Page 117 of Shadow

“These are good. Simple. Clear moral lines. Good guys and bad guys. Right and wrong. No gray areas.”

Daphne looked at him. “I’m learning life isn’t that simple.”

“I’m wishing it was.”

She turned back to the book and read the back cover. “Your dad. Tell me about him.”

This wasn’t the conversation Asher had planned. But maybe she needed to understand his father to understand him.

“He wanted to be a good man,” Asher said slowly, “but couldn’t be. He loved us. Me and Gemma. But he also loved himself more. He wasn’t faithful to my mother. He couldn’t keep his promises.”

The words emerged a little harder than he’d expected.

“They got divorced when I was thirteen,” he continued. “We started this life of hopping between homes. I hated it, and Gemma was so young she was just confused. And Mom and Dad would fight over us all the time. Sometimes…well, things would get messed up. When I was about fourteen—Gemma was in first grade—my dad was supposed to pick us up after school. My mom had to go out of town for work. I don’t know what happened, but he didn’t show up. Gemma and I waited. Watched all the other kids get picked up. Teachers left. I took her over to the playground to entertain her, and somehow the school locked up without seeing us.”

She was watching him now, concern in her eyes. It did something to his chest—filled it, turned it warm.

“We finally sat on the steps while it got dark, just waiting.”

“He never came?”

“No. We didn’t have phones. So we finally walked home. The house was locked, so I broke in through the basement window. We crawled inside. But our basement was an unfinished, unheated dirt cellar, and Mom kept the door locked. So there we sat all weekend until she finally came home on Sunday night. In November,” Asher said, rolling the empty mug between his palms.

“It was cold. And Gemma was scared and…anyway, I still can’t take the smell of old basements.”

“That’s terrifying for a little kid.”

“Yeah, and then I started having this crazy recurring nightmare where I’m buried alive.”

“It’s understandable.”

“Yeah, well, the night terrors got so bad my mom sent me to our pastor for counseling. He said it was about being betrayed. About my dad not showing up.” Asher shrugged. “Point is—my dad wanted to be good. But he wasn’t. He loved us, but left us anyway. He made promises he couldn’t keep.”

He looked at Daphne. “I don’t want to be him. Don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. Don’t want to say I love someone and then abandon them.”

“My dad made promises too,” Daphne said quietly. “To come home. To be safe. To listen to his instincts.”

She set the book down on the desk. Moved to the window. Looked out at darkness and stars and mountains invisible beyond the glass.

“He was a good cop. A great cop. Everyone said so. But he—he didn’t always listen. Got caught up in the chase. In being the hero. In proving he could get the bad guy.”

Her voice was steady, but Asher heard the pain underneath.

“There was a robbery. Suspects fled on foot into Southwold—bad neighborhood, gang territory. Protocol said wait for backup. But Dad—he went in anyway. Chased them. Alone. And—” She paused. Breathed. “He was shot. Killed. By one of the gang members protecting the suspects.”

“Daphne—”

“I was sixteen. At home doing homework. And the police arrived at our door with the news. And our whole life just…ended. Right there.” She turned. “Because he just had to be the hero.”

And he heard the echo, of course. Her words from that first day.

He couldn’t move.

“My mom couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t go to the funeral. Couldn’t see the grave. Couldn’t stay in the city where he’d died. We moved to Washington State three days later. Left everything. My friends. My school. My whole life. Because she couldn’t breathe in the place where he’d made that choice.”

She turned back to the window. “I tried to stop by the cemetery when I got here, to see his grave, but…I’m as bad as she was. I just…you know. Can’t say goodbye.”

And now he did move. Stepped up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders.