At Close Range

Thinking about his young patient who didn’t have much hope of a future, about the ones he lost and the grief he suffered for each of them, Hannah shook her head. “Some days, I don’t envy you your career, either.”

“I’d suggest dinner or a stiff drink, but I’ve got…to get home.”

His hesitation, accompanied by a strange tone in his voice, piqued her interest. “Why’s that?”

“Cynthia’s moving in. Tonight.”

What? “The young woman with the four-year-old?”

He’d seen her more than twice, but…“She’s moving in as in with you, or as in renting a couple of rooms?”

“With me.”

“In a relationship. With you.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m…I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t either, really. But it seems like the right thing to do.”

“Is she still doing your bookkeeping?” Hannah asked.

“Yes.”

“At night so you can watch her son?”

“Yes.” Consciously fighting a twinge of jealousy that he had what she’d lost—a little boy to care for and love—Hannah refused to give in to the depression that had buried her for the long months after Carlos died.

She could look at other families now, other mothers with babies and toddlers, and not fall apart.

“I didn’t know you were still seeing her.”

“Yeah.”

“And it’s that serious?”

“Yep.”

“Needless to say, I’m shocked, but if you’re sure this is what you want, I’m happy for you.” Brian’s happiness was as important to her as her own. “It’s about time you joined the ranks of the living.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Though she was worried he might get hurt, Hannah wished him well. Told him to tell Cynthia hello. To give Joseph, whom she’d met only once at a SIDS fund-raiser, a hug. And then she hung up, staring at the wall of bookcases across from her.

Something about Brian’s news didn’t feel right; she just couldn’t pinpoint what that would be.

She wasn’t jealous, was she? She and Brian were close friends, nothing more.

So why wasn’t she as happy for him as she should’ve been?

Sliding the pile of folders in front of her, Hannah grabbed a pen. She was tired; that was all. The week had already been too long and wasn’t over yet. She’d feel better after she got some rest.

She’d feel better after Kenny Hill was convicted.

3

Lights welcomed Brian as he pulled through the entrance of the gated community and up to his home on Thursday night. The landscapers had been there earlier in the day and his half acre of colorful desert plants, squeezed into an entire street of similarly coiffed properties, provided a much-needed sanctuary from another long and trying day. The three-thousand-square-foot house was too much for him—he’d known that for a couple of years. But on nights like tonight, Brian couldn’t bear the idea of giving it up. He’d had to admit a six-year-old with an extremely high fever to the hospital this afternoon. With any luck, he wouldn’t be called out again that night.

The room-to-room stereo system was blaring the “Itsy Bitsy Spider” as he came through the garage door into the laundry room. A far cry from the peace and quiet he was used to. But it wasn’t wholly unwelcome.

With a smile, Brian entered the adjoining kitchen. Joseph, busy with crayons and paper at the table, didn’t notice him. Neither did the beautiful brunette standing at the granite counter, reading a newspaper. A few unopened moving boxes lined one wall. Cynthia had told him she didn’t have much as she’d rented her apartment furnished. If those boxes were the extent of her goods, he’d say her comment had been an understatement. How did one raise a child with only four moving boxes’ worth of belongings? Where were the toys? The picture albums and booster seats?

“Hey, doesn’t a guy get a hello after a hard day’s work?” He raised his voice to be heard over the childish chorus.

Joseph’s quickly indrawn breath, the speed with which the boy jumped down from the adult-size seat he’d been kneeling on, almost completely distracted Brian from the sight of Cynthia quickly folding and trashing the paper she’d been poring over so intently she’d missed his entrance.

“I made this for you, Brian,” Joseph said, holding out a wrinkled and slightly ripped piece of drawing paper.

Squatting, Brian had to consciously restrain himself from pulling the boy into his embrace, a sign of affection that Joseph could not yet accept, as he studied the artwork. A wobbly circle dominated the page. Several colors rimmed what Brian assumed was a ball. Rays of sun came out of the edges of the ball and ran off the sides of the page. The center of the ball had been left blank.

“This is great, son,” Brian said. “Is it mine to keep?”

Wordlessly, eyes wide as though fearing the reaction to his offering, Joseph nodded.

“Well, thank you. This is the nicest present I’ve had in a long time.” His ear-to-ear grin wasn’t the least bit forced. “I’m going to put this in my briefcase right now. I’ll take it to work with me tomorrow and hang it on the bulletin board by my desk so I can think of you every day.”

Joseph stared at him, leaving Brian to wonder what the child was thinking. Eventually the boy nodded and moved slowly back to his chair where he returned his focus to his latest creation.

Brian examined the picture he’d been given, certain there was a message for him if only he could decipher it. Looking to Cynthia for help, Brian was surprised to see her busy at the stove, her back to him.

Without a greeting.

And he remembered the paper. There’d been no mistaking the Sun News logo.

She’d read the article. Knew that someone thought he might be responsible for the deaths of four infants. Not sure whether to discuss the article with her or ignore it, Brian thought again of how quickly she’d disposed of the paper when she’d known he was there.

Sparing him?

Not wanting to insult him with doubts?

Maybe she needed some time to figure out what she wanted to do about what she’d read. Some time to determine how much she trusted the man she’d just moved in with.

Maybe it was best to wait. To let her mention it when she was ready.

He had nothing to hide. Something that was perhaps, right now, better shown than told.

“Hi,” he said, placing an arm around her waist as he leaned in for a kiss. Her lips, warm and full as always, clung to his, her tongue darting into his mouth with the ease of familiarity—and pleasure.