Easy

so rare. Used to his ghost smile, dark scowls and intense stares, I was so stunned that my breath faltered. And then I smiled back, and even if he couldn’t quite see my mouth I knew the crinkles around my eyes replicated those around his, the darker blue of my eyes connecting with the his gray-blue. “Maybe I did a hammer-fist strike and bloodied his nose before he could do all that gruesome mummy stuff to me.”
    He laughed softly, holding the warm smile in place, and I leaned toward him like a flower to sunlight.
    “You are fond of that hammer-fist strike.”
    “Maybe not as fond as Erin is of all things groin strike related.”
    He laughed again and leaned to kiss my forehead, letting me go swiftly and glancing around. His smile faded, and I thought I’d probably be willing to do almost anything to bring it back. “Text me when you’re done this afternoon?”
    I nodded. “I will.”

    ***
    I wasn’t sure what I would find when I googled Lucas’s name Wednesday night. I hoped for an obituary that would give me a starting point, which I found. Like many obits, the one for Rosemary Lucas Maxfield didn’t give a clue to how she died. No “in lieu of flowers please send a donation to” with the name of some awful young-mother-killing illness at the end. I googled her name, expecting nothing—but multiple articles popped up, all dated eight years ago. The titles knocked the breath from me. I chose one and clicked—my heart thumping so hard I could feel the individual beats—while I wished these commentaries were about someone else’s mother. Someone I didn’t know.

    TWO DEAD IN MURDER-SUICIDE
    Authorities have confirmed the horrific details of a murder-suicide that took place during an apparent home invasion in the early hours of the morning on Tuesday. Police say that Darren W. Smith, a local handyman, broke into the home of Raymond and Rosemary Maxfield through a back window around 4 a.m. Tuesday morning. Dr. Maxfield was away on business. After restraining her son in his room, Smith raped Rosemary Maxfield repeatedly before slashing her throat. Cause of death was massive blood loss from multiple sharp force injuries. Smith then fatally shot himself. Weapons found at the scene included a seven-inch hunting knife and a 9 mm pistol.

    Smith was one of a group of contractors working on the Maxfield home earlier this summer. There appears to have been no other connection between Smith and the Maxfields, despite surveillance-type photos of the family found yesterday by investigators at Smith’s home. Police believe that Smith was aware of Dr. Maxfield’s absence from home.

    Unable to get in touch with his wife or son by Tuesday evening, Raymond Maxfield requested that family friends Charles and Cindy Heller check on them. At approximately 7 p.m., the couple discovered Rosemary Maxfield in her bedroom, covered in blood, with Smith near her, dead from a self-inflicted gunshot to the head. The minor child was taken to County Hospital and treated for dehydration, shock, and minor injuries relating to the restraints, but was otherwise unharmed.

    Heller made a short statement earlier this evening, requesting that the press and the community allow Maxfield and his son privacy to process the shocking manner in which they lost their 38-year-old wife and mother. “I was in the army. Special Forces. I’ve seen some atrocious stuff. But this was the worst thing I’ve ever come across, and I’ll always regret taking my wife with me that night,” Heller said. The Hellers and Maxfields have been close friends for sixteen years. “Rose was an adoring wife and mother, a loving and wonderful friend. She’ll be terribly missed.”

    ***
    “Thank you for seeing me outside office hours.” I took a deep breath and sat, hands clenched in my lap. “I need to talk to you about Lucas. There’s something I need to know about him.”
    Dr. Heller’s brows drew together. “I’m not sure what I can divulge. If it’s of a personal nature, you should probably ask him.”
    I was afraid he’d say this, but I needed to know more before I saw Lucas again. I needed to know if that night had been the catalyst for the scars on his wrists, or if there was something more. “I can’t ask him. It’s about… what happened to his mother. To him.”
    Dr. Heller looked as though I’d sucker-punched him. “He told you about that?”
    I shook my head. “No. I googled his name, looking for her obituary. When it didn’t give a