Chapters (68)
- Dedication
- Title Page
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Copyright
“No, really, I want to.”
Trevor unbuttoned the cuff on his left arm and started rolling up his sleeve. When he couldn’t get it past his elbow, he said, “Shit.”
He unbuttoned the front of his shirt halfway, far enough that he could slip it off his left shoulder.
“There, have a look,” he said.
Duckworth looked. It was pretty simple, as tattoos went. Four numbers. 6201. He felt sorrow and shame pressing down on him like a weighty cloud.
“Want me to explain what it means?” Trevor asked.
There was no need. Duckworth knew his own badge number when he saw it.
Thirty-Seven
THIRTY-SEVEN
CAL
WHEN we got back to the beach house, we unpacked the groceries. I’d wanted to buy some beer, but I didn’t want to have to tell Jeremy he couldn’t have one, and I didn’t want to drink in front of him. At eighteen, he was certainly old enough to have one, despite what the laws of New York state might say, but given his troubles, it didn’t seem particularly appropriate.
But I did buy some soft drinks and a bag of ice. I took enough cubes to fill two glasses before putting the rest of it into the freezer, and poured us a couple of Cokes.
“Let’s sit on the deck,” Jeremy said.
“Sure.”
We took our drinks, and a bag of Doritos, outside and sat on some plastic garden chairs.
“I didn’t even know Madeline had this place,” he said. “I guess she didn’t tell my mom because then she’d have wanted to use it.”
“They have a complicated relationship?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. I mean, Madeline’s like my mom’s mom, but not really. Because Madeline mostly raised her, but I think my mom always kind of felt that she didn’t have to do what her aunt told her because she wasn’t her real mom.”
“Okay.”
“My mom had it pretty bad, though, before she went to live with Madeline. Her dad treated her like a slave. I know she seems kind of over-the-top at times, but there’s reasons why she is the way she is.”
“I get that. We’re all products of our upbringing.”
“So who’s Scott?” Jeremy asked.
The question caught me off guard. “He was my son.”
“So, like, he’s dead?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry, man.”
“Thanks.”
“What happened to him?”
I didn’t want to get into all of it, but I said, “He was goofing around on the roof of a building, getting high, and then someone pitched him off the side.”
“Oh, man, that’s brutal. And your wife?”
“She’s dead, too.” I looked out at the bay, tracked a passing seagull with my eye. “She was shot.”
Jeremy clearly didn’t know what to say to that. He took a sip of his Coke, stuffed a couple of Doritos into his mouth.