Blindside (Michael Bennett 12)

I sighed. “Neither do I.”

There was a long pause, then Chrissy said, “Are you sorry you shot that man?”

I draped an arm across her shoulders and pulled her tight. Kids really do know the right questions to ask. I’d been struggling with the shooting. Reliving it over and over again. Dreaming about it. And my little girl had crystallized one of the main issues: I regretted the shooting, but I couldn’t apologize for wanting to live.

I said quietly, “I am sorry. I’m sorry I had no choice. I had to shoot that man if I wanted to have chats like this with a girl like you. Sometimes in life things like this happen. Then you have another choice. You can let it bother you the rest of your life and affect how you act. Or you can appreciate the extra time you have. Every time I look in your face, or one of your brothers’ or sisters’ faces, I thank God that I’m alive.”

She gave me a quick hug. As she was about to scoot off the couch, Mary Catherine reappeared.

She said, “Room for one more?”

Chrissy immediately squealed, “Yes,” and scooted in next to me so Mary Catherine would sandwich her between us.

Mary Catherine looked at me like she needed permission to join us.

I said, “I’m thinking.”

Mary Catherine dropped the pitch of her voice and said, “Don’t think too long.”

“Okay. Maybe you can join us this once.”

I suspected the errant elbow I caught in the face as she slipped past me to sit next to Chrissy was no accident.

CHAPTER 24

CHRISSY DOZED OFF on the couch next to me, and Mary Catherine moved so she could snuggle up close. Now I was the middle of the sandwich.

Mary Catherine dropped her head on my shoulder and said, “I’m sorry I blew up, Michael.”

I lifted my head and stared at her.

She said, “What? What’s wrong?”

“I almost thought I heard you apologize. I’m worried you might’ve suffered a head injury. Or perhaps we’ll have to call my grandfather to complete an exorcism. This doesn’t sound like my Mary Catherine.”

She punched me in the arm. Hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough for me to whine about it. She said, “I’m serious. I’m sorry I lost control. I also think we should talk about it.”

“About going back to work? You knew it was going to happen.”

“Not this fast. You’ve been through something traumatic. We all have. Don’t you think you need some time to recover?”

I thought about how much to tell her. Then I said, “It’s not exactly like I’m back on the street. At least it’s not my usual assignment. I’m working a missing persons case.”

“Really? I thought you only worked homicides.”

I explained to her my meeting with the mayor. Not in great detail. I remembered the admonition to keep things quiet. But I couldn’t just lie to my fiancée.

When I was finished, Mary Catherine said, “What’s he like, the mayor?”

I shrugged. “He’s a politician. But he’s not quite that dick everyone makes him out to be. Talking to him, I had the sense that he was a concerned father. I understood that.”

“Everyone has their good and bad.”

“Is that an Irish saying?”

“No, Reader’s Digest.” Mary Catherine looked at me with those big, beautiful eyes and said, “Could you have refused?”

“I could have, but …”