Sacrifices of Joy Read Online Free

did not want to.
    â€œRoman,” I called after him just before he disappeared inside. I shook my head, gave a weak smile, shrugged my shoulders. “I . . . I’m going to find her a gift first.”
    He knew I had no intention of joining them and accepted with a slow, slight nod the excuse I’d given him to give all of them. He went inside.
    I studied the busy street around me. I had to get away. Sit down. Breathe. Turn my phone back on. Find out the outcome of the tragedy back home. Laugh at myself for being paranoid about the suspect.
    I realized my fear that I was right about the man back at the airport was what had really kept me up to this point from following the breaking news. Would the authorities be contacting me? Should I be contacting them? Leon would have helped me figure out what to do.
    Too much for a Saturday afternoon.
    I gave one last look at the cupcakery before heading down the street to an electronic store. Several people stared at flat-screen televisions displayed in the window.
    It was time for me to find out if my gut had been right, though I was not sure what, if anything, I was supposed to do if it was.

Chapter 3
    â€œShe’d flown into town just to see me off to my prom.” A teenage boy wept in front of the camera. “Here’s a picture of me with my grandmother just yesterday.” He held up a photo of himself dressed up in a dapper white tuxedo and standing next to a woman who reminded me of the late, great Lena Horne: bright smile, sophistication, and all.
    Along with the sixty-one-year-old grandmother, there had been seventeen other casualties from the explosion at the airport. A man, a woman, and their eight-year-old son. The trio had been on their way to their private villa on a remote island in the Caribbean. A businessman from Tokyo. A newlywed couple returning from their honeymoon. Eight members of a college men’s lacrosse team. Two flight attendants headed to their assigned gates. A custodian who friends and family members kept referring to as “Old Joe.” Thirty-four other people were injured, ranging in age from nine to eighty-three, and they were in various conditions, from fair to critical, at area hospitals.
    I forced myself to take deep breaths, to not collapse into the grief, anger, and shock that had become my usual mix of emotions when watching disaster coverage on television.
    But another emotion, one that I had not had before when following such stories, swirled along with the others.
    Dread.
    The idea, the remote possibility that my suspicions were correct and that the man who I’d spoken with at the airport had something to do with this tragedy was enough to make me want to curl up, hide, and vomit. I had no firm reason to believe that he was, but his bizarre conversation and behavior, and the haunting memory of his last words, would not shake me:
    â€œYou’ll know my name soon enough.”
    â€œPolice have a suspect in custody but are not yet releasing any details of his identity or condition.” A news reporter spoke solemnly into the camera. “A press conference will happen soon. That is all we are being told.”
    I still had to wait to find out if my fears were correct, although I still wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do if they were.
    Leon would have known.
    It was a fleeting thought, a blurry vision of Leon in his police uniform. I wondered if he’d joined the force in Houston after he’d left Baltimore. When we first met him years ago, he worked at a community center as part of the Police Athletic League, serving as a mentor to many, a father figure to my son. Perhaps, he’d found a human services position in Houston working with other young people and had become consumed with helping them.
    It was the only reason I could think of as to why he had not contacted at least Roman.
    â€œMa’am, we’re about to close.” The voice to my left startled me. An Asian man with long