by Frank Zafiro
Chisolm glanced down at his watch. He had to get to the station and prepare for a graveyard shift. Battaglia would understand.
“Take care of yourself,” Chisolm said, “wherever you are.”
2032 hours
Connor O’Sullivan sat in his car, half a block away from Battaglia’s house. The engine idled while his foot rested on the brake. He felt guilty as hell for not coming to the house right after the funeral, but he simply couldn’t. All of the grief that had been pent up inside had come ripping out of him. He didn’t want anyone to see him like that. It was bad enough that the two gravediggers had come scrambling over to check on him. Besides, he wouldn’t have been any good to Rebecca or anyone else at the house. He would have been a burden, that’s all.
Still, he was embarrassed by his actions, so he stayed away a while longer. He ignored the phone when it rang. He didn’t check the two messages that someone left for him, sure that it was Rebecca. Probably worried about him.
He didn’t want to see anyone. What he wanted to do was crawl into a bottle for a few weeks and forget that his best friend was no longer among the living.
But that was wrong, and he knew it.
Battaglia was his best friend. That meant he owed it to Batts, and to himself, to be a good friend to Rebecca and the kids. Besides, if there was anyone in the world who understood how he felt right now, it would be her.
Sully released the brake and headed down the street.
There was more to it, he knew. He had a final message to deliver to her. Battaglia’s final words, muttered and bloody: “Tell her I’m sorry.”
Even as he lay dying, his best friend was thinking about his wife and how it would affect her. That was a great man, as far as Sully was concerned.
Sully didn’t know if he had it in him to be a great man. He’d made his share of mistakes. But he knew he could be a great friend. He could take care of Battaglia’s family for him.
That much he could do.
He pulled into the driveway, stopping short when he saw something in his path. He shut off the engine. When he got out of the car, he saw that it was Maggie’s pink bicycle, complete with training wheels and a bell. A rush of joy washed through him, tempered with sadness. Sully grabbed the bike by the center of the frame and carried it up the walkway with him. When he reached the front door, he didn’t hesitate.
He put a smile on his face.
He took a deep breath and knocked.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-5b95cf-7162-c145-058d-a4bb-ad32-9f226c
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 05.08.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.42, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Frank Zafiro
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