“I heard the news,” she says. “Is she going to be OK?”
“Yes.”
“They said a man was shot.”
I nod.
My hands are shaking. I look into her eyes and something small and delicate shreds inside me. I feel the tears coming. I try to hold them back, but she sits beside me and presses her face to mine.
I sob.
She soothes.
“I killed a man.”
“You saved a girl.”
Her arms are around me now, hugging me like a child.
“When I was holding that gun, all I could think about was Charlie. I could picture when Gideon Tyler kidnapped her; how helpless I felt, how completely and utterly useless. I remember you standing in this room, unable to look at me. I couldn’t think of anything to say to you. I couldn’t make it better. I couldn’t share your pain because I knew that if I took your sorrow and anger and added it to mine it would fucking bury me… I’d never survive.”
“Don’t torture yourself, Joe.”
“That was the beginning of the end for us. I knew it. You knew it.”
“Charlie is fine. I’m fine. You have to stop punishing yourself.” She strokes my hair. “I think you should talk to someone.”
“Who?”
“A professional.”
“You think I should see a therapist.”
“Yes.”
“Are you seeing one?”
She nods. “It’s helping.”
“Who?”
“I’m not saying. You’ll tell me there’s someone better.”
I try to laugh because I know she’s right. We sit like this for a long while, listening to the silence, enjoying each other’s warmth.
“How was Christmas?” I ask.
“Postponed.” She points to the Christmas tree, where brightly wrapped gifts lie unopened beneath the lower branches. “We decided that we didn’t want Christmas without you so we put it off until tomorrow… or I should say today.”
“What about Santa Claus?”
“Oh, he came.”
“And Emma didn’t want to open her presents?”
“Oh, she did. It almost killed her, but she wanted you here.” She lightly kisses my lips. “We all did.”
Julianne slides her body away from mine and stands, pulling me upwards. “To bed with you.”
“Let me sleep here.”
“No.”
She leads me upstairs, pausing at the open door to Emma’s room where we watch our youngest sleeping, surrounded by stuffed animals and her gloriously imaginative paintings.
Then we pass Charlie’s room, which has a sign on the door banning entry to little sisters and anyone below a certain height. A height chart is helpfully provided.
Julianne doesn’t stop outside the guest room. Pulling me onwards, she takes me into the bedroom we once shared and helps me undress. When I try to speak, she puts her finger over my lips and draws me to the bed and wraps my arms around her body, across her breasts.
I smell her hair. I feel her heart. I listen to her sleeping. I want for nothing.