“Jeff, go,” I heard Jenny saying, her voice panicky. “Hurry! Something’s wrong!”
“Boys, don’t move!” I shouted again. I reached the bedroom doorway and froze in horror. My grandsons, on my bed, were wrestling over a nine-millimeter handgun, the weapon seesawing back and forth in their hands as they fought for possession. “Boys! Stop it! Put it down!”
But they were too caught up in the struggle to hear or to heed. I hesitated, afraid to grab for the gun but terrified not to. Jeff and Jenny lurched against my back, then craned to see what was happening in the bedroom. Then came a jolt and a scream as Jenny hurtled past me. An instant later a gunshot cracked, and voices around me and within me began to shriek.
THE EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT AT UT MEDICAL Center was surprisingly quiet, the waiting room empty except for the three of us. Jeff, Tyler, and I sat without speaking. I sat hunched over, my elbows on my knees, my chin in my hands. Jeff cast occasional glances at me, his expression a mixture of confusion, anger, and sorrow.
Jenny emerged from the treatment area, shaking her head, and sat down beside Jeff and Tyler, ignoring me. Tyler crawled into her lap, and she wrapped her arms around him, enfolding him to her breast, one hand over the ear that wasn’t pressed against her. She drew a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Well,” she said to Jeff. “They just finished splinting the fingers. Luckily, the breaks weren’t bad. And kids heal fast.” She gave a quick, almost imperceptible smile. “Walker’s in love with the nurse. He’s listening to her heart through a stethoscope. She said she’d bring him out in a minute.”
Jenny looked at me for the first time, and I braced myself against the anger I saw in her eyes. “The doctor asked me how it happened,” she went on. “I told him the boys were fighting over a gun, and Walker’s fingers got twisted in the trigger guard.” I nodded grimly; the police were probably on their way to arrest me, and I deserved it. Leaving a loaded handgun lying around where kids could find it—what would the charge be, criminal neglect? Reckless endangerment? She held my eyes, then, after an uncomfortable pause, added, “I told him it was a cap gun.” I stared at her, dumbfounded. She shrugged, though her eyes still glittered with anger. “Now, why the hell was that thing laying right there where the boys could get ahold of it?”
How could I explain? “Decker—Captain Decker, from KPD—loaned it to me,” I said lamely, “when Satterfield sent me . . .” I trailed off, not wanting to say too much in front of Tyler. “When Satterfield sent me that package. Decker thought I might need it.”
Jeff frowned. “But what was it doing on the bed?” he demanded. “You said Satterfield’s in solitary, and his girlfriend’s in jail.” I nodded but didn’t offer any other explanation; I was too ashamed to tell them the truth, and I didn’t have it in me to conjure up a plausible lie. Jeff’s eyes bored into me. “Tyler told me you were crying when we showed up.”
“Well, I’m pretty sad these days, son, you know?”