Blindside (Michael Bennett #12)(18)

Mary Catherine offered, “Complicit?”

Trent said, “Yeah. Exactly. What’s that mean, anyway?”

I said, “It means the kids were just being stupid.” I kissed him on his head and hugged him. Nothing I had seen as a cop had ever affected me like the smallest injury to my children. Physically or emotionally.

When Trent hustled away to do his homework, I said to Mary Catherine, “Now, what exactly happened with the Reverend Caldwell?”

“Sister Sheilah dealt with him.”

I laughed out loud. No one had ever crossed Sheilah twice. At least not by choice.

Mary Catherine snuggled in close to me and wrapped her arms around my midsection. “This will be like a vacation. I can have you all to myself tomorrow.”

I said, “I, ummm …”

She stepped back to look at me.

I blurted, “I’ll be back at work full-time tomorrow.” I held my breath.

Mary Catherine didn’t say a word. That was worse than anything else she could say or do. I was in real trouble.





CHAPTER 23





I WAS STUCK. I knew better than to chase after Mary Catherine immediately. She needed to calm down. Not that I would ever say that aloud. She once told me she felt it was in her DNA to blow up, then take a short time to calm down. This was a textbook example of one of those times.

I ducked into the dining room, where Eddie, Ricky, Trent, and the twins, Fiona and Bridget, were all in various stages of homework. The long dining room table served multiple purposes. With ten kids, any house or apartment would feel like one of those tiny houses on TV.

A big rule in our house: homework was to be done before dinner unless there were extenuating circumstances. That included basketball practices, dance lessons, and after-school meetings. But not TV or playing on a cell phone.

This was a rare night, with none of those things occurring. All the kids greeted me with smiles and waves. I was rarely much help with their very specific homework assignments, but I was great for moral support.

I sat on the couch and knew better than to turn on the news. I gazed out the wide windows to catch a glimpse of the Hudson River.

Chrissy hopped onto the couch next to me. She didn’t say anything. Just smiled and started reading a book, about a young girl who volunteered after 9/11. I liked to see her read non-fiction books occasionally.

I could tell when she was really concentrating and when she was faking it. When concentrating, her brow furrowed. She could really focus. When she was faking it, her eyes darted around the room and she finished a page every six minutes.

I said, “What’s wrong, pumpkin?”

“I don’t feel like doing my reading for today. I keep trying, but I just can’t get excited about it.”

“Do you like the book?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s really good. I just don’t like the way people have been talking about you. I don’t understand why people are mad at you.”

I sighed. “Neither do I.”

There was a long pause, then Chrissy said, “Are you sorry you shot that man?”

I draped an arm across her shoulders and pulled her tight. Kids really do know the right questions to ask. I’d been struggling with the shooting. Reliving it over and over again. Dreaming about it. And my little girl had crystallized one of the main issues: I regretted the shooting, but I couldn’t apologize for wanting to live.

I said quietly, “I am sorry. I’m sorry I had no choice. I had to shoot that man if I wanted to have chats like this with a girl like you. Sometimes in life things like this happen. Then you have another choice. You can let it bother you the rest of your life and affect how you act. Or you can appreciate the extra time you have. Every time I look in your face, or one of your brothers’ or sisters’ faces, I thank God that I’m alive.”

She gave me a quick hug. As she was about to scoot off the couch, Mary Catherine reappeared.

She said, “Room for one more?”

Chrissy immediately squealed, “Yes,” and scooted in next to me so Mary Catherine would sandwich her between us.

Mary Catherine looked at me like she needed permission to join us.

I said, “I’m thinking.”

Mary Catherine dropped the pitch of her voice and said, “Don’t think too long.”

“Okay. Maybe you can join us this once.”

I suspected the errant elbow I caught in the face as she slipped past me to sit next to Chrissy was no accident.





CHAPTER 24





CHRISSY DOZED OFF on the couch next to me, and Mary Catherine moved so she could snuggle up close. Now I was the middle of the sandwich.

Mary Catherine dropped her head on my shoulder and said, “I’m sorry I blew up, Michael.”

I lifted my head and stared at her.

She said, “What? What’s wrong?”

“I almost thought I heard you apologize. I’m worried you might’ve suffered a head injury. Or perhaps we’ll have to call my grandfather to complete an exorcism. This doesn’t sound like my Mary Catherine.”

She punched me in the arm. Hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough for me to whine about it. She said, “I’m serious. I’m sorry I lost control. I also think we should talk about it.”