Love You More

daughter just so you can get out to play. You guard Sophie. Or you get the hell out of our lives. Are we clear on that?”

“I screwed up,” he replied levelly. “I get that. Is Sophie all right?”

“Yes-”

“Did she like Sarah?”

“Apparently-”

“And you called Mrs. Ennis?”

“Of course!”

“Then at least things turned out all right in the end.” He returned to his boots.

I crossed the kitchen so fast I nearly caught flight. “You married me!” I screamed at my new husband. “You chose me. You chose Sophie. How dare you fail us!”

“It was a phone call, Tessa. And yes, I will try to do better next time.”

“I thought you’d died! I thought Sophie had died!”

“Well, yeah, then isn’t it good that I’m finally home?”

“Brian!”

“I know I screwed up!” He finally gave up on his boots, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m new at this! I’ve never had a wife and daughter before, and just because I love you doesn’t mean I’m not sometimes stupid. For chrissake, Tessa… I’m about to ship out again. I just wanted one last day of fun. Fresh snow. Powder skiing…” He inhaled. Exhaled. Stood up.

“Tessa,” he said more quietly. “I would never intentionally hurt you or Sophie. I love you both. And I promise to do better next time. Have a little faith, okay? We’re both new at this and we’re bound to make some mistakes, so please… Have a little faith.”

My shoulders sagged. The fight left me. I let go of my anger long enough to feel the relief that my daughter was okay, my husband was safe, and the afternoon had worked out in the end.

Brian pulled me against his chest. I allowed his embrace. I even slid my arms around his waist.

“Be careful, Brian,” I whispered against his shoulder. “Remember, I’m not like other women.”

For a change, he didn’t argue.

I remembered this moment of my marriage, and others, as the nurse stood back and gestured for me to take my first awkward step. I’d managed to eat dry toast at six a.m. without throwing up. At seven-thirty, they’d moved me to the chair next to my bed to see how I’d do sitting up.

The pain inside my skull had flared the first few minutes, then settled into a dull roar. Half of my face remained swollen and tender, my legs felt shaky, but overall, I’d made progress in the past twelve hours. I could stand, sit, and eat dry toast. World, look out.

I wanted to run, madly, desperately, out of the hospital, where by some miracle I would find Sophie standing on the sidewalk waiting for me. I would swing her into my arms. Mommy she would cry happily. And I would hug her and kiss her and tell her how sorry I was for everything and never let her go.

“All right,” the nurse said crisply. “First step, let’s give it a whirl.”

She offered her arm for balance. My knees trembled violently, and I placed a grateful hand on her arm.

That first shuffling step made my head swim. I blinked my eyes several times, and the disorientation passed. Up was up, down was down. Progress.

I inched forward, tiny little hiccups of my feet that slowly but surely took me across the gray linoleum, closer and closer to the bathroom. Then I was inside, gently shutting the door behind me. The nurse had supplied toiletries for showering. Second test of the day-seeing if I could pee and shower on my own. Then the doctor would examine me again.

Then, maybe, just maybe, I could go home.

Sophie. Sitting on the floor of her room, surrounded by painted bunnies and bright orange flowers, playing with her favorite raggedy-haired doll. Mommy, you’re home! Mommy, I love you!

I stood at the sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

The flesh around my eye was so black and engorged with blood, it looked like an eggplant. I could barely make out the bridge of my nose, or the top line of my eyebrow. I thought of those scenes in the early Rocky movies, where they’d razor-opened his swollen flesh just so he could see. I might have to give it a try. Day was still young.

My fingers traveled from my black eye, to the laceration two inches above it, the scab just now forming, pulling at the roots of my hair. Then I reached around to the prominent lump still protruding from the back of my skull. It felt hot and tender to the touch. I let my hand fall away, holding on to the edge of the sink instead.

Eight a.m. Monday morning.

The autopsy would’ve started an hour ago. The Y-incision down my husband’s chest. Cracking apart his ribs. Fishing out three slugs fired from the 9mm Sig Sauer bearing my fingerprints. Then the sound of the saw as they began to remove the top of his skull.

Eight a.m. Monday morning…

I thought again of all the moments I’d like to have back. Places I should’ve said yes, times I should’ve said no. Then Brian would be alive, maybe waxing his skis for his next big adventure. And Sophie would be home, playing on the floor of her room, Gertrude nestled beside her, waiting for me.

Eight a.m. Monday morning…

“Hurry up, D.D. and Bobby,” I murmured. “My daughter needs you.”

17

Thanks to the wonder of GPS, Bobby identified Brian Darby’s gym on his second try. He simply put in Darby’s address, then searched for nearby gyms. Half a dozen popped up. Bobby started with the location closest to Brian’s house and worked his way out. A national chain turned out to be the winner. Bobby drove there in thirty minutes, and was meeting with Brian’s personal trainer eight minutes after that.

“Saw the news,” the petite, dark-haired woman said, already looking worried. Bobby was trying to size her up. She appeared about five feet tall and ninety pounds, more gymnast than trainer. Then she twisted both her hands in an anxious gesture, and half a dozen tendons snaked to life in her forearms.

He revised his initial opinion of Jessica Ryan-tiny, but dangerous. Mini-hulk.

She’d been working out with some middle-aged man sporting a hundred dollar workout shirt and four hundred dollar haircut when Bobby had arrived. When Bobby first approached, Jessica had pointedly given him a cold shoulder, focusing on her obviously well-paying customer. Bobby had flashed his creds, however, and that quickly, Jessica with the tight pink T-shirt and sparkling purple nails was his.

Her disappointed client got to finish his workout with some kid whose neck was bigger than Bobby’s thigh. Bobby and Jessica retreated to the employee break room, where Jessica quickly shut the door.

“Is he really dead?” Jessica asked now, biting her lower lip.

“I’m here regarding Brian Darby’s death,” Bobby stated.

“And his little girl? They’ve been showing her picture all over the news. Sophie, right? Have you found her yet?”

“No, ma’am.”

Jessica’s big brown eyes welled up. For the second time in the past hour, Bobby was happy he’d left D.D. to work on his own. The first time, because it was either walk away from her or strangle her. Now because there was no way D.D. would’ve played well with a doe-eyed female trainer prone to glistening tears and hot pink micro- shorts.

Being a happily married man, Bobby was making it a point not to study the micro-shorts or the tight T-shirt. So far, that left him staring at the personal trainer’s extremely well-sculpted bicep.

“What do you bench-press?” he heard himself ask.

“One thirty-five,” Jessica replied easily, still dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

“What’s that? Twice your weight?”