The Bodies Left Behind

up?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And your mom. Heard she’ll be okay?”
    “She’ll live.”
    “Where’d she get hit?”
    “The leg. Hospital another day or two. Therapy.”
    “Sorry about that.”
    Brynn shrugged. “Lot of people don’t make it round to see therapy.”
    “Lucky.”
    If your daughter bringing an armed killer into your house is luck, then I guess.
    “’Night now. Somebody’ll make the rounds off and on.”
    “Thanks, Jimmy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    “You’ll be in?”
    “Yep. You have a package for me?”
    “Oh, yeah.” Barnes reached into the back and handed her a heavy paper bag. She looked inside at a well-worn department Glock and two extra clips, along with a box of Winchester 9mm hollow points.
    He then lifted a clipboard. She signed for the weapon.
    “You got a clip loaded. Thirteen. None in the bedroom.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Get some rest, Brynn.”
    “’Night. And happy birthday.”
    As he drove off she checked the clip anyway and chambered a round.
    The family walked inside the house.
    Upstairs she put the gun in the lockbox and returned to the kitchen.
    Joey had eaten pizza at the neighbor’s. He walked around, staring at the bullet holes in the walls until Brynn told him not to.
    Brynn took a long shower, the water hot as she could stand, and tied her hair back after towel-drying it. Didn’t want the noise of the dryer. She changed the bandage on her face, threw on sweats and went downstairs, where Graham was heating up spaghetti from last night. She wasn’t hungry but felt she’d abused her system enough in the past twenty-four hours and was expecting it to go on strike if she didn’t start to pamper soon.
    They went into the dining room and ate for a while in silence. She sat back, looked at the label on her beer. She wondered what exactly hops were.
    Then she asked Graham, “What is it?”
    “Hmm?”
    “There was something you wanted to say at the hospital.”
    “Don’t remember.”
    “You sure? I think you might.”
    “Maybe something. But not now. It’s late.”
    “I think now is good.” She was chiding but serious too.
    Joey came downstairs and was channel surfing in the family room, sitting on the green couch.
    Graham stuck his head in the door. “Joey, go upstairs and read. No TV.”
    “Just ten min—”
    Brynn started to speak. Graham continued into the family room. He said something that Brynn couldn’t hear.
    The TV shut off and she caught a glimpse of her sullen son climbing the stairs.
    What was that about?
    Her husband sat down at the table.
    “Come on, Graham.” They rarely used each other’s name. “What is it? Tell me?”
    Her husband sat forward, and she saw he was lost in debate. Eventually he said, “Do you know how Joey hurt himself yesterday?”
    “The skateboard? At school?”
    “It wasn’t at school. And it wasn’t just three steps in the parking lot. He was ’phalting. You know what that is?”
    “I know ’phalting. Sure. But Joey wouldn’t do that.”
    “Why? Why do you say that? You don’t have any idea.”
    She blinked.
    “He was ’phalting. He was doing close to forty or fifty on the back of a truck down Elden Street.”
    “The highway?”
    “Yes. And he’d been doing it all day.”
    “Impossible.”
    “Why do you say that? A teacher saw him. His sectionteacher called, Mr. Raditzky. Joey skipped school. And he forged your name to a note.”
    With yesterday’s horror less immediate, this news was shocking. “Forged?”
    “Went in in the morning. Left and never came back.”
    Was this true? She looked at the ceiling. A black dot of a bullet hole was in the corner. Small as a fly. The slug had come all the way through here. “I had no idea. I’ll talk to him.”
    “I tried. He wouldn’t listen.”
    “He gets that way.”
    In a harsh voice Graham said, “But he can’t get that way. That’s not an excuse. He kept lying to me and I told him no skateboarding for a month.”
    “Are you sure—” Her initial reaction was to defend her son, to question Mr. Raditzky’s credibility, to ask who the witness was, to cross-examine. She fell silent.
    Graham was tense, shoulders forward.
    More was coming.
    But, fair enough. She’d asked for this.
    “And the fight, Brynn. Last year? You told me it was a pushing match. Mr. Raditzky told me what really happened.”
    “He was a bully. He—”
    “—was just taunting Joey. Talking to him is all. But Joey hurt him bad. We almost got sued. You never