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“No. You?”
“No.” They clung to each other even as they were rapidly ushered through the front door and out into the yard, where EMTs rushed forward to assist them.
“She’s been hurt,” Calder told the first to reach them.
“I’m all right,” Elle said. But there was a red welt across her cheekbone, and it had already begun to swell.
“This way, ma’am.” The EMT took her arm to lead her toward the ambulance, which was just one of the emergency vehicles parked haphazardly in the street. Reluctantly, Calder released her into the medic’s care and fell into step behind them.
“Calder!”
He stopped and turned. In long strides, Compton and Perkins were closing in on him. Compton was huffing. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, but Dawn hit Elle in the face with the pistol. May have broken a bone. I don’t know.” He turned and started jogging toward the ambulance.
“Calder!”
He stopped and turned again. Compton said, “What I said about you acting impulsively at the fairground? I owe you an apology.”
He divided a look between her and Perkins. “Save it. You were right.”
Chapter 41
After the dramatic takedown of the Fairground shooter, Calder was hounded by the media. He was unable to leave his apartment building without having to run a gauntlet of microphones and cameras. After five days of it, he cleared himself with Compton and Perkins and struck out for California by car.
He told himself that he was going for his parents’ sake, to show them in person that he’d survived the ordeal, that he was well and whole. But in actuality, he was running home like a child with a skinned knee, seeking comfort and reassurance, needing to hear that a scab would form, that what ailed him would eventually hurt less and get better.
He’d needed them to tell him that he wasn’t to blame.
They were thrilled to have him. He and his dad, whose latest scans were clear, spent a lot of time in the loungers on the back terrace that overlooked the ocean. One afternoon, Calder bounced off him an idea he’d been contemplating.
“It’s a new business plan. Rather than going in and weeding out borderline employees, I would evaluate their weaknesses, coach them on how to improve, or suggest a task within the company that’s more suited to their strengths.
“By doing so, I’d help create a happier and therefore more productive workforce, which would result in increased revenue, which would please the bigwigs. I don’t know. It’s still on the drawing board. You’re the first person I’ve shared this with. What do you think, Dad?”
“I like it. Positivity, not negativity.”
Calder grinned. “That might be the tagline on my new business card.”
That was as serious as they got. Most of the time, they talked about nothing consequential. They used the silliest anecdotal recollections as excuses to laugh until their eyes leaked tears.
Ponderous things, such as how they felt about life and its often-cruel vagaries and the depth of their feeling for each other were communicated more subtly during companionable silences when they’d exchange a look and smile with mutual understanding.
His mom was more demonstrative. She fussed over him and fed him, having pledged she would put five pounds on him before he left. She was even more affectionate than usual, hugging him often for no specific reason, holding him close and whispering in a voice made ragged by emotion, “Oh, Calder, we came so close to losing you, our baby, our boy. I feel for that poor woman.”
Elle. Elle who had lost her baby, her boy. He thought constantly of her and of the pain she still experienced. Knowing that it would reside in her for the rest of her life anguished him.
He spent hours each day walking alone on the beach, staring out across the undulating Pacific, or lying on his back in the sand, gazing at the nighttime sky, seeking absolution, asking the heavens:Am I to blame?
To the consternation of the media, Elle was even more reclusive than she had been following the Fairground shooting. She declined every request for an interview and kept to her house. After a few discouraging days of getting nothing from her, one by one the journalists camping out on her street packed up their vans and left.
Her parents came to spend a weekend with her. As usual, it was intended as a caring gesture, but Elle was relieved when they departed. Her agent, Laura, had called every other day or so to check on her. Given the circumstances, the publisher had extended her deadline by several months. Therefore, Laura was surprised and delighted when Elle told her she was ready to get back to work.
“Thank them for the gesture, but I won’t need the extension. I’ll get the book in ahead of its original deadline.”
She had a voice mail from Jeff, telling her how glad he was that her ordeal was over. She called him back and congratulated him on the birth of his son.
Other than returning the calls of established friends, she maintained a low profile and spent long days at her computer and drawing board. Closure had freed her mind and jump-started her creativity.
