“No,” she said when she could speak. She’d accepted that her grief was going to be a permanent part of her. And had learned to live with it. “None of the children were named.”
“So the only mention of you was regarding the seminars?”
“Yes.”
“I should sue them.”
“All they did was state facts and then imply. You can’t stop that.”
“There aren’t enough sick and twisted people in the world, doing ungodly things, that they have to drum up something like this?”
“Sick and twisted is too commonplace. The Sun News is always looking for the big angle. The story no one else has.”
It was going to be okay. The story was just that. A story. She’d overreacted.
“I wouldn’t hurt a child for anything. Not even the son of the man who killed my wife.”
“I know that.”
“I loved Carlos.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry this came up now. You didn’t need it. I should’ve remembered the damned call. I probably could’ve prevented the whole thing.”
“Or not. You know how these people are. They had some interesting coincidental facts and that’s all they need to sell papers.”
“I don’t understand why anyone reads that crap.”
“Makes their lives seem better, I guess,” Hannah said, not wanting to hang up. On days like this she longed to be back in college when she and Cara and a few others had all lived in the same block, sharing life’s ups and downs. “You know, they see someone worse off than they are and think they have it good.”
“I hate seeing you hurt.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
“I’ve had negative press before,” he said, sounding as tired as she felt.
So had she. Most recently the previous week when a certain unnamed reporter thought she’d been too lenient in sentencing a girl convicted of vehicular manslaughter in a hit-and-run.
“If there’s a drop-off in your patient load you can claim damages…”
“That would have to be a drop-off in my waiting list,” he said with more weariness than pride. “The accusations are ludicrous and while some people will believe anything, I have to hope this article’s going to generate more awareness of SIDS. It might actually help save a few lives.”
Trust Brian to come up with a positive spin. A fix. He was the ultimate fixer. Bodies. Minds. Hearts.
He spent his entire life fixing—as a means of escaping the things that couldn’t be fixed?
No matter how many lives he saved, he’d never be able to bring back the wife who’d died in a car he’d been driving.
“How’s the trial going?” he asked and Hannah was glad he wasn’t ready to hang up, either. It had been a couple of weeks since they’d talked and she’d missed him.
“Not great.” Glancing at the file in front of her, the one that was thicker and far more bothersome than the rest of the stack her JA had left on her desk, she said, “Based on statements made by the defense, the state, who’d already rested, moved to admit testimony from the victim of a crime the defendant was convicted of as a juvenile.”
“I thought they couldn’t bring in prior convictions because it’s prejudicial.”
She smiled, loving the fact that Brian paid enough attention when she talked about her job to pick up on the basics.
“Generally that’s correct.” Opening the file, she stared at Kenny Hill’s mug shot. And then let the folder drop shut. “But in this case, the victim of the previous crime can give information relevant to a claim the defense has made on this charge. Had the defense not made the claim, this door wouldn’t have been opened.”
“So what’d you do?”
“I took it under advisement.” Which meant she wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. “I told the attorneys I’d have a ruling for them by ten in the morning.”
“Do you know what you’re going to do?”
“I think so.” Still, she couldn’t act rashly. She needed to mull over all the angles. To research. To make sure. “I don’t want this case losing on appeal.”
“It’s a capital case, right? If he’s convicted isn’t it pretty much a given that it’ll be appealed?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t envy you.”
Thinking about his young patient who didn’t have much hope of a future, about the ones he lost and the grief he suffered for each of them, Hannah shook her head. “Some days, I don’t envy you your career, either.”
“I’d suggest dinner or a stiff drink, but I’ve got…to get home.”
His hesitation, accompanied by a strange tone in his voice, piqued her interest. “Why’s that?”
“Cynthia’s moving in. Tonight.”
What? “The young woman with the four-year-old?”
He’d seen her more than twice, but…“She’s moving in as in with you, or as in renting a couple of rooms?”
“With me.”
“In a relationship. With you.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m…I don’t know what to say.”
“I don’t either, really. But it seems like the right thing to do.”
“Is she still doing your bookkeeping?” Hannah asked.
“Yes.”
“At night so you can watch her son?”
“Yes.” Consciously fighting a twinge of jealousy that he had what she’d lost—a little boy to care for and love—Hannah refused to give in to the depression that had buried her for the long months after Carlos died.
She could look at other families now, other mothers with babies and toddlers, and not fall apart.
“I didn’t know you were still seeing her.”
“Yeah.”
“And it’s that serious?”
“Yep.”
“Needless to say, I’m shocked, but if you’re sure this is what you want, I’m happy for you.” Brian’s happiness was as important to her as her own. “It’s about time you joined the ranks of the living.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Though she was worried he might get hurt, Hannah wished him well. Told him to tell Cynthia hello. To give Joseph, whom she’d met only once at a SIDS fund-raiser, a hug. And then she hung up, staring at the wall of bookcases across from her.
Something about Brian’s news didn’t feel right; she just couldn’t pinpoint what that would be.
She wasn’t jealous, was she? She and Brian were close friends, nothing more.
So why wasn’t she as happy for him as she should’ve been?
Sliding the pile of folders in front of her, Hannah grabbed a pen. She was tired; that was all. The week had already been too long and wasn’t over yet. She’d feel better after she got some rest.
She’d