Chapter Twenty-Eight: Drive
Rigsby shifted in his seat. He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, and then adjusted it again. He started fiddling with the heating vent. First too hot, now too cold. He couldn't get it to feel right.
The taillights of the car in front suddenly flared bright.
Rigsby braked, a little too hard, and the minivan gave an uncomfortable lurch. The seatbelt pulled tight across Rigsby's chest.
Over in the passenger seat, Cho stared out the front windshield, his face bathed in glowing red, his expression grimmer than usual.
They idled.
Rigsby shoved a thumb under the tight seatbelt, trying to loosen it.
The chain of brake lights up ahead started to flicker off, one by one. The car in front of them began to pull away.
Rigsby accelerated, still struggling with the belt. It was like a boa constrictor – the more he pulled and fought, the tighter it got.
He jerked at it in frustration, and the car did a little swerve.
Cho glanced over at him. "You want me to drive?"
Rigsby let go of seatbelt still pinning him and put both hands on the wheel. "No, I'm good."
Cho gave a little nod and looked out the windshield again.
Rigsby sighed. He wished Grace were here. There wasn't enough warmth…
Rigsby reached out to tilt the heat vent toward him.
Cho reached out and turned the heat off.
Brake lights started flaring again. The seat belt wouldn't let go. It was tight on his chest, he couldn't breathe…
"He asked me to go with him," Rigsby blurted suddenly. "Jane did. To the widow's house."
Cho gazed out at the chain of red lights. "You didn't go."
"No, I…I told him I had to stay and help Van Pelt, but that's not the real reason…I just, I knew Lisbon didn't okay it, and I didn't want to get chewed out again, and I just…didn't feel like going..." There it was – his secret shame, bare naked and in full view.
"Sounds fair enough," said Cho, too calmly.
Rigsby stared at him. "But…I could've gone. I wasn't doing anything important. And if I'd been there, if I'd been with him, this wouldn't have happened. Laura Jorsten would still be alive right now, and Jane and that little girl would be fine…"
"Maybe. Maybe not. No way to know."
Rigsby shook his head, anguished. "I just…I can't stop thinking about it, you know? I keep going over and over it in my head…"
"That's not helping," Cho told him, most unhelpfully.
Anger flared in Rigsby's chest – bright, like a taillight. "Well, what do you want me to do?"
Cho turned away from the windshield to look at him full-force. Emotion glowed in those normally blank eyes. "Stop feeling guilty," he said. "Start driving faster."
Rigsby held his partner's strong gaze for a moment, and felt the anger inside melt into something better, something brighter. Solidarity. He nodded once, fiercely, and turned back to the road.
The car in front was distant, now – two red specks in the darkness.
Rigsby leaned back, and then forward. The seatbelt released him. He pressed down on the gas pedal.
The minivan surged to close the gap.
