Sara couldn’t have children. An ectopic pregnancy while she was in medical school had taken away her ability. She’d been trying to adopt a child with Jeffrey, but that dream had disappeared the day he’d died. He had a son somewhere, a brilliant, strong young man who had never been told that Jeffrey was his real father. Jeffrey was just an honorary uncle, Sara an honorary aunt. She often thought about reaching out to the boy, but the decision was not hers. He had a mother and father who had done a very good job of raising him. Ruining that, telling him he had a father he could never talk to, seemed like an act of cruelty.
Except where Lena was concerned, Sara had an intense aversion to inflicting cruelty.
The dryer buzzed. The towels were ready enough, considering she had to walk outside in the pouring rain. She put on her jacket and left the house as quietly as she could. Outside, the rain had turned into a drizzle again. She glanced up at the night sky. Even with the dark clouds, she could see the stars. Sara had forgotten what it was like to be away from the lights of the city. The night was as black as coal. There were no sirens or screams or random gunshots piercing the air. There were only crickets and the occasional howl of a lonely dog.
Sara stood outside Will’s door, wondering if she should knock. It was late. He might have already gone to sleep.
He opened the door just as she turned around. Will certainly wasn’t looking at her all googly-eyed, as Tessa had stated. If anything, he seemed distracted.
“Towels,” she told him. “I’ll just leave them with you.”
“Wait.”
Sara held up her hand to keep the rain from pelting her in the eyes. She found herself staring at Will’s mouth, the scar above his lip.
“Please come in.” He stepped back so she could walk through the door.
Sara felt an unexplained wariness. Still, she went inside. “I am so sorry about my mother.”
“She should teach a class on interrogation at the academy.”
“I cannot apologize enough.”
He handed her one of the clean towels to wipe her face. “She loves you very much.”
Sara hadn’t expected his response. She supposed a man who had lost his mother at such a young age had a different perspective on Cathy’s obtrusiveness.
“Did you ever-” Sara stopped. “Never mind. I should let you get to sleep.”
“Ever what?”
“I mean…” Sara felt her cheeks redden again. “Were you in foster homes? Or…”
He nodded. “Sometimes.”
“Good ones?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
Sara was thinking about the bruise on his belly-not a bruise at all, but something far more sinister. She had seen her share of electrical burns in the morgue. They left their own distinct mark, like a dusting of gunpowder that got under the skin and never washed away. The dark branding on Will’s body had faded with time. He’d probably been a child when it happened.
“Dr. Linton?”
She shook her head by way of apology. Instinctively, her hand went to his arm. “Can I get you anything else? I think there’s some extra blankets in the closet.”
“I’ve got some questions for you. If you have a few minutes?”
She had forgotten the reason she’d come up here in the first place. “Of course.”
He indicated the couch. Sara sank into the old cushion, which nearly swallowed her. She looked around the room, seeing it as Will might. There was nothing fancy about the space. A galley kitchen. A tiny bedroom with an even tinier bathroom. The shag carpet had seen better days. Buckled wood paneling covered every vertical surface. The couch was older than Sara. And it was big enough for two people to comfortably lie down on, which was why Cathy had moved it from the den to the upstairs apartment when Sara turned fifteen. Not that Sara had boys lining up to lie on the couch with her, but Tessa, three years younger, had.
Will put the towels on the kitchen counter. “Can I get you some water?”
“No, thank you.” Sara indicated the apartment. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t offer you better accommodations.”
He smiled. “I’ve stayed in a lot worse.”
“If it’s any consolation, this is actually nicer than the hotel.”
“The food’s better anyway.” He gestured toward the opposite end of the couch. There was really nowhere else for him to sit. Still, he asked, “May I?”
Sara bent her legs up underneath her as he sat on the edge of the cushion. She crossed her arms, suddenly aware that they were alone in the same room together.
The uncomfortable silence was back. He played with his wedding ring, twisting it around his finger. She wondered if he was thinking about his wife. Sara had met the woman once at the hospital. Angie Trent was one of those vivacious, life-of-the-party types who never left the house without her makeup on. Her nails were perfect. Her skirt was tight. Her legs would have given the Pope second thoughts. She was about as different from Sara as a ripe peach was from a Popsicle stick.
Will clasped his hands together between his knees. “Thank you for dinner. Or, thank your mother. I haven’t eaten like that in…” He chuckled, rubbing his stomach. “Well, I’m not sure I’ve ever eaten like that in my life.”
“I’m so sorry she questioned you like that.”
“It’s no bother. I’m sorry for imposing.”
“It’s my fault for bringing you down here.”
“I’m sorry the hotel was closed.”
Sara cut to the chase, afraid they would spend the rest of the night trading inconsequential apologies. “What questions did you have for me?”
He paused another few seconds, staring openly. “The first one is kind of delicate.”
She tightened her arms around her waist. “All right.”
“When Chief Wallace called you earlier today to come help Tommy…” He let his voice trail off. “Do you always keep diazepam on you? That’s Valium, right?”
Sara couldn’t look him in the eye. She stared down at the coffee table. Will had obviously been working here. His laptop was closed, but the light was pulsing. Cables connected the machine to the portable printer on the floor. An unopened packet of colored folders was beside it. A wooden ruler was on top alongside a pack of colored markers. There was a stapler, paper clips, rubber bands.
“Dr. Linton?”
“Will.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “Don’t you think it’s time you started calling me Sara?”
He acquiesced. “Sara.” When she didn’t speak, he pressed. “Do you always have Valium with you?”
“No,” she admitted. She felt such shame that she could only look at the table in front of her. “They were for me. For this trip. In case…” She shrugged the rest of her answer away. How could she explain to this man why she would need to drug herself through a family holiday?
He asked, “Did Chief Wallace know that you had the Valium?”
She tried to think back on their conversation. “No. I volunteered to bring it.”
“You said you had some in your kit?”
“I didn’t want to tell him they were for-”
“It’s all right,” he stopped her. “I’m really sorry that I had to ask such a personal question. I’m just trying to figure out how it happened. Chief Wallace called you to help, but how would he know that you’d be able to?”
Sara looked up at him. Will stared back, unblinking. There was no judgment in his gaze, no pity. Sara couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her and really seen her. Certainly not since she’d gotten into town this morning.
She told him, “Frank thought I could talk to Tommy. Talk him down, I guess.”
“Have you helped prisoners in the jail before?”
“Not really. I mean, I got called in a couple of times when there was an overdose. Once, someone had a burst appendix. I transferred them all to the hospital. I didn’t really treat them at the jail. Not medically.”