Born To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

Within seconds the pickup rumbled to life, a steady throb of bass reverberating from inside the cab as Jeremy pulled away. She stood for a while, watching the truck rumble through the trees guarding the lane, then slammed the front door shut.

“What do you think of that?” she asked, setting Cisco on the floor. “Alone at last, just you and me. Think of all the trouble we can get into.”

As if he understood, the little dog went crazy at her feet, wiggling and prancing toward the cupboard where she kept his leash and a few doggy treats. “Okay, okay, it is Thanksgiving.” She tossed him a bacon-flavored biscuit. “But we are not making a habit of this.”

She did need to run into the office; that wasn’t a lie. Alvarez seemed hell-bent to prove that Jocelyn Wallis’s death was a homicide. They planned to go over the autopsy, as it should have come in late last night.

Afterward, Pescoli was going over to Santana’s place. A small smile played upon her lips at that thought. If there was one thing about the man, it was that he was always interesting.

And that wasn’t a bad thing.

Definitely not bad at all.

Trace was halfway down the stairs when he called over his shoulder to his son, “Hey, Eli, let’s get a move on!”

No response.

He paused on the landing. “Eli?”

Trace drew a breath and headed up the stairs to the second floor of his farmhouse. Eli had been exceptionally quiet after Trace, trying his hardest not to stumble and pause and struggle for words, had told him that Miss Wallis had met with a terrible accident and was now in heaven. Eli hadn’t said anything in response, so Trace had asked if he knew what heaven was. Then Eli answered promptly, “That’s where you go when you’re dead. If you’re good.”

“Uh . . . yeah,” Trace responded, uncertain where to go after that. Eli had taken matters into his own hands by saying he wanted to watch TV. The subject had been dropped ever since.

Now Trace wondered if he was about to get into a deeper discussion about death with his seven-year-old. He mentally cursed Leanna for running out on them. He might not miss her, but he could’ve really used some help raising their son about now.

“Hey, bud,” Trace said, entering Eli’s room. “We gotta get over to the Zukovs for Turkey Day. Gobble, gobble. Let’s get a move on.” Eli’s room was one of two that faced the front of the house, and as Trace moved into the room, he saw that his son was seated on the floor, some of his Lego blocks scattered around him, cradling his blue cast. “Are you in pain?”

“Do we have to go?” Eli asked, looking up. Trace saw the shimmer of tears in his son’s eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” As Trace crouched to comfort him, Eli shook his head. His little chin trembled, and he swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his good arm. “Is this about your teacher? Miss Wallis is in good hands, son.”

Swallowing hard, Eli stared at Trace with serious, worried eyes. “Where’s Mommy?”

Trace tried hard not to react. It felt as if his heart were being ripped from his chest. What a fool he’d been to think that Leanna’s leaving had been forgotten. He totally got it that Eli losing his teacher had brought these feelings to the surface, but it still threw him for a loop. “I, uh, I don’t really know where she is right now,” Trace admitted.

“She should be here. I want to talk to her.”

Of course he did. “I don’t know how we can do that.” Reaching for the down jacket tossed on the foot of the unmade bed, Trace tried to reassure his boy. “At least not today. But I can try to find her if you want.”

“You don’t know where she is?”

“Not at this exact moment.” His guts twisted. Truth be known, he hoped Leanna never showed her face around here again. He prayed she’d leave her son to grow up without her intervention, because she was certain to screw the boy up.

Or was that his own selfishness talking? Maybe the boy would be better off knowing his mother, despite the fact that she was a liar and had left him without a word.

“Sometimes, I’d like to talk to her, too,” Trace said to Eli, still crouching, though it was a bald-faced lie.

“I want to talk to her now.”

“I’ll try to find her. That’s the best I can do. C’mon, now. Tilly and Ed are waiting for us.”

“Promise?” Eli demanded. He wasn’t going to let Trace off the hook.

“Promise.” Knowing this would lead to no good, he agreed nonetheless and tried to help the boy struggle into his damned jacket. The bulky sleeve fit over his good arm; the other side had to flop over his cast. Since Eli was already wearing a thermal undershirt, a long-sleeved sweatshirt, and a down vest, he’d be warm enough for the short span of time he was outside. Trace tried to force the zipper of the jacket, then gave up fighting with the stubborn tab. The Zukovs were right next door. Usually, on Thanksgiving, Trace spent the day alone with Eli. They played games, watched sports or cartoons, and ate a turkey dinner he bought as takeout from Wild Will’s, his favorite restaurant, but this year he’d decided to take the Zukovs up on their invitation. He’d figured Eli was probably tired of being cooped up and needed a change of scenery, and there was also the sadness and shock over losing Miss Wallis.

Now, as he and Eli clambered down the stairs, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. He shook his head. Today wasn’t the first time his son had asked about his mother, nor would it be the last, but every time the subject of Leanna came up, the questions were always unexpected and difficult to answer truthfully.

Get used to it. They’re not going to get any easier as time goes on.