“For Jake,” she said briskly, sitting straighter and sliding her hands from his. She watched as he flattened them on his chino-clad thighs, long, taut muscles outlined beneath the cotton fabric. “I could move to Beijing and I wouldn’t forget a thing.”
He saw deeper than she liked. “Matt had a big family.”
“Yes, he did.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember seeing them at his funeral.”
“That’s because they weren’t there.”
“His parents didn’t come to his funeral.”
“Nope.” Anger had long since buried any pain at that loss. She lived with a whole lot of anger. “Neither did a single one of his three brothers and two sisters.”
“They ditched you?” he said incredulously. “Because of a tragic accident?”
“Marco’s father, Rinaldo, is the brother Matt was closest to. They had...a really horrible scene and never spoke again. I thought...after Matt died...” She grimaced. “But no. Either they held Jake responsible even if he was only five years old, or they blamed me.” For good reason.
“What did you say?” This man, this stranger, was glowering at her.
She gaped at him.
“You think it was your fault?”
Oh, no. She’d said that aloud.
But it was the truth.
“I went outside to water the annuals in pots and left two five-year-old boys alone in the house.” For five or ten minutes. That’s all. But it had been long enough. “I should have checked first to be sure Matt locked up his gun. I’d gotten so I usually did, because he was so careless with it. But that one time...that one time...” Her voice wobbled. She couldn’t finish.
He gripped one of her hands again. “Laura. It is Laura, right?”
“How did you know?”
He shook his head. “It stuck in my mind. The gun was Matt’s. Not yours.” His jaw muscles flexed, and his gaze bored into hers. “He’d carried it for years. He was a professional. He knew better. Him leaving that damn gun where his little boy could get his hands on it was not your responsibility.”
There was so much grit in those last words, she quailed. Then she squared her shoulders. “I did a couple of things wrong that, coupled with what Matt did wrong, led to something horrible. I will not forget my part.”
Ethan Winter just shook his head.
“Would you take advice from me?”
She eyed him warily. “It depends what that advice is.”
“I saw Jake’s expression when he looked at those guns today. Whatever is going on in his head is powerful. You’re not going to be able to stamp it out by making guns taboo. I’d strongly suggest you consider enrolling him in a gun safety class—”
This time, she jerked back, pulling her hand from his and curling both hands into fists. “You think I should put a gun in his hands? No! No, no, no. I swore I would never allow one in my house again.” She glared at his holstered weapon. “I shouldn’t have let you in. Not carrying that.”
His eyebrows drew together. The silence bristled with too much said. After a moment he nodded and pushed himself to his feet.
“I’ll leave, then. I think you’re wrong, but you have a right to make the decision.”
Her “thank you” rang of sarcasm.
He took a business card from a pocket. “My cell phone number is on the back. If there’s anything I can do for you or Jake, call.”
She was careful not to let her fingers touch his as she took the card, then looked down at it. Detective Ethan Winter. What did he mean by anything? Would he show up if she needed wood split next winter? A ride to work when her car was in the shop?
“May I say goodbye to Jake?” he asked.
He’d been...nice. She hadn’t. Taking a deep breath, she nodded.
She stayed where he was when he went down the hall. Heard him rap on the door, then the bass rumble of his voice, but couldn’t make out words or hear anything Jake said.
A minute later, the detective came back down the hall. She stood to see him out. He nodded politely as he passed her and crossed the porch, his expression cop-guarded.
“Detective,” she said to his back.
He paused at the foot of the stairs.
She made herself say it. “Thank you. For bringing Jake home, and for listening to me.”
He turned at that, searching her face. “I meant it,” he said. “If he does anything that worries you, or you need to talk, call me.”
Why did he care? The fact that he so obviously did caused a lump to swell in her throat. Around it, Laura said again, “Thank you.”
He dipped his head one more time, acknowledging her words, then crossed her small front yard with his long, fluid stride, got into his SUV and drove away without, as far as she could see, so much as looking back.
THE WAITRESS SLID the plate with his food in front of Ethan, and he glanced up from his phone. “Thanks.”
Damn, had her breast brushed his shoulder, or had he imagined it?
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked, her voice just a little sultry.
Maybe she couldn’t help sounding that way.
“Not right now. Thanks.”
The hamburger and French fries smelled really good. He set aside the phone, on which he’d been checking email. A day off didn’t mean he didn’t want to know what he was missing. Along with several other active cases, he had been working a disturbing series of residential vandalisms. Four so far. All the owners had last names that sounded Jewish. Most of the shit he dealt with these days was anti-gay, with some anti-Muslim and anti-black thrown in for variety. Anti-Semitic, that was more unusual, in this part of the country anyway.
The ironic thing was, only two of the families were actually practicing Jews. The husband and father whose home had been hit most recently had shaken his head in bewilderment. “I’m Lutheran. The family has intermarried so much since my great-great-whatever came through Ellis Island, calling me Jewish is like calling some mutt at the animal shelter a golden retriever when he’s short-haired, has stubby legs and stand-up ears but just happens to be yellow.” His face had hardened. “My last name is Finkel, but until now that didn’t mean anything.”
The swastika spray painted in red on his driveway had been blurred by water shooting from the
