game to be with Tommy, and then he had to come along and ruin the whole day.”
Ann sighed. It was useless to get into another argument over Glen. At the door, she looked back at her son and smiled. “You liked the chocolate chip cookies he bought for you, though. I saw the evidence in your bed. Remember what I’ve always told you, David: don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
Abruptly he sat up in bed, a look of urgency on his face. “Mom, don’t go back to work tomorrow. Please,” he begged. “What if they shoot you again?”
Ann braced herself against the doorframe. “We went over all this, honey. It was a drive-by shooting. They didn’t care if they shot me or someone else. That’s good, see. That means it will never happen again.” She started to go to him, make another attempt to assuage his fears but she didn’t know anything else to say. “Go to sleep now. Everything will be fine. I love you, honey.”
Ann padded down the long hall and flopped on her back in the bed, reaching up to touch her sore shoulder. Being in the house the past week had left her surrounded by painful memories of Hank. She glanced around the room, trying to remember what it had looked like when he’d been alive. Her husband had always kept everything freshly painted and repaired.
Now the paint was chipped and peeling from the walls, and the roof was shot. But Ann had heeded people’s suggestions and tried to make it her room now that he was gone, redecorating the year before in soft pastel colors and floral prints. She didn’t like clutter, so there were no knickknacks, but she had purchased lovely cotton fabrics and used them to cover the scratched dresser and nightstand that had once belonged to her parents. Then she’d made dried arrangements with sunflowers and lilies, the same flowers used in the prints, placing them around the room in wicker baskets.
Next to the fresh flowers Glen kept bringing her, though, the artificial ones looked faded and tacky. The ones on the nightstand he had brought over just today. Ann inhaled their fragrance. Since the shooting she had been pleasantly surprised by the attorney’s thoughtfulness and concern. Many men were attentive when things were running smoothly, then conveniently got lost at the first sign of trouble. Glen had proved that he wasn’t that type of person. Ann was grateful, and her feelings for him had deepened.
He wasn’t anywhere near replacing Hank, though. Right over there, she thought, looking at the dresser, was where Hank used to toss his gun and shield when he crept into the bedroom after a late-night shift. Ann used to have a big ceramic bowl there for just that purpose. Every morning when she got up, she’d pick up his uniform off the floor, checking to see if he could get one more day’s wear out of it before she had to send it out to be cleaned. Then she would retrieve his gun from the bowl and lock it in the small floor safe in one comer of the room.
Old habits die hard, Ann told herself She still caught herself stopping by that one spot on the floor sometimes, just staring down at the place where Hank’s uniform used to be. The old safe was covered now with a ruffled print tablecloth and shoved under the window, but Ann still kept her own firearm in it. Probation officers in Ventura County did not carry guns. Since the shooting, she had left the safe unlocked so she could get to the gun in a hurry if she needed it. So many years had passed, David probably wasn’t aware the safe was even in the room.
Looking up at the ornate crown molding along the ceiling, she tried to recall the exact age of the house. According to her father, they’d moved here when Ann was three years old. She’d forgotten through the years to ask if the house was new when her parents purchased it, so without a look at the tax assessor’s files, she had no way of knowing if other families had ever lived in it. It would seem strange if they had, since the house seemed
Ann sighed. It was useless to get into another argument over Glen. At the door, she looked back at her son and smiled. “You liked the chocolate chip cookies he bought for you, though. I saw the evidence in your bed. Remember what I’ve always told you, David: don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
Abruptly he sat up in bed, a look of urgency on his face. “Mom, don’t go back to work tomorrow. Please,” he begged. “What if they shoot you again?”
Ann braced herself against the doorframe. “We went over all this, honey. It was a drive-by shooting. They didn’t care if they shot me or someone else. That’s good, see. That means it will never happen again.” She started to go to him, make another attempt to assuage his fears but she didn’t know anything else to say. “Go to sleep now. Everything will be fine. I love you, honey.”
Ann padded down the long hall and flopped on her back in the bed, reaching up to touch her sore shoulder. Being in the house the past week had left her surrounded by painful memories of Hank. She glanced around the room, trying to remember what it had looked like when he’d been alive. Her husband had always kept everything freshly painted and repaired.
Now the paint was chipped and peeling from the walls, and the roof was shot. But Ann had heeded people’s suggestions and tried to make it her room now that he was gone, redecorating the year before in soft pastel colors and floral prints. She didn’t like clutter, so there were no knickknacks, but she had purchased lovely cotton fabrics and used them to cover the scratched dresser and nightstand that had once belonged to her parents. Then she’d made dried arrangements with sunflowers and lilies, the same flowers used in the prints, placing them around the room in wicker baskets.
Next to the fresh flowers Glen kept bringing her, though, the artificial ones looked faded and tacky. The ones on the nightstand he had brought over just today. Ann inhaled their fragrance. Since the shooting she had been pleasantly surprised by the attorney’s thoughtfulness and concern. Many men were attentive when things were running smoothly, then conveniently got lost at the first sign of trouble. Glen had proved that he wasn’t that type of person. Ann was grateful, and her feelings for him had deepened.
He wasn’t anywhere near replacing Hank, though. Right over there, she thought, looking at the dresser, was where Hank used to toss his gun and shield when he crept into the bedroom after a late-night shift. Ann used to have a big ceramic bowl there for just that purpose. Every morning when she got up, she’d pick up his uniform off the floor, checking to see if he could get one more day’s wear out of it before she had to send it out to be cleaned. Then she would retrieve his gun from the bowl and lock it in the small floor safe in one comer of the room.
Old habits die hard, Ann told herself She still caught herself stopping by that one spot on the floor sometimes, just staring down at the place where Hank’s uniform used to be. The old safe was covered now with a ruffled print tablecloth and shoved under the window, but Ann still kept her own firearm in it. Probation officers in Ventura County did not carry guns. Since the shooting, she had left the safe unlocked so she could get to the gun in a hurry if she needed it. So many years had passed, David probably wasn’t aware the safe was even in the room.
Looking up at the ornate crown molding along the ceiling, she tried to recall the exact age of the house. According to her father, they’d moved here when Ann was three years old. She’d forgotten through the years to ask if the house was new when her parents purchased it, so without a look at the tax assessor’s files, she had no way of knowing if other families had ever lived in it. It would seem strange if they had, since the house seemed
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