Chương 5
Rachel stared at him.
Bell’s prosecutor objected.
The judge stopped the question.
But Rachel had already heard what it was meant to do.
Make preparation look like conspiracy.
Make fear look premeditated.
Outside the courthouse afterward, Ruth handed Rachel a bottle of water.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
Rachel drank.
“His lawyer made me sound insane.”
“No, his lawyer did his job.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
Ruth sat beside her on a low concrete wall.
Across the street, a man in a suit tried to eat a breakfast sandwich while walking and dropped half of it onto his tie.
Ruth watched him.
“Well,” she said. “Somebody’s having a worse morning than he expected.”
Rachel laughed.
The laugh hurt.
Everything still hurt when she laughed.
The order was extended.
Grant could not contact Rachel or Emma.
He could not return to the house except during a scheduled property retrieval with supervision.
His service weapon had already been secured by his department.
None of that made Rachel feel safe enough to go home.
For nine days she and Emma stayed with Ruth.
The apartment had one bedroom, one couch, two chairs, and a dining table Ruth mostly used for unopened mail.
By the fifth day everybody was irritated.
Emma complained that Ruth’s internet was slow.
Ruth complained that Emma left cups everywhere.
Rachel complained that both of them complained too loudly.
Then Emma started crying because Rachel sounded like Grant.
Nobody knew what to say after that.
Ruth turned off the stove.
Rachel stood in the kitchen holding a dish towel.
Emma stared at her.
“I didn’t mean—” Rachel began.
“You did the voice.”
“What voice?”
“The calm angry voice.”
Rachel felt something cold pass through her.
“I wasn’t angry.”
“You were.”
“I was annoyed.”
“That’s what he says.”
Ruth looked at the stove.
Rachel wanted to defend herself.
The impulse rose immediately.
I didn’t do anything.
You’re being unfair.
I’m the one with cracked ribs sleeping on a couch.
The words lined up inside her.
She put down the towel instead.
“Okay.”
Emma crossed her arms.
“Okay what?”
“Okay, I sounded like him.”
Emma’s chin trembled.
“That doesn’t mean you’re like him.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I know.”
“I just said—”
“I heard you.”
Emma wiped her face hard with the heel of her hand.
Rachel waited.
“I hate when you whisper when you’re mad,” Emma said.
Rachel blinked.
“Why?”
“Because then everybody else has to whisper too.”
There were things Rachel had expected to learn after leaving Grant.
Bank passwords.
Legal procedures.
How to sleep without listening for his car.
She had not expected to learn that her daughter knew the household rules better than she did.
“I’ll try not to do that,” Rachel said.
Emma shrugged.
It was not forgiveness.
It was not supposed to be.
When they finally returned to the house, two county deputies went with them.
Rachel stood in the front doorway for almost a minute.
The house smelled faintly of cleaner.
The aerosol can had been collected as evidence, but a pale streak remained on the wall near the phone.
The black handset hung crookedly.
Grant’s impact had chipped a tiny piece from the edge of the marble island.
Emma walked in behind Rachel and stopped.
“I hate this kitchen.”
Rachel looked at her.
“Me too.”
“Can we move?”
“Yes.”
Emma turned.
Rachel had answered too quickly.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know when.”
“That’s not yes.”
“It’s a future yes.”
Emma considered this.
“That sounds fake.”
“It might be a little fake.”
That got the smallest smile.
They spent twenty minutes packing clothes.
Rachel was not allowed to lift much, so Emma did most of the carrying.
In the bedroom, Grant’s closet door stood open.
His shoes were gone.
So were several jackets and the gray duffel bag he used for work trips.
A supervised retrieval had happened while Rachel was at Ruth’s.
The space where his things had been looked more intimate than his things themselves.
Empty hangers.
A charging cable that belonged to nothing.
One black sock in the corner.
Rachel picked it up, then got angry at herself for picking it up.
She threw it back.
Emma appeared in the doorway.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You threw a sock.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Emma nodded.
That answer made sense to her.
Rachel packed the sock later.
She told herself it was because lawyers would probably advise against throwing away Grant’s property.
The truth was less respectable.
For thirteen years she had picked up his socks.
Her hand knew the motion before her mind caught up.
The department’s internal affairs investigator called the next week.
His name was Calvin Morse.
He asked if Rachel would consent to an interview about Grant’s possible misuse of department systems.
Rachel almost said no.
She was back at work part-time, answering email from a spare office because her job at an outpatient rehabilitation clinic normally required more physical movement than her ribs allowed.
Her supervisor had been kind.
Kindness embarrassed her more than anger.
Every time someone said, Take whatever time you need, Rachel wanted to explain that she had used all her paid leave when Emma had pneumonia in January.
Time had a price.
Grant’s paycheck had stopped except for accrued benefits Rachel did not understand.
The joint account was becoming a battlefield of ordinary bills.
Mortgage.
Utilities.
Car insurance.
Emma’s orthodontist.
Rachel stared at Morse’s name on her phone and thought about the sentence Grant had repeated during arguments.
You have no idea how this system works.
She called him back.
Morse met her at a county building instead of the city department.
He was younger than Grant, which surprised Rachel.
She had expected somebody gray and severe.
Morse wore glasses and kept apologizing for the room temperature.
“The vents are possessed,” he said.
Rachel pulled her cardigan closed.
May you like
He placed a recorder on the table.
“Before we begin, I want to be clear. This is an administrative investigation. It’s separate from the criminal case. Some information may overlap, but I can’t make promises about outcomes.”
