Once on my feet, I really felt the blood. It was a warm sensation in the bracing wind. I nodded good-bye to Al and stumbled back to my car. No one had even driven past the accident yet. It was too early and too nasty out. I had to yank the fender away from my front tire, but the good old station wagon would run. A minute later I was on the highway, headed to the one place I knew I’d be safe. I loved that car. At least for the moment.

My mom’s house was a few blocks from mine. I don’t care how old you are or what you do in life, your mom’s place is always a safe haven. It was the house I grew up in. I stayed there alone with my brother when my mom worked a late shift as a nurse at the emergency room in Newburgh. It was the one place in the world where my troubles never caught up with me.

She was home, and Bart was sitting next to her on the sofa as they both watched a talk show.

She said, “I went to walk Bart and he wanted to come here after.” She always made up an excuse to spend a little extra time with my dog. Then she took a closer look and sprang to her feet. “What happened to you? Are you okay?” She was a typical mom at heart.

My mom sent me into the bathroom as she gathered her supplies and made a quick phone call. When she came in, I was already sitting on the stool we’d used for medical treatment since I was a kid. Both Natty and I had most of our injuries tended to here.

Mom had me lean over the sink as she washed my scalp, first with warm water, then peroxide. She parted my thick hair carefully with her fingers and then doused the wound with more peroxide.

I flinched.

My mom said, “Relax—it’s not that bad.”

“You could be a little more gentle.”

“I could be, but this way is faster. I’ve had too much practice with you. Always pretending to be a SEAL and then all those crazy training courses you invented. You got nicked up all the time.” She continued to check my head, then finally said, “This isn’t like any of your crazy cuts or bruises. This was a bullet, wasn’t it? You going to tell me what happened?”

“I was hoping to avoid that.”

“The cut on your hand could be anything, but now I’ll assume it was part of a fight.” She inspected my left hand, cleaned it easily, and used three butterfly bandages to close it. “You’re lucky it’s superficial. A deeper cut could have damaged the tendons and affected your grip.”