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“You don’t have to say anything. It’s I who—”
“Yes, I do. I do. I have to tell you how goddamn sorry I am about your little boy. I wish like hell… I wish…” He gave a shake of his head, which he hoped would convey the helplessness he felt.
She said, “You wish that Charlie had survived, and thrived, and gone on to live a long and wonderful life. You wish you could roll back the clock and decide not to go to the fair that evening. You wish you’d been stopped at a railroad crossing, which would have delayed your arrival. You wish that the young man who shot at us had never been born.”
Calder drew in an unsteady breath. “You expressed it well. Perfectly, in fact. But wishing it away doesn’t work, does it?”
No.
Her lips formed the word, but it was inaudible because she’d lowered her head to blot her eyes and nose with a tissue she’d taken from the handbag in her lap. He had an impulse to reach across and touch her hand, to express the sorrow and regret that had been gnawing at his guts like a rat ever since he’d been told that the child had died.
But any such gesture would be inappropriate. And, even if it was the height of etiquette, he doubted she would welcome it. So he stayed as he was while she composed herself.
With a final sniff, she brought her head up. “What compelled you to jump up and go after the stroller?”
He rolled his shoulders before remembering that reflexive movements like that made his arm hurt like a son of a bitch. She must’ve noticed his grimace because she quickly asked if he was in pain.
“Not all the time.”
“Aren’t you on pain medication?”
“I take it before I go to sleep. Before Itryto go to sleep.”
She gave him an understanding smile and a nod. “You were about to say?”
“Why did I go after the stroller? Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve been asked a dozen times by the doctors, the nurses, the shrink, my—”
“Alison Sinclair?”
“You’ve met Dr. Sinclair?”
“She came to the morgue that night and sat with me for a while. She called again the next day, but I wasn’t up to talking to her then. She was kind enough to come to my house after Charlie’s funeral. We had a few minutes together. She told me about the group therapy sessions she’s scheduled.”
“Yeah.”
“I missed the first one because of Charlie’s funeral. How was it?”
“I didn’t go. That kind of thing isn’t for me.”
“No? What did Dr. Sinclair say about that?”
Again, he shrugged without thinking, and again it hurt like hell. “She’s a therapist. Naturally, she encourages it.”
“I got the impression that attendance is mandatory.”
“No.”
“She couldn’t talk you into joining?”
“No.”
“Hmm.”
The dialogue ended on that softhmm, but the silence that followed had the texture of steel wool.
With hesitance, she said, “I interrupted what you were saying.”
“About what?”
