her slight nod, they both moved forward. Kendall steered the woman toward a chair on the other side of the porch, and Evelyn continued through the front door.
Her hand still on her gun, she scanned right to left as she passed through each room. An overturned chair and broken vase on the floor indicated a struggle in the living room. She stepped over a lamp lying across the doorway, and the broken bulb crunched under her boots. A fixture in the next room provided enough light that she didn’t have to use her flashlight. A picture hung askew in the hallway leading to the back of the house. She saw no effort to hide the obvious physical struggle here. The couple had apparently crossed a line this time.
She found him unconscious, in the kitchen, on his side, wedged between the counter and a battered dinette table. After a quick glance around the room, she bent and felt for a pulse. Satisfied that he was alive, she grabbed her radio and asked dispatch for an ambulance and a domestic-violence detective.
“Fifteen to thirteen.” She called Kendall using their unit numbers.
“Go ahead.”
“He’s got a head wound and there’s some broken glass that looks like a match to that bottle on the front porch. Hold what you have until we get DV out for pictures.” She chose her words carefully, knowing that the wife was within earshot. She doubted the woman was dangerous to anyone except the man currently incapacitated in front of her, but Kendall would take her into custody just in case.
“Ten-four.”
She pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then grabbed a towel from the counter and pressed it to the gash on his head.
When paramedics arrived a few minutes later, she was still crouched there and had gotten little more than a moan from the patient. She waited until one of the medics nodded and placed his hand over the towel she held; then she stepped back and moved out of their way. Judging from the vitals and comments they called to each other over his prone body, his condition was stable.
She found Kendall in the front yard, returning from securing the wife in her patrol car.
“He’ll survive,” Evelyn said.
The medics wheeled a stretcher carrying the husband out of the house and toward the ambulance. His wife watched wistfully through the car window as they passed. When she called out that she loved him, Kendall shook her head.
“We’ll be out here again in a few weeks.”
Evelyn snorted. “Welcome back.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Seriously, how’s it been?”
“You were right. I needed to stop wallowing and get back to it. It’s just—everything’s changed and I can’t seem to fix it. Did I tell you Melanie texted me?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“I thought maybe she wanted to work it out. But turns out she just wanted to talk about splitting up the furniture—like I have anywhere to put that stuff. I’m living in your guest room. Then she starts in about separating the bank accounts and won’t I be glad to have my share of our savings. She’s so fucking ready to move on. I don’t think she’s even upset about all of this.”
“Of course she is.” She recalled the sadness in Melanie’s eyes when she last saw her.
“She’s got a funny way of showing it.”
“Not really. Everything you said sounds just like Melanie.”
“Huh?”
“She’s a planner, Kendall. Occupying her mind with what she needs to do next is her way of dealing with all of this. She needs to feel like she’s doing something to move the situation forward.”
“Well, she can’t make me move forward.” Kendall looked over her shoulder at the woman sitting in her patrol car. “Will you go by there with me tomorrow before work to pick up some stuff?”
Something about people now negotiating their breakups through text message made Evelyn sad. Even relationships were becoming far too impersonal.
*
“Hi,” Melanie said somewhat breathlessly as she opened the door to Kendall and Evelyn.
She hadn’t gone this
Her hand still on her gun, she scanned right to left as she passed through each room. An overturned chair and broken vase on the floor indicated a struggle in the living room. She stepped over a lamp lying across the doorway, and the broken bulb crunched under her boots. A fixture in the next room provided enough light that she didn’t have to use her flashlight. A picture hung askew in the hallway leading to the back of the house. She saw no effort to hide the obvious physical struggle here. The couple had apparently crossed a line this time.
She found him unconscious, in the kitchen, on his side, wedged between the counter and a battered dinette table. After a quick glance around the room, she bent and felt for a pulse. Satisfied that he was alive, she grabbed her radio and asked dispatch for an ambulance and a domestic-violence detective.
“Fifteen to thirteen.” She called Kendall using their unit numbers.
“Go ahead.”
“He’s got a head wound and there’s some broken glass that looks like a match to that bottle on the front porch. Hold what you have until we get DV out for pictures.” She chose her words carefully, knowing that the wife was within earshot. She doubted the woman was dangerous to anyone except the man currently incapacitated in front of her, but Kendall would take her into custody just in case.
“Ten-four.”
She pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then grabbed a towel from the counter and pressed it to the gash on his head.
When paramedics arrived a few minutes later, she was still crouched there and had gotten little more than a moan from the patient. She waited until one of the medics nodded and placed his hand over the towel she held; then she stepped back and moved out of their way. Judging from the vitals and comments they called to each other over his prone body, his condition was stable.
She found Kendall in the front yard, returning from securing the wife in her patrol car.
“He’ll survive,” Evelyn said.
The medics wheeled a stretcher carrying the husband out of the house and toward the ambulance. His wife watched wistfully through the car window as they passed. When she called out that she loved him, Kendall shook her head.
“We’ll be out here again in a few weeks.”
Evelyn snorted. “Welcome back.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Seriously, how’s it been?”
“You were right. I needed to stop wallowing and get back to it. It’s just—everything’s changed and I can’t seem to fix it. Did I tell you Melanie texted me?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“I thought maybe she wanted to work it out. But turns out she just wanted to talk about splitting up the furniture—like I have anywhere to put that stuff. I’m living in your guest room. Then she starts in about separating the bank accounts and won’t I be glad to have my share of our savings. She’s so fucking ready to move on. I don’t think she’s even upset about all of this.”
“Of course she is.” She recalled the sadness in Melanie’s eyes when she last saw her.
“She’s got a funny way of showing it.”
“Not really. Everything you said sounds just like Melanie.”
“Huh?”
“She’s a planner, Kendall. Occupying her mind with what she needs to do next is her way of dealing with all of this. She needs to feel like she’s doing something to move the situation forward.”
“Well, she can’t make me move forward.” Kendall looked over her shoulder at the woman sitting in her patrol car. “Will you go by there with me tomorrow before work to pick up some stuff?”
Something about people now negotiating their breakups through text message made Evelyn sad. Even relationships were becoming far too impersonal.
*
“Hi,” Melanie said somewhat breathlessly as she opened the door to Kendall and Evelyn.
She hadn’t gone this
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