The Narrows

long. It probably meant she'd had a bad night and had tried to chase her losses, a bad gambling strategy. I quickly gathered the photos and reports and slid them back into the file, then I stood up.
    "Sorry," I said again.
    "Goddamnit, it's not what I need to come home and find."
    I didn't say anything. I knew it was a no-win situation for me. I turned and looked back at the bed. Maddie was still sleeping, with her brown ringlets across her face again. If she could sleep through anything, then I hoped she could sleep right through the roaring silence of her parents' anger toward each other.
    Eleanor walked quickly out of the room and in a few moments I followed her. I found her in the kitchen leaning against a counter with her arms folded tightly in front of her.
    "Bad night?"
    "Don't blame my reaction to this on what kind of night I had."
    I raised my hands in surrender.
    "I'm not. I blame it on me. I messed up. I just wanted to sit with her for a little while and I fell asleep."
    "Maybe you shouldn't do that anymore."
    "What, come visit her at night?"
    "I don't know."
    She moved to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of spring water. She poured a glass and then held the bottle up for me. I told her I didn't want any.
    "What is that file anyway?" she asked. "Are you working a case here?"
    "Yes. A murder. It started in L.A. and came over this way. I have to go up into the desert today."
    "What a nice convenience for you. Along the way you get to drop in here and scare your daughter."
    "Come on, Eleanor, it was stupid and I'm an idiot but at least she didn't see anything."
    "She could have. Maybe she did. Maybe she woke up and saw those dreadful pictures and then went back to sleep. She's probably having a horrible nightmare."
    "Look, she hasn't moved all night. I can tell. She's been down for the count. It won't happen again, so can we just leave it at that?"
    "Sure. Fine."
    "Look, Eleanor, why don't you tell me about your night?"
    "No, I don't want to talk about it. I just want to go to bed."
    "I'll tell you something then."
    "What?"
    I hadn't planned on bringing this up but it all sort of snowballed and I knew I needed to tell her.
    "I'm thinking about going back to my job."
    "What do you mean, the case?"
    "No, the cops. The LAPD has a program. Old guys like me can come back in. They're looking for experience. If I do it now I won't even have to go back to the academy."
    She took a long drink of water and didn't respond.
    "What do you think about that, Eleanor?"
    She shrugged like she didn't care.
    "Whatever you want to do, Harry. But you won't see your daughter as much. You'll get involved in cases and… you know how that goes."
    I nodded.
    "Maybe."
    "And maybe it won't matter. She hasn't had you around for most of her life."
    "And whose fault is that?"
    "Look, let's not open that can of worms again."
    "If I had known about her I would have been here. I didn't know."
    "I know, I know. I'm the one. It's all my fault." "I'm not saying that. I'm-"
    "I know what you're saying. You don't even have to say it."
    We were both quiet for a moment, letting the anger ebb. I looked down at the floor.
    "Maybe she could come over there, too," I said.
    "What are you talking about?"
    "What we talked about before. About this place. About her growing up here."
    She shook her head very deliberately.
    "And I haven't changed my mind about that. What do you think, that you're going to raise her by yourself? You, with middle-of-the-night call outs, long hours, long investigations, guns in the house, crime scene photos spread all over the floor. Is that what you want for her? You think that's better than Vegas?"
    "No. I was thinking maybe you could come over there, too."
    "Forget it, Harry. I'm not talking about this again. I'm staying here and so is Madeline. You make whatever decision is best for you but you don't make it for me and Maddie."
    Before I could respond Marisol stepped into the kitchen, her eyes creased with sleep. She was wearing a white bathrobe with Bellagio written in script on the pocket.
    "Very loud," she said.
    "You're right, Marisol," Eleanor said. "I'm sorry."
    Marisol went to the refrigerator and got out the water bottle. She poured herself a glass and then put the bottle away. She left the kitchen without further word. "I think you should go," Eleanor said to me. "I'm too tired to talk about this right now."
    "All right. I'm just going to check on her and say good-bye."
    "Don't wake her up."
    "No kidding."
    I