Every Time I Think of You

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  “How old are you?” she asked me.

  I held up six fingers and said, “Free!”

  She laughed and said, “You’re not three. You’re two. But you’ll be three next week.”

  We watched in silence as I kissed her and ran after the dog again. At one point I sat down in the yard, threw my arms around the dog, and let it lick my face.

  “Do you remember any of this?” my mom asked.

  “No. Is that the dog you and Dad got when you were dating? Rex?”

  “Yes. He died shortly after this was taken. Cancer. It broke my heart. Yours, too. You couldn’t understand where he’d gone. Your dad brought these movies up from the basement for me. They make me so happy. I feel like I get to experience your childhood all over again.”

  My mom had seemed to accept the fact that it would be a while—if ever—before she could expect any grandchildren from me.

  Now it was too late.

  My ex-wife and I had been waiting for things to slow down a little before we started a family. Actually, Lisa was the one who had done all the waiting. I was mostly oblivious. I should have needed earplugs to drown out the sound of her ticking clock, but somehow I’d missed it. This was especially troubling considering I am, by virtue of my profession, the type of man who notices things.

  The thing is, my job would never have slowed down. There was constant pressure to get content online. To decide which stories I’d expand upon for the next day’s print edition. The interviews to complete for those stories. My work hours were brutal, and I was essentially on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The news waits for no one. I’d thrived on the pressure, the thrill of being the first one to get the story. But the whole time I was chasing the news, I’d completely missed the fact that Lisa was waiting patiently at home to make some news of our own. My mom would have loved having a grandchild to videotape, new memories to capture on film and add to the collection.

  When the DVD ended, I ejected it and grabbed the next one from the top of the stack. My mom’s eyes were closed when I turned around.

  “I put a new disc in,” I said. When she didn’t respond, I thought she might have actually fallen asleep this time.

  But then she opened her eyes and said, “Dying is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

  How in the hell are you supposed to respond to something like that?

  I had no idea if it was right or wrong, but I reached out and took her hand. “I know, Mom,” I said, squeezing it gently. “I know.”

  CHAPTER 20

  DAISY

  I was loading the dishwasher when someone knocked on the door. The sound still filled me with anxiety, but after hesitating for a moment, I quietly approached the door and peered through the peephole. My insides fluttered a bit when I saw Brooks standing there.

  I opened the door. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he said. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “No, it’s fine.” I would have definitely pegged him as the call-ahead type, but once again he’d shown up unexpectedly. “Come on in.”

  I barely remembered talking to Brooks the first time I’d met him, down at the police station the night my grandmother was killed. Our second conversation hadn’t been very memorable either. I’d been so preoccupied with the move and planning the funeral that I hadn’t paid him much attention.

  It was only during his last visit that I’d noticed how incredibly attractive he was.

  He was tall, six two or three, and his presence filled the room. He appeared desperately serious most of the time, but his brown eyes were warm and inviting. His dark hair was short on the sides and back but slightly longer on top, which made it ideally suited for a woman to run her hands through it. Maybe it was because he was always dressed in a suit and tie, but there was something very dashing and chivalrous about Brooks that I found quite appealing. He seemed like the kind of man who would hold the door, an umbrella, a woman’s hand. When I combined this with the fact that Brooks had admitted to caring about my safety, I was pretty much a goner.

  It was not as easy to be around him now. I was more aware of my appearance, the things I said. If I’d known he was coming that day, I might have changed out of the tank top and shorts I’d worn to take Elliott to the park, and maybe I would have opted for something different than my standard ponytail. I told myself that this line of thinking was foolish. Brooks was only here because he was trying to do his job and probably couldn’t care less about the way I styled my hair or what I was wearing. Even so, it was hard not to lose myself in the fantasy where Brooks charged in on his white horse, kissed me senseless, and slayed all the dragons that might be lurking nearby.

  “Would you like something to drink?” I asked.

  “Water’s fine. Thanks.”

  Brooks was already sitting on the couch when I returned with two bottles of water.

  “Did you hear something about the case?” I asked.

  “I spoke to Jack Quick this morning,” he said. “The crime lab is still processing the forensic evidence. They’ll deliver their findings to him once they’re done.”

  “But they haven’t found anything really useful yet, have they? It seems like if they had, Jack would already know about it.”

  “Not necessarily. The crime lab has a lot of evidence to comb through. It just takes time.”

  “It’s been almost three weeks since my grandmother died. Maybe I’ve been watching too many crime shows on TV, but I thought things would move faster.”

  “Murder investigations can drag on for a long time. That doesn’t mean they’ll never catch the person who did this.”

  “But in the meantime, whoever did this is still out there.”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t say anything else but made no move to leave. I wondered why I’d never seen him around town before. I was pretty sure he was older than me, but certainly I would have remembered running into him.

  “Have you always lived in Fenton?” I asked.

  “I grew up here, actually,” he said. “I left after I finished college. I just… I couldn’t imagine staying.” He must have realized how that sounded, because the second the words left his mouth, he followed them with, “Not that it’s a bad place or anything. It just wasn’t for me.”

  “No need to apologize,” I said. “I’m not exactly a huge fan of Fenton, myself. I stayed because of my grandmother. I couldn’t see myself leaving her. Then I met Scott and we got married and had Elliott. You know the rest.” I took a drink of my water. “Did we go to school together?” Our town had only one district, but I had no recollection of knowing him from school, either.

  “I’m thirty-six. I would have already graduated by the time you entered high school.”

  “So if you don’t like Fenton, why did you come back?”

  “I actually work for the Chronicle, in San Francisco. I took a leave of absence so I could stay with my parents for a while. My mom is sick. She has ALS.”

  My heart sank. ALS was a devastating diagnosis, for both the individual and their family. “I’m so sorry to hear that. How long has it been since her diagnosis?”

  “A little over three years.”

  If Brooks had come home, it must have meant his mother was entering the end stage of the disease. “Do you have any siblings?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “So you left everything behind and moved here?”

  “Well, it’s only temporary, so it wasn’t that hard to coordinate. Getting my leave approved was the biggest hurdle.”

  “Do you have a family in San Francisco?” During his last visit I’d noticed he didn’t wear a wedding ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

  “No. It’s just me.”

  “I’m sure it means everything to your mom to have you here.”

  “It does,” he said. “I’m glad I came.” He stood. “I’ll let you know if I hear any updates. Please keep me posted if you think of anything I should know. Keep in
touch with Jack Quick, too.”

  I walked him to the door. “I will.”

  “Where’s Elliott?” he asked.

  His question made me smile. Not everyone would care enough to ask. “He’s asleep. He’s almost outgrown his naps, but he’s been playing so hard on the days he goes to the babysitter that he’s been extra tired lately. We went to the park this morning, too. He was worn out.”

  “I’m glad everything is going well. You mentioned you were worried about sending him to a sitter.”

  I couldn’t believe he remembered that. “I’m definitely feeling a little more settled now.”

  “I’ll see you later,” he said, but I got the sense I wouldn’t see Brooks again anytime soon.

  Though he’d tried to be encouraging, I knew my grandmother’s case was growing colder by the day. There was really no reason for him to stop by unless I could give him something to follow up on or the crime lab suddenly discovered a perfect, overlooked fingerprint that just happened to have a match when they ran it through their databases.

  “Good-bye, Brooks.” I closed the door behind him and locked it, feeling once again like I was on my own.

  CHAPTER 21

  DAISY

  I dropped off Elliott at Kayla’s and drove to the shooting range to meet Steve. I could have participated in a group class, but I’d paid extra for one-on-one instruction. Handling a gun made me nervous enough; I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone watching me until I knew what I was doing.

  Steve was waiting for me in front of range number four when I arrived.

  “Hi, Steve,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand. “Daisy DiStefano.”

  “Hi, Daisy. Ready to shoot?”

  “I think so.”

  “You don’t sound very sure.”

  “I’ve never shot a gun before.”

  “What do you have?” He pointed at my carrying case.

  “Beretta Nano.”

  “Nice,” he said. “That’s a good choice. Easy to handle. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

  I followed Steve through the doorway and he shut it behind us. He laid a large duffel bag on the table and began removing items: special earmuffs to protect my hearing and safety glasses to protect my eyes.

  “This is my Walther P22,” Steve said, showing it to me. “It’s a gun I like to start people out on. It’s ergonomic, small, and easy to shoot. Takes a little bitty bullet. Very little recoil. We’ll start with that and then we’ll switch to your gun. I’ll show you how to load yours, get you ready to shoot it, and familiarize you with the basic techniques. Then I’ll get you hitting the target. Don’t worry about where you hit or how you shoot right now. This is just to get you comfortable and show you what a gun can do.”

  “Okay.” That sounded easy enough.

  “The first thing we’re going to do is load the gun.” Steve picked up the box of bullets and showed one of them to me. Next he picked up a rectangle-shaped item. “This is the magazine. It holds ten bullets. You pull down on this floating lever and push them in.”

  “So it’s like a Pez dispenser,” I said.

  Steve laughed. “I’ve never had anyone say that, but yeah. I guess it is kind of like a Pez dispenser.”

  Next Steve showed me how to hold the gun with the webbing of my hand pressed up as high as I could against the handle. “Keep your index finger and thumb forward. Then wrap your other hand around. That’s good. How does it feel?”

  “Surprisingly light.”

  “Okay. When you’re ready, go ahead and squeeze the trigger.”

  My heart was pounding and my fear embarrassed me. Did all women find this so difficult the first time, or was I just a complete and total wimp? I took a deep breath and squeezed.

  Because of the earmuffs, it wasn’t as loud as I thought it would be. I didn’t feel quite as nervous when I squeezed off the next few shots. I looked at Steve and he motioned for me to go again. I emptied the magazine and used my left hand to take off my ear protection. “How did I do?”

  “You did fine,” he said. “How did it feel?”

  “It felt okay.” My confidence had already risen a bit. Now that I’d actually fired the gun, I felt like I had more control of it.

  “I want you to do it again.”

  I emptied the magazine a second time and then looked at the target. My shots were all over the place. “I’m not very good at this.”

  “You’re going to be even worse in a self-defense situation. You’ll be under stress and you won’t have time to line up anything. Keep the gun close. If you walk around with your arms straight out, they’re going to get tired pretty fast. And someone could grab your gun if you let them get too close. Remember, when you’re in danger, your first line of defense is your voice. I want you to yell “get back” as loud as you can. It will surprise your attacker and give you a second to prepare. If they keep coming at you and they refuse to stop, you shoot.”

  I exhaled and said, “Okay.”

  “Now, let’s switch to your gun. The magazine is a bit smaller, so it will only hold six bullets. I’m going to teach you how to rack the slide in order to load the first round into the chamber. Women sometimes worry they won’t be strong enough, but this is about technique, not strength.”

  He was right. It took me several tries, but once I got the hang of it I was able to rack it easily. Steve had me shoot, and each time I emptied the magazine, he watched as I reloaded. By the end of our session, I’d manage to improve my accuracy, and I no longer felt nervous. The gun was a machine, not a snake that would whirl around and strike me.

  “You did a good job today,” Steve said. “Keep practicing, okay?”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  I left the shooting range feeling emboldened, as if I’d taken control of not only the gun, but also my life.

  CHAPTER 22

  BROOKS

  The hospital bed arrived at eight o’clock. I’d been sitting on the couch in the living room since six, watching the local news and checking various websites for weather, state-patrol updates, and breaking news. So far I’d determined that it was sunny and windy, there were no major accidents, and absolutely nothing of interest had taken place overnight.

  I was the only one downstairs when the doorbell rang. My dad had spent most of the night trying to calm down my mom. Her breathing had suddenly become worse, which made me worry that the time she had left might be measured in weeks instead of months. There was a part of me that really didn’t want to know.

  Two deliverymen were standing on the front steps. “We’ll need to take this door off to get it inside.”

  “Sure. Whatever you need to do.”

  Once they had the door off, one of them said, “Where do you want it?”

  “Follow me.”

  I led them to the dining room, and when they were done setting up everything, I signed on the dotted line and the deliverymen left. My dad joined me a few minutes later. He stopped short when he saw the bed.

  “Oh,” he said. “I didn’t even hear the door.”

  “They were quick.”

  He walked around the bed, examining it from every angle. “I guess I should see if your mother would like to move down here now. The nurse is starting today, so maybe it would be best to get your mom situated this morning. Make sure she’s comfortable.” He stopped walking and placed his hands on the metal rails that bordered the bed on either side. “I can’t take care of her by myself anymore, Brooks. I promised her I would, but I can’t.” His voice caught on the last word.

  “It’s okay, Dad. She knows that.” I wasn’t lying. My mom knew exactly what was going on, and she’d never hold my dad to a promise they both knew he couldn’t keep, no matter how much he wanted to. The shift in responsibility probably hurt my dad more than it hurt her.

  “I have to leave for work,” I said.

  “Of course. Thanks for letting in the deliverymen.”

  I slipped my arms into my suit jacket and picked up my laptop. “I’ll see you later
.”

  I didn’t really have to get to work. But there was no way I could watch my dad help my mom into the bed that everyone knew she was never going to leave until the end.

  CHAPTER 23

  DAISY

  Kayla and I were waiting for the elevator after grabbing lunch in the hospital cafeteria when the doors opened and Brooks stepped out. It threw me for a second because I’d never expected to run into him while I was at work.

  “Oh my,” Kayla murmured appreciatively when she saw who I was looking at. “Someone you know?”

  “Yes. Go ahead. I’ll be up in a second.”

  After Brooks exited the elevator, he’d stood off to the side. He watched me now as I approached him.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi.”

  “Is it your mom?”

  He nodded. “She had a feeding tube inserted today.”

  “Did everything go okay?”

  “It went fine. She’s resting now.”

  “The feeding tube will ease a lot of her discomfort.”

  “That’s what the doctor said.”

  “What’s her name? I’ll look in on her before I leave tonight.”

  “Mary McClain. That’s really nice of you. Thanks.”

  “Sure.” I glanced at my watch. “I’d better get back to work.” I pushed the button for the elevator.

  “Have you taken the gun-safety class yet?” Brooks asked.

  “Yes. I’ve had the shooting instruction, too.”

  “How was it?”

  “It was okay. It went better than I thought it would.”

  “Are you busy next Tuesday? In the evening?”

  I shook my head. “I work a Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule.”