Lisa Gardner - Say Goodbye

Mac continued to regard her somberly, making no move to cross the kitchen, kiss her on the cheek, welcome her home.

“It’s late,” he said at last.

“Sorry, got stuck at work.”

“I called the office.”

“I was out.” She frowned at him, not liking his tone. “Is something up? If you wanted to reach me so badly, you could’ve called my cell.”

“I didn’t want to use it,” he said flatly.

Her frown deepened. “What the hell is going on, Mac? I work late all the time. So do you. Since when do either one of us bring on the inquisition?”

“You’re working the case.”

“What case?”

Now he did take a step forward, his face intent. “You know what I mean, Kimberly. Delilah Rose. This arachnid guy. You’re getting involved. Five months pregnant. Five months pregnant , for God’s sake, and you’re wading knee-deep into this shit.”

“Of course I am. I’m a federal agent. Wading into shit is my job.”

“No, wading into shit is the Bureau’s job. And GBI’s job. As in, this state is swarming with hundreds of perfectly qualified investigators who could all handle this case. Like Sal, or your buddy Harold, or Mike, or John, or Gina. Each of them skilled and dedicated and just as tough as you are. But they can’t work this case, can they, Kimberly? It always has to be you.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I kicked the case to Sal Martignetti first thing this morning. Even arranged to transfer the ring to state custody. You got your wish, Mac, it is GBI’s ball game.”

“Then where have you been?” He asked the question quietly, which is how she knew she was in trouble.

And heaven help her, she dug in her heels, preparing for a fight they’d both probably regret later. But that was then, and this was now, and she never could stand to be wrong.

“Since when do I have to account for my time to you?” she asked.

“Goddammit,” Mac exploded. “You think I don’t know? I’ve already been on the phone with Sal. Who, by the way, wants to talk to you about his visit to Tommy Mark Evans’s parents. You went to check things out, didn’t you, Kimberly? Couldn’t trust Sal to do the work. No, he’s only investigated fifty or sixty homicides in the past ten years, what the hell could he know about this kind of thing? Did you hit the bar scene? Go hooker shopping? Or did you stand on a street corner and call, ‘Here Mr. Freaky Scary Man. Come find fresh bait.’”

“I did no such thing! I drove around Alpharetta, checking out Ginny’s and Tommy’s respective homes. Nothing dangerous. Just sightseeing.”

“And your phone? Did it stay quiet?”

She thinned her lips mutinously, which was answer enough.

This time, Mac pounded the counter. “That’s it. As your husband, I have never laid down the law. But enough is enough. If you don’t have the good sense to see it, I certainly do. You’re off this case. Fini. Done. Let Sal handle it!”

“Please, it was just heavy breathing, obscene phone call one-oh-one. I’m not going to be chased off by a kid playing games, and you should be ashamed of yourself for even suggesting such a thing.”

“Kimberly, don’t you get it ?”

“Get what?” she shouted back, honestly bewildered.

“It’s not about you anymore. It’s about our baby, the unborn child growing in your stomach. Who is already growing and experiencing the world, even from the womb. Our child has ears, you know. I checked that damn book you gave me. At the twenty-week mark, babies can hear. And what the hell did our baby get to listen to last night?”

It took her a second. Then the dots connected, and her hands went reflexively to her belly, cradling the gently rounded curve in a belated act of protection. She hadn’t thought, hadn’t realized…

But yes, she was past the twenty-week mark. When the fetus had ears and the really dedicated mothers started playing Mozart and Beethoven in order to develop neonatal geniuses. Except Kimberly didn’t have the time or patience for that nonsense. No, she just had her unborn child listen to the sound of a woman dying.

“I’m sure…” she started, then stopped, unable to continue.

Mac’s shoulders finally came down. Across the kitchen, his rage appeared to drain from him. He looked simply haunted instead. She should cross to him, she thought, slip her arms around his waist, rest her head upon his chest. Maybe if he felt the baby move the way she felt the baby move, he would understand that their child was doing fine, babies were resilient, blah, blah, blah.

But she couldn’t move.

She stood there. Her baby could hear. And what had she made her baby listen to last night?

Mac was right. Life had changed.

“Kimberly,” Mac ventured, softer this time, tired. “We’re going to get through this.”

“If I quit my job?” she asked quietly. “Stop being an agent, stop being a workaholic, stop being me?”

“You know I would never ask that of you.”

“But you are.”

“No, I’m not,” he insisted, voice rising again. “There’s a difference between not working at all and not working violent crimes. There’s a difference between asking you to stay home and asking you to reduce your hours to forty a week. There’s a difference between saying, hey, bail on all your assignments, and saying, Kimberly, please don’t take on a new case that’s not even FBI jurisdiction. I’m not asking for the sun, the moon, the stars at night. I’m just asking for common sense.”

“Common sense?”

“Maybe I could’ve said that better.”

“What’s different right now, Mac? You tell me, what’s really different?”

His turn to be confused. “The baby?”

“The pregnancy! We’re not dealing with a baby yet, we’re talking about my body. The exact same body I’ve taken to work the past four years and brought home safe again.”

“That’s not entirely true-”

“The hell it is! You want to talk trust? Common sense? Then trust me to take care of myself, and this body, the way I have for the past four years. I’m not walking into shoot-outs. I’m not serving high-risk warrants. I don’t even go to the firing range anymore, to avoid exposure to lead. Hell, I just spent six days at a crime scene and never even crossed over the yellow tape, just to be on the safe side. I’m taking my prenatals, avoiding alcohol, and watching my intake of fresh fish. Frankly, I’m doing a damn good job of tending myself and the baby, and yet the first time the phone rings, you’re ready to pull rank. ‘Hey, little lady, this is too tough for you, time to sit it out.’”

“I did not say that!”

“You might as well have!”

“What is wrong with you?” He was back to shouting now. “How can you be so damn stubborn? This is our baby. How can you not love it as much as I do?”

The second he said the words, she could tell he wanted them back. But of course, it was too late. He had gone and said it, the statement that had hung in the air between them from the moment she had first discovered her pregnancy. His fear. Her fear. She had thought it would hurt. It did.

“Kimberly-”

“I think we should call it a night.”

“You know I don’t mean that.”

“But you do, Mac. You do. Your mom stayed home with you. Your sisters are at home with their kids. For all of your talk, you’re still a traditionalist at heart. The husband works. The wife stays at home. And she should be happy to do it, assuming she loves her family.”

“You’re right, we should call it a night.”

“I already did.”

She turned, stomping down the hall toward their bedroom.

She expected him to follow. That was their pattern. She was hardheaded, proud, stubborn to a fault. But in the end, he could always talk her down, finagle a kiss, make her smile.