Her eyes had closed while he was speaking. She felt his lips on her forehead. “Later.”
There was something else… she heard his footsteps headed for the hall. “Eric,” she said.
“I’ll thank him for you.”
No. That’s not it. Then the narcotic took her and she was gone.
MONDAY, JULY 4
There had been times in the last two years when Hadley Knox had been overwhelmed by the differences between her old life in Los Angeles and her new one in Millers Kill. Controlling traffic for the Independence Day Parade was turning out to be one of them.
She had taken her kids to a parade once in L.A., a spectacle of Disneyland-quality floats, the Golden Bears marching band, and professional dancers twirling flaming batons. In Millers Kill, half the town was marching. DAR ladies in nineteenth-century dresses and VFW men carrying cap lock rifles. A group from St. Alban’s toting their THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH WELCOMES YOU banner. The chief’s mother rode past on the Adirondack Conservancy’s Green Future float, and her own kids pedaled by on bikes they had spent all Saturday decorating.
There was the middle school band, and the antique and modern fire trucks, and finally the MKPD cruiser marking the end of the parade. Flynn was driving, one arm hanging out the window in a very nonregulation way, grinning and waving to the children lining the road.
He so young, so ridiculously hopeful and helpful, almost like a kid himself. She flashed on the night they had spent together, his eyes dark, his voice hard, saying, Once and for all, I’m not a kid. Her saying, No. You’re not.
God. She shook her head to clear it. She cleared traffic and drove toward the park, wedging her cruiser into a tow zone on Main.
Wading into the crowd, she spotted the chief right off, his height a reliable beacon. He was walking beat along the grassy edge of the park, scanning from the street-side shops to the gazebo at the center of the green and back again. He stopped to greet someone, then caught sight of her and changed direction. “Knox. Hi. Talk to me.”
“Everything quiet. Traffic is flowing.”
He nodded. “Good.”
“Did I, uh, miss anything?”
“Our assemblyman donated a new flag.” He thumbed toward the flagpole. “Reverend Fergusson”-he looked like he was trying not to smile-“gave a nice invocation.” He thumbed toward the Gothic tower of St. Alban’s. “She’s at your church’s yard sale.”
She stood on tiptoe. Between the lush green foliage of the park’s maples and the holiday crowd, she couldn’t see a thing. “How are we doing?”
“The Presbyterians are beating you all to hell. They’ve got an Italian sausage stand.”
“How’s Reverend Clare?”
“Hurting.” The chief looked exasperated. “I told her she shouldn’t have come. She’s on crutches, for chrissakes. Borrowed from somebody in your congregation, of course, because God forbid she go see a doctor.”
Hadley spotted Anne Vining-Ellis, one of the movers and shakers of St. Alban’s, crossing the road. Her youngest son trailed behind her, all pipe-cleaner legs and bangs in his eyes.
“You should ask Dr. Anne to check her out.”
“Check who out?” The doctor had gotten close enough to hear them.
“Clare. I’m trying to get her to see someone about her ankle. Plus, the back of her shoulder looks awful, like it might be getting infected.”
“I saw the crutches and the ACE bandage, but I didn’t know she had another injury. I’ll make sure to take a look before we go home.”
“Thanks. I swear, she-” The chief stopped, took a breath, and gestured toward Hadley. “Do you know Officer Knox?”
“Of course I do.” She smiled at Hadley. “We just ran into your kids over at the yard sale with your grandfather. Their bikes look amazing.”
“Thanks. They actually did most of the decorating themselves.” Hadley nodded toward Dr. Anne’s boy. “Are you helping out at St. Alban’s?”
“Not this time.” Dr. Anne threw an arm around her son. “Colin’s won the Civic Essay Award. He’s here to get the scholarship check from the mayor.”
Colin Ellis, who had been looking at the crowd while the adults droned on, straightened and pointed. “Mom! It’s Dad and Will.” He grinned. “He decided to come after all. All right. Hey! Will!”
Dr. Anne’s face froze, and suddenly Hadley could see her age around her eyes. Hadley followed the older woman’s gaze to see Mr. Ellis pushing a young man in a wheelchair.
A legless young man in a wheelchair. Whoa. Her stomach squeezed.
“Ah,” the chief said.
The pair came to a stop in front of Dr. Anne. “You’ve met my husband, Chris.” The doctor’s voice was strange, like an imitation of herself. “And this is my son Will. Will, this is Chief Van Alstyne, Reverend Clare’s… friend.”
The chief shook the kid’s hand. “I think Clare told me you had enlisted. What branch?”
“Marines.”
“Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children. Where were you serving?”
“Anbar Province.”
The chief nodded. “I’ve heard that’s a hot zone. Heavy casualties.”
“I got out alive. I can’t complain.” Will’s face was clear and open, as if the fact that a third of his body was missing didn’t matter.
The chief smiled a little. “A marine platoon saved my life once in Vietnam. I make it a habit to thank jarheads when I meet them. Thank you.”
Will’s mouth crooked up. “What branch were you in, sir?”
“Army.”
Will smiled broadly. “Are you sure they only saved your life once?” The chief laughed.
“Well. Goodness. We’d better get over to the gazebo.” Dr. Anne’s voice was bright and cheery. “We don’t want Mayor Cameron giving the check away to somebody else.” The Ellis men chorused good-bye, walking-and rolling-away.
“God.” Hadley felt as if she had been holding her breath. “That’s tough. He’s so young.”
“They always are. They’re always too goddamn young.” The squawk on the chief’s radio was a welcome distraction. He keyed his shoulder mike. “Van Alstyne here.”
“Where’n the hell is here?” Static made Deputy Chief MacAuley’s voice crackle. “I been looking all over for you.”
“I’m at the south end of the park, looking at the Rexall.”
“I’m at the gazebo. Walk that way and I’ll meet you. MacAuley out.”
Within moments, Hadley saw the deputy chief’s grizzled buzz cut bobbing toward them. “There you are,” he said, as he came into sight. “They want you up on the stand.”
“So I can stand next to John Opperman and smile? Not a chance.”
“Opperman?” Hadley looked at the wooden pavilion, its spindled railing and octagonal roof draped in red-white-and-blue bunting. “As in BWI Opperman, the biggest employer in the county?” She could see Mayor Cameron, standing with a well-dressed middle-aged man and a woman whose twin set and glasses-on-a-chain said teacher or librarian . There were also three soldiers in camo: a young woman in a black beret, an even younger-looking man whose head was shaved bald, and an older guy twisting a bucket hat.
The young woman soldier turned, and Hadley saw it was Tally McNabb. The chief frowned. “What’s she doing up there with Dr. Stillman and the Stoners’ boy?”
“They’re all veterans, aren’t they? Jim Cameron’s probably planned some patriotic foolishness and these were the folks he could persuade to get up on the bandstand.” MacAuley gave Hadley a knowing look. “He’s running for reelection this year. Nothing says ‘vote for me’ like supporting the troops.”
“John Opperman’s no damn soldier.”
“Look.” MacAuley sighed. “Opperman’s announcing some new scholarship his company’s putting up for our high schoolers. Cameron’s got to know there’s bad blood between you two-”