Rise: How a House Built a Family(88)

I saw him dragged away—it took all four of them—and heard their radios make buzzes, beeps, and fuzzy voices, and I waited for a gunshot that never came.

When an officer knocked on the door, shouting his name and mine, time found its weight again and jolted my heart forward so hard it hurt. I looked around for Hope, but she was gone, and I wondered if she had ever really been there or if shock had painted her at my side. My face felt like it was only made of eyes when I opened the door, Karma loaded, finger on the trigger, barrel pointed at the floor. I couldn’t feel the gun in my hand. Couldn’t even tell I had a hand. How had my eyes grown so large?

A redheaded officer took the gun and unloaded it, lips moving but no words coming out. Or maybe they were, but I wasn’t ears, I was only eyes. The calm I had been so sure was with me to stay flew right out the door and chased the blue lights of the first cruiser down my driveway.

I felt paralyzed right up until the officer tried to put his arm around me. The touch burned against my raw nerves, and I jumped back from him, every cell alert and coursing with adrenaline. I ran up the stairs to Hope’s room with Hershey on my heels. Something between a knock and a claw brought Drew’s face into the crack of the door, up near the top because he was crouched on the dresser they had pushed in front of it.

“Kids upstairs,” Officer Red said into his radio, and then “Jesus!” when I swung around, eyes wild and teeth bared like I could rip his throat out with them. I hadn’t even noticed him following me.

Don’t sneak up on a mama bear. Stay back. Stay where I can see you.

That’s just what Officer Red did, slipping back toward the stairs while I told the kids it was safe to come out.

Drew was slow to believe me. A police officer’s uniform might have reassured most kids, but mine had seen too much. No badge or restraining order had stopped a man from coming after us in demon horns. Hope and Jada talked Drew into pushing back the dresser and opening the door. He came out first, knife in hand. I could see that he was ready to use it, and I knew firsthand how difficult it was to come to terms with what you were capable of doing to another person to keep your family safe. And I knew that hugs and words couldn’t erase that knowledge or give him back a measure of innocence.

“You’re sure he’s gone?” he asked. Looking out one window and then another with no idea that he was circling the house from the inside in the same way Adam had from the outside.

I grabbed his arm and held him still. “Stop it. Listen to me.”

He did.

“They took him away in a police car. Probably to the state hospital?” I looked at the officer for confirmation, and he nodded. He had a thin red beard to match his hair. I hadn’t noticed before. I searched out his name tag. I couldn’t call him Red out loud. Hamm. You’ve got to be kidding me. Officer Hamm. No doubt the victim of an endless stream of pig jokes.

Drew snickered. He had seen it, too.

Jada tugged on my hand, needing reassurance. I hugged her hard enough to nearly crush her. “Too close!” she whined.

Yes, I thought, that was too close. Much too close for comfort.

“I’ll need to get a statement from you,” Hamm said, staring at me a beat too long.

I still had the impression that my eyes filled most of my face. The better to see you with. My ears were foggy, like everyone was speaking into a tin can, and my voice had gone small, overshadowed by my eyes. My head had started to pound and my back ached from the adrenal-gland workout. I looked away from Hamm and back at the kids, whose eyes were stretched and hollow, too. I walked past Hamm to the stairs, waving the kids after me.

When you fall off a horse, you get back on.

When your house becomes the scene of a horror movie, you reclaim it.

I walked into my room, the bathroom, and then through every room downstairs and the garage with the kids and Hershey following like ducklings. No one spoke.

Hamm stood at the bottom of the stairs, which was nearly the dead center of the downstairs, and watched. From his raised eyebrows and the hands propped on his well-padded hips, I could tell he wanted to spin his index finger near his temple. Loco lady. Crazy as the man was. Slap-ass nuts.

His partner, a gray-haired man who hadn’t spoken a word that I noticed, stayed back by the door, giving us space as though he knew exactly what we were up to. It was the house equivalent of counting fingers and toes. When we had made the rounds, it was him I stopped in front of.

“Do you need the kids for anything?” I asked.

“Probably not.” He finished scribbling something on a long notepad before he looked up with a tight-lipped pseudosmile of pity.

I’m not sure if my building anger was healthy, but I was not going to stand for pity. I turned to the kids, determined not to minimize the effect this had had on them. “If you want to add anything to the police report, stay down here; otherwise, go upstairs into Jada’s room and play a game. You can take ice-cream sandwiches—and napkins—with you.” I turned and leaned over to make eye contact with Hamm. “Ice cream, Officer?”

“Um, no thanks. I’m good.” He wiped a hand over his beard.

Jada ran for the freezer. “Ice cream in my room!” she sang. Drew and Hope stayed put.

We all sat at the table while my oldest kids made lists of the things that had frightened them, pissed them off, or hurt their hearts. They were lists no parent wants their kid to imagine, let alone live. I was surprised by how many things I had failed to hide. They hadn’t talked to me about these things, which I’ll admit made me sad, but they had obviously talked to one another, which made up for some measure of it. And knowing the load of secrets I had harbored, I couldn’t point any fingers.