“Please,” Nessa said, crying bitter tears. Maybe she should try to find a replacement dog and bring him home before Daltrey got up from his nap, but he’d know. Of course he’d know. He was not a stupid little boy, and she could not try to fool him that way.
When Nessa returned home, she found she couldn’t get out of the car. She was going to have to tell Daltrey, and she didn’t know how to do it. She sat there for so long that Isabeau came out to the garage and knocked on the driver’s side window, startling Nessa. She opened the door and got out of the Pacifica.
“You all right, boss?” Isabeau asked.
“No,” Nessa said. “I’m going to cry now.” Nessa burst into tears, and Isabeau reached for her, but Nessa wrapped her arms around herself and stepped away. A look of hurt crossed Isabeau’s face.
“I need to tell Daltrey,” Nessa said, wiping her eyes.
“I’ll help you,” Isabeau said.
They trudged toward the house and went into the living room, where Daltrey was constructing an elaborate tower out of Legos. He looked up, first at Nessa, then at Isabeau and back again. His eyebrows drew together. He knew something was wrong. He was such a smart kid; if he ever started talking, they were all in serious trouble.
“Daltrey,” Nessa said. “Come sit on my lap. I’ve got something to tell you.”
She sat on the couch and made the sign for “Come here.” He continued frowning and didn’t move. He probably thought if he didn’t sit on her lap, whatever bad news was coming could be held at bay.
“Come on, honey,” Nessa said. She signed “Come here” again.
He sighed, set down the Legos in his hands, and reluctantly came to sit on her lap.
Isabeau sat in the wingback chair, tense, ready to offer condolences.
“Daltrey, I need to tell you something.”
He nodded.
“Declan MacManus—-” Nessa couldn’t go on. She’d almost said “ran away.” But that was unfair and untrue.
Daltrey nodded encouragingly at her.
“Sweetie, our good dog died this morning.”
He looked at Isabeau, confused, then at Nessa.
“With Daddy?” Daltrey signed.
Isabeau’s mouth dropped open.
Daltrey’s question was a spear through Nessa’s heart. He knew something horrible had happened to his dad. But she wouldn’t confirm that to him, couldn’t.
“Well, Declan MacManus is in heaven now,” Nessa said. “We won’t see him again in this . . . life. In this world.”
Large, fat teardrops fell from Daltrey’s eyes. “Goodbye?” he signed.
Nessa nodded, and he slid his arms around her neck and cried.
“We’ll see him again in heaven, a long time from now. But we will see him again. I promise.”
Nessa knew in her bones that this was just a warm--up for another, more difficult conversation she’d be having with him very soon.
Chapter Eleven
Friday, June 10
THE NEXT MORNING, she woke before anyone else and went down to the kitchen for coffee. She sat at the table, staring out the window at the hazy day, unable to work or read. When Daltrey got up, she busied herself making him pancakes.
Isabeau came down to breakfast, rubbing her eyes.
“I overslept,” she said.
“It’s okay,” Nessa said. “It was a rough one yesterday.”
Isabeau nodded and reached into the cupboard for a plate.
“I’m sorry that you’re having to be here through all this shit,” Nessa said. “I’m grateful you’re with us though.”
Isabeau smiled sadly at her and poured herself a cup of coffee before sitting down to dig into her pancakes.
“I have to take Daltrey down to the cop shop to get a cheek swab,” Nessa said. “Do you want to go with us?”
“Cheek swab?” Isabeau looked shocked.
This was good. Having someone else to calm down always helped Nessa stay calm herself.
“No big deal,” she said.
“Yeah, I’ll go,” Isabeau said. “I’ve never been in a police station on purpose.”
Nessa looked at her, alarmed.
“Just kidding,” Isabeau said, winking. “Actually, my dad was a cop.”
Nessa didn’t react. Typically, -people would respond with a tidbit from their own past, but this was not that kind of relationship, and Nessa needed to keep it that way.
Nessa showered and put on her makeup. She hoped to ask Detective Treloar if there was any way he could find out Nathan’s whereabouts. If he’d checked in with his parole officer recently. If it was possible for him to travel outside of the state at this point in his parole.
After putting on a long--sleeved almost matronly white dress, Nessa peeked into Daltrey’s room, where he sat on his toddler bed looking at a board book.
“Let’s get you dressed, and then we can get a bacon, egg, and Gouda sandwich at Starbucks, huh? And then, guess what?” She made her voice excited to get him excited. “We get to go to the police station.”
His eyes got wide and his mouth made a silent, round O.
He jumped from bed, pulled open his dresser drawer, and selected an outfit consisting of swim trunks and an old bib that said Bad to the Bone.
“How about instead . . .” Nessa said, pulling out shorts and a T--shirt.