“It’s life. Besides, it taught me the difference between things I can control and those I can’t. It’s why I brought you here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you?” The same cool wind streamed hair across her face, and she smiled at my confusion. “Kiss me, Gibby.”

“Really?”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since sophomore year.”

“But you never said … I had no idea.”

“Well, now you do.” She stepped closer, so I kissed her, lightly at first, and then not so lightly. Her hands found my shoulders, and mine, the small of her back. She drew away, in time, but her eyes were bluer and deeper and smiling. “That was my first kiss,” she said. “My first kiss ever.”

17

At the police station, Jason was moved from holding cell to interview room, then back and forth again. It lasted all day, and most of the questions were about Tyra. He knew better than to talk about that, so he didn’t. Besides, the cops were assholes.

Smith.

Martinez.

Late in the day, they left him alone, so he stared at the mirrored glass, thinking of Tyra. She was dead, he felt certain, though the cops had been careful to share nothing but their questions. How did you meet? When did you see her last? Why the fight? What happened to Tyra’s gun? They had other questions, too, but Jason learned early how to tune them out.

Eventually, a man entered that Jason didn’t know. He wore a suit and a wedding ring. “My name is David Martin. I’m captain of the homicide division.” He sat, lacing his fingers on the table. “The recording devices are off. It’s just us.”

Jason gave the man a dead-eyed stare.

“You’ve not asked for a lawyer. As a gesture of respect to your father, I’m here to suggest, most strongly, that you do.” The captain leaned forward, his features plain but intent. “Silence is not a valid defense. You should have an attorney.”

“I hate attorneys.”

“Everyone does until they need one.”

Jason shifted in the seat, chains rattling where his hands were secured to an eyebolt in the table. “The last lawyer I had talked me into a plea I should have never taken.”

“Twenty-seven months for felony heroin, a good deal by any standard.”

“Only if I was distributing. I wasn’t.”

“Still…”

“Have you ever been to Lanesworth?” Jason asked. “You would not be so glib if you had.”

“Very well.” The captain rapped on the mirrored glass. “We’re recording now.”

“I have nothing to say about Tyra Norris.”

“So let’s talk about this.” The captain withdrew photographs of the van and its contents. “Ninety thousand in cash, and enough weapons to fight a small war.”

“I’ve had enough of war.”

“So has the city.”

Jason studied the cop’s face. He seemed decent enough, smart enough. “Is my father behind the glass?”