by Erin Dutton
* * *
Maggie stared out the kitchen window at Ally’s slumped shoulders, and her chest ached. She was out there beating herself up, and Maggie wasn’t sure if she even knew why. Why did this situation between them just keep getting more complicated? And why couldn’t she walk away when she was certain that would be the simplest thing for both of them?
She went into the yard, seeing the change in Ally’s posture as her shoes sounded on the concrete patio. Her heart wanted her to embrace Ally, to touch and comfort her, but her fear kept her several feet away.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly into the tense space between them.
Ally turned around, unable to adequately hide her devastation. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Maggie shook her head.
“Why not?”
Maggie sucked in a deep breath. How did you tell the woman you were making out with that her moves made you think about her brother? Harsh.
Ally surged forward a couple of steps, clearly frustrated. When Maggie flinched at the sudden motion, Ally backed farther into the yard. “I gave you space when you asked for it after our kiss the other day. But this feels different. You were afraid of me just now.” Ally’s concerned expression broke Maggie’s heart.
“I’m not—afraid of you. But when you grabbed my wrist—I panicked.”
Comprehension spilled across Ally’s face so viscerally that Maggie could feel Ally’s nausea. Ally eased close to the patio, sank into a chair, and covered her face. She breathed a huge sigh. “Oh, my God, Maggie. I’m so sorry.”
Maggie knelt in front of her and pulled her hands away from her face. She held them, resting both of their hands on Ally’s knees.
“It wasn’t you I was reacting to.” She caressed the back of Ally’s hands with her thumbs, trying to underscore the physical connection between them. “I’ve barely been touched by anyone since that day, and clearly I still have some things to deal with surrounding that trauma.”
“I didn’t even think about how you would feel—”
“And you shouldn’t have to.”
“But I do. If you’re having trouble separating me and my touch from—oh, my God, he didn’t try to—”
“No. No. It’s not like that.” Maggie rushed to calm the terror racing across Ally’s expression. She drew a breath, needing to find a way to explain so Ally could understand how she’d felt. She owed Ally that. “You’re a physical person. You have been since we met, now that I think about it. And I like that about you.” She ran her finger along Ally’s jaw and down her neck. Ally sat completely still, as if terrified to move. “And I like touching you. But I think, for now, I need to feel a little more in control.”
Ally nodded slowly, holding her gaze. “I understand. You need for me to be careful about touches that feel restraining to you.”
“That sums it up.” She laced her fingers into Ally’s, letting her know that hand-holding was okay.
“I can do that. You just let me know if anything makes you uncomfortable.” Ally winked. “And I don’t mind you telling me what feels good, too.”
“Thank you. How about for tonight, we go back inside and find a movie to snuggle in front of?”
“That sounds perfect.” Ally took Maggie’s outstretched hand and followed her inside.
* * *
Ally released the trigger on her circular saw as the end of the two-by-four clattered to the floor. She set aside the piece she’d cut to size and reached for another one just as a car horn sounded. She glanced at the clock over her workbench—still a little too early for Maggie. She set the saw down and brushed sawdust off the front of her pants.
“Al, you in there?” Carey’s voice carried as he came down the driveway.
She went to the open overhead door just as he reached it. He’d parked Shirley’s car at the curb. He’d cleaned up his appearance since she last saw him. His hair had been cut, and he’d shaped his facial hair into a goatee. His jeans and black T-shirt were clean and in good condition.
“Carey, what are you doing here?”
“I can’t visit my big sister? That’s what family does. They visit each other. Not that we’ve seen you around lately.”
“Yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what? I heard you weren’t working anymore. That must be nice.”
She didn’t have to ask where he’d heard that—his words had Shirley written all over them. If Ally didn’t have an employer, then she didn’t have a job. She didn’t understand Ally’s ambition for something more than a paycheck, or that she’d tired of furthering someone else’s dream.
“I’m building a business here.”
“So you’re setting your own hours. Yet you can’t take time to come by Ma’s? I’ve been home two weeks.”
“I figured you had your own stuff going on. Ma said you’re going to meetings.”
“Every day.”
“That’s good.” She glanced back at the clock in the garage. Maggie would be getting off work soon. She couldn’t let her come here if Carey was still here. As if thinking about Maggie had cued him in some way, he angled to look out the open back door into the yard.
“What’s going on out there? Are you building something?”
“That’s—a garden.”
“Gardening?” He laughed. “Since when do you have a green thumb?”
He headed for the backyard, and she followed slowly, using the time to text Maggie that something had come up and she shouldn’t come over tonight. She added that she would water the plants. Maggie texted back three question marks, and she responded that she’d explain later.
Carey bent and feathered his hand through the leaves of the tomato plants. “Ma didn’t say anything about your garden.”
“She—uh, she doesn’t really know.”
“So it’s a secret garden?” He grinned, and she saw a flash of the funny, sweet kid he once was.
She actually laughed with him. “Yeah, something like that.”
She shook her head. She didn’t believe Carey was elementally a bad guy, but he’d fallen into this spiral that led him to a horrible act. Maybe she hadn’t done enough when she first noticed his dependence on pain pills. By the time she truly believed he had a problem, he’d already started stealing from her. In fact, right now, she was glad he was in the yard and not inside her house, where she’d have to keep a close eye on him. That was a terrible way to think about your own brother. But that’s where they’d gotten to. And she wasn’t sure their relationship could ever recover.
He crossed to the patio and sat in one of the chairs, then glanced at the opposite chair as if he expected her to sit with him. She stayed standing in the yard, just to spite him. She knew she was acting childish and stupid, but she didn’t care.
“So, tell me about the new girlfriend.” Something in her expression must have given away her surprise. He laughed. “Thanks for confirming my guess. You haven’t been by the house, so I had to come see who you were spending your time with.”
“I told you what I’ve been doing.”
“Too late, big sis. You already gave it away.”
“Okay. I have kind of been seeing someone.”
He grinned. “I figured. I was hoping by surprising you, I might catch her here.”
“Funny.” He’d come way too close for her comfort. She couldn’t even wrap her mind around what a disaster that would have been. Was this what her life would be like now? A coordinated dance to keep her girlfriend apart from her family. Wait—girlfriend?
“I get why you haven’t brought her around Ma. But why haven’t I met her yet? Are you that ashamed of me now?” He looked genuinely hurt that his addiction might have kept her from introducing him to Maggie.
“No. It’s complicated.”
“How so? Is it a friends-with-benefits thing?”
“No. Come on, Carey. You know I don’t do that.” Not exactly. Though she didn’t know how she could call what she had with Maggie much more. The
y weren’t all going to gather around a Thanksgiving table any time soon.
“How the hell do I know what you do anymore? You’ve kept her a secret for some reason. In fact, you don’t talk to me about anything.”
“You’ve had your own shit going on.”
“That’s a cop-out.”
“Okay. Yeah, it is.” They’d been close once. And she’d been so busy being mad at him she hadn’t realized how much she missed that bond. “We’ve had some tension lately. And I just haven’t wanted to talk.”
He nodded. “I gotta own my part in that. I’ve been talking to my shrink about my relationships—with you and with Ma. I’m trying to do better, Al. That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to let us grow apart like we have with the rest of our family.”
His father lived forty minutes away, but, though Carey had called him when he got out of jail, he hadn’t visited. She didn’t know where her own father was. And Shirley had never let them spend time with either of their fathers’ families.
“I’m having a tough time, and I’m trying like hell to stay sober. I could use a little family support.”
This was the conversation she’d been avoiding since he came home. Over the past two years she’d tried to help him, foolishly believing she could still be the hero her younger brother needed. But her own willpower wasn’t enough to keep him clean. She’d been covering for him at work, but she got busted when their boss visited a job site and had nearly lost her job.
Remembering the stress of trying to keep his life together when he didn’t seem to care enough to do it himself snapped something inside her. She let loose with everything she’d been wanting to say.
“Where’s the line, Carey? Where does unconditional love stretch too far? When you’re strung out and can’t meet your obligations, I’m supposed to blindly support you? You steal money from Ma and me, and get coddled and forgiven. Now you’ve done something that will likely land you in prison, and you want fucking support?”
“Yes. You’re my sister. I’m an addict and I’m getting help.”
“This wasn’t stealing money out of Ma’s sock drawer. You put a gun in a woman’s face, and she feared for her life. She still has nightmares. And you’re still making excuses for your behavior. You are my brother. And a part of me will always love you. But you don’t get my support until you can admit what you’ve done and accept the consequences.” Tension pulled her body tight, but her voice grew softer. She wasn’t a yeller when she was mad. In fact, the quieter she got, the angrier she was.
“So you need me to plead guilty, go to prison, and ruin my life in order for you to forgive me?” He surged to his feet, his hands balled into fists at his side.
She shook her head. He didn’t get it. “You lost your job. Until recently, you couldn’t go a day without the pills you were buying on the street. You’ve lost the trust of those closest to you.” She gave him a hard look and steeled herself to walk away from him. “You ruined your life a long time ago. I just need you to want to fix it.”
With the perfect parting shot, she strode away, ready to leave him standing alone in her yard.
“What do you think I’m trying to do? I’m working on it. I’ve been talking to Reuben about getting my job back.”
She stopped. “He’s not seriously considering it.”
“He’s not thrilled, but he’s short-handed since you left, so I think I can convince him to give me a shot, on a trial basis.”
“I hope that works out for you.” As exit lines go, it wasn’t very strong. But she left him there just the same.
Once inside, she continued to her bedroom, so she wouldn’t be tempted to see how long he stayed out there. She flopped down onto her bed, replaying their conversation. God, she’d talked about Maggie—referenced her nightmares. Carey hadn’t caught on that she spoke about his victim more personally than she should. How would she have explained that? Thinking about Maggie made her want to talk to her. She pulled out her phone, then just held it limply in her hand. She needed to reach out to Maggie to explain why she blew her off. But not yet. She’d have to find some distance from her confrontation with Carey before she could engage with Maggie.
Chapter Twelve
“I’ll be right with you, ma’am,” one of the two employees yelled across the crowded gun store in Maggie’s direction.
Between checking in the several people waiting in line for the range and assisting the other customers in the store, they appeared to have their hands full. She’d hoped to take a private lesson. But unless another employee was in the back of the store, she might have to come back later. Perhaps she should have scheduled something ahead of time so they could have staffed accordingly.
She’d just turned toward the door when she almost ran into someone. She pulled up short, just as arms came up on either side of her. She jerked away from them at the same time that she mumbled an apology.
“Maggie? Hey, I thought that was you.” Charlie Bell stood in front of her, dressed casually in a T-shirt and jeans.
“Detective Bell, hello.”
“Please, call me Charlie.” Charlie glanced over her shoulder at the range check-in counter. “I’m going to the range for a bit. You?”
“Oh, I figured you all would have someplace to go—just for police or something.”
“The academy does have a range, but it’s on the other side of town. This place is closer to my house. If I just want a little practice, I run down here.”
“I see.”
“Are you headed down?”
“Um, no—I was just—leaving, I think.” She glanced again at the people checking in with the man behind the counter. Both of the employees still looked very busy.
“Are you thinking about buying a gun?”
Maggie nodded. “I’m considering it.”
“Ever handled one before?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I was here once before, and a woman showed me a couple of things, but I’ve never fired one.”
“Okay. Well, I don’t recommend having a gun in the house if you’re not comfortable with it.”
“They give private lessons here. But they seem quite busy today.”
“Do you want to go down with me? I can show you a few things.”
“I don’t want to keep you from your practice.”
Charlie waved a hand dismissively. “I was bored. And shooting is good stress relief.”
“Still—”
“Come on. I can shoot by myself any time.” She held her arms out at her sides and swept her hands toward her body. “Who better to give you some pointers?”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“Great. Let’s go. I assume you didn’t bring any safety equipment.”
“That’s right.”
Maggie stood nearby while Charlie checked them in at the range counter. She returned with two paper targets and a pair of safety glasses and ear protection for Maggie.
Maggie followed Charlie down a set of stairs. Though they descended to a basement level, the space was brightly lit, clean, and painted a pleasant light gray. To the right, an open archway led to a lounge area with two sofas, a coffee table, and a television mounted on the wall. Charlie moved through to an even smaller space, with a counter-height table flush against one wall. Charlie set her backpack on the table.
“Let’s cover a couple of things before we go in. It’s harder to talk once we have ear protection on.” Charlie took a nylon pouch out of her backpack. “I don’t have anything smaller than a 9mm with me, because that’s what we carry on duty. We’ll use this one. It’s my personal backup weapon, not paid for by the city, so you can shoot it.”
“I spoke with one of the employees on a previous visit. And it seems like I should decide if I just want something in the house, or if I want to carry it.” She didn’t even feel comfortable saying the word gun yet. Maybe she wasn’t ready for this.
“Sure. Those are things to consider when purchasing. Otherwise, you may buy som
ething too large to comfortably carry on a daily basis.” Charlie unzipped the nylon pouch and removed a gun. “But before you decide all that, you could just try firing one to see how you feel about that.”
“Okay.” Right now, she felt scared. What would it be like to pull the trigger? And this was just target practice. The idea of using a gun, even for self-defense, frightened her.
“We’ll start with three really important rules. Always assume a gun is loaded until you’ve checked it for yourself, no matter who hands it to you. And, second, when handling one, always point it in a safe direction.”
Charlie demonstrated how to maneuver the gun while being mindful of the direction the barrel was pointing. And if the gun was to be fired at any given time, she should be aware of what the path of the bullet could potentially be.
“Third, keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. You put it here, along the trigger guard. Keep it close enough to move to the trigger quickly when you need to, but not on it, so you can’t accidentally pull it.”
“Back to the first one. How do I check to see if it’s loaded?”
Charlie showed her how to push the button to drop out the magazine, the part that held the bullets. Then she locked back the slide and told her to check in the chamber for a round. For the next ten minutes, Charlie talked about the mechanics of the gun while letting Maggie handle the pistol. This one—Charlie called it a Sig—was smaller than some she’d seen, but it still was heavier than she’d have thought.
Once Maggie felt somewhat comfortable, they donned safety glasses and ear protection, which just looked like very large headphones to Maggie. Charlie handed her the paper targets, then grabbed her backpack. She led Maggie through one door into a tiny room between two doors—for sound dampening and ventilation reasons, Charlie explained. After the first door closed behind them, Charlie pushed through the second one.
They passed several occupied lanes, and Maggie started as, even with the earmuffs, she found the sound of gunshots louder than she expected. A large man stood with his back to them, arms extending, firing what had to be the biggest handgun she’d ever seen. At the end of his lane, a paper with a person-shaped silhouette fluttered with every round that impacted it.
