cold but no heart in the temperature. Wrapped up warm, he was fine, and I didn’t mind if he guzzled a little dirt. Kids had been doing that for centuries without any problem. By the time we finished, there was a sense of satisfaction. Everything ready for planting as soon as it warmed up. At the same time, I felt as if there was a burr rubbing against my skin. I wasn’t writing. And that meant I wasn’t earning.
Dustin was working locally, so he was home for dinner every night. There was still no more on the possible job. I started to wonder if it had been nothing more than idle talk, that he’d read too much into it. Life trundled along until March decided to go out like a lion. The weather turned wet again, trapping us indoors. When we’d gone through all his toys and put them away again, Ian and I worked on his walking. He could pull himself up, reach for the coffee table and lift himself onto his legs. Then he’d fall down again and crawl away. I helped him take two or three tottering steps at a time, holding and encouraging him. I wanted to give him the idea of having two legs even though I knew he wouldn’t really walk until he was ready. All the tiny crumbs of independence slowly coming together to make one big cake. Once he began walking…how long before he didn’t need us anymore?
I wrote a small article for
The Rocket
, a few reviews for
Alternative Press
and something for
B-Side
. It wasn’t much, but it kept the bank account ticking over. Carson Mack disappeared to the back of my mind. I was done with that story.
The phone rang a little after nine one morning. Rain trickled down the windows in narrow rivulets. Ian had finished breakfast and was playing on a mat in the living room, moving cars around. Soon enough he’d become bored and I’d need to find something else to capture his attention. We’d just gone through one tantrum as he ate his toast and my eardrums were already weary. How could people enjoy having two or three children?
“Hello?” I said.
“Is this Laura Benton?”
“Yeah,” I answered hesitantly. I seemed to have heard that voice somewhere before but I couldn’t place it.
“This is Jim Clark.” For a moment I blanked. Then I realized: of course, James David Clark, Carson’s grandson.
“Hi, Jim. What’s up?”
“It’s my grandfather.” He sounded serious, his voice tense and wound up tight. “Someone shot him last night.”
“What?” For a moment I couldn’t believe what he’d just told me. “Is he…?” I didn’t want to say the word. I liked Carson and I didn’t want him dead, like his son.
“He’s going to be okay,” Jim assured me. “It just went through his thigh. He’s in Providence, up in Everett. They’re going to let him out today. He asked me to call and let you know.”
“Everett? What the hell was he doing up there?” But as soon as I said the words, I knew why. Carson had gone searching for his son’s killer. He hadn’t employed a private detective; he’d decided to do the job himself. From the sound of it, he’d come close to finding him. “What happened, exactly?”
“He wants to tell you himself,” Jim replied, after a moment’s awkward hesitation. “He said he’ll be home later, if you want to stop by. I’m going to pick him up in a while.”
I weighed my words very carefully before answering. If I went along, I was in deeper. But Carson had been shot, and he was a friend. How could I stay away?
“Yeah, of course I will. It’ll have to be tonight, though. He’s really going to be okay?”
“That’s what he said. But I haven’t seen him yet.”
“The two of you have gotten pretty close?” I asked.
“I’ve been over to his place a few times and he came and met my mom. So yeah, I guess we have,” he said happily. “He’s a great guy. It’s just weird discovering someone that you’d always been told didn’t exist.”
“I bet. And the pair of you have music in common.”
“Yeah. I got to tell
Dustin was working locally, so he was home for dinner every night. There was still no more on the possible job. I started to wonder if it had been nothing more than idle talk, that he’d read too much into it. Life trundled along until March decided to go out like a lion. The weather turned wet again, trapping us indoors. When we’d gone through all his toys and put them away again, Ian and I worked on his walking. He could pull himself up, reach for the coffee table and lift himself onto his legs. Then he’d fall down again and crawl away. I helped him take two or three tottering steps at a time, holding and encouraging him. I wanted to give him the idea of having two legs even though I knew he wouldn’t really walk until he was ready. All the tiny crumbs of independence slowly coming together to make one big cake. Once he began walking…how long before he didn’t need us anymore?
I wrote a small article for
The Rocket
, a few reviews for
Alternative Press
and something for
B-Side
. It wasn’t much, but it kept the bank account ticking over. Carson Mack disappeared to the back of my mind. I was done with that story.
The phone rang a little after nine one morning. Rain trickled down the windows in narrow rivulets. Ian had finished breakfast and was playing on a mat in the living room, moving cars around. Soon enough he’d become bored and I’d need to find something else to capture his attention. We’d just gone through one tantrum as he ate his toast and my eardrums were already weary. How could people enjoy having two or three children?
“Hello?” I said.
“Is this Laura Benton?”
“Yeah,” I answered hesitantly. I seemed to have heard that voice somewhere before but I couldn’t place it.
“This is Jim Clark.” For a moment I blanked. Then I realized: of course, James David Clark, Carson’s grandson.
“Hi, Jim. What’s up?”
“It’s my grandfather.” He sounded serious, his voice tense and wound up tight. “Someone shot him last night.”
“What?” For a moment I couldn’t believe what he’d just told me. “Is he…?” I didn’t want to say the word. I liked Carson and I didn’t want him dead, like his son.
“He’s going to be okay,” Jim assured me. “It just went through his thigh. He’s in Providence, up in Everett. They’re going to let him out today. He asked me to call and let you know.”
“Everett? What the hell was he doing up there?” But as soon as I said the words, I knew why. Carson had gone searching for his son’s killer. He hadn’t employed a private detective; he’d decided to do the job himself. From the sound of it, he’d come close to finding him. “What happened, exactly?”
“He wants to tell you himself,” Jim replied, after a moment’s awkward hesitation. “He said he’ll be home later, if you want to stop by. I’m going to pick him up in a while.”
I weighed my words very carefully before answering. If I went along, I was in deeper. But Carson had been shot, and he was a friend. How could I stay away?
“Yeah, of course I will. It’ll have to be tonight, though. He’s really going to be okay?”
“That’s what he said. But I haven’t seen him yet.”
“The two of you have gotten pretty close?” I asked.
“I’ve been over to his place a few times and he came and met my mom. So yeah, I guess we have,” he said happily. “He’s a great guy. It’s just weird discovering someone that you’d always been told didn’t exist.”
“I bet. And the pair of you have music in common.”
“Yeah. I got to tell
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