wine vinaigrette with herbs. I caught her dabbing at her eyes more than once, but said nothing. I assumed she was upset over Stanley. After all, she had been a senior in high school when Kevin began his work next door and barely knew him. Still, Jessica had seen our neighbor dead, hanging on the vines covered in blood and gore. That was certainly excuse enough for tears. I thought about letting her off the hook about Stanley, but I just couldn’t. I felt compelled to discuss it now while plastic sheeting still hung where my window used to be.
We ate in the kitchen. At least I ate. Jessica just shoved her food around the plate. I struggled with how to begin, but could think of no segue or smooth opening gambit. Finally, I just blurted it out.
“I intend to press charges against Stanley,” I informed Jessica. “I’m not letting him get away with this.”
“I’ll pay for the window, mom,” Jessica said without looking up from her plate. She speared a piece of chicken, ferried it half way to her mouth and then put it back on the plate.
“He’ll pay for the window,” I corrected. “And he’ll do it in jail.”
“Stanley wasn’t angry at you. He was pissed off at me. Just let me handle it.”
“Well, my window wasn’t angry at anyone. And I’ve had enough of Stanley,” I folded my napkin and took a sip of wine. “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life,” I began and Jessica snorted a disbelieving laugh. “I’m not,” I repeated indignantly, “But I don’t want him here again. Ever.”
“We agree on that much, anyway,” Jessica said, poking at her lettuce. “I broke up with Stanley a month ago.” She wiped a slow trickle of tears and put her fork down. “I’ve had enough,” she said. “I’m not really hungry.” That was an understatement; she hadn’t eaten anything. She started to stand, but I stopped her.
“Sit with me for a minute,” I said. She dropped back in her chair and I proceeded with caution, unwilling to drop the subject. “You’ve broken up before,” I gently reminded her. “But you always take him back.”
Jessica shook he head. “Not this time. I don’t love Stanley,” she said, voice thick with the tears. “I—I, God, I can’t talk about this right now.” She shoved back her chair, but made no move to rise.
“I understand,” I told her, reaching for her hand. I gave it a squeeze. “You and Stanley have been together for six years. That’s not an easy thing to walk away from.”
Jessica pulled her hand away and hugged herself. She shook her head. “It’s not Stanley,” she said. “It’s—” she shivered and hugged tighter, hunching her shoulders so that her hair fell around her face.
“Is it Kevin?” I asked, scooting my chair around the table, closer to her. “I know. It’s awful. I can’t believe it myself,” and that’s when my own tears started. All the events of the day finally gang-tackled me and I was weeping into my plate. I grabbed my napkin and tried to mop them up.
Jessica’s shoulders shook, and I could hear her choking back sobs. She huddled even tighter in her own embrace.
“I know, baby,” I said and put my hand on her shoulder. “I even feel sorry for Laurel.”
Jessica’s shoulders went as taut as the grape trellis wires in the vineyard. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. She pulled away from me. “You can’t.”
“But I do, babe,” I said. “Kevin was a very sweet man. Someone we saw every day. But we’ll survive.” Jessica looked up at me and her expression was so pitiful that my heart almost broke with love for her. I could see how much the murder was affecting her. But maybe it was more than that? Maybe it was fear? I know that I was feeling the first nibbles of worry in the pit of my stomach as night drew on. I almost wished that I had let Samson stay over. Almost.
Jessica stood, still clutching herself, eyes downcast. “I can’t do this,” she said in a tearful voice. “I’m
We ate in the kitchen. At least I ate. Jessica just shoved her food around the plate. I struggled with how to begin, but could think of no segue or smooth opening gambit. Finally, I just blurted it out.
“I intend to press charges against Stanley,” I informed Jessica. “I’m not letting him get away with this.”
“I’ll pay for the window, mom,” Jessica said without looking up from her plate. She speared a piece of chicken, ferried it half way to her mouth and then put it back on the plate.
“He’ll pay for the window,” I corrected. “And he’ll do it in jail.”
“Stanley wasn’t angry at you. He was pissed off at me. Just let me handle it.”
“Well, my window wasn’t angry at anyone. And I’ve had enough of Stanley,” I folded my napkin and took a sip of wine. “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life,” I began and Jessica snorted a disbelieving laugh. “I’m not,” I repeated indignantly, “But I don’t want him here again. Ever.”
“We agree on that much, anyway,” Jessica said, poking at her lettuce. “I broke up with Stanley a month ago.” She wiped a slow trickle of tears and put her fork down. “I’ve had enough,” she said. “I’m not really hungry.” That was an understatement; she hadn’t eaten anything. She started to stand, but I stopped her.
“Sit with me for a minute,” I said. She dropped back in her chair and I proceeded with caution, unwilling to drop the subject. “You’ve broken up before,” I gently reminded her. “But you always take him back.”
Jessica shook he head. “Not this time. I don’t love Stanley,” she said, voice thick with the tears. “I—I, God, I can’t talk about this right now.” She shoved back her chair, but made no move to rise.
“I understand,” I told her, reaching for her hand. I gave it a squeeze. “You and Stanley have been together for six years. That’s not an easy thing to walk away from.”
Jessica pulled her hand away and hugged herself. She shook her head. “It’s not Stanley,” she said. “It’s—” she shivered and hugged tighter, hunching her shoulders so that her hair fell around her face.
“Is it Kevin?” I asked, scooting my chair around the table, closer to her. “I know. It’s awful. I can’t believe it myself,” and that’s when my own tears started. All the events of the day finally gang-tackled me and I was weeping into my plate. I grabbed my napkin and tried to mop them up.
Jessica’s shoulders shook, and I could hear her choking back sobs. She huddled even tighter in her own embrace.
“I know, baby,” I said and put my hand on her shoulder. “I even feel sorry for Laurel.”
Jessica’s shoulders went as taut as the grape trellis wires in the vineyard. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. She pulled away from me. “You can’t.”
“But I do, babe,” I said. “Kevin was a very sweet man. Someone we saw every day. But we’ll survive.” Jessica looked up at me and her expression was so pitiful that my heart almost broke with love for her. I could see how much the murder was affecting her. But maybe it was more than that? Maybe it was fear? I know that I was feeling the first nibbles of worry in the pit of my stomach as night drew on. I almost wished that I had let Samson stay over. Almost.
Jessica stood, still clutching herself, eyes downcast. “I can’t do this,” she said in a tearful voice. “I’m
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