Kelly was not sleeping as peacefully as their son was. Her hair was in the process of falling out of the messy bun she'd tossed it into, and the look on her face was grieved, lined with worry even as she dozed. She wore a plain blue surgical mask, most likely given to her at the front door of the hospital, pulled down to rest under her narrow nose and shining septum ring. She reminded Emmit of Betsy, his first and only victim, in that both of her eyes were puffy and streaked with running makeup trails. He noticed that Kelly wore two mismatched slippers; she'd left in a hurry, and yet still gave Deek enough time to pack a bag of "vital" supplies. No matter how much they had argued leading up to his fateful decision, there was no denying that he couldn't have asked for a better woman to carry his son.
The impulse to throw himself at them was palpable. He didn't care if he ruptured every stitch and suture he had. He wanted to kiss them both until he couldn't breathe, until his teeth rubbed raw spots into the backs of his lips. But he made himself sit still and just watch them, marvel at his estranged wife and the life they had created together. He had no idea how Kelly would react to what he had done; while she slept, there would be no fighting. While she slept, they could be together again in peace, like the good old days. Even if it was only for a few moments.
Kelly had always had a knack for reading Emmit's mind, whether for good or for ill, and tonight was no different. She stirred, making a pouty face, and then her eyelids fluttered open. She locked eyes with Emmit, and she somehow wore two expressions at once: happiness and hatred, changing places like a holographic baseball card.
"Hiya honey," Emmit said, and smiled.
Kelly leapt from the chair and lunged for him, pausing at the last second to avoid hurting him. She wrapped her slender arms around his bandaged midsection, lightly squeezing. Emmit wished she wouldn't have been so careful. He wanted her to break his ribs.
"You stupid, stupid fuck," she said through sobs, holding his stubbled face in her hands. "What the fuck were you thinking? What the absolute fuck were you thinking?"
She kissed him again and again, sometimes hitting his mouth and sometimes landing wide. He slid his hands under her arms and up over her shoulder blades, pulling her to him. Showing her he wasn't as fragile as he appeared to be.
"I was thinking..." he began, pausing to search for the words. Even with his memory restored, his brain was still a sack full of cats. It was like he had lived another lifetime in the span of one day. "I was thinking, I had no options left—"
"No options left?" Kelly demanded, her cheeks flushing, and her eyes filled with lightning that shamed the previous day's stormy show. "So you decided you would just rob a fucking bank and get shot?"
"In my defense, getting shot wasn't really part of my plan," Emmit said, a pitiful attempt at a mood-lightening joke. Kelly did not laugh. She was waiting for an explanation that they both knew she deserved.
"Kelly, I was out of options. You hated my neighborhood. I hated it too, but it was the only place where I could find an apartment that I could almost pay for. And even then, with COVID shutting everything down, I couldn't pay my rent. I was about to get evicted. I was using my fucking boss's truck to deliver pizzas, I didn't have a way to travel and find a decent paying job. I could apply all I wanted; I wouldn’t have been able to show up for the first day. I couldn't save enough money to even buy a clunker. And you..."
Kelly looked hurt already, assuming his next words would be an attack leveled at her. Her lip quivered as she waited for the blow.
"You and I weren't speaking much, and you were already fed up with me failing all the time. I knew if I asked you to give me rides to work and back, you'd just get madder and I'd see Deacon even less. And you know… all these mega corporations and billionaires getting tax cuts, the President spending more time on vacation than he did in Washington... I just felt like nobody gave a shit. Nobody cared what happened to me or my family. So I just snapped. I lost it. I had nothing left to lose, and if you wouldn't let me see Deacon..."
Kelly's shimmering eyes fell away from his, finding the bulging lump of bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. She placed her palm against it as though she could heal him with a miraculous caress. Emmit placed his hand, trailing IV lines, on top of hers. She was healing something, even if it wasn't his physical injuries.
"I just want what's best for him, Emmit."
"That's all I want too, and I'll do anything. Anything."
She laughed a little at that, grimacing at the brown bloodstains flowering his bandages.
"I think you've demonstrated that, but if you died... Emmit, they told me you died, and the bastard cop in the hallway wouldn't let us in, and—"
She began to cry hysterically, her words jumbling together until they became a continuous wail. Emmit pulled her closer to him, pressing their bodies together and sharing warmth. She hugged him with both arms and both legs, burying her face in his neck. Emmit could smell the clean scent from her hair, the same shampoo and conditioner he'd smelled a thousand times before when they had showered together, or when he had tantalizingly kissed his way
