Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [91]
He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Sam’s over at the hotel with his mom. He wanted to sleep at the hospital, but Lydia talked him into going back with her. Her mother said they gave Bliss some drugs that made her groggy, so I’m not sure how much she’s comprehended. Her shoulder’s going to be okay, no major damage.”
“How’s Sam?”
“In shock, I think, but he’s handling it pretty well. I’m proud of him.”
“When this is all over, maybe you should tell him so.”
“I will.” His mouth opened in a wide yawn. “I’m exhausted.”
“Why don’t you sleep in tomorrow?”
“Can’t, too many appointments. I’ll be okay.”
“Then come to bed.”
He pulled his suit jacket off and tossed it on a chair. The rest of his clothes he left in a crumpled pile on the floor, telling me how tired he was.
When I turned out the light, he laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. I wanted to say something that would make him feel better, but knew there was nothing I could do but just be here. Under the covers I sought out his hand and held it tight. He cleared his throat in the darkness.
“I...” His voice faltered. “You know, I was just beginning to get used to being a grandfather. I never held Sam much when he was a baby. I was thinking that maybe I’d have been a better grandfather than I was a father.”
I leaned over and kissed his bare shoulder, then laid my cheek on it. “Sam loves you very much.”
“I know,” he said, pulling me into his arms, holding tight.
The next morning he skipped his ritual jogging and was subdued over breakfast. I didn’t force conversation, knowing one thing about this reticent Latino man I’d married; his grief was a private thing, difficult to share even with me.
“I think I’ll send Bliss some flowers. When you see Sam can you tell him why I left last night? Let him know I’m concerned,” I said, buttering an English muffin.
He nodded. “Sure, he’ll understand. I’ll drop by the hospital on my way to work, see how Bliss is doing. What are you doing today?”
“Same old stuff,” I said, wondering if I should tell him about the shooting at the cemetery yesterday. His face, craggy with fatigue from a restless night and the anticipation of a day filled with questions and reporters and dealing with Sam’s grief decided for me. He couldn’t take one more thing to worry about right now.
After dropping by the florist to order Bliss’s flowers, I went to the folk art museum more out of habit than any real need since I had caught up on all my paperwork yesterday and the exhibit was doing fine. After chatting with some potters over a cup of coffee, I went to my office and puttered around, sharpening pencils and cleaning out drawers. What I was trying to do was decide whether I should continue looking into Giles’s murder. With Bliss engaged to Sam, I felt awkward about trying to prove one of her family members was a killer. What with Bliss’s miscarriage and the sniper yesterday, I’d decided that me being involved was too risky . . . for my own life and for the relationships of the people I loved.
I was reduced to washing my small, wavy window when JJ walked in.
“Hey,” I said, getting down off my footstool and giving her a quick hug. “How’s Bliss?”
“They’re letting her come home tomorrow. The wound wasn’t very deep and . . .” She swallowed hard, her face contorting in grief.
“Sit down,” I said, leading her to a visitor chair. I sat next to her, turning my chair so we were facing each other. “Are you okay, JJ?”
She sniffed and rubbed the back of her long-sleeved chenille sweater under one eye. She was bare-faced today, and her hair was soft and pixielike around her head. “Yes . . . no... Oh, I don’t know. I’m glad Bliss is okay, but I’m sad about the baby. I just don’t know what to do or feel.”
“What you’re feeling is normal. Just be there for Bliss, that’s really all you can do. Let time soften things.”
A deep frown narrowed