“She all but confessed, Dani. I’m not even sure why she was willing to see me, when she’d turned her husband away. Her only question for me was whether murder could be forgiven.”
Dani made a sound of disgust. “And I suppose of course you told her that your loving God could forgive anything.” She spoke in a falsetto. “Here, honey. I know you just brutally murdered your best friend, but have some forgiveness. God loves you. Everything is going to be okay.”
Sam didn’t dare look at Parker.
“Yeah, that isn’t quite what I told her. But you don’t believe in the death penalty, so I guess you must have some sense of redemption, too.”
“Dirty pool, Sam! The death penalty is a very complex legal and social issue that can’t be reduced to a bumper sticker slogan, and you know it.”
Sam raised his eyebrows at her.
“And now you’re going to say God’s forgiveness is also very complex?”
Sam laughed. “Probably not as complex as the death penalty. I mean, part of the appeal of an all-knowing God is that he has to be better at this stuff than our legislators are. But it is more complicated than ‘do whatever you want as long as you pick up some forgiveness on the way home.’ Which is what you were implying.”
“Fine, fine. That’s fair.” Dani threw up her hands. “But she was looking for some kind of absolution, right? The whole reason why you’re the only person she would see was so you could make her feel better about the blood on her hands?”
Sam shrugged. “I’m not exactly a priest, Dani. Just a preacher.” He grimaced even as the words came out of his mouth. “Just a used-to-be preacher. To be honest, I’m not sure what she wanted. She didn’t actually ask me to forgive her. Now that I think about it, she didn’t even ask me to pray for her.”
Dani shook her head. “I just don’t get it. It’s not as if those two wouldn’t have had dozens of arguments over the years. I assume they’d never been violent with each other before. And Amanda has a kid, right? I can’t imagine any decent mom being willing to go to prison and leave her kid behind over some dumb argument with a woman she’d known all her life.”
Parker piped up. “Maybe her kid did it, and she’s keeping quiet to protect him.”
Oh, yeah, Sam thought. Definitely too much ID channel for that one. Aloud he said, “I don’t think so, sport. Amanda’s son is only four. And he was home with his dad when the crime occurred.”
But now his sister jumped on the crazy train. “What you’re really saying is, the four-year-old is the dad’s alibi. Maybe the husband did it. Maybe she won’t see her husband because she’s afraid he’ll try to talk her out of taking the fall for him.”
“Okay, now you’re both talking nonsense. What possible motive would Raul have for killing Amy? Also, if he didn’t want his wife to take the fall for him, all he’d have to do is walk into the police station and confess.”
Dani waved a fork in Sam’s direction, undeterred by his logic. “He was having an affair with the friend! Killed her to shut her up.”
“I’m pretty sure that would put the kibosh on any inclination Amanda would have to sacrifice herself for him.”
Dani’s face fell. “Oh, you’re right. Dang it. We almost solved the whole thing.”
“Yeah!” chimed in Parker, although Sam wasn’t sure how much of the convoluted plot-that-wasn’t his nephew had followed.
“Well, I think that in spite of our combined deductive genius, we’ll have to leave this one to the authorities,” said Sam.
Dani nodded, a sly look coming into her eyes. “Right, right. And certainly no need to share what you’ve learned—or haven’t learned—with your new friend Rufus. Or your old friend Melanie.”
“You mean Aunt Melanie,” Parker corrected his mother solemnly.
Sam wondered just how many months—or years—would pass before his stomach didn’t bottom out in that sick, hollow way every time he heard his wife’s name.
“Nice try, Dani,” he told her drily, secretly pleased with how his voice didn’t sound as if he were howling with agony on the inside.
“Oh, no?” she said. “That’s not what it means? Pity.”
She grinned at her son. “Now there’s a woman a mother would risk prison to kill.”
Chapter Nine
Twenty-nine. Thirty.
Sam concentrated on keeping his back straight as he pushed off the floor. Arm day or not, it didn’t matter. Push-ups were like running—they kept the brain-beast at bay. Mostly.
In spite of the good face he’d tried to put on at dinner, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to call Melanie and tell her about his visit with Amanda. He didn’t know why he was putting it off.
Didn’t he, though? Just last night he’d convinced himself that he needed to file for divorce and cut Melanie loose already. But now just the possibility of a conversation with her—even a conversation that had nothing to do with their own relationship—had him tied up in knots. More than anything, he wanted to talk to her. To hear her voice. To watch her face come to life as she listened to his words. To see the ice in those gray eyes melt into quicksilver.
But none of that was going to happen, and he knew it. Those eyes had held nothing but frost for him for too long. Looking in her face and seeing her regard him as nothing more than a distasteful stranger was almost more difficult than he could bear. And now that he’d made some peace with the idea of divorce—if, by peace, you meant allowing himself to consider it at all—he was half-terrified he’d blurt out the suggestion as soon as he saw her.
Did he want to sign off on a divorce and get it over with already, or was it still the thing that scared him the most? He didn’t know. Didn’t want to find out.
Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Forty-nine.
He wasn’t sure if those numbers were consecutive, or if his brain had realized it was supposed to have been counting all along and just threw those out in hopes he wouldn’t notice it had fallen down on the job.
Probably not a good sign when you start referring to your own mind as a separate entity, Sam, he told himself. Then he realized that he was also talking to himself. He groaned and rolled over onto the floor, pretending he was stretching his hamstrings and not curling into the fetal position.
Chapter Ten
Sam watched as Dani loaded up the back corner table in front of Parker with books and notepads, and he knew what was coming. Sure enough, as soon as she finished urgently muttering a litany of instructions into her son’s ear, she grabbed Sam by the elbow and pulled him into the kitchen. Sam figured this meant no morning nap for him. Not that he’d been holding out a lot of hope, anyway.
Sam made a show of keeping an eye on the dining room, just in case the slightest opportunity to “assist a customer” and escape this pow-wow presented itself.
Dani was not impressed with his industriousness. She punched him in the arm.
“Ow!” He rubbed his arm. “Why you gotta hit like a girl?”
“Don’t be cute,” she hissed at him. “You’re not going to distract me with your pseudo-feminism. I need to talk to you. You’ve done a great job avoiding me, but even you had to know it couldn’t last forever.”
Sam sighed. “A man can dream. And Dani, my dreams are all I have left.”
Her lips twitched in spite of herself. “I will never understand how you ended up with the male chromosomes. You are such a drama queen.”
“Because I needed it most. Go ahead. What is it that you so desperately need to talk to me about?”
“Parker. Of course. What else?”
Sam raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, what? I meant what else could I want to talk to you about that was actually about me and not you, for once? I get that one of your flock is dead and another flocker killed her and your wife is jonesing for your attention, but this is. Actually. About. Me. Or, about my kid, at least. You can concentrate on something besides yourself for a few minutes, can’t you?”
Sam threw up his hands and pasted
a put-upon look on his face. “I suppose I can. If I must. For a few minutes, anyway.” Then he straightened up. “In all seriousness, sis, you know that I am of limited utility in the kid department. I love Parker to pieces, but you’re the only one in the room with actual parenting experience.”
“I know, but at least you’re a guy. I need to figure out where all this anger is coming from. I don’t have the first idea how to help him.”
“I thought you told his teacher this was just a totally normal kid thing. That it was basically a temper tantrum that needed to be controlled but not overreacted to.”
“Of course I said that! What else am I supposed to say? I’m his mom. I can’t say, ‘oh my gosh, that’s fucking terrifying, that kid needs serious therapy.’”
“Well, is that what you think? Does Parker need to see somebody?”
Dani pushed her fair hair out of her face. Sam thought it was weird she cut it so that the longest pieces were in front. Didn’t that mean it was always going to be in her eyes? But he had a long-standing practice of never questioning a woman’s hair decisions.
“I don’t know. Doesn’t he seem awfully young for a psychiatrist?”
“Well, he’s not too young for a pediatrician when he needs one. I guess the only question should be does he need one or not. And you probably want to start with a psychologist, not a psychiatrist.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Psychiatrist is for drugs, psychologist is for talking.”
“Oh. Yeah. Then definitely.”
“So, he definitely does need a psychologist?”
“I don’t know. Do you remember being angry like this when you were his age?”
“All I really remember about being his age is how angry Mom and Dad were.”
Dani’s eyes darkened and Sam regretted his words. “Yeah, I guess that’s fair.”
“Have you talked to him about it? Asked him what he’s mad about?”
“Of course I have! As soon as I got a minute alone with him. He says he doesn’t know.”
“Maybe he doesn’t. I get the feeling kids don’t know why they do half the things they do. Maybe you should ask one of the other moms. Maybe all kids act out like this, and it’s just the teacher’s job to make the moms feel like crap.”
Dani laughed reluctantly. “As likely as that sounds, I am definitely not asking all the other moms. All I need is to give them one more reason to feel superior.”
Sam shook his head. “I will never understand the endless competition between moms. Can’t you just admit that you all look like holy terror in the mornings, that you all yell at your kids, and that you all secretly dread parent-teacher conferences? I mean, it’s no secret. It’s the same for everyone. But for some reason, no one will admit it.”
“It’s not ‘some reason,’” Dani protested. “It’s because women are an untrustworthy, unreliable, back-stabbing bunch of pie-carrying, high-heel-wearing hypocrites.”
“You were saying you think Parker has a problem with anger?”
Dani actually growled at that. “So that’s my fault?”
Sam held out his hands in surrender. “Hey, I don’t even know if he is angry. I sure as heck don’t know why. I’m just giving you a hard time, as is my God-given responsibility to do.”
“Just one more reason for me to hate God.”
“Progress!” Sam declared triumphantly. “You can’t hate someone who isn’t there.”
Dani shook her head. “Remind me again why I thought talking to you would be helpful?”
Sam sobered and spoke more seriously. “Because you need to be able to talk to somebody. Look, I don’t know if Parker’s behavior is normal or not, but maybe you should talk to a psychologist yourself. Being a single mom is no piece of cake. Maybe he could tell you if what Parker is going through is normal kid stuff, or if you need to take it more seriously. A family therapist, maybe.”
Sam knew he’d lost her when she moved over to start loading the dishwasher. “I definitely do not have time to go lie on some quack’s couch. I think I’ll just give him some time. Parker seems fine now. He was probably just feeling overwhelmed. I might trash a conference room or two myself if I had to spend all day with a bunch of seven-year-olds.”
“That does seem likely. Good thing you run a coffee shop instead of a classroom.”
“No shit, Sherlock. So you wanna talk about yourself now? Give me the dish on the wifey?”
“As tempting as that sounds, I really don’t have anything to tell. Not yet.”
Sam could have laughed out loud at Dani’s too-careful attempt to look non-judgmental as she spoke. “Oh? You going to call her?”
“I figure I should let her know how things went with Amanda yesterday. She’s probably pretty anxious. Especially if Amanda still isn’t seeing anyone else.”
Dani nodded. Apparently she’d decided there was no chance of keeping her feelings about Melanie out of her face, since now she was opting not to meet his eyes at all. “Well, you know where we’ll be. Good luck with that.”
Sam heard what she wasn’t saying: when Melanie crushes your heart into a greasy little pulp—again—we’ll be here. He appreciated the sentiment, just not the certainty that he was a walking emotional breakdown waiting to happen. He was, of course. There was no denying that. And it was that dang certainty that was so humiliating.
“Thanks. I’m gonna check on Parker, then I’ll head out for a bit.”
“Sounds good.”
Parker ducked his head a second too late as Sam re-entered the dining room. It seemed Ralph S. Mouse was not quite as engaging as attempting to eavesdrop on his mother.
Sam slid into the seat across from Parker and pulled over the stack of notebooks, flipping through the pages. “’Copy these spelling words and use them in a sentence,’” he read aloud. “Painful! I remember having to do that. So boring.”
Parker nodded enthusiastically. “No kidding,” he agreed.
“So, did you hear anything good?”
Parker made a brief stab at looking innocent, but a quick glance into his uncle’s face convinced him to abandon the effort. “Nope,” he told Sam glumly. “I couldn’t hear a word.”
“But you know we were talking about you, huh?”
Parker jerked his chin, his expression a pitiful mixture of apprehension and hope.
“Kid, your mom’s worried about you. And me, well, honestly, I don’t know whether to worry about you or not. That was quite a mess you created at school. I guess we just want to know if you need our help with anything. Is someone picking on you? Are you worried about something? Or did you just have a Wolverine moment in there?”
Parker giggled before he caught himself. When he’d regained a somber expression, he told his uncle seriously, “You shouldn’t worry about me. I’m good. I won’t do it again.”
“Well, I probably won’t worry. It’s not in my nature. But worrying is pretty much your mom’s whole stock-in-trade, and I don’t think that will change anytime soon. Just, next time, if you feel like you’re about to lose it, tell somebody. Tell me. Let us help you.”
Parker nodded, and Sam supposed that if he placed any confidence in the lies kids told adults to convince them of what they wanted to hear, he’d feel pretty successful right now. As it was, he figured they were both saying what they thought they had to say to bring this uncomfortable conversation to a close.
“Okay. Well, I have to go talk to your Aunt Melanie about something, so I’ll see you later. Try not to die of boredom doing your homework.”
“Can’t make any promises,” Parker told him solemnly, and Sam laughed.
“Later, punk.”
Chapter Eleven
Sam didn’t want to examine his reasons for meeting Melanie at the house too closely. He felt a little like the alcoholic who keeps a bottle of vodka in the freezer with that last sip of alcohol waiting for him at the bottom. Just one last bit of temptation he couldn’t bear to part with. Maybe he wanted to prove to hi
mself how strong he was—or maybe he just ached to be near to something familiar, even if it wasn’t his anymore.
He couldn’t help taking an ungenerous comfort in the tightness lining Melanie’s face when she opened the front door. She might hate him, but Melanie didn’t have a mean bone in her body. Sam knew it troubled her to play hostess to him in the house they had shared together, but she gave it her best effort. And, somehow, that discomfort warmed his heart, thawed out the little sliver of hope he kept trying to freeze out.
“Coffee?” she offered. Afternoon was her morning, he knew. She worked evenings. He thought that had to be the toughest time of day for a hospice nurse. Ailments of any sort seemed to grow worse as night drew on, and death itself to creep closer. Plus, family members—if they were around at all—often left for their own homes in the evenings. Sam had never known how Melanie found the emotional strength to face that loneliness and fear and heartache night after night. He’d made plenty of occasional visits of his own to bedsides like that, but that was nothing compared to having to be an anchor of compassion every single night, like Melanie was.
He supposed that was one reason his betrayal had cut her so deeply. Melanie had to be there for so many other people. She’d needed one person to be there for her—without exception, without caveat, without doubt. And he hadn’t given her that. He’d given her nothing but doubt.
Suddenly Sam was seized by the notion there were two Melanies in this room, two Sams. The ones sitting politely around the kitchen table, drinking coffee and discussing Amanda and Amy and the ones standing in opposite corners of the room, their faces twisted with grief and pain, hurling accusations and gathering up hurts. He wanted to get up from the table, go to that other Melanie, wrap her in his arms and let her cry till she couldn’t cry anymore, and promise her it was all going to be all right.
But he was trapped here with this Melanie who looked at him with her cool, civil eyes that bore no shadow of hurt at all.
“Thank you,” Sam said aloud, accepting the cup she handed him. She didn’t bother asking if he wanted cream or sugar. She knew better. She doctored her own mug with long-fingered, graceful hands that didn’t tremble even a little, then joined Sam at the table.
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