“So the guy tried to break into another house? Did anybody get hurt?” I peel away from the curb.
“I don’t know yet. She didn’t—”
“But they know it’s the guy, for sure?”
“Bridge!” Wil sags out the open window. “Can you just—”
“Sorry.” I keep my eyes on the road.
The station is a low concrete rectangle only a few blocks away. When we pull into the parking lot, Henney is standing outside, pacing in front of a set of double doors.
“Mom? Mom.” Wil jumps out before the truck comes to a stop. I park and kill the engine, watch him envelop her in a hug. Guttural sobs rumble in her, or in him, I can’t tell. I look away. I take my time rolling up the truck windows. Closing the door quietly. Locking the doors. I wander in a wide arc around them. I pretend to read a plaque near the door in memory of a K9 officer.
Finally, Wil releases Henney to the ground. Both of their eyes are red-rimmed. He smoothes her hair and I read It’s okay on his lips. He steers Henney through the double doors and I trail a few steps behind. Inside the station, the chilled air makes my skin pucker. I take a seat in the first of a line of plastic chairs near the door. It is unremarkable: white walled and quiet. It doesn’t seem like the kind of room where entire lives can begin again or end. There is an officer sitting behind a desk, and behind him is an American flag. To the left of the desk is a door. Wil goes to the desk and asks for Detectives Porter and Yancey.
“Just a moment.” The front desk cop makes a call, and in a few minutes, Detective Porter steps into the waiting room. She’s taller than I remember. Her gun gleams under the sterile lights. I wonder if she’s ever killed anyone, and then I try to un-wonder.
“Good morning, folks. So, this is a big day.” Porter shakes Wil’s and Henney’s hands. “A good day.” She catches sight of me near the doors and presses her lips together. I do the same.
“What, ah, what’s next?” Wil can’t stand still. Henney hangs from his arm. She is suddenly, instantly an ancient woman. “Is he back there?”
Porter nods. “He is. We got a call through the Crime Stoppers hotline this morning. A woman in Jax Beach saw this guy and thought he matched the description on the flyers.”
I watch the muscles in the back of Wil’s neck go taut. My body twitches with every tick of the second hand on the clock over the doors. The man who killed Wilson Hines is in this building. It feels unreal, impossible. I imagine Wil staring through one-way glass at the man who has changed his life.
“What, ah—” Wil’s face goes dark. “What happens next?”
“In terms of next steps, we’ll need you to make an identification.” Porter speaks slowly. “We don’t have much to hold him on yet, so we need you to confirm that this is the man who broke into your home and killed your father. If we can get a positive ID from your mother, we can hold him while we investigate.”
“Wait. Will she have to see the guy?” Wil blanches.
“You can be with her. And you’ll see him, but he won’t see you,” Porter says gently.
“Wil. I—I can’t,” Henney bleats. “We can’t.”
Wil buckles under his mother’s weight. Detective Porter steadies them both.
“I don’t think she can do this.” Wil’s voice is full, a rushing current. “It’s too much for her right now.”
“We can take our time.” Porter tilts her head and nods at Wil.
She learned that in cop school, I think.
“Could I get you both some water?” Porter offers.
“I said, she can’t do this,” Wil says again, his voice dangerously soft. “We’re the victims, right? We don’t have to do it if it’s too much.”
“You’re under no obligation to make an ID.” Porter’s features calcify. “However, I would strongly encourage you to at least take a look at the lineup. If we don’t get an ID, we won’t be able to hold him.”
“Wil?” I’m on my feet, confused. “If it’ll help them keep the guy in jail? Your mom got a good look, right?”
“It was dark, and she was fucking scared.” Wil doesn’t turn around.
“Take me home.” Henney is sucking short, horrible breaths that are not enough. “I can’t breathe, Wilson. I can’t breathe.” Her hand flies to her throat.
“I’m getting her out of here. I’m not putting her through this anymore.” Wil wraps his arms around Henney’s waist and guides her back through the waiting room, past me without even a glance.
“Wil!” I push through the doors, run after them. “What the hell?”
“Go home, Bridge,” Wil yells over his shoulder. “I’ll call you later.” He jerks open the passenger side door of Henney’s sedan and scoops her into it.
“Hey. Hey. I’ll take both of you,” I argue. “You can’t drive like this.”
“I’m fine, Bridge. I just have to get her home.” Wil’s brow is sweat-soaked.
“Just—tell me what happened in there,” I plead. “Don’t you want this guy locked up? This is your one chance!” I smack my palm against Henney’s back window. Inside, she shrieks. “Fuck! I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t mean it.” Wil’s jaw pulses. “Of course I want him locked up. But it isn’t that easy, Bridge.”
“I know it will be hard for her, but—”
“I can’t force her, Bridge. It’s just too hard for her right now.”
“Wil,” I protest.
“I can’t. She can’t.” He pulls me close. Kisses the top of my head, and I let my eyes flutter closed to the sound of his heartbeat. It’s unfinished, like the jagged edge of a knife. Like a truth only partially spoken.
WIL
Spring, Junior Year
SHE’S lying. Or maybe this is some kind of sick joke.
“I want a divorce,” she says again.
I laugh, and the musty air around me smells like stale beer. My laugh is this awful, bleating sound that shoots out of me and pins my mother to the oven. She takes a step back, like she’s afraid. Maybe she is, and I don’t blame her. I am Wilson Hines, after all.
“What? You what?” Her outline goes grainy in the dark. “Mom. What are you telling me?”
She moves around the island, murmuring, weak, until I slap the countertop with the kind of force that should crack it and me.
“Don’t,” I tell her. “Don’t.”
“Wil,” she says, pleading. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”
“You didn’t mean for it to happen like this?” My voice is not my voice. “Like what, Mom? Like right after he plans the best anniversary of your life? Like months after he’s been trying to make things better?” I am bigger, sadder, angrier than my body can contain. I am going to burst. I imagine little bits of my flesh on the floor, scattered like confetti.