Night Work

by Steve Hamilton

  I sat in the second-story window above the gym’s door, squeezing a tennis ball in my left hand. Part of my physical therapy, now that the cast was off. It was a fine Saturday in October, the kind of day that sells houses in the Hudson Valley. Dry and cool, the leaves all turning at once. I watched the Redcoats marching up Broadway, the street temporarily closed to allow their advance. A small crowd of people was gathered on either side, watching them make their way uptown, toward the old stockade district, where the original state capitol building once stood on an October day just like this one.

  I waited for the whole procession to pass by. Then I went downstairs. I touched Laurel’s picture as I passed it.

  Anderson was in the gym, watching Rolando shadowbox in the ring. He hadn’t found a sparring partner for him yet. I knew better than to nominate myself, even after my wrist got better.

  I stood there and watched for a while. I put my good arm around his shoulder. Then I went outside.

  The crowd was long gone, a few stragglers trying to catch up to them. If they didn’t hurry up, they’d miss the whole thing.

  I spend a lot of time walking these days. I still won’t be able to box for a while. But that’s okay. My mind is quieter now, maybe the only good thing that came out of all that time I spent locked in the hot shed. I don’t have to jump rope or hit the speed bag all the time. I don’t have to crank up my crazy music to drown out everything else inside my head.

  I see Howie and Elaine every Sunday night now. We have dinner and we sit out on the porch, looking down at the Rondout Creek. They’re trying to have a baby. I get more detail on their attempts than I probably need.

  Detective Shea calls me up once in a while, just to see how I’m doing. As it turned out, he was the one who turned the car around that day. He was the one who sensed that something wasn’t right.

  It was the evening gown Mrs. Gayle was wearing. A black evening gown in the middle of the day. That’s what tipped him off.

  After all we’d been through, it was Shea who ended up saving me. He told me it was the least he could do. As for Detective Rhinehart, well … I haven’t heard a word from him.

  I walked past the high school. Everything was back to a regular rhythm now, at least on the weekdays. The kids were in school where they belonged. I knew that for some of them, it would be a brief refuge from everything else that was waiting for them when they got home. A few hours of order before they went back to the chaos. I saw a few faces looking out the window. I stopped and watched them watching me.

  It feels like it’s time to go back to work. It’s the one thing that still makes sense to me, despite the hours, despite the low pay. Despite the heartache. The only question is where, because I’m not sure if I can stay here in the Hudson Valley after everything that happened. Three more women were killed here, two years after my own Laurel was taken from me. In the light of day I can tell myself it wasn’t my fault, but in the middle of the night when I wake up in a cold sweat, I feel the one true thing that I’ll never be able to avoid for the rest of my life. They were killed because of me.

  I’m not sure if I can stay. I’m not sure if I can leave, either. I was born in this town. I grew up here, went to school here. I got in big trouble here and found a way to put it behind me forever. I met my best friend here. I came close to real happiness here. After Laurel was gone and everything seemed lost for me, I found the only reason to keep living right here in Kingston, New York.

  I looked up at the school one more time. My kids. My clients. My knuckleheads. I walk these hallways, looking after them. I chase them down these streets. I go to their houses in the morning and drag them out of their beds. When I have no other choice, I allow them to be locked into a cell for a while, hoping that this might be the one last thing that will save them.

  If I go somewhere else, I know there will be another probation officer to look after them. I don’t have to feel like I’m just walking away.

  Yeah, a smart man would leave this place, start fresh somewhere else, far away. A man with any sense would do that in a minute.

  Far behind me, I heard the cannon shot. The rebels were trying to defend the city. No matter how many times they reenact this day, they always lose. The Redcoats send the men of Kingston fleeing into the countryside. They burn the whole place right down to the ground.

  I kept walking. On a beautiful October day, I walked as far as that day felt like taking me.

  Then I turned around and headed back home.