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That silly woman has two sweaters on, still too distracted by life to buy a proper coat.
I stand and watch her till I can’t see her anymore, then glance at the door of the police station. An instinct pricks at my skin.
You know what?
The police report can wait.
I won’t forget anything when all the sordid details are carved in my brain.
Right now, I’ve got something more important to take care of.
And the woman I almost let get away waiting for me at home, asking for a fresh start to a life we can finally build, without this horrible black hole of grief in the way.
She’s made me more than a one-trick pony, obsessed with procedure and haunted by clawing after answers I finally have.
How could I not want to return the favor?
We’ve always been in this together.
28
ONE WAY HOME (OPHELIA)
It’s not like Grant to be this late.
Call me paranoid, but after everything that’s happened, I don’t think anyone could blame me.
It’s almost time for dinner, and Nell’s looking a little worried, too, though she won’t say it out loud.
She’s been quieter than usual since everything that happened on the yacht.
The child counselor she’s seeing twice a week says that’s normal. She needs time to process the horror in terms she can understand at her age.
What she needs most from us is to be there for her, without any pressure to act a certain way or get better faster. My own experiences certainly taught me pain moves at its own pace.
Love and reassurance are the medicine she needs most, knowing her world won’t fall apart tomorrow.
That she’s not going to lose anyone else the same awful way she lost her parents. Or how she almost lost us.
I can do that.
Loving Nell is easy.
And being there for her... if I’m honest, I don’t ever want to be anywhere else.
I want to be here for Nell, for Grant, for me.
But that requires Grant tobehere, too.
I squeeze Nell’s shoulder as I stand up from the sofa.
“Give me a sec, I’m going to call him. He probably just got buried in work and lost track of time. You know what he’s like.”
She looks up from doing her homework at the coffee table.
For a moment, there’s a flicker of fear in her eyes before she smiles sweetly and bravely. “He’s a big dumb dorkface like that. Worky-holic.”
“He is. But we’ll take care of him, won’t we?” I return her sunny smile and squeeze her shoulder again. “I’m not going anywhere, little lady. Just getting my phone off the charger.”
