Cross

Alex.”
    “Don’t rub it in. And I don’t think I used the word
protection.
”
    “Actually, you did. Anyway, talk it out for me, please. You said you wanted to tell me everything. This is probably more important than you think.”
    “I couldn’t have done a damn thing to help Kayla. Happy now?”
    “I’m getting there,” Adele said—then she waited for more from me.
    “It all goes back to that night with Maria, of course. I
was
there. I watched her die in my arms. I couldn’t do anything to save the woman I loved. I didn’t do anything. I never even caught the son of a bitch who killed her.”
    Adele still said nothing.
    “You know the worst thing? I’ll always wonder if that bullet was meant for me. Maria turned into my arms . . .
then
she was hit.”
    We sat in silence for a long time then, even for us, and we’re pretty good at enduring silences. I had never admitted that last part to Adele until now, never said it out loud to anybody.
    “Adele, I’m going to change my life somehow.”
    She didn’t say anything to that, either. Smart and tough, the way I like my shrinks, and what I aspire to be myself someday, when I grow the hell up.
    “Don’t you believe me?” I asked.
    She finally spoke. “I want to believe you, Alex. Of course I do.” Then she added, “Do you believe yourself? Do
you
think any of us can really change? Can you?”
    “Yes,” I told Adele. “I do believe I can change. But I get fooled a lot.”
    She laughed. We both did.
    “I can’t believe I pay for this shit,” I finally said.
    “Me either,” said Adele. “But your time is up.”

Chapter 78
    LATER THAT AFTERNOON I FOUND MYSELF in St. Anthony’s Church—St. Tony’s, as I’ve called it since I was a kid growing up nearby in Nana’s equally revered house. The church is about a block from the hospital where Maria died. I’d moved my spiritual care from head doctor to head of the universe, and I hoped it was an upgrade but figured it might not be.
    I knelt in front of the altar and let the overly sweet smell of incense and the familiar scenes of the nativity and the crucifixion wash over me and do their dirty work. The most striking thing about beautiful churches, to me, is that they were mostly designed by people who were inspired by a belief in something larger and more important than themselves, and this is how I try to lead my own life. I gazed up at the altar, and a sigh escaped my lips. As far as God goes, I believe. It’s as simple as that and always has been. I guess I feel it’s a little odd, or presumptuous, to imagine that God thinks as we do; or that God has a big, kind human face; or that God is white, brown, black, yellow, green, whatever; or that God listens to our prayers at all times of the day or night, or anytime at all.
    But I said a few prayers for Kayla in the front row of St. Tony’s—asking not just that she would survive her wounds but that she would mend in other important ways. People react differently to life-threatening attacks on their persons, on their family members, on their homes. I know about that firsthand. And now, unfortunately, so did Kayla.
    While I was in a prayerful mood, I said some private words for Maria, who had been in my thoughts so much lately.
    I even talked to Maria, whatever that means. I hoped she liked the way I was raising the kids—a frequent subject between us. Then I said a prayer for Nana Mama and her fragile health; prayers for the kids; and even a few words for Rosie the Cat, who had been suffering from a severe cold, which I was afraid might be pneumonia.
Don’t let our cat die. Not now. Rosie is good people too.

Chapter 79
    THE BUTCHER WAS IN GEORGETOWN TO LET OFF a little pent-up steam—otherwise things might not go so well when he got back to Caitlin and the kiddies, to his life on the straight and narrow. Actually, he had learned a long time ago that he enjoyed living a double life. Who the hell wouldn’t?
    Maybe another game of Red Light, Green Light was in order today. Why not? His war with Junior Maggione was creating a lot of stress for him.
    The 3000 block of Q Street, where he walked briskly now, was nicely tree-lined and dominated by attractive townhouses and even larger manorlike homes. It was mostly an upscale residential area, and the parked cars spoke to the social status and tastes of those who lived here: several Mercedes, a Range Rover, a BMW, an Aston Martin, a shiny new Bentley or two.
    For the most part, pedestrian