He was pissed off that she’d been released so fast after being unconscious as long as she had, never mind the broken arm, cracked ribs and clavicle. How was she supposed to take care of herself? Struck by a real flash of guilt, Cole wondered how she’d gotten home. Had she called Lottie to pick her up, for God’s sake? Mr. Zatloka, who probably took half an hour to make a ten-minute drive across town? And now what? Was she without any transportation of her own, or had some rental place dropped a car off?
So he drove by her house, too. All he could tell was that lights were on, so she was there. No rental car sat in the driveway, but she might not have one yet. Unless she’d hired someone to install a garage door opener? Even the thought made him feel shitty, but he shook it off. Whether she had transportation or not, he doubted she’d be up to grocery shopping or anything like that for a few days.
He went back to his apartment, which didn’t feel a lot homier than his cell had, nuked a frozen dinner and turned on the TV. After a minute, he turned it back off and reached for Moby Dick. The story seemed kind of slow to him, but his focus wasn’t the best right now.
Finally, Cole acknowledged what he’d decided to do. If his father really wanted to hear from him, he could make that call. Whether there were apologies on either side, he couldn’t see having much of a relationship with the man. Still, this was his father. Not a great one, but Cole, in his bullheadedness, hadn’t been an easy son, either.
So he picked up his phone, bounced it in his hand a few times, huffed out a disbelieving breath and entered the number he still knew by heart.
“Hello?”
The familiar voice gave Cole an unexpected shock.
“This is Cole. Dani said you had something to say to me.”
Silence stretched. Maybe his voice had startled his father, too.
“I’m sorry,” Joe Meacham said. “That’s what I wanted to say.”
Crap. He wanted to retort, Too little, too late, and hang up. But a crushing sensation in his chest held him silent. He had to concentrate on breathing for a minute before he regained his voice.
“Sorry for what?” If he sounded harsh, he didn’t care.
“I didn’t listen to you.” Pause. “Chad Adelson was arrested for armed robbery the year after you were convicted. That time, the clerk he shot survived. She, uh, saw the color of his eyes.”
Adelson had weird-colored eyes. Or not-colored might be a better description. So pale a gray they looked washed out.
So Cole had been right. His father hadn’t concluded on his own that his beloved son would never have shot and killed someone. Nope, he’d had to be presented with hard proof.
Still talking, Dad said, “He served barely a year. Starting two months after he got out, a series of armed robberies ended with him shooting and killing someone else. A customer, that time. Now he’s in for the long haul.”
This was news to him, but not a surprise. All he could think was, thank God they hadn’t come face-to-face in the pen. Cole had been carrying so much rage then he was afraid of what he would have done. Maybe Chad had been sent to Monroe instead of Walla Walla.
“It didn’t occur to the cops to wonder if they’d gotten it wrong with me?”
“Detective Sivik tried to get Chad to confess. He was in so much trouble it wouldn’t have made that much difference, but he refused. Sivik said he laughed.”
Man. Cole wondered if he might be having a heart attack.
“You never got in touch,” he heard himself say.
“I…thought you wouldn’t forgive me.”
He was right. Cole bit back the words, though. “You changed your mind because even you couldn’t deny the obvious. What if he’d never been arrested? Or you’d never heard about it?”
“I don’t know.”
A quaver belonged in an old man’s voice, not his dad’s. But then…he was getting up there. He’d been almost ten years older than Cole’s mother. A moment’s calculation told Cole his father was now sixty-eight.
“Did you not want a son?” he heard himself ask. “Or was it something about me?”
“What are you talking about? Of course I wanted a son!” Quaver replaced by outrage.