The Glass Butterfly by Louise Marley Page A

counselor, who hugged him and said, “Call me if you want to talk”? Father Wilburton would no doubt tell him it was natural to feel the way he did. He would say he was in denial, the first stage of grief. Jack knew enough about his mother’s profession to have picked up that bromide, but it didn’t fit.
    Tory’s best friend and closest neighbor came up now, car keys rattling in her hand. “I’ll drive you home when you’re ready, Jack.” Kate was a middle-aged woman, possibly ten years older than Tory. She looked even older than that, especially today.
    But then, Tory had always looked young, even to the critical eye of her son. The clear blonde of her hair never seemed to change. She was lean and muscular from doing her own chores around the place. She didn’t wear a lot of cosmetics, but she didn’t need them. Her skin was clear and smooth, often flushed from walking in the fresh air.
    He was sure he had never told her any of that. Never complimented her, at least not for a very long time.
    He swallowed, and told himself he would think about all of that later. “We can go now,” he told Kate. “I think everyone’s left.”
    They turned toward the front doors of the church, with Father Wilburton beside them. Jack stepped out into the gloomy light of the late October afternoon, pulling up the collar of his wool blazer against the cold. He was waiting for Kate to follow him outside when a big woman, as tall as Jack and with broader shoulders, hurried up the steps from the street, taking them two at a time. She was sandy-haired, with freckled, ruddy cheeks, and she thrust out her hand to Jack with an abrupt movement that made him take a sudden step back.
    â€œSorry I’m late, Jack,” the woman blurted. “I was on duty.”
    Jack hadn’t noticed until that moment that the woman wore a police uniform, with a heavy Sam Browne belt and a black handgun strapped into its holster. The thick vest beneath her shirt gave her a barrel-chested look. Her hand was big and strong looking.
    The officer hesitated with her hand outstretched, then let it drop. “You don’t know me.”
    â€œNo. Have we met?”
    The officer shook her head. “I’ve seen your picture in your mother’s office. I feel as if I know you. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Tory.”
    â€œThanks.” Jack felt Kate move uneasily beside him, and he managed to say, as he had said to so many that day, “It’s kind of you to come.”
    â€œI guess I missed everyone else.”
    Kate said, “There’s a guest book. Please go in and sign it.”
    Father Wilburton said, “This way, officer. We brought it up into the foyer.”
    â€œI’ll come back for that, Father,” Kate said.
    The policewoman nodded to Jack before she followed the priest into the shadows of the church. Kate took Jack’s arm, and guided him down the steps toward the parking lot.
    â€œWho was that?” Jack said.
    Kate shook her head. “I don’t know. That’s a sheriff’s deputy’s uniform.”
    â€œMom never told me she had a police officer as a client.”
    â€œHoney, there are probably a thousand things she never told you. Therapists aren’t supposed to talk about their clients, are they?”
    Jack didn’t answer. It wasn’t just that Tory hadn’t discussed her clients with him. He and his mother had stopped talking a long time ago. That is to say, he had stopped listening to her, and she, bit by bit, had grown silent in his presence. The thought made his throat ache.
    Kate started the engine of her Honda, and backed out of the now-empty parking lot, turning toward the park road. “I’m going to fix you some dinner. I’ve already told Chet I won’t be home.”
    â€œThat’s not necessary.”
    â€œI thought you might be lonely.”
    Jack gazed out the window as