding up his badge as identification. The one behind him met Morgan’s eyes for the briefest of moments, and then turned to focus his attention on the yucca plant growing under the living room window. His walkie-talkie, strapped to his vest near his right shoulder, let out a sudden squawk, and he quickly covered it with his hand.

She swallowed slightly, her grip on the door tightening. “That’s me.”

The instant that the officer removed his hat, she knew that the news was nothing good, and nothing that she wanted to hear. “Your husband is Isaac Danielson?”

“Yes…”

“Mom?” Blake had followed her after he’d heard the strange voices, and Alex had abandoned his report to stand fearfully a few feet behind. She twisted her head to see them both, but then turned back to the officers on her front porch.

Now gripping his hat in both hands, the front officer dipped his head slightly. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but your husband has been shot.”

“WHAT?!” Blake and Alex had yelled the question. Morgan had simply frozen, her grip on the framework of the door increasing so much that her knuckles turned white.

“He was robbed at an ATM vestibule on Post Office Square. They have him en route to the hospital now; we can take you in the squad car, it’ll be the fastest way.”

Chaos erupted in the kitchen at once. Blake and Alex both began to shout questions at the officers as Morgan let go of the door and began to search for her purse. She barely heard the officers tell the boys that Isaac had been shot once in the chest, that a passing pedestrian had witnessed the whole thing and called for an ambulance immediately, and that they weren’t sure of his condition or outlook other than that it was serious. Morgan finally unearthed her purse from under her laptop case on a dining room chair, and flew past both boys back into the living room for her coat. She had it half on already when she returned to the door. “Blake, you’re in charge…”

“What? No! I’m coming with you!”

“Me too,” Alex said quickly, taking a step forward.

“No, you’re not.”

“Mom!

“BLAKE!” she yelled, then realized that she’d snapped and took a second to breathe. “Alex, you’re too young, they won’t let you anywhere near him. Blake, I need you to stay here and watch your brothers.” He opened his mouth to protest, and she grabbed him by the upper arms, squeezing a little harder than she’d intended. “Please? Will you do this for me?”

She could see the inner turmoil behind his eyes. At fourteen, he was quickly reaching the point where he had no trouble disobeying a direct order. But he knew how serious this was, and was having trouble working up the nerve to say to simply because she’d asked. He swallowed, and nodded slightly. “All right.”

Morgan leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead, then threw her purse over her shoulder and hurried out the door. “Alex, finish your report. Don’t wake up Matt. Try not to stay up too late; I’ll call as soon as I know something.”

**

Morgan closed her eyes and sighed as she finished her crying jag, resting her head back against the shower wall as she took a deep breath to calm down. Isaac had died by the time she’d reached the hospital with those police officers; his heart had stopped in the ambulance, and neither the EMTs nor the doctors at the emergency room had been able to get it going again. The gunman in that one instant had left Isaac’s parents childless, her boys fatherless, and had made Morgan a 39-year-old widow, all over forty-seven dollars cash and a credit card (which had been used once, for a tank of gas, before the Visa people had canceled it). And not only had she lost a husband, she now had to finish planning a funeral and bereavement dinner to take place in two days’ time, all while trying to keep her parents from getting under her skin.