Closer Than Blood

to the medical staff. Her health had been failing, and failing fast.

“It’s better for everyone,” the director had said.

“Easier, you know, if she needs help.” The steel door that was more hospital than residential was open, and Kendall went into her mother’s room. Bettina was in bed, her face turned away from the window. Her right hand held the steel tube of the bed rail. Her fingers no longer looked like the mother’s hands that had once caressed her daughter. They were gnarled sticks, dipped in a milky blue. Her once-marmalade hair was now white.

“Mom?” Bettina’s head turned, her eyes flickering with recognition.

“Kendall, you’re here.” Kendall bent down and kissed her mother’s rice-paper skin.

“You warm enough?” she asked, fussing with the pale yellow coverlet that had been her mother’s favorite.

“I’m fine, dear. Daddy and I were talking about you last night.” A nurse had told Kendall that correcting her mother was not necessary and, if it didn’t bother Kendall too much, to play along.

“You can’t change what a person knows, even if it is wrong,” the nurse had said. Kendall patted her mother’s feet.

“What were you two conspiring about?” Bettina smiled.

“Just how proud we are of you.” Kendall shook her head and poured some water from a white plastic pitcher on a stainless-steel tray that the staff had brought in. She glanced around the room, noticing that her mother’s collection of miniature porcelain shoes had been boxed up. The room was looking more and more institutional. Bettina lifted her head and sucked on the straw, her lips groping the tube as if she were feeling it instead of attempting to drink. Her eyes met Kendall’s with a look of warmth, appreciation. She nodded as she leaned back on her pillow, which Kendall had fluffed slightly in the moment that she had been able do so.

“You’re a good daughter, Kendall.”

“I try. Would you like me to sit with you?”

“That would be nice. Tell me, dear, what are you working on?”

“Same old, Mom. Bad people doing bad things.”

“Sending lots of people to jail, I hope. Might do them some good.”

“Some, not all,” Kendall said.

“Remember, sending people to jail doesn’t make anyone better.” Bettina smiled.

“No, it doesn’t. But it makes me feel better.” It was funny how that moment would recur between Kendall and her mom now and then. She was an officer of the court, a detective no less, and she could clearly see that her mother and she had both been right: sending someone to jail didn’t do much for the inmate, but it did make everyone else feel a little better. She thought of Tori and Jason. She hadn’t been sure if she would bring it up to her mother. Bettina had known both of them back in the day. She’d be interested, for sure. She might even be a little judgmental. Her mom could be that way.

“Mom, we got some news that Tori O’Neal’s husband was killed.”

“That was a long time ago,” Bettina said. Kendall shook her head. Her mother was having a very “good” day indeed.

“Not the husband in Hawaii. Her new husband. He was shot in their home in Tacoma.”

“Tacoma?”

“Yes.”

“I never liked that girl,” Bettina said. Kendall nodded.

“I know, Mom. You’ve told me. Tori’s latest trouble made me think of Jason.”

“Jason was very handsome, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. He was.” Kendall didn’t allow her eyes to tear up. She couldn’t start that now.

“I loved him, Mom,” she said. Bettina’s washed-out blue eyes studied her daughter’s face, looking for something, but not seeing it.

“I’m sorry that things turned out the way they did,” she said. Kendall nodded.

“I know. I’m just not sure about everything back then. If . . .” Her words trailed off.

“I know where you’re going, honey,” she said.

“And we can’t talk about it.”

“Can’t we talk about it now, Mom? It has been such a long time.”

“Leave it alone, honey. Keep doing the right thing. You were made for doing the right thing.” Bettina closed her eyes, her signal that she was either tired or the conversation was over. Kendall couldn’t quite be sure.

“All right, Mom,” she said, leaning down to kiss her good-bye. They had never been able to talk about it. It was clear that no matter how much time had passed, there would be no good time to discuss Jason or any of it. Heading out the door, she played her message from Adam.

“Kendall, you’ve got to find out what’s up with Tori. Don’t you have a friend over there in Tacoma? Someone you can call with some kind of police referral? I don’t know anyone, or I would. See you at the meeting. Only seven days to go and we get our freedom back.” Kendall didn’t need a nudge to find out what was up in Tacoma with their old classmate. She’d already decided she’d do so as a professional courtesy. After all, she thought, they probably have no idea who they’re dealing with. Tori was always pretty good at fooling people. She had written down the name of the lead detective on the case: Eddie Kaminski.

A guilty conscience can be akin to a thermos of black coffee at midnight. Eyes cannot stay shuttered. Muscles cannot relax. Sleep is a quest beyond the grasp of those who wrestle with the wrongs they’ve done. The clock is a snare drum. Darius Fulton couldn’t sleep. He’d tossed and turned the entire night. A loose bedsheet nearly encircled his neck and choked him. He’d wished that it had. Every time he almost drifted off to sleep, he saw the smear of red on Tori Connelly’s nightgown. It had pooled above her thighs in a swirling pattern that he was certain was caused by her hurried run across the street to his house. Her skin was white. Paler than he’d ever seen. She wasn’t a serial tanner like so many of the younger women he’d dated after his wife had dumped him. She had seemed classier, kinder. And while her charms were more than just her physical attributes, those were unquestionably the reason why he’d slept with her. It was only one time. It was a mistake and he knew it. She was married. Yet it felt so good. They’d come across each other at a lecture at the Washington State History Museum in downtown Tacoma. The museum was in a completely refurbished 1911 train depot and was considered—along with a new museum dedicated to glass arts—a cornerstone of the city’s rebirth. They’d noticed each other going inside.

“We’re neighbors,” she said, walking toward him, “at least I think so.”

“Welcome to the City of Destiny,” he said.

“I guess I should have brought over a pie or something.”

“Oh, does your wife bake?” she asked, looking at the pale band of white skin where his wedding ring had once been.

“I’m separated. That’s why I’m here alone.”

“My husband is a workaholic,” she said.

“That’s my excuse. And I’m sticking with it.” Two days later, he was over at her house ostensibly because she was having problems with the alarm system. Tori put her hand on his shoulder, letting it loiter as he peered into the wiring with a flashlight. She let her hand slide down his back, landing at the leather of his belt. He turned around and looked at her. Her touch was an unexpected invitation and Darius took it. He leaned closer and kissed her.

“I’m so lonely,” she said.

“I am, too.” They kissed again.

“Tori, this isn’t right.”

“It seems right to me,” she said. Ten minutes later, they were sprawled out naked under the canopy of a big bed in the guest room. She was, without question, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. It was as if he’d been captured by some kind of superior being from another world. Her touch was electric. Her voice, her breath, all of it made his body throb with pleasure.

“Tori,” he said, “you are an amazing woman.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” she said. The next day, her husband out of town, Darius showed up with a