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Kacey pressed lightly on his hands. Holding them. He tried to lose himself in the blue of her eyes.
“Dad never leaves his gun loaded,” he said. “It was the number one rule. We all knew it. But the night before, when he was showing it to me, Mom had slipped off a step stool in the kitchen and Dad had shoved the gun under the bed where he kept it in case of intruders. He forgot to come back and...”
He was staring at her, but all he could see was Willie coming farther into the room, instead of going back to put the gun where he’d found it.
I just want to show you, Mike.
“I’m here.” Kacey squeezed again. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”
He felt the tender mercies of Florence Nightingale sweep over him.
“Dennis told him he couldn’t show me anything with that gun because it wasn’t loaded, anyway.”
I just want to show you, Mike.
“Willie said he could show me how good he could aim. I told him to get his butt back into the bedroom and put the gun away or I wouldn’t play with him at all. Period.”
I just want to show you how good I am, Mike.
“When he didn’t immediately turn around to do as I’d told him, I put down my control and started toward him. He spun then, to mind me, and in his haste, he squeezed the trigger...”
It had been an accident from the get-go. A horrible, tragic turn of events that had shattered the lives of his entire family.
But no one’s as much as Willie’s.
* * *
ALL HER LIFE Kacey had been surrounded by drama. Some of it was her own making, but most of it stemmed from scriptwriters and make-believe.
She could cry and shout, shake with anger, and jump for joy on command. None of it was real.
Michael’s pain, his life...were as real as they came.
One thing was clear to her as she sat with him—he needed her.
And she had to be strong for him, give him what he needed.
Maybe for only this one scene. Maybe she was little more than a walk-on in his life. But she was in the middle of the big moment of her life. There was no doubt.
Standing, she kept hold of his hand as she walked around the desk, and when she reached him, she pulled his head against her.
He didn’t cry. But she felt his tears, just the same.
He didn’t hold her, but she knew he took comfort from her embrace.
Sometimes there were no words. Nothing a mouth could utter that would ease the suffering.
Sometimes only heart to heart could do that.
So she held him. Mike wasn’t a gooey type of guy. He didn’t need petting, and though she wanted to run her fingers through his hair, she didn’t.
She had no plan for how long she’d stand there, pressing his cheek against her diaphragm. But it was almost as though she could feel the tension flowing out of him. Like a tire losing air.
> “I understand now,” she said softly, after an undetermined amount of time had passed. “This is why you are your brother’s keeper.”
He moved and she loosened her hold on his head but grabbed his hand again, touched his shoulder.
And then, as she looked him in the eye, she touched his face.
