Alone (Detective D.D. Warren, #1)(67)

Catherine spent too much time glancing at the clock, wondering when Prudence would be home.

Finally, just to keep busy, she started messing around in the kitchen. Nathan wasn't allowed chocolate. Instead, she heated up a mug of vanilla-flavored soy milk. He accepted the mug wordlessly, his eyes glued to the TV.

“How does your stomach feel?”

He shrugged.

“Are you hungry?”

Another shrug.

“Maybe you'd like some yogurt.”

He shook his head, pointedly staring at the TV.

Catherine retreated once more to the kitchen. Now that she was paying attention, they desperately needed groceries. Soy milk was low, soy yogurt, too. Nathan ate a special gluten-free bread, nearly gone. His organic peanut butter, almost wiped out as well. She started working on a list, then remembered that they had an appointment with the new doctor tomorrow afternoon and paused.

She headed back out of the kitchen, past the bar, and stepped down into the sunken family room.

“Nathan, we need to talk.”

Reluctantly, Nathan turned his TV-glazed stare onto her.

“Dr. Tony can't be your doctor anymore.”

“Why?”

She hesitated, fully planning on telling the truth, then looked at his drawn face and lost her courage. “Dr. Tony thinks you need a special doctor. A super-duper doctor. One with superpowers.”

Only four years old, Nathan gave her the look of a born skeptic. God, why wasn't Prudence home yet? Sure, she had the whole day off, but did she have to stay out all night too? Didn't she know how much Catherine might need her? Catherine tried again.

“Tomorrow, we're going to see a new doctor. Dr. Iorfino. His specialty is little boys just like you.”

“New doctor?”

“New doctor.”

Nathan looked at her. Then he very deliberately held up his mug of soy milk and poured it out onto the carpet.

Catherine took a deep breath. She wasn't mad at Nathan—not yet—but she felt a growing, displaced rage toward Prudence, who had abandoned her, thereby forcing her to handle this scene.

“That wasn't very nice, Nathan. Only bad boys dump their milk on the rug. You don't want to be a bad boy.”

Nathan's lower lip was starting to tremble now. He jutted it out, nodding furiously. “I'm bad! And bad boys don't go to doctors!”

He had tears in his eyes. Big, unshed tears, that hurt a mother even worse than angry sobs.

“Dr. Iorfino's going to help you,” Catherine insisted. “Dr. Iorfino is going to get you well. Make you a big kid, so you can play with all the others.”

“Doctors don't help! Doctors have needles. Needles don't help!”

“Someday they will.”

Nathan looked her right in the eye. “Fuck doctors!” he said clearly.

“Nathan!”

And then, “I know what you're trying to do,” he said in a sly, nasty voice she'd never heard before. “You're trying to kill me.”

Catherine's heart stopped in her chest. She headed back into the kitchen, hoping Nathan wouldn't see how badly her hands were trembling. You're in control now, she kept telling herself. This was the true consequence of Jimmy being dead. No more excuses, no more escapes. Buck stopped with her now. She was in charge.

She got a roll of paper towels and returned to the family room. Nathan looked a great deal less certain. His chin was tucked against his bony chest, his shoulders were up around his ears.

He was waiting for her to hit him. It's what Jimmy would've done.

She held out the roll of paper towels. After another moment, Nathan took it.

“Please wipe up the milk, Nathan.”

He remained hunched.

“You know what? You do half, I'll do half. We'll do it together.” She took the roll back, briskly ripping off sheets. After another moment, he did the same. She got on her hands and knees. This intrigued him enough to emerge from his cocoon of pillows. She started blotting. “See, it comes right up.”

Slowly but surely, he followed suit.

When they were done, she took the pile of soggy paper into the kitchen and threw it away. In the family room, Nathan ejected the movie. He sat in the middle of the soy-stained rug, still looking small and forlorn.

It was bedtime. Both of them stared at the dark shadows looming at the top of the stairs.

“Mommy,” he whispered, “if I go to so many doctors, why don't I ever get better?”

“I don't know. But someday we're going to figure it out, and then you'll get to run around just like all the other kids. Come on, Nathan, it's time for bed.”

He reached up his arms. She gave in to his silent request. For a split second, he hugged her hard. For a split second, she hugged him back.

And then, at that moment, she knew what was wrong.

The draft of air. Very cold, very crisp, very outside air drifted down the stairwell. It ruffled Nathan's fine brown hair. And it carried with it the unmistakable odor of death.




FOR A CHANGE, Bobby wasn't asleep. He'd given up on it. Fuck sleep, f*ck healthy foods, f*ck moderate exercise. He'd taken everything Dr. Lane had told him to do and tossed it out the window. Now he was pacing his family room on exhausted, rubbery legs, gnawing cold pizza, guzzling a liter of Coke, and working himself into a state.