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CELIA: Yeah, I was at my mom's when Spencer told me the news. He actually gloated. He's hated the Saints for years.
AMY: Poor Hunter…
CELIA: I know. I feel sick.
There was a pause and I waited for her to reply.
AMY: I'm between classes. Want to come and meet me and have coffee?
CELIA: Don't really feel like it. I've got a mid-term to study for. Besides, what I really need is a drink.
AMY: Tonight. We'll go to the pub and drown our sorrows.
CELIA: Sounds like a plan.
AMY: I'll drop by after I finish class this afternoon. We can have supper and then go to the pub.
CELIA: See you then.
I turned off my cell and lay back on my bed, switching channels on the television to watch the coverage of the shooting. On one channel, I caught a glimpse of Hunter as the family left the hospital. A small gaggle of reporters followed them to a black SUV, throwing out questions, none of which were answered.
"Mr. Saint, do you have anything to say about the death of your son Sean?"
"Mr. Saint, the FBI reports that Sean Saint attacked a federal agent. Do you have any comment?"
Hunter looked haggard, his face even paler than normal, his brow furrowed. He was dressed in a black leather jacket, jeans, and a black t-shirt. He looked good but really upset—of course. I watched him open the door for his father, helping the older man in, adjusting the tank of portable oxygen, then close the door. Hunter said nothing, just got in the back seat on the other side of his father. The camera focused in on the car window, but it was darkened, and all you could see was a faint outline of Hunter's face, his square jaw, a few days’ worth of stubble on his chin.
My heart squeezed to see him again and regret threatened to make me cry. He was good. He wasn’t like the rest of his family. Maybe I could believe he had helped Sean on a job one time, but I knew Hunter after the alleged attack took place. He did not want to be part of his family or the mob.
He didn't.
I finally turned off the television when I felt such despair that I crawled under my covers to hide from the world.
A part of me reasoned that if I hadn’t obeyed Spencer back when Hunter and I had been together, if I had continued to see him, maybe something worse would have happened—although I couldn't imagine anything worse than Sean being killed in front of Hunter.
Whatever might have happened, I would have lost my place in the dorm, and Spencer would have been on an even bigger witchhunt.
I took out my cell and called Graham, but the call went to voice mail so I left a message.
"Did you hear about Sean Saint? He was killed by the FBI when they arrested his uncle Donny. Give me a call."
I ended the call and then snuggled down into my covers, closing my eyes, trying to shove thoughts of the whole mess from my mind. I couldn’t imagine studying at that moment. In fact, I couldn’t imagine doing anything other than crying.
So I did.
Later, Amy arrived and knocked on my door. The room was dark; I'd fallen asleep for an hour so I was groggy and a bit disoriented when I heard her. I crawled out from under the covers and walked to the door to let her in.
"There you are," she said and hugged me immediately. She pulled me over to the sofa and plopped down beside me. As usual, she knew just what to do to pull me out of my funk. "So tell me," she said and I recounted what Spencer had told me and what I had seen on the news. We sat and commiserated about my failed romance with Hunter, and the tragedy that had befallen the Saint family with Donny's arrest and Sean's death.
"Poor Hunter," Amy said. "He must be destroyed by it. Imagine watching Graham being shot right before your eyes."
"I can't."
"Will you send a condolence letter?"
"I don’t know if I should. I'm sure Hunter would burn it. He must hate me and hate all of us, especially because it was Spencer who sicced the FBI on Donny…"
"Still, you should show him that you care."
