Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  “Family,” Tommy cut her off. “Right, I get it.” He felt like tearing his hair out, but he stepped out of line.

  As he was trying to decide what to do, wondering if he could maybe get some kind of info by lingering in the waiting room long enough, he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. He nearly jumped back and swatted it away, but when he turned he saw a familiar face looking up at him. It was Bobby’s mother.

  “Tommy?”

  She said his name softly, unsure. They only knew each other on the periphery. He’d seen her around town, knew who she was, but if it came down to it, he didn’t know if he could point her out in a lineup of other tiny fiftysomething-year-old women with short black hair going gray at the temples, clutching handbags. He wagered she’d have the same problem picking him out of a crowd of other young guys with dark hair that was too long and jeans that had too many holes in them.

  “Mrs. McAlister,” he answered, stepping away from the line at the desk when she pulled him gently toward her. “Is he here?”

  She looked like she was holding back a sob when she nodded. “One of the officers came by the house and brought me here. They said it’s not bad, but I’m still waiting to hear from the doctor.”

  Not bad. That could mean anything from needing a couple of stitches to he might not walk again, but he’d live. Tommy couldn’t bring himself to ask her what she meant. She looked like she was ready to crack open and fly apart. “Mind if I wait with you?”

  She gave him a sad, broken smile full of hurt and worry. “I’d like that.” She laced her thin arm through Tommy’s and walked him over toward a hallway that didn’t have many people lingering in it. “I’ve been telling Bobby for months he should bring you and the kids over to the house sometime.” She paused to look in her purse and pulled out a tissue. “He said he didn’t think you were ready for that.”

  Her tone was free of accusation, but Tommy felt guilty suddenly. She knew about him, knew about the kids and the crazy, fucked-up mess he brought her son into, but he barely recognized her.

  He tried to smile at her, and then he laughed at himself. “I guess I’m ready now.” She looked like she was about to say more, but he asked, “How, uh… how much has Bobby told you?”

  She arched her brow at him and looked so much like her son it hurt Tommy to hold his eyes on her. “He told me he’s seeing you,” she said carefully. Tommy thought she might be done, but she went on. “He told me about the kids, about how much you work, how hard you try to keep them together. He’s proud of you.” She added the last in a quiet breath before saying more firmly, “He’s in love with you.”

  Of all the things he thought she might say, that wasn’t it. Tommy felt the blood rush in his head, and he waited for the floor to jump up at his face as he passed out, but it didn’t happen. He stood there for a long moment, feeling unsteady on his feet and unable to look her in the eye. Christ, those words. He’d thought it himself a few times—loving Bobby—more and more recently, but fuck if he’d ever said it out loud. Bobby’s mother had just managed to point a finger at his worst fear and call it out from the corner he kept it hidden in. “He told you that?”

  She laughed then. Not a quiet, concerned sound, but a genuine, honest-to-God laugh. Like she’d let herself forget her son was somewhere behind swinging doors, possibly in surgery, possibly dying.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “And I’m guessing by the look on your face that he hasn’t told you yet either.”

  Tommy bit his lips between his teeth and shook his head. “No, we…. There’s not a lot of time in my life for that.”

  Rather than comment on that, she asked, “Do you need to sit down? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  She was closer to the mark than she probably knew, but Tommy shook his head again. “I’m okay. Just been a stressful night, ya know?”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” She sighed and leaned back against the wall. They were both silent for a moment, the crowd milling around them. Tommy watched her dab at her nose with the tissue she’d pulled from her purse earlier. “I had Colleen in my first grade class. Did you know that?”

  He’d forgotten she was a teacher before she retired early after her husband died. “I had no idea.”

  Tommy let himself smile, remembering his sister at that age. She was six, and he was eleven. Their mother was still alive, their father was still holding his head above water, and they were almost a normal family back then.

  She nodded her head and went on. “And Mike a couple of years after that. Everyone said I dodged a bullet by not getting saddled with you.”

  She was teasing him, and Jesus, if he didn’t see where Bobby got that smirk from. She seemed to realize what she’d said and whispered something under her breath. A curse or a prayer, Tommy couldn’t tell.

  “Bullets,” she murmured bitterly.

  “They were right,” he said, trying to distract her.

  They were almost a normal family back then, but Tommy had been well on his way to juvenile delinquent.

  He was starting to feel antsy, fidgeting as he wished he could have a cigarette. No one told him that quitting a few weeks earlier would make him feel like punching a hole through a wall on days like this. “Think we should ask if there’s any news, Mrs. McAlister?”

  “Judy, please,” she said softly before answering him. “But, no.” She tilted her head toward a small huddle of people in the waiting area. A doctor was standing in front of a curvy woman with long red hair. She was sobbing and looked like she might scream. “There are a lot of people getting much worse news than we’re going to get tonight. I hope, anyway.”

  The look on Judy’s face when she said that ran a wide range of emotions. Guilt was front and center. “I feel awful for hoping something like that.”

  “No reason to feel bad for that.” Tommy’s voice was full of conviction. “We didn’t do this to any of them, and Bobby got hurt trying to stop it.”

  Judy let out a resigned sigh. “True,” she agreed. “As a mother, this is the worst kind of day.” She glanced at Tommy before adding, “Though I suppose it is for you too.”

  Tommy had never let himself dwell on it for too long. On the surface, he knew Bobby’s career was more than driving around in his patrol car and picking up drunks off the street, checking on bums in doorways, or scaring the shit out of twelve-year-old shoplifters. Tommy spent most nights trying to ignore how any random call Bobby answered could end in bloodshed. “I hate his job.”

  His words were simple and to the point, but they were so true on so many levels, meant more than even he wanted to admit.

  “So do I,” Judy said, dropping her head back against the wall. “He wanted to make a difference in the world, wanted to save lives, help people. I told him he could do that in a lot of ways. He could be a teacher, a lawyer, a doctor, even a priest.” She laughed at herself. “But from the time he was a boy, all he wanted….”

  Tears started to slip out from the corners of her eyes, and she whispered a small curse as she dabbed them away.

  Tommy figured, even as meddlesome and as much of a pain in the ass they were to his family, they needed cops more than they needed priests. He just hated that Bobby was one of them. Before Tommy could say anything, a young doctor in dark green scrubs stalked toward them. He looked exhausted.

  “Mrs. McAlister?” he asked, looking directly at Judy.

  “Yes.” She stood straighter. “Robert McAlister’s mother.”

  He nodded his head and looked down at his chart before meeting her eye again. “He’s out of surgery, and he’s doing fine. We removed the bullet from his upper arm. He lost a lot of blood, but it didn’t do any major damage to the muscle, and it didn’t hit bone. We need to watch for signs of infection over the next few days, but we expect him to make a full recovery.” He paused there as if to let the good news sink in. “He’ll be sore for a few weeks. We had the plastic surgeon close the wound, but there still may be a scar.” The doctor flipped the metal
folder shut and added, “He was very lucky.”

  Tommy thought it was about damn time something went their way.

  Judy let out a choked cry she had obviously been holding in and crossed herself as she whispered, “Oh thank you, God.” She looked at the doctor with a hopeful expression. “Thank you, doctor. Can we see him?”

  “Just family, but I can take you back now.”

  Tommy wanted to scream. He wanted to grab the doctor who had just given him the best goddamned news of his life and break his neck.

  Judy saved the doctor from dismemberment when she said, “Come on, Tommy,” and pulled him by the hand.

  The doctor shot her a questioning glance, but the look on her face was stern and unyielding. No one protested as they were escorted to the elevators.

  BOBBY LOOKED pale and thin against the white sheets on his hospital bed. An IV bag hung on a pole by Bobby’s head, the tubing and shunt taped down on his right hand. His left upper arm had a wide bandage wrapped around it with a dark brown stain that made Tommy’s stomach churn. The heart monitor beeped evenly in the background, measuring his breaths, his pulse, and his oxygen levels as he slept. The TV was on, suspended over Bobby’s bed with the sound off.

  Tommy wondered if they should maybe leave and come back later. He didn’t want to wake Bobby, and in some ways, now that he knew Bobby was going to be all right, he didn’t want to face him.

  Judy had no such qualms. She marched into the room like she was about to scold him. Tommy smiled and closed the door, watching as Judy ran her hand through Bobby’s hair, waking him up.

  “Hey, Ma.” Bobby coughed on the words as he tried to sit up.

  “You scared me half to death,” she told him, anger and worry warring for dominance in her expressions. When she spoke again, she sounded disgusted. “Shot in the line of duty.” She glared at him, but her brow was creased, and her eyes were shining with more tears.

  Bobby winced as he tried to sit higher in the bed. “I’m fine, but thanks for asking.”

  He was trying to tease and, Tommy could tell, lighten the mood, but Judy wasn’t ready for that. She looked closely at her son, hovering over him. Tommy wondered if his own mother had ever looked at him like that. If she had, he never noticed. The thought sent a pang through him, a quiet ache that rippled inside like one more drop into the bucket of painful memories he carried around with him.

  Judy searched Bobby’s face as if she were looking for answers to too many questions or trying to see if more damage hid under the surface. The kind of damage surgery and doctors and medicine couldn’t fix.

  Bobby seemed to sense what she was doing. He said softly, “I’m okay, Mom.” She didn’t look like she believed him, and he went on. “It was a hard night. It scared the hell out of me. My partner is in ICU right now, and we don’t know how that’s gonna go. We almost lost Parker, and I had to shoot two teenagers in the line of duty.” Bobby bit his lip then, taking a deep breath. “But I did my job, and I have to be okay with that.”

  Tears were spilling down her face, but she nodded her head and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Tommy felt like an intruder watching the two of them together, hearing Bobby tell her things he probably wasn’t supposed to tell anyone yet.

  Judy said softly, “Okay, then.” She stood up straight and wiped her eyes when she pulled back, a determined look on her face. “I’m going to find Robin and see if I can get any more news about Andrew.”

  Tommy knew that Drew was Bobby’s partner. He was an older man with kids and a wife, and he was a good guy. He was Bobby’s friend, and he watched Bobby’s back. Tommy was sure the guilt Bobby must have been feeling was unbearable.

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  She glanced at Tommy then. Bobby followed her gaze. He didn’t look as surprised as Tommy thought he would, but he did look grateful to see him standing there. “I found this one in the waiting room. I was afraid he might throttle someone if he didn’t get to see you.”

  Bobby laughed and tried to reach his hand out to Tommy. It looked like he remembered too late it was his injured arm, and he pulled it back quickly.

  Judy patted Tommy’s shoulder as she walked past him before leaving them alone.

  “She’s pretty perceptive,” Tommy said as he walked around the bed to Bobby’s other side. He pulled up a chair and drew it close.

  Bobby laughed at that. “Yeah, she is. How close to the truth was she? Were you looking for someone to take hostage so you could get some answers?”

  Tommy carefully took Bobby’s hand in his own, mindful of the IV, and did something so tender it embarrassed him. He kissed each knuckle and then pressed Bobby’s fingers against his cheek. “Pretty much.”

  Bobby turned his hand against Tommy’s face, as if trying to soothe Tommy. The guy with the bullet hole was trying to make Tommy feel better. It was ridiculous. Tommy lifted his eyes to meet Bobby’s. “We saw it all on the news. Scared the hell outta me and the kids.”

  “I know,” Bobby whispered. “I called the house as soon as they got me settled in here. Colleen told me where you were. I talked to everyone and told them to go to bed because they couldn’t use my funeral as an excuse to skip school tomorrow.”

  When Tommy glared at him, Bobby asked in mock innocence, “Too soon?”

  “It’ll never not be too soon for a joke like that, asshole.”

  Bobby laughed again, and it sounded dry and hoarse. “I guess I really am gonna be okay if you’re already calling me names.”

  Tommy stood up and reached over him. He grabbed the little pitcher full of ice water and poured some into a cup. “Drink,” he said. “You sound like shit.”

  Bobby didn’t argue. He took a long sip from the flexible straw and then sighed as he let his head fall back against the pillows. “They had to tube me for the surgery. My throat feels like I swallowed glass.”

  “That’s what ya get when you let yourself get shot.”

  Tommy sat down again and grabbed the same hand he’d been holding. This time he laced their fingers together. “Aren’t they giving you anything for the pain?”

  “It’s wearing off now, and I haven’t hit the little button they gave me on my drip.”

  Tommy rolled his eyes, thinking he deserved the pain if he was too stupid to keep the meds coming in.

  Bobby explained, “It’s Demerol, knocks me out, and I wanted to be awake when you got in here.”

  Those words more than anything else that night made Tommy’s heart skip a beat. Bobby getting shot had turned his world upside down. Meeting Bobby’s mother put things into a perspective for Tommy that he hadn’t wanted to see. Finding out the first thing Bobby did when he was out of surgery was call the house to tell him he was okay, that he talked to all of the kids to make sure they knew it, had meant more to Tommy than he’d like to admit. But that? Sitting there, uncomfortable, in pain, drifting in and out of restless sleep and waiting to see Tommy after being shot? That was enough to knock him on his ass permanently.

  Tommy let go of Bobby’s hand and reached over him. He found the button hooked up to the IV and hit it once. Then he leaned in close and looked deep into Bobby’s eyes. His voice broke on a tremor as he spoke, and he didn’t care how weak or how vulnerable, how stupid it made him sound. He took Bobby’s face in his hands and said, “I love you, you stupid son of bitch.”

  He didn’t give Bobby a chance to respond. Instead, he took Bobby’s mouth in a hard, fierce kiss that felt like it would never end.

  When he pulled back, Bobby’s eyes were glassy and he didn’t look like he could speak. Tommy sat down again, and Bobby trailed a fingertip against Tommy’s cheek. It came away wet. Tommy hadn’t even realized there were tears on his face, hadn’t let himself acknowledge it.

  “Shit,” Bobby said, sounding stoned and tired. “I think I’m hallucinating.”

  His eyes fell shut, and Tommy laughed.

  BY THE time Tommy got home, the sun was already up. He found Colleen in the kitchen putting on a pot of coffee.
She looked like a little kid playing house as she shuffled around in a ratty robe and a pair of torn-up slippers.

  “How’s Bobby?” she asked as she started making sandwiches and stuffing them in paper sacks. The kids would probably get free lunches at school, since Cheryl had finally turned in the paperwork for food stamps, but they were always careful the first day of the year, not wanting the kids to go hungry if there was a mix-up.

  “Sound asleep when I left him.” Tommy grabbed two coffee mugs down from the cupboard and waited impatiently for the pot to brew.

  “Any news on Sanders?”

  Bobby’s partner was important to him, so by extension, he was important to the rest of the family. Tommy nodded to her as he watched the coffee drip into the pot. “He’s outta the woods, but they wanna keep him a few more days.”

  “I bet Bobby is relieved.” Colleen looked at Tommy, and her expression said she was pretty relieved too. “You should probably get some rest before we gotta leave for school.”

  He knew Colleen was right, but he didn’t think he could sleep much at that point. He kept playing every detail from the last eleven hours back in his head. What a rollercoaster. “I got a little nap in the chair there. Nurse kicked me out when she came in to check on Bobby.”

  Colleen moved quickly, just as she always did. She got the lunches squared away and then started to pull things out for breakfast. Nothing fancy—toast and eggs—but she worked with a quiet resolve. She worked like she knew this was all her life was ever going to be.

  “Lemme do that,” Tommy told her. The idea of her slaving away for the rest of her life made him sick. “Drink some coffee and put your feet up for a few minutes. Jesus!”

  She looked like she might argue with him, but she didn’t. Instead she poured a cup for herself and one for Tommy. She set his next to the stove and took her own to the kitchen table. “Wyatt called last night,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah? Did you talk to him this time?”