Steve Gannon - Kane

“I may have her come either way. I’m going to be busy.”

“Make time for the kids while I’m gone, Dan.”

“What do you want me to do? Quit my job and stay home with them while you’re out gallivanting?”

Catheryn brightened. “Yes, that would be great,” she said with a smile. “Thanks.”

“Seriously, Kate, the kids will be fine.”

Catheryn’s smile faded. “Are you that oblivious to what’s going on? They’re not fine now; how are they suddenly going to better in my absence?”

“I know we’ve all been going through a rough patch lately, but things will even out. Travis is doing well in school-”

“Trav is not doing well in school. I’ve already had two meetings with his advisor. And Nate is still having nightmares. His grades have dropped, and he’s been fighting again. And Allison hasn’t been the same since the break-in. She hardly sees her friends anymore. At first I thought it was a just phase, but now I’m not so sure.”

My thoughts traveled back to an evening two summers previous when Catheryn had been attending a performance at the Music Center. Tom and Travis had gone out together on a double date, and I had unexpectedly been called back to the station on a case-leaving Allison and Nate at home alone for several hours. During that time two men had broken into our house. They’d demanded money, and in the course of the robbery Allison had been severely beaten. It could have been worse had it not been for the presence of my off-duty service revolver in the hall closet. The intruders hadn’t counted on a weapon being in the house, or the danger that it posed, even in the hands of a child. One of the men had fled. The other had bled to death with a. 38-caliber-sized hole in his femoral artery.

“Look, Kate,” I said patiently. “First off, concerning the break-in, we both know that Allison is still bothered by what happened. That’s natural, but the bottom line is she had every right to plug that dirtbag, and she has nothing to feel sorry about. She’ll get over it. She’s a tough kid.”

“Dan, it’s not that simple,” said Catheryn. “I-”

“Second,” I went on, cutting her off, “when it comes to Trav, you’re always telling me that it’s impossible to live people’s lives for them. Does ‘Let Travis be himself’ sound familiar? Take some of your own advice. Travis is nearly a man. He’ll find his own way.”

“But-”

“Third,” I continued, “ all kids have nightmares. Nate’s tough, too. He’ll grow out of them. As for his fighting in school, at least he’s sticking up for himself. Now, I know you would be a lot happier if he’d kiss any mean ol’ bullies who-”

“What about his grades?”

“Grades aren’t everything. Hell, look at me. If I hadn’t been able to snag a football, I’d have never made it through high school, let alone USC.”

“Don’t give me your ‘Aw, shucks, country-boy routine,’” said Catheryn impatiently. “Some of those you deal with at work may buy it-at least the ones who haven’t met you-but we both know you have a mind like a steel trap. Let me put this another way. I know how you feel about our children. You love them more than anything.”

I nodded. “We have the finest kids any parent could wish for, and that’s the God’s truth.”

“And you’ve always wanted what’s best for them.”

I nodded again. “Absolutely.”

“When was the last time you looked at your children?”

“I saw them this morning.”

“I mean really looked. When was the last time you looked into their eyes and asked what they were thinking, what they were feeling?”

I didn’t respond.

“They think you’re some kind of hero, Dan. It’s almost painful to see how much they want to please you. They need something from you that I can’t give them. I’m not sure what, but whatever it is, you’re not giving it. They need you, and you haven’t been there for them. Not for a long time. Not since Tommy died.”

At the mention of Tom, my heart fell. “I have to work,” I said. “I can’t always be there holding their hands.”

“That’s not what I mean. You may be a cop, but you’re also a father, with responsibilities that far outweigh any commitments you’ve made to the LAPD. This wall you’ve built around yourself is hurting everyone. Especially your children.”

“Kate…”

“People usually deal with tragedy in one of two ways,” Catheryn pressed on. “Religion or humor. You’ve shied away from both. Maybe somebody could help.”

“Let’s drop this, Kate.”

“And talk about it tomorrow?” she said bitterly. “Dan, it wouldn’t hurt to see a counselor.”

“A shrink? That subject is closed.”

“Think about it. Please,” Catheryn said softly. “We could go together. Tom’s gone, but Travis, Allison, and Nate are still here. They need you. So do I.”

When our entrees arrived, Catheryn and I ate in silence. Catheryn finished her champagne; I stuck with water. We both had decaf following the meal, deciding to skip dessert.

Regretting the turn of our earlier conversation, I sat back in my chair, for the first time noticing a delicate piece of jewelry pinned to Catheryn’s blouse. I had given her the emerald pin after Tom’s birth. With the subsequent arrivals of Travis, Allison, and finally Nate, I had presented her with other emerald pieces. All were modest, but over the years the green stones had grown to become not only reminders of the joy we had shared at the birth of each of our children, but also as an affirmation of our family’s strength and love. “I see you have on Tom’s brooch,” I said cautiously. “Haven’t noticed you wearing that for a while.”

Catheryn raised a hand to touch the pin. “You gave me this at the hospital,” she said. “Remember what you said?”

“I told you I loved you,” I answered without hesitation. “That I would always love you.”

Catheryn smiled. “What else?”

I thought a moment. “I thanked you for giving me a son and making us a family.”

Catheryn took my hand. “Dan, we need to talk about Tommy. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this. Things haven’t been right between us, not between any of us, since his death. I know we’re all to blame for that, me included, but you…” She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “It’s time to let go, Dan.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mourning is natural. It’s part of the healing process. But you’ve never moved on. It’s destroying you, Dan. And it’s tearing apart our family.”

Still holding my hand, Catheryn searched my eyes. Though I could tell she was disheartened by what she saw, she continued nevertheless. “Dan, if you don’t let go of life’s sadnesses, you’re letting them do something worse to you than they’ve already done.”

“ You may be able to forget Tom by throwing yourself into your music, but it’s not that easy for me,” I shot back, regretting my words the instant they were out of my mouth.

Tears sprang to Catheryn’s eyes, but she held my gaze. “Tommy was my firstborn child,” she said quietly, fighting to control her voice. “He was a part of me, a part of us. I’ll never forget him.”

Hearing the heartbreak in her voice, I looked down, too ashamed for words.

“Dan, I think we should get counseling.”

“I told you, that subject is closed.”

“Please think about it,” Catheryn pleaded. “All I’m asking is that you consider it.”

Following dinner, Catheryn accompanied me out to the street in silence. Still not speaking when we reached the Dorothy Chandler parking garage, she slid in beside me on the front seat of the Suburban. As she did, she noticed two overnight bags in the back. “You going somewhere?” she asked icily.