“They can stay with me and their brother if they need to,” Matthew said, and the doctor nodded, clearly uninterested in the details. I could guarantee that wasn’t going to happen, but this wasn’t the time to settle it.

“As long as he can have someone responsible with him. He needs to be quiet and comfortable, get up and move around several times a day, take his meds on time, avoid alcohol, and eat good food,” the doctor said. “And again, that’s assuming he continues to do well. We’ll know more tomorrow.” Dr. Spradling wanted to be sure we were sufficiently warned.

I nodded vigorously, shaking with anxiety.

“I’ll stay in his room here tonight,” I said, and the doctor, who’d half turned away, made an effort to look sympathetic.

“Since he’s just had surgery, he’ll be checked on very frequently tonight,” the doctor said. “And he won’t be awake. You’d be much better off going home, cleaning up, and coming back in the morning. If you’ll just leave a phone number, they’ll contact you if there’s any problem at all.”

I looked down at myself. I had blood all over me, and it had dried. I looked . . . horrendous, and now I understood why everyone who walked by me glanced away. And I smelled like blood and fear. And I needed our car. So against my own inclinations, I asked Matthew to take me back to the motel.

The police had finished processing the ruins of our room by then. When I trudged into the lobby to talk to the woman at the front desk, I was greeted by the manager, an African American woman in her fifties with clipped hair and a sympathetic manner. She was anxious to get me out of sight of any guests who might come in, and when we were in the little room in back of the check-in desk, she made me sit down and brought me a cup of coffee, which I didn’t remember requesting. Her name tag read Deneise.

“Miss Connelly,” she said, very earnestly and sincerely, “if you’ll give your consent, I’ll send Cynthia into the room to gather up your clothes and your personal items.”

I wondered where this scene was leading. “All right, Deneise,” I said. “That would be very helpful.”

She took a deep breath and said, “We hope you’ll accept our regret that this terrible incident occurred, and we want to make this time as stress free for you as we can. We know you have so many things to think about.”

I finally got it. Deneise was wondering if we considered the motel to blame in the shooting, and she wanted to feel me out about my intentions. And I think she was genuinely shaken up and sorry the whole thing had happened.