The news returned to the studio.
“We’ll keep you updated as we learn more,” the anchor said, just as Jake entered the kitchen. Laura all but lunged for the TV to turn it off. Heart drumming, all she could think was, Thank heavens Jake didn’t see that.
Except...unless she sequestered him, he would later, wouldn’t he? There’d be another report this evening. And what if the boy died? Even his friends might be talking about this. The one who’d been shot—the boy Ethan shot—might attend high school locally.
He’d killed someone before? Why hadn’t he said?
Because he knew how she’d feel about it.
“I’m making scrambled eggs,” she heard herself say. “Why don’t you get some toast going?”
“Sure.”
Halfway through the meal, Jake said, “I wish Ethan was coming over today. Can I call him?”
“No!”
He stared at her. “But...why not?”
I can’t protect him from everything.
“Ethan was involved in something last night,” she said carefully. “I’m sure he’ll be tied up all day.”
“How do you know? Did he already call? Or text or something?”
Laura took a deep breath and set down her fork. Her appetite was nonexistent anyway.
“He was on the news. You know about his investigation into whoever has been spray-painting the swastikas and starting fires?”
Her son’s head bobbed.
She told him about the stakeout Ethan had been conducting, and how according to the news he’d caught two teenagers in the act last night.
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
A flash of memory hit Laura broadside: him asking Ethan the same thing, then saying, That’s why people want guns, isn’t it?
Don’t overreact.
“It’s good that he stopped them before anyone died in a fire they set,” she said carefully. “But according to the news, he shot one of the two, a seventeen-year-old boy. Now he may die.”
“He said police officers only shoot when they’re being attacked or...or they have to—to save someone else. Remember?”
She did. But...a boy? Wouldn’t there have been another way?
“Yes. But there’s no point in our speculating about it. He won’t be free to tell us about it—there’s always some kind of investigation when a police officer fires his weapon.”
“Did Dad ever?”
“Somebody shot at him during a traffic stop once and he returned fire. Even though he only shot out the tires, he was still placed on administrative leave while it was determined whether he was justified in firing his gun.”
“Oh. You never said.” Jake’s forehead crinkled. “But if somebody was shooting at him...”
“He wasn’t in any trouble. It’s routine.”
He looked down at his half-finished breakfast. “I hope Ethan comes over soon.”
Laura didn’t. She wanted not to hear from him until she knew more. Why he’d shot someone. Whether the boy survived. Why, when most police officers never shot to kill, he’d done so twice already in his career.
As she pretended to eat, all she could see was Marco and Matt, both dead from bullets to the head.
I can’t deal with this.
She loved him.
She quite desperately did not want to see him until she’d had time to calm down, to think.
The doorbell rang.
* * *
HE COULD TELL Laura had heard, and wasn’t taking it well. Ethan didn’t even know why he’d come over. No, of course he did—he’d been fool enough to hope.
“Ethan.” Even her voice was stiff. “I didn’t expect you.”
“You saw the news,” he said resignedly.
She didn’t step back to invite him in. “I thought you’d be stuck in interviews forever.”
He glanced at his watch. “The shooting happened eight hours ago. I have been interviewed. Repeatedly. I’m on my way home to sack out. I wanted to talk to you before—” He shrugged. “Too late.”
“Before what?” she asked, looking wary. Then her mouth formed a horrified O. “He died? Is that boy dead?”
He should be tired enough to be numb, but wasn’t. Instead—damn. This felt a lot like he’d taken a bullet to the chest.
“No, Laura, he’s not dead. I’m not either, but thanks for noticing.”
“What?” Her shock showed. “I saw you on the news, so I knew—”
His temper exploded and he leaned in. From her expression, he thought his teeth must be bared. “Yeah? What did you know, Laura? Tell me. In case I missed something.”
“Why are you talking to me like this?”
Did she think he’d buy this bewildered act?
“What did you know?”
“That...you shot a seventeen-year-old boy.” Her chin came up. “That you shot and killed someone else a few years ago. Why didn’t you tell me, Ethan?”
“Because of course that defines who I am.” He half laughed, shook his head and backed away. “Why would I, when you’re so damn sure that pulling the trigger is never justified. You know what? I’m done,” he said flatly, turned and walked away.
She called after him, but he didn’t care. Didn’t even slow down. He jumped in his Yukon and sped away from the curb, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard it creaked. He was a block away from her house when he made himself pull over. He wasn’t in any shape to drive.
Ethan closed his eyes, rested his head back and willed his muscles to relax.
Breathe.
He just needed to get back to his place.
Right. Because his apartment was so homey.
No, he realized, he’d go to the one place he knew he’d be received with open arms and no prejudgment.
Home.
* * *
HE THOUGHT ABOUT KNOCKING, but his mother looked so astonished every time he did that, he used his key to let himself in the house.
“Ethan?” he heard immediately. “Is that you?” His mother appeared from the kitchen, her eyes worried. “Oh, honey! I’m so sorry.” She rushed to him and pulled him into a tight embrace.
This was what he’d needed from Laura. What I’ll never get from her, he realized bleakly.
His father was close behind his mother. He put his arms around both of them. For maybe a minute, the three stood there, Ethan soaking up comfort and hoping he could hold on to it later, when he was on his own.
Then they broke apart, but his mom grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the kitchen. “We hoped you’d stop by. Thank God you’re all right. Except for your face.”
“Tough one,” his father said. “And just a kid.”
“Unfortunately, also a sociopath.”
While his mother made him breakfast without even asking, he told his parents why he was sporting the black eye, then about the night’s events. He caught himself lightly touching the tiny scabs on his already bruised cheek and temple where splinters had struck him. He was damn lucky one hadn’t gotten his eye.
“We wanted to be home just in case, but I thought you’d go to Laura,” his mother said as she set a plate of pancakes in front of him, her free hand squeezing his shoulder. He knew she needed to touch him to reassure herself. You’re here. You’re all right. He’d always be her little boy.
“I did,” he said flatly and, looking up, met his father’s eyes.
“What did she say?” Dad asked in a hard voice.
“Not so much what she said as what she didn’t.” He picked up his fork. “‘Come in’ was conspicuously missing.”
“What?” Back at the stove, his mom spun to face him. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” he told her wearily. “I told you. She hates guns, and for good reason. The fact that I carry one has always been an issue between us. I never told her I’d used it to kill before. My fault. Of course reporters had that little fact at their fingertips. And this kid...he’s not that much older than Jake.” He shrugged and began to e
at.
“But...” His mother sounded bewildered.
“I shouldn’t have started anything with her. Now I’m ending it. I’m only sorry I brought her to meet you. I let myself feel optimistic.”
Her “Oh, Ethan” was drenched with sympathy. Dad just looked pissed.
His phone rang. Laura’s number, he saw, and silenced it.
Now Mom looked troubled. “She’s not Erin, you know.”
He ignored her. “Once I turn in all the reports, I’m on leave.” He looked pointedly at his father. “If you’d gotten the second knee taken care of, I’d ask if you could take a few days off and maybe wanted to head into the mountains with me. As it is...” He shrugged.
His father’s eyes narrowed. “Your mother has been talking. The damn knee is fine!”
“Uh-huh.”
“It is!”
His phone buzzed, letting him know the caller had left a message. Ethan kept eating.
Neither parent raised the subject of Laura Vennetti again, for which he was grateful. Right now, he didn’t want to think about her. As wounded as he felt, deleting her message without listening seemed like a plan to him.
* * *
JAKE WAS HOVERING in the living room when Laura got home. Without ever quite looking at him, she felt him studying her face. In case he didn’t already get it, she shook her head and walked past him.
This was the third time today she’d gone to Ethan’s apartment. Third time was supposed to be the charm, right? The first time...well, maybe he hadn’t gone straight home. Early afternoon, she tried again. She never left Jake alone in the evening, but she’d made an exception for one last try.
“He might not have been home,” Jake said to her back, sounding tentative.
She knew better. This last time, she’d have sworn she felt him on the other side of the door, willing her to leave. He certainly hadn’t returned her phone call.
Strike three and you’re out was way more apropos than third time’s a charm, it occurred to her.
“Mom? Aren’t you going to talk to me?”
She drew on her last reserves to say, “Later. Right now...I need to be alone for a few minutes.”
“But...why? You’re scaring me,” he said in a rush.
Laura slowed, stopped and finally turned. Jake’s eyes widened in horror.
“Mom?”
Oh, no. She lifted a hand to her face to find it wet. She was crying and hadn’t even known it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I—” Have no idea what I was going to say.
“He’s not coming over again, is he?”
“Probably not. Oh.” She swiped at her face. “Maybe for you.” He’d promised, hadn’t he? And he was a man who kept his promises.
“It’s my fault,” Jake cried.
“What?” Laura stared at him. “What are you talking about? This is all my fault. Mine. You...you heard me this morning. I was awful!” She hadn’t known until she closed the door that Jake had heard every word.
Face twisted with distress, he shook his head. “But that’s because you hate guns, and you do because of me. Because I ruined everything, and because I’ve been making more trouble now. Sometimes I think I should do like Dad did!” He raced forward, his shoulder striking hers as he tried to pass her in the hall.
Somehow she got a hold on him and wrapped him tight in her arms. Her own tears, her own desolation were forgotten.
“No! Oh, no, Jake. Don’t ever say that! Do you hear me?” She shook him, still without letting go.
He was crying so hard he couldn’t answer. Her own face crumpled and she laid her cheek against his, mingling their tears. Some instinct had her rocking, as if he was still a baby she believed she could keep safe forever more.
Now she knew better. But...I can still try.
“It was never your fault,” she finally squeezed out in a thick voice. “Never. Never.” She kept saying the one word and he kept crying.
It seemed like an eternity until his shoulders quit shaking and he only rested against her. Laura smoothed a hand up and down his back. “I love you. Don’t ever say anything like that. I can’t imagine—” Her voice broke, and he looked up.
“I didn’t mean it. I won’t, Mom. That’s not what I wanted—” His turn to stop.
“Wanted?”
“I mean, with the gun. Like, when I sneaked out so I could look at Ethan’s.”
She tried to smile, and hated to think what it looked like with her eyes red and swollen and snot probably running along with the tears. “You know what he’d say.”
His mouth twisted. Not quite a smile, but he was trying, too. “That I wasn’t just looking.”
She hugged him, hard. “We need to sit down and talk. Um...after I blow my nose.”
He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, and she narrowed her eyes in automatic warning. His grin, however weak, heartened her. He’d been teasing.
They split up, Laura going to her bathroom to blow her nose and splash cold water onto her face. After patting it dry, she peered at herself in the mirror and made a horrible grimace. Oh, well—Jake didn’t care what she looked like.
His eyes were still red, but otherwise he’d made a better recovery than she had. “Are you hungry?” Laura asked. “Never mind. Dumb question.”
He always was. And...thinking and talking about dinner anchored her, made it possible to pretend he hadn’t said what he had. No, no. This was just another evening.
“How about if I just stick a pizza in the oven?” Frozen pizza was one of her fallback meals when she was too tired to cook. Usually she at least managed a vegetable, but tonight that felt like too much effort.
After turning on the oven to preheat, she grabbed them each a cola and they sat down at the kitchen table. The time to quit pretending had come. The desperate need to convince him that the burden of guilt wasn’t his to bear mingled with her own feeling of emotional vulnerability. With Ethan, she’d had the chance of a lifetime and thrown it away. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let Jake pay for her mistakes.
First and most important...“Will you tell me why you’re so obsessed with handguns?”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug and scrunched up his face. “I...don’t really know. I never thought about killing myself, though! Not once.”
“Okay.” Funnily enough, she believed him. Laura reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’d never forgive you if you did, you know.”
This grin was a little stronger than the last. “Yeah.” Then it blinked out. “Did... I mean, were you mad at Dad, too?”
It wasn’t hard to cast her mind back. “Yes. Sometimes I still am.”
“Because he killed himself.”
“Yes. And because he left the other gun out in the first place.” She took a breath. Always in the past, she’d soft-pedaled Matt’s culpability, thinking she was protecting Jake. Now, she wondered if she hadn’t left a vacuum he’d filled in his own way. “Do you remember how often I chewed him out when he tossed that damn gun on top of the refrigerator?”
He nodded, and then shook his head. “Kind of.”
“Over and over. He’d put it in the safe, but I could see him rolling his eyes, too. He just wouldn’t take me seriously.”
“That’s why he felt so bad.”
“Because I’d asked and asked and he’d ignored me? I don’t know,” she said honestly. “He’d have felt as awful even if that had been the first time he’d been careless. With the consequences so terrible...”
Jake bowed his head. “Me getting it.”
“Marco dying.” She waited until he lifted his head and met her eyes again. “Because your father had a five-year-old son who was fascinated with his gun because Daddy carried one. Because that’s what little boys do given half a chance. Because he did something incredibly stupid.”
“Did you still want, you know, to be married to him?”
The question was remarkably perceptive for a boy his age. Her first reaction was, No. No, I almost hated him for what
he did. But that wasn’t the whole truth, either.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I...hadn’t let myself think like that yet. We were all devastated. When his family turned their backs...I couldn’t.”
His gaze was unexpectedly searching. She hoped he didn’t see deep enough to discover... What? But she knew: the rage and pain that had felt very much like hate.
Had Matt known? For the first time, she let herself fully face it, and still didn’t know the answer. But she suddenly understood something she hadn’t before, not completely. She’d thought a million times, If only I’d been able to forgive him, maybe...
But, dear Lord, what if it really had been her silent condemnation, the cold shoulder she’d turned to him in bed, the words of comfort she could never bring herself to speak to him, that in the end had led to the despair that drove him to kill himself?
I’ve wanted to blame his parents. His brothers and sisters. Everyone but me.
It was too late for forgiveness to mean anything to him, but it wasn’t too late to forgive Matt’s family, who hadn’t felt anything she didn’t, too. And to think she’d consoled herself that she hadn’t deserted him when really she had in every meaningful sense except for continuing to live in the same house with him.
She realized she was sitting there with her mouth hanging open, whatever she’d meant to say unspoken. Jake stared at her, anxiety making him look simultaneously older than his age, and younger. Frightened again. And, dear God help her, so much like his father.
“Mom?”
“I’m sorry.” Oh, crap, she was crying again. “I just...I wish...maybe that I could go back and have a do-over.”
“Like...like have locked up Dad’s gun?”
“Well...of course,” she said, jolted. Yes, if she could do something over, that should be it. “I was actually thinking that I should have held your dad and told him I knew he didn’t mean anybody ever to be hurt. That I still loved him.”
“You didn’t?” Jake’s voice cracked.
Filled with sorrow, she shook her head.
“So...so you think it was your fault he killed himself,” he said slowly.
To Love a Cop Page 24
