One Clean Shot

by Danielle Girard

  Hailey arrived home as the girls were climbing the steps with Liz, each carrying her small backpack: Camilla’s purple with flowers, Ali’s a pink Hello Kitty. When she called out, they turned back down the stairs and ran to her. Before they reached her, they were chattering about the events of the day in a way that relieved the tightness in her back and spine and also made her feel all the more exhausted.

  Inside, they sat in the kitchen where Hailey made snacks as Liz started dinner. “Jim’s gone to the office, if you can believe it.”

  “He’s out of the hospital?”

  Liz shook her head the way she did when she was irritated with someone. “Dee spent the morning rifling through his desk, then went to get him at noon time and took him straight to the office. I swear they’re insufferable together,” she muttered then caught herself, forced a smile, carefully creased in each corner of her mouth like her table linen. “Oh, I’m overreacting. Of course it isn’t Dee’s fault. He should be resting, is all.”

  “You’ve got a full house with all of us here,” Hailey said, wondering again why Dee lived with her brother and his wife. For Hailey, living with Jim and Liz made sense. She couldn’t manage the kid schedules and her job without help.

  “We love having you guys here,” Liz said. “And Dee, too.”

  “She and Jim are close,” Hailey said.

  “They are. Very,” Liz agreed. Hailey didn’t read any bitterness in her tone.

  “I’m an only child, but it seems unusual to me.”

  “I do think it’s unusual. I’m certainly not especially close to my brothers.” Liz began making the girls a snack. “Dee had it rough after they went to live with their aunt and uncle. The Wyatts already had two girls and their aunt wasn’t the kindest woman. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

  Jim would have been a son to them—a bonus probably, especially in an era when male children were more highly prized than female ones. Carry on the family name and all that. Jim probably had it much easier.

  Liz seemed to deal well with Dee’s presence, but maybe that was because they were so different. Dee didn’t have any interest in the domestic duties. She was focused on her career and, because of that, on Jim’s while Liz was the matriarch. All household decisions were hers.

  Hailey, for one, appreciated that as much as anything else about living there. She helped cook and clean up, but most times Liz ushered her out of the kitchen because she wanted to be there. Dee was more like Hailey. If meals were up to the two of them, they’d probably eat takeout off paper plates.

  “Here, Mom,” Cami said, handing Hailey a stack of math and spelling worksheets. Each was decorated with a rainbow of stars from the teacher.

  “Wow. Good work, Cami.”

  “And I have a new book I’m reading—”

  “I did art at school,” Ali blurted. “Do you want to see?”

  “Of course I do.”

  Camilla scowled at her sister’s interruption.

  “It’s our whole family,” Ali said, unfolding the white page. In its center was a big hill drawn in green marker and on top were five stick figures, each standing at a different angle along the curve. Ali pointed to the stick figures. “That’s Grammie and Poppie and you, Mom and there’s Cami and me.”

  “That’s beautiful, sweetie,” Hailey said. It reminded her of a world peace ad of people of different races holding hands along the side of a globe.

  Camilla leaned over to look more closely. Hailey stiffened in anticipation of her older daughter’s question. “Where’s Daddy?”

  Ali shrugged. “I didn’t have enough room for heaven so you can’t see him.”

  Desperately, Hailey wanted to open the refrigerator and pretend to pull something out, to hide her face from them, but both girls turned to her and she could feel the steady heat of Liz’s gaze as well. “Heaven is a really big place,” she announced. “Maybe you could do another picture of it sometime, Ali.”

  “But isn’t Daddy here, with us?” Camilla asked.

  Shivers grew tight along her skin.

  “I don’t know for sure where Daddy is, Cami.” Camilla frowned and Hailey knew they were on awkward territory. Cami was much more logical than her younger sister. For her, peace came from knowing that her father was in a better place. That he was happy and okay and that he would be watching them.

  Liz and Jim were Episcopalians and talked about the specifics of heaven the way a doctor could name the specific chambers of the heart.

  Hailey wanted to know that John was somewhere good, somewhere warm and redeeming and not just a melting pile of bones in the earth under the flattened grass she had seen earlier. “If Daddy has any say in it, he’s right here in this room, watching you guys and thinking how smart and beautiful you are and how big you’re getting.”

  “But you can’t see him,” Ali said, pointing back to the picture. “That’s why I didn’t draw him.” She looked up at Hailey. “Right, Mommy?”

  Camilla turned to Hailey, too, and the pain in her spine sharpened into an unbearable ache as she winced and sank into a chair. “I don’t really know. I haven’t ever been to heaven so I don’t know what it’s like.” Neither one spoke. “But your picture is really beautiful.”

  “I’m going to ask Father Dylan on Sunday,” Camilla said.

  Liz stepped forward and set milk in front of the girls then put her hand on Hailey’s back, warmth radiating through her blazer. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. Now, why don’t you go get changed. Hailey and the girls and I will get dinner going.”

  “I could use a shower, if there’s time.”

  “Sure. Why don’t you take a soak, Hailey? We’ll be fine.”

  The tension in her spine dissipated as soon as she had made it to the stairs. With the bedroom door closed, Hailey took a shot of albuterol and sat on the edge of the bed, dropped onto her side. She shoved her fists into the heavy quilt.

  What did it matter where John was? Heaven, hell, underground. He wasn’t coming back.

  He was never coming back.

  So why couldn’t she let go of the way their marriage had deteriorated?

  On the last anniversary they shared together, John had taken her to dinner at Boulevard, a fancy spot close to the bay. It was unusual to go someplace so expensive. Celebrations had always involved one of their favorite ethnic take-out places, like Koh Take Thai, which they called “Kentucky Thai,” or the little sushi place on the west edge of Golden Gate Park.

  John wanted to splurge. He’d made her dress up, ordered champagne.

  Over appetizers, he gave her a pair of diamond studs.

  Though they’d seemed huge, he’d assured her they weren’t. They were each “only” a quarter carat and surely she could wear them at work.

  Like she would show up at the scene of a double murder in diamond studs.

  Instead of grateful, she had been furious.

  She hardly ever wore earrings. Occasionally she put in the small pearl studs that had been her mother’s. Only those.

  Throughout their anniversary dinner, a constant trickle of people from Jim’s political life interrupted them.

  The mayor’s assistant was there with his girlfriend, a buxom blonde in her early twenties, as well as several “key supporters,” as John had called them.

  He spent as much time away from the table as he did at it.

  He had eventually invited a wealthy older couple—the president of some big bank and his wife—to join them for dessert. When they were finally left alone, John complained he’d developed a headache and wanted to go home.

  In the car, he’d insisted she put the earrings on.

  Hailey had, thinking she would return them, that they weren’t anything Hailey wanted to own or wear.

  He glowed with pride, looking like a man she didn’t know at all. Then, he said something she would neve
r forget or forgive. “You’re going to make a wonderful senator’s wife some day.”

  Every decision about the future was made together. Where the girls would go to preschool—whether Montessori was worth the extra expense. How far apart the kids should be. How they would handle the after-school care. Which refrigerator to purchase when the old one died. Even switching cell phone carriers.

  They sat at the round kitchen table and made lists of pros and cons, discussed and debated for days. It took nearly three weeks to decide on a preschool for Camilla.

  Now he had chosen their future—his as a senator and hers as a political wife—without so much as a single joint discussion.

  Within days, he was talking about his plans for running for office after he helped with his father’s next election. In those conversations, he carefully skirted the conclusion he’d reached—that Hailey would need to quit the force. She saw it clearly—so translucent was the veil that masked his political ambition.

  Two months later, three days after he’d said they needed to think about “how to wind down her career,” Hailey had kissed Bruce Daniels.

  A month after that, they’d started sleeping together.

  But John was dead now.

  No failures in their marriage made a difference to him, wherever he was. Yet Hailey couldn’t seem to break free of them.

  Chapter 7

  Fifteen minutes after the girls’ bedtime, Hailey’s cell phone started to ring. It rang at eight-fifteen, then ten minutes later, then ten minutes after that. When Hailey finally answered, Bruce asked where she was, meaning why wasn’t she on her way to him. Finally, Hailey conceded that she would come. She needed to try to shed the old failings with John, to force herself to move on.

  Liz was downstairs in the living room, sipping tea and reading a novel when Hailey came down in her jacket. “The girls are asleep and I thought I’d go out for an hour or so. Meet a friend for coffee.”

  Liz stood, smiling and stepped around the chair to clasp her arm, as close as they ever got to an embrace. “I’m so glad, dear. I was wondering when you’d start dating again.”

  Hailey stepped backwards, catching her heel on the area rug. “Oh, it’s nothing like that.”

  Liz smiled softly, disappointed. “I understand. No worries, then. Have a good night.”

  Heat flushed her cheeks as Hailey looked away then hesitated in search of something to say. Hailey didn’t want Liz to think she was lying. So, nodding, Hailey turned and said, “Thank you, Liz. For understanding.” And without meeting her gaze, Hailey left.

  Liz grew up outside Washington DC. John had always said that his mother’s family raised politicians. Both of her brothers were attorneys and had worked in the political arena. Her father had also been an attorney and her uncle a lobbyist. John had also let on that Liz’s family was very wealthy. He once commented that their house had been a gift from his grandparents and, for that reason, was in Liz’s name.

  Liz had been quite ill for several years when she was a teenager. Her mother—John’s grandmother—had been very concerned that Liz might never marry. Jim had arrived as a savior—not just for Liz but for her mother as well.

  It made sense that Liz put a lot of emphasis on not being alone.

  When she arrived across town, Bruce came to meet her at the car, something they did now, since Hailey had been attacked in his lobby. For two weeks, she’d hidden the bruises from John, showered when he was out, wore long-sleeved pajamas and pants… John never noticed. That was how disconnected they were. And then the other woman was attacked.

  All that was history.

  The building still made her a little sick to her stomach. She never entered alone. She called from the car and he met her at the door.

  Inside, they sat in the living room, a room Hailey hardly remembered seeing until after John’s death. Before that, they barely made their way through the door before stumbling into the bedroom. But here, amongst the sleek, minimalist furniture, black leather Danish couch, a steel coffee table, a geometric-patterned rug in black, white, and red, and two large pieces of modern art, Hailey felt like Bruce was someone she was meeting for the first time. “My ex picked it out,” he’d told her once when she asked about the décor, though Hailey knew nothing about the ex, either.

  Bruce handed her a glass of wine. “Malbec,” he said, “From Argentina.” He sat beside her, still in his shirt and suit slacks, still in his shoes and Hailey slipped hers off, pulled her feet onto the couch. He rubbed her foot and nodded to the wine. “Like?”

  “It’s nice.”

  “Never touches oak. All stainless. Has kind of a clean taste, doesn’t it?”

  Hailey smiled. “It does.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Clean wine. I don’t know.” She thought again of the cork they’d found in Fredricks’s coffin and the laugher went stale in her throat.

  Bruce moved toward her on the couch, draping her legs across his as he settled into the cushions. “No leads on the senator’s shooting, I hear.”

  “None.”

  Bruce paused then added, “I heard Scanlan has got the CAP guys working with O’Shea on it,” Bruce added.

  CAP was crimes against persons. The department handled assault, battery, robbery—any crime against a person aside from those that involved sex or death.

  “They’re trying to link it to John’s murder. All of it on the hush-hush.”

  Hailey sat up and glanced at the wine as though it was the cause of the shortness of breath she felt. “Really?”

  Bruce pulled her feet back into his lap. “That’s good, isn’t it? Another lead.”

  First Hal, now Bruce. Neither would leave John at rest.

  She set the glass down.

  “You don’t want to talk about it,” Bruce said.

  Hailey lifted the glass, took a sip. “I don’t.”

  He narrowed his gaze the way he did when he was working out motive. “It makes you nervous, the idea that someone broke in again. Why do you stay there?”

  This again. “I stay for the girls. Because Jim and Liz are their grandparents.” How could she move? Who would help her raise Camilla and Ali? But Bruce didn’t understand. He didn’t have kids. But she wasn’t just there for Camilla and Ali. She stayed for herself, too.

  In their home, she got to avoid so many things about where her life was headed.

  First and foremost, she avoided dealing with her relationship with Bruce.

  She drank from the glass, as much for the moment of reprieve from the conversation as for the warmth of the drink.

  He was still watching her, waiting, and what she felt wasn’t empathy or compassion, but simple frustration. She set the glass down, a little harder than necessary, and the wine sloshed over the edge, splattering the shiny tabletop.

  Hailey thought of the rug and saw that the drops hadn’t reached that far, stood to get a towel, but he caught her hand.

  “I don’t care about it.” He pulled her back as she averted her gaze. “What’s going on, Hailey?”

  “Nothing. I’m tired. The case.”

  He tugged her hand, shook his head. “Not that stuff.” He leaned and gently forward tapped her head. “In there. What am I missing?”

  “You’re not missing anything, Bruce, but Christ, the girls, the job. It’s a lot. I’m living with my in-laws, my dead husband’s parents. It’s not easy to tell them I’m sleeping with another man.”

  “But you’re not. We haven’t been together in weeks.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Actually I don’t, Hailey. I don’t have any idea what you mean. I’m not sure you do, either.” The fierceness of his gaze was relentless. “There’s something else,” he pressed. “What is it?”

  She shrank back on the couch. “What do you mean?”

  “Something chang
ed after he died. Is it guilt? About us? Because he’s dead?”

  The wine had crept into her head and softened the edges of her thoughts. She reached for the glass again and took another sip. “There’s guilt, sure.”

  Bruce edged forward as though narrowing in on a witness. “Because you loved me before he was dead?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Yes.”

  Bruce pulled her to him, continuing as though speaking from the inside of her own mind. “If you’d known he would die, you would’ve tried harder. You would’ve confronted him.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Would it have helped? Could she have done anything to save them? If he insisted on a political career, could she have been the wife he needed? She had to believe they would have found a way.

  He hadn’t even seen the bruises. Didn’t even notice that his wife had been assaulted. Or that she was with someone else. And he hadn’t cared one bit about her plans for the future—for her future. It was all about him.

  How would that ever have changed?

  “Death makes us rethink everything,” he said then gently, narrowing in on the heart of it, added, “but you don’t have a choice about it now, Hailey. You supported John the best you could, in a way he didn’t support you.” He tilted her chin towards his, wiped her tears with rough, flat fingertips. “He didn’t support you.”

  “He just got caught up in the idea of a candidacy,” she said. Everything Bruce said was true. But she couldn’t hear it—not from him. She didn’t want to hear her lover criticize her dead husband.

  “Okay, and maybe you could’ve made it better. Probably you could have. You’re amazing, and if he’d known how you felt, he’d have been an idiot not to fight for you. And he wasn’t an idiot.”

  John had certainly acted like an idiot. She had to stop trying to rewrite the past. But every time she thought of the way their marriage had fallen apart, how distant he was, how cold… She remembered the night he died.

  “I can wait,” he told her. A few moments later, he spoke again. “I’ve been looking at places in the paper.”

  “Really? You’re moving?” Hailey asked, thankful for a change of subject.