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“BUT THE STRANGER THAT DWELLETH WITH YOU SHALL BE UNTO YOU AS ONE BORN AMONG YOU.” —LEVITICUS 19:34“

H ad it sat in Texas, the moderate-sized stone house with its wide porch and sturdy square columns would have been worth a mint. The large picture windows on the front looked friendly, Sydney decided. She walked up the steps to where a large terracotta pot stuffed with red geraniums rested comfortably beside the front door. At the far end of the porch was a wooden swing held by chains that attached to the ceiling. Its bright, colorful cushion was inviting, like you could snuggle down in it and swing all your problems away. In another time Sydney might’ve done just that. Instead, she pulled her eyes away from the swing and faced the door. The butterflies in her stomach turned to swarming bees when she rang the doorbell. No one answered. She knocked lightly at first and then louder.

The door opened and she stood facing a mature woman whose height matched her own. The woman seemed just as startled to see Sydney.

“May I help you?” the woman asked.

Mrs. McClain?”

“Yes.” Sydney smiled thinly and repeated the words she’d rehearsed a thousand times. “Hi, my name is Sydney, and I’m the safety consultant for The Chamberland Sawmill. I apologize for barging in on you like this. I tried to find your phone number but couldn’t.”

The woman nodded. “It’s unlisted.”

“The reason for my visit today is that your son was a foreman at the sawmill. I’m doing a ten-year history to establish an accident trend. If we can learn from the past, maybe we can prevent the same accidents from reoccurring.” Sydney’s voice trailed off. She knew how lame her words sounded.

“Please, come in and have a seat,” the woman said.

Sydney looked around at the living room. The wide plank wooden floors had been left natural except for a glossy finish coat. The walls were a shade of taupe and looked earthy against the khaki sofa and loveseat. A hemp rug the color of hay covered the span between the living room furniture, and a mahogany antique table rested in the center of it. The table was bare except for a glass vase of cut hydrangeas. White wooden blinds covered the windows, and a green fern rested on a plant stand. A large palm tree that reached the ceiling stood in one corner. The combination of the subtle colors and green plants had a soothing effect on Sydney’s nerves.

She studied Mrs. McClain while trying to determine the best approach she should take. Mrs. McClain was approaching seventy. Her lined face was make-up free. Sydney hadn’t noticed this at first glance. The woman’s green eyes were so vivid that they didn’t need any artificial enhancement. She wore her silver hair in a stylish blunt cut that rounded and bounced on her angular shoulders. Her pleated linen pants were rolled up at the ankles, accentuating white tennis shoes with no socks. Her pale blue T-shirt revealed tanned arms that were dotted with age spots. She was a little on the frail side but definitely didn’t look her age. Her wide smile, revealing lots of teeth, was her best feature.

She was exactly as Sydney had imagined her.

Mrs. McClain cleared her throat, and the spell was broken. Sydney realized with a jolt that while she’d been studying Mrs. McClain, the woman was studying her. She reached up to smooth down her hair.

“I appreciate your letting me barge in on you like this,” Sydney said. She waited for Mrs. McClain to respond. When she didn’t, Sydney continued. “I understand that your son was the foreman at Chamberland Sawmill at one time.”

Mrs. McClain’s eyes looked through her. “Yes, a long time ago.”

“Did he ever talk about his work?”

“No.” Mrs. McClain looked directly at Sydney. “Those last few months before Avery’s death were particularly difficult for him. His wife died with cancer, leaving him with a young daughter to take care of. Avery was distraught over his wife’s death. I think he just went through the motion of living. A part of him died with Susan.”

Sydney’s hands began to shake, and she clenched her pants in an attempt to steady them. “How did your son die?”

“He was killed in a boating accident.”

Sydney’s skin felt hot but her insides were cold—cold and empty as death. She forced the next words out. “What happened to his daughter?”

Tears formed in the older woman’s eyes. She shook her head slowly back and forth. “I was afraid that I’d never see her again.”

Sydney fought back the burning in her own eyes. “Losing those you love is very painful.”

The woman nodded.

“I lost my aunt a few months ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” came the soft reply.

All of the hurt and pain swelled inside of Sydney until the emotion was so great that she felt like her heart would burst. She attempted to speak, but her tongue lay like lead in her mouth.

The shrill ringing of the phone sliced like a knife through the tense silence. Mrs. McClain looked toward it, as if deciding whether or not to answer it. “I’ll be right back,” Sydney heard her say.

A tear escaped from the corner of Sydney’s eye and she used her sleeve to wipe it away. What was she doing here? This was a mistake. She stood and clutched her purse under her arm. She stumbled to the door.

“Cindy!”

Sydney’s hand dropped from the doorknob.

“Don’t leave. I have something for you.”

Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks when her grandmother returned, carrying a box. She handed it to Sydney.

“These things were your father’s. He would want you to have them. I knew you would come back. Welcome home, Cindy.”

Sydney paused and looked at the box before opening it. It was a tangible door to a past she’d never been able to close. How she’d longed to touch something familiar, something that had belonged to her dad. But now that it was in front of her, she was hesitant. It was like looking at Pandora’s box. She took a deep breath and tore off the tape with trembling hands. She reached for the item on top, a picture of her and her parents on the beach, taken when they were on vacation in Florida. She rubbed her hand over her parents’ faces. They looked so strong and full of life. She swallowed the sob building in her chest and placed the picture on the floor. The box contained a hodgepodge of items: bank statements, her dad’s watch, family photos, all bringing back bittersweet memories. It was near the bottom of the box that she saw the worn leather book. She opened it. Could it be? Yes, it was her father’s journal. She hadn’t realized he’d kept one. She looked at the familiar handwriting and could no longer contain her emotions. She began to sob.

She let her emotions have full sway until there were no tears left. Her body felt heavy and cold. She reached for the chenille throw, dragging it across the foot of her bed and down to the floor where she was sitting. She pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and hugged herself as tightly as she could. Her puffy eyes felt sore and big. She pushed back a strand of hair that had mixed with tears, getting matted to her face.

She replayed the conversation with Mrs. McClain over and over again in her mind. She tried to pinpoint the moment that her grandmother had recognized her. In her mind she saw again her grandmother’s startled expression when she opened the door and guessed it had been then, at the very beginning. Sydney knew that she bore an uncanny resemblance to her aunt Judith. It had been ten years since the accident that had taken her father’s life. She’d grown accustomed to her appearance. At first she could only see Judith when she looked in the mirror. But over time, she was starting to catch glimpses of herself now and then. Or maybe she just wanted to see Cindy so badly that she was only imagining it.

Aunt Judith never talked about Sydney’s grandmother. Sydney had been brave enough to ask about her only once. Rather than answering, Judith shot one of her death glares that could stop an entire army in its path.

Sydney never asked again.

The dull pain in her left thigh was intensifying. She massaged her leg, even though she knew the pain was being generated by her mind. Doctor Anderson called it a phantom pain. “You had third-degree burns on your lower back and upper right arm,” he told her. “We used your left thigh as a donor site for skin grafts. Your left thigh will be tender for a long time.”

A dry chuckle escaped her throat. What would the good doctor think if he knew she was still feeling pain in her leg after all these years? She’d be a candidate for the funny farm for sure.

Her grandmother had known Judith. That was obvious. She’d taken one look at Sydney’s face and recognized her, even after all these years.

She opened her father’s journal. Her visit to the house where she’d grown up and then to her grandmother’s brought everything full circle. Fresh tears welled when she saw again her father’s bold, steady handwriting. She thumbed through the first few pages until a particular date caught her attention. Her eyes widened. The entry was recorded only a month before his death.

Went to Mother’s today and sat out in the swing underneath the grape vines. I remember sitting there as a boy. There were so many dreams for the future. I feel so hollow inside. I’m trying to make sense of my life, and then I look at Cindy. She’s withdrawing more and more into herself, and she’s so pale. She’s been cutting paper-dolls out of magazines again. Doc. Bradford says it’s a form of coping that’s normal for her age, but I’m not so sure. I need to spend more time with her. I love her so much. But there’s this chasm between us. It keeps growing, and I don’t know how to reach her. I’m not sure if I can. I just can’t get rid of this fear that I’ll end up losing Cindy too.

A tear fell on the page and mixed with the ink. Sydney blotted the page with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and tried to continue reading, but the words blurred. She’d forgotten all about the paper dolls. She used to search through magazines and cut out pictures of families. Pictures of a healthy mom and a happy smiling dad. How she’d wished that she could jump into one of those pictures and go to a place where everything was right again.

Seeing her grandmother had made her feel close to Avery. She’d hoped the visit would bring her comfort, but it had done just the opposite. All of the old hurt rushed back like a giant tidal wave, and she felt like the helpless sixteen-year-old of her youth. She closed her eyes, letting the tunnel of black thoughts suck her back until her memories took over. The last ten years peeled back like the tide recessing into the ocean, raking the shoreline bare. And in her mind, she was back … back to the accident that had stolen her father’s life and left her scarred, back to when she was Cindy, back to where it all began.

Cindy would have given anything if she could have ripped the bandages off of her back and arms so she could scratch her tight, itchy flesh. It took every ounce of control she could muster to keep from screaming. The scrubs were the worst. She did scream during those, but the nurses seemed to understand. The doctor had explained that the scrubs, as painful as they were, were a necessary part of the healing process.

A plastic surgeon, the best in his field, had been called in to fix her face. She’d heard him telling her aunt Judith that most of the bones in her face had been shattered. She could have told him that. “It will require a full reconstruction,” Cindy heard him say. She tried to convince herself that her physical pain was of little consequence. She was going to die anyway. She’d willed herself to die. What was the use of living? First her mother, and now her father.

“Cindy.”

Cindy didn’t turn her head toward the voice. She recognized it instantly. It was her aunt Judith. Judith visited her every afternoon. The bandages still covered her face but had been removed from her eyes. “It’s a miracle,” Dr. Anderson told Judith. “Her eyes are okay. They weren’t damaged in the accident.”

Some miracle, Cindy thought. Why couldn’t her father have lived? Now that would’ve been a good miracle.

“Cindy,” Judith said, her voice laced with frustration. “I’m not leaving, so you might as well turn around and look at me.”

Cindy continued to stare out the window.

Judith cleared her throat. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you must be feeling. As you know, your father and I didn’t always see eye to eye. I know I’m not the easiest person in the world to get along with. I don’t have Susan’s gift for openly expressing my feelings. I’m only going to say this once. I will always be here for you. I wanted Avery to send you to me right after Susan died.”

Judith paused, her voice heavy with regret. “The Lord has sent you to me. I don’t care how much it takes. I’ll spend every dime I have if I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you well.” Her voice caught. “Just please don’t shut me out.”

The conviction of Judith’s words penetrated Cindy’s outer shell like a tiny ray of light and went straight to her heart. Tears trickled from under Cindy’s bandages. Judith placed her hand on the bed beside Cindy’s. Finally, Cindy moved her hand a fraction and clasped her aunt’s hand. They sat there, holding each other. It was the only thing in the world that either of them had to hold onto.

Cindy gripped the sheets of her hospital bed while she listened to Dr. Anderson’s instructions.

“As you know, Dr. Stanton did the reconstructive surgery on your face. He’s here with me to check your progress.”

Cindy nodded. Her face was completely covered in bandages. Today, the doctors were removing them. Her face felt like it was swollen to the size of a watermelon. She could only imagine how she must look. In a few more minutes, all the guessing would be over. She would know.

“Your surgery was successful,” Dr. Stanton said. “Your face will remain swollen and tender for another week or so. That’s normal. But today you will be able to get a general idea of how you now look.”“Are you ready?” Dr. Anderson asked.

Panic fluttered in Cindy’s stomach, and she searched the eyes staring back at her from around the room until she found Judith’s. She made eye contact with her aunt. Judith’s expression suggested that everything would be okay. It was the reassurance Cindy needed. “I’m ready.”

One nurse handed Cindy a mirror while another started carefully removing her bandages.

“Now remember,” Dr. Stanton warned, “your face is swollen and bruised. This will subside, and you will look normal.”

The room became deathly silent when the last bandage was removed. Cindy raised the mirror, and one of the nurses gasped. Cindy’s hand began to shake. She touched her cheek and the bridge of her nose.

Judith rushed to her side and clasped her other hand.

“What have they done to me?” Cindy whispered.

“The swelling will go away,” Judith said.

“This is not me! I want my face! This is not my face!”

Judith touched Cindy’s arm, but Cindy pushed it away. A muffled sob escaped her throat and then rage boiled up in her chest. She threw the mirror, sending it flying across the room where it shattered.

Cindy’s reaction sent the nurses scurrying. One went to clean up the glass and the other to retrieve a sedative.

“Cindy, you’re being irrational. You need to calm down,” Judith said.

“The bones in your face were shattered,” Dr. Anderson said. “Dr. Stanton had to reconstruct them.”

“But I look like Judith! I used to look like my mother! I want my face back!”

Cindy started crying hysterically. The nurse returned with a needle. Cindy thrashed like a caged cougar.

The scene was too horrific for Judith to watch. She left the room.

She leaned against the wall outside Cindy’s room for support. Judith couldn’t get the image out of her mind. Her niece, so tiny and vulnerable, lying there with the bandages on her face and her blonde hair spreading like silk over the pillow. Then lashing out in pain and anger at her altered appearance.

Yes, she admitted to herself, she’d been jealous of the family that Susan had, the family that she could never have. But, she didn’t want it like this. Not like this.

She thought back to the day when Avery had accused her of trying to steal Cindy away from him. He called her an ice queen. How she wished she could freeze her heart now and shield it from the pain she was feeling. Then she’d gotten Avery’s letter. If only she’d gone that very day and gotten Cindy.

“The nurses gave Cindy a sedative.”

Judith looked up at Dr. Anderson. He had followed her into the hallway. He shook his head. “This is what I was afraid might happen. It was against my better judgment to make her look so much like you.”

Judith’s lip tightened. “She’ll be all right.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not so sure.”

Doubt crept up her spine. Maybe the doctor was right. She felt tired—tired and defeated. No, she wouldn’t give in to such thoughts. She straightened her shoulders. Cindy would be okay. She was strong—strong and resilient like herself.

“I could’ve made Cindy look very similar to the way she did before. I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t agree to that. It makes no sense whatsoever.”

“That’s none of your concern, doctor.”

Dr. Anderson closed Cindy’s chart. “Ms. Lassiter, you’ve made this whole situation very difficult. I tried to hold a conference with you on several occasions, but you were unavailable, as you will recall.”

Judith shifted her feet. The doctor was right. He’d tried to meet with her, but she’d always given some excuse as to why she couldn’t be there. The truth was that she hadn’t wanted to meet with him. That would have made everything seem too real. She hadn’t been able to deal with the news he might tell her. And she didn’t want to answer his intrusive questions as to why she wanted Cindy to resemble herself. She and Susan had looked so much alike that she assumed Cindy would be pleased. Maybe it had been a fairytale idea to think that she could make Cindy into something she could understand. That if they looked more alike then they would somehow be more alike. At any rate, she couldn’t let them make her look like her old self. No matter what the doctor said. No, that wasn’t an option. Too many risks. On the other hand, she should have thought it through. She should have realized?—

“I take it you’re available now?”

Judith nodded.

“Let’s go down to my office, and I’ll update you on Cindy’s condition.”

She followed Dr. Anderson to his office. “Cindy is a very lucky girl,” he said. “Her lower back sustained the deepest burns. The skin in that area was irreparable.”

Nausea swept over Judith. His words sounded so impersonal, like he was talking about a slab of meat, not her beloved niece.

“Are you okay?”

Judith raised her chin. “I’m fine, please continue.”

“We’ve been doing skin grafts on her back. We are taking healthy skin from her left thigh and grafting it on her back. Her right arm sustained a severe burn, but thankfully her scarring there is hypertrophic.”

Judith raised an eyebrow. “In layman’s terms, doctor?”

“Hypertrophic scars are thick, red, and raised. But they don’t develop beyond the injury site. A surgical procedure called dermabrasion was done on her arm. Dermabrasion is used to smooth scar tissue by shaving or scraping off the top layers of the skin. It soothes the surface of the scar. Over time, repigmentation will return. Then the skin should closely match the surrounding skin.

“Cindy will need to wear a pressure garment on her arm for the next twelve to eighteen months. It will help minimize the hypertrophic scars that are already there and will help prevent others from forming.”

The doctor studied Judith’s face and then continued. “As I was saying, Cindy is very lucky. The burns on her arm don’t extend to her elbow. From all outward appearances, she will look completely normal.”

Judith sighed. “Good.”

“I said she will look normal. I didn’t say she would be normal. Cindy has been through a traumatic experience. She will need counseling. She manifests evidence of some psychological trauma.”

Judith bristled. “My niece is strong; she’ll get through this.”

I’m not so sure.”

Judith’s eyes met his. “It’s not your concern. You did your part, doctor. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Sydney awoke the next morning to the incessant ringing of her alarm clock. She hit the snooze button and pulled her pillow over her face. All night long she’d dreamed of hospitals and Judith. She leaned over to her nightstand and clutched her father’s journal, just to make sure it was real. She sat up in bed and held it to her chest.

Her alarm went off again. This time she had to get up. She threw off her covers and walked over to her jewelry box, where she retrieved a small key attached to a gold chain. Then she went into her living room and over to a secretary desk that sat in a far corner. She used the key to unlock the middle drawer and placed the journal in the far back section, beside the two newspaper articles.

She pulled out the articles and read them again. She must’ve gone over them a hundred times. One article told about the boat explosion that had injured her and taken her father’s life. The other was about a Judge Crawford of Glendale.

The headline read, “Local judge killed in a car bomb.” She skimmed the article until she got to the meat of it. “Judge Crawford was killed instantly when his car exploded. Investigators are still trying to determine the motive for the crime. Several suspects are being questioned. He is survived by his wife, Harriet, and their two children.”

The judge was killed the same day as Avery. Judith had kept these articles together. Why? Did Avery and Judge Crawford know each other? Did the same person murder both of them? There were so many unanswered questions.

She would go over her father’s journal with a fine tooth comb, looking for clues about his death. Sean O’Conner had unknowingly aided her quest by giving his permission to search through the old files.

She looked in the mirror that morning and saw not only Sydney Lassiter but Cindy McClain as well. She studied her reflection and vowed to the girl that she once was that she would use every resource at her disposal, including Judith’s money if necessary, to find her father’s killer and bring him to justice.