The Murder of Sara Barton (Atlanta Murder Squad Book 1) by Lance McMillian (primary phonics txt) 📗

of them, I whisper, “I forgive you.” The words are few, but the healing power behind them restores a measure of myself lost over these past two years. Whether they heard my grant of absolution doesn’t matter. Forgiveness isn’t for them. It is for me. The wisdom of Dr. King rings out across the generations: “Hate is too great a burden to bear.”

Amen.

Nature’s morning rituals signal the start of the fresh day—the hummingbird nourishing itself off the moist wildflowers, a rooster crowing two times in the distance, the perspiring dew. The brightness of the growing sun slips through the cracks among the trees to reach the graveyard’s edge. Footsteps beat a tentative path in my direction.

“Chance?”

Scott calls out to me, halting his movement a respectful distance away, hesitant to invade the space around me and the graves of my family. I wait to answer, eager to savor the last vestiges of the solitude. I finally turn and give him an acknowledgment. He keeps his distance.

“Ella and I have been looking for you. We’ve been worried. Have long have you been here?”

“Long enough.”

He comes closer and stands beside me. He, too, wears the same clothes as yesterday. We contemplate life together in silence. Rushing over here from the courthouse, I didn’t take the time to get flowers for my wife and son. I’ll come back soon with a batch of white roses, Amber’s favorite. I read once that grave robbers these days steal cemetery flowers to sell for their own profit. At the time, I judged the perpetrators with Puritanical vigor, railing at the depths of human nastiness. Now I know that in the heart of every person lies the ingredients of a criminal. I have no stones left to hurl at other sinners. The rooster crows for the third time.

Scott asks, “Are you okay?”

“For the first time in years. Maybe my life.”

Standing in the shadows, the chill of the morning hugs me close. But brightness is chasing the shade away, and the warmth of the sun is mere steps. On this morning, I cling to hope. Grace to oneself and to others transforms the dead into the living. My legs resist movement at first, battling with the hesitancy I feel about returning to a dark world. Except this time will be different. From the broken rise the redeemed.

I go forward and walk into the Light.

The End

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I am beyond thankful to a number of people whose invaluable input made The Murder of Sara Barton a much better book. First, Nancy Boren—or as she has been known to me since I was 15 years old, Mrs. Boren. Nancy Boren is living proof that teachers make a difference. In the two years she taught me high school English, Mrs. Boren pushed me to read Shakespeare, Hemingway, Steinbeck, Faulkner, Hawthorne, Charlotte Bronte, George Eliot, Orwell, Harper Lee, and Arthur Conan Doyle. More than any other person in my life, her influence nourished in me a hunger to be both an avid reader and a better writer. I would not be where I am today without her. Her specific contributions to The Murder of Sara Barton include catching my numerous grammar mistakes, providing invaluable input as a non-lawyer to ensure I didn’t leave readers stuck in the legal weeds, and being frank when parts of the story simply didn’t work. Her input improved the novel significantly.

Besides being a great law professor and delightful colleague, Browning Jeffries is a born editor. I knew she was an expert on writing, but her immense feel for subtlety and story nuance proved a blessing and paid huge dividends in the improvement of the narrative. Much like she has done with her writing students for over a decade now, Browning sent me back to the drafting table with invaluable feedback that forced me to confront some of the weaker parts of the work. Her suggestions were universally spot on and made for a better, tighter story. Her fingerprints are all over The Murder of Sara Barton.

Tom Lacy’s real world experience as a trial lawyer was an immense help to my attempts to present the courtroom scenes with a reasonable degree of realism. Tom also made a key contribution to the story. His vigorous pushback on one particular plot point led me to reconsider a narrative element I had considered neatly wrapped up. The solution to the issue Tom raised turned into one of my favorite passages of the entire book. He is a great friend.

Joanna Apolinsky is a proofreading savant whose review of a late draft helped to clean up the final product. She even pulled up the menu from The Varsity to ensure that I had spelled “chili dogs” correctly. (I hadn’t.) Joanna also provided two story observations that immediately made their way into the novel. I’m proud to call her a colleague.

The unconditional love and support of my parents, Jim and Peggy McMillian, has been a constant throughout my life. I am a first-generation college kid who owes his success to the sacrifices made by my parents to send me to the University of North Carolina, the London School of Economics, and the University of Georgia School of Law. My mom loves to read, and I’m proud that she can now read a novel written by her son. Sadly, my dad passed away before he had that chance. I miss him every day.

Writing is a lonely endeavor and the biggest thanks of all goes to my wife Carla for putting up with me over the years that I worked on this project. Authors are notoriously mercurial, and she tolerated me with great grace. Carla also made great contributions to the development of the story. After reading an early draft, her feedback