Slow Agony (Assassins, #2)(54)

“I guess so,” I said. “I haven’t made my schedule for fall yet. Have you?”

“I did,” he said, “but I could switch things still. I guess we’d try to have one of us home all the time.”

“We could maybe use daycare,” I said.

“Oh, right,” he said. “Daycare.” He turned to me. “We can totally do this.”

“Watch the road, Griffin.” But I was smiling.

He faced forward. “Don’t you think we can?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I do. I want to. I wasn’t sure if you did.”

“I’m just having trouble thinking about it,” he said. “I keep worrying about Marcel.”

“I know.”

“But we could do it,” he said. “We could both keep going to school, and we could take care of a baby at the same time. And it would be kind of cool.”

I laughed again. “You think?”

“Why are you laughing at me?”

“I don’t know.” I was still laughing. “It’s like it’s the first time you’ve ever contemplated having a baby.”

“It is.”

“What? How can that be true? You were so angry about the abortion.”

“Well, I didn’t really think about it that way,” he said. “I didn’t think about the day-to-day activities I would have had if you’d kept the baby. I thought of it more... I don’t know, in the abstract.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said. “I really don’t.”

“It was more like I thought about the things I would miss, like teaching the kid how to shoot or—”

“Shoot? Like a gun? I so don’t think so.”

“What? Any kid of mine is going to learn his way around a gun. It’s basic safety.”

“There’s nothing safe about letting kids play with guns!”

“Not little kids,” he said. “Like when they’re older, you know.”

“Like how old?”

“I don’t know. Seven?”

“Thirteen,” I said.

“Ten?” he said.

I narrowed my eyes. “We’ll see.”

His hand snaked across the car to rub my knee. “See, you’re good at this already. You’re already thinking of how to keep our children safe.”

“Am I good at it?” I wasn’t sure. “Maybe the test will be negative.”

“Sure,” he said. “I mean, that would probably be better all around.”

“Right,” I said.

“Because we’re just getting back together, and we’re on the run and in danger, and it’s just not the ideal time to be starting a family.”

“Right,” I said. But for some reason, hearing him say that was... disappointing.

We rounded the corner to the street that the house was on, only to be greeted by the flashing lights of an ambulance. I sat up straight. “Griffin, is it parked in your driveway?”

“Goddammit,” he said. “I never should have left.”

*

“Wait, can’t one of us go in the ambulance with her?” Christa was saying to the EMT outside. They’d just loaded Beverly inside on a stretcher. She was unconscious. She’d been shot.

“Sorry,” said the EMT. “You’ll all have to meet her at the hospital.”

“But on the movies—”

“Those are the movies,” said the EMT.

Christa turned to us, looking scared and sad.

“Come on,” said Griffin. “Get in the car.” He put his arm around his sister and led her to the passenger side.

I got in the back seat. “What happened?”

“She was in the kitchen,” said Christa. “The bullet came through the window. She yelled. And then she was lying on her back, and she was bleeding.” Tears leaked out of her eyes.

Griffin started the car. “Why didn’t you call my phone?”

The ambulance was pulling out of the driveway. Griffin pulled our car out after it.

“I didn’t know your number anymore. The old number only rang and rang,” said Christa. “It was that man, wasn’t it? The one who threatened you? He wasn’t playing around after all.”

“It probably was,” said Griffin.

“I should have listened to you,” she said. “I thought it was all some big joke, and I didn’t take it seriously. And now, Ma’s...”

“Your mother’s going to be fine,” I said, reaching up and grabbing her hand.

“You can’t know that.” Her voice was choked with tears.

“We have to believe it, though,” I said. “That’s what she needs. She needs us to be positive.”

“So you called an ambulance,” said Griffin.

“I had to,” said Christa.

“And now we’re going to have to explain what’s going on,” he said.

She turned to him in shock. “This is our mother. Are you saying I should have let her die?”

“No, but I can’t explain this to the authorities.”

“You don’t have to,” I said. “We tell them she was shot through a window for no reason. The truth. Honestly, Griffin, is now the time to worry about that?”