CHAPTER 2: AFTERSHOCK
"I shouldn't have eaten that calamari," he said later, as he and the young woman - JC, short for Jamie Christine - browsed through a bin of CDs at a sidewalk sale. Lunch had been good; the food excellent though a bit heavy, the service prompt, the conversation relaxing and interesting. JC reminded him of a friend from his undergrad days. Nice girl, slightly quirky sense of humour, always surprising him with her little observations and comments. Now they were looking through CDs, at one of two places JC had mentioned were having early-summer sales.
"Aah, hot sauce'll put hair on your chest. Do you like Escape?" she asked.
"Yeah, they're pretty good. Now Oasis, that's the ticket," he found a CD Deborah had bought him a few months ago.
"All right. Not that you need hair on your chest," she said lightly. He looked at her and smiled. Little bit of flirting, no big deal. His friend from college had been the same way, although they'd never actually gone out since any time one of them was single the other wasn't. And then he'd met Deborah. "I'm in the mood for retro," JC said, and moved to the other set of bins.
"Oh, like Big Brother?" he asked, following her.
"You're kidding! My favourite!"
"'Take another little piece of my heart, now, baby...'" Rey sang a line, and JC laughed appreciatively.
"Hey, Rey! Just a bundle of surprises!"
"Well you know I wanted to be the Boss, but I wasn't from Jersey and I couldn't carry a tune," he said, knowing he could actually carry a tune well enough... for one line at least.
"Still cute," JC said, smiling. Rey looked at her. This was getting a little... he was starting to feel uneasy. Like he was doing something wrong. Maybe not towards Deborah, because he knew he wouldn't actually cheat on her... but he shouldn't lead this girl on. Especially since he was also starting to really notice just how attractive she was. Better just make sure they were both on the same page.
"... and married," he said, not knowing what she would say. Not knowing what he wanted her to say.
"So?" she smiled at him. Hard to tell how to take that. 'So', as in, so what, we're just looking at CD's, buddy, I'm not gonna jump you? Or 'so', as in, so who cares if you're married, I'm just gonna jump you and go on with my day?
"Come on, help me find something really special," she said, with that friendly smile he was starting to really like. Maybe a little too much.
Relax, he thought to himself, we're just looking at CD's. This is not forbidden, this is not wrong, this is just a nice young woman who's interesting and, yes, easy on the eyes, and who isn't going to make you think of disgusting murderer-rapists being poisoned and sent to Hell right in front of you.
ooo000ooo
As they arrived at the other sale, Rey excused himself to go to the washroom and took the opportunity to call Deborah. He'd called before lunch, but she hadn't been home so he'd just left a brief message saying he'd be home later.
OK, what to say. How to explain his strange reluctance to go home. Hi, honey, I'm stuck doing paperwork. Hi honey, we caught a case. No, those were both lies. He'd have to tell her the truth eventually, and she'd be pretty rightfully pissed if he lied to her that blatantly when he was just going to a music store... with another woman.
He settled on a 'Catholic evasion' as he and his buddies used to call them in parochial school - the truth, and nothing but the truth, but not necessarily the whole truth.
"Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you but your cell phone's off. Your lieutenant said you left work hours ago."
"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. I know I said I'd be home today... would you mind a lot if I skipped the church bazaar?" he asked, hoping she'd just leave it at that but knowing she wouldn't.
"What? How come? Hang on," she broke off, hollering off the phone, "I'm on the PHONE, Olivia! No yelling while Mommy's on the phone!!" She came back. "What's wrong, hon?"
"Nothing, nothing..." he didn't have the slightest clue what to say. He wasn't very good on the phone anyway, not with Deborah. They weren't terribly verbal people, more used to straightforward facts and physical communication than awkward exploration of vague feelings. Damn. "I just don't think I'd be much fun today."
"OK," she accepted easily enough. "Something happen?"
Yeah, something happened, he wanted to shout at her, I watched somebody get poisoned and die, OK? How could you forget your own husband was going to watch an execution?! Then he immediately wondered at that. Where did that surge of anger come from? Pretty good thing he wasn't going home. Of course Deborah didn't remember, he hadn't made a big deal out of it, just mentioned it in passing and she hadn't given it much thought because he hadn't given it much thought either.
He probably should go see Father Morelli.
Later.
"Rey?" she was speaking, and he'd missed a bit of what she said. "What are you going to do?"
"Music store... maybe go see Father Morelli later."
"Rey, what's wrong?"
"I... I don't really wanna talk about it. We'll talk tonight, OK?"
She was silent, that special Deborah 'I'm waiting...' silence.
"OK, OK. You know I saw the execution this morning," she made an acknowledging sound. "It just... it's sticking with me more than I thought, that's all. I'm kinda, I dunno, unsettled. I'll be home tonight... maybe then you can, uh, settle me," he said with a grin.
"Oh, hon, it's a 'restraint' night," she informed him absently, "No, no, Serena, put that down," she said off-phone.
"Oh. Damn," he said, mildly disappointed. So much for that avenue of comfort.
He could almost feel her smile through the phone line. "We'll think of something though." He felt a flicker of arousal. Sometimes the nights when they weren't supposed to actually have sex weren't all that... restrained. Deborah could be quite... imaginative sometimes. And enthusiastic. And there was this thing she did with - he headed off that thought before it got too far and cleared his throat.
"Oh, we will, will we?" he asked, smiling.
She chuckled suggestively. "Maybe," she teased, then went back to her regular tone. "OK, you do what you have to, come home whenever. I'll take the girls out. Hope you're feeling better later. Love you."
"OK," he said, "Love you."
Conscience somewhat cleared, he rejoined JC at the bins. He'd tell Deborah later that he'd been at the store with another woman. It was just looking at CDs. Nothing major. Feeling a little off, meet a stranger, have lunch, browse through some CDs, go see your priest. Nothing to feel guilty about.
ooo000ooo
Back at her place, he looked at her bookshelves as she put one of her new CD's in the stereo.
"Finnegan's Wake? The Fairie Queen? I'm impressed," he said, once again asking himself why he was here. It had seemed innocent enough, after he'd helped her choose a couple of CD's and they'd wandered over to the electronics section. As they browsed, she told him she'd just bought a new stereo. One that he was thinking of buying, as a matter of fact. Wouldn't he like to see it, see if the sound quality was as good as he'd been told? He'd been momentarily impressed that she even knew the make and model of her stereo, since most women he knew weren't interested in technical details like that. And he'd agreed, and now here he was. In her apartment.
"Impressive things don't impress me," JC said.
"And Moby Dick."
"Love story: man meets whale, man loses whale, blah blah blah." He chuckled. Definitely quirky.
"I never actually thought anybody read Henry James," he picked up a book.
"Bedtime reading: two pages, you're out like a light," she dismissed James conclusively.
"Maybe I missed something," he said, putting it back.
"Come on," JC said, the music playing softly in the background. She said something about 'number crunchers like him' that he didn't quite catch because she was coming towards him with a definitely interested look, and it looked like they were going to slow dance. And he was suddenly very much aware that this was getting out of hand, that he was letting this go too far... Maybe not, though. So she wanted to dance. He'd danced with other women before, with Deborah's full knowledge and consent, and she'd danced with other men and he certainly didn't mind. It didn't have to mean anything, it didn't have to lead anywhere.
But would he feel comfortable telling Deborah about this later? When he told her how he spent his day? When he knew that she probably thought he had spent it thinking, or taking a long walk, or maybe catching a matinee, or in church?
No, he wouldn't.
JC came closer, drew his hand to her waist, and he wondered if this was crossing some kind of line. He took her hand in his, listening to the music, wondering what he was doing here. Wondering if he'd crossed the line when she first invited him to lunch. Realizing that he didn't want to uncross it, not right now - they were just dancing. He wasn't being unfaithful. And she was warm, full of life, pretty, friendly, very different from the cold unpleasant death he'd seen this morning. The chill he'd felt was slowly fading. He was OK with the execution. He'd be OK tonight with Deborah - he was just going to dance with this girl, he wasn't going to do anything else.
She put her hand on the back of his neck and he shivered a little, feeling a little uncomfortable but also a little... breathless. She was a good dancer. Not that you could really tell with slow dances, since it was hard to get a slow dance wrong, but she moved with the music - nice music, too, nice sound quality on that stereo - and she fit into his arms perfectly, and she was nestling into the side of his neck in a way that Deborah couldn't, since Deborah was a little too short.
He deliberately closed off his thoughts of Deborah.
ooo000ooo
Dancing together, then chatting casually, talking about electronics, professors, current events, no thoughts of anything but the moment. This was very nice. Reminded him of college, before responsibility and commitment.
"You ever take the tie off, Wall Street?" she teased, tugging at his tie as they danced again. He grinned at her and she started to loosen it. Nice girl. Beautiful eyes, and her body felt so right against his. Some kind of floral perfume, not too heavy. He'd always hated overpowering perfume when he was dating in college. This was just right. This was very nice.
This was getting a little too nice, his body was starting to tell him.
He helped her take off the tie, and she tossed it onto the couch. He took a deep breath and decided enough was enough. He couldn't let his mind go on vacation forever. Time to think for a minute.
Think about the fact that if he was going to leave, he would have to leave soon. That he was going to be confessing a hell of a lot, and have a hell of a lot of explaining to do to Deborah. Maybe not about what he was doing, but why he was doing it and how he was feeling about it.
Think about the fact that he didn't want to leave, didn't want to think about it, and didn't want to do anything other than take this wherever it was supposed to go, see what happened.
Think about the fact that he was alive. Turned on. Not like Mickey Scott. Not dead and buried and good riddance, but alive and feeling his body responding to this woman.
Alive and turned on and, for the moment, not exploring how he felt about the execution. Not being cheerful with his daughters, who couldn't possibly understand about rapists and murderers and death. Not trying to explain how he felt to Deborah, or worse, not explain how he felt to Deborah. Deborah, who also believed that murderers deserved to die and who would either not say anything, not realizing anything needed to be said, or make the kinds of comments the other cops at the precinct had made. The kind of comments he himself had made before this morning, laughing it off, piece of crap killed off and good riddance, so what. Only it would hurt a lot coming from her, it would scrape against the raw spot in his psyche he'd been feeling since this morning.
Think about the other option, the other thing he could and should be doing right now, that he wasn't doing. He could be talking to Father Morelli, could be getting a self-satisfied priestly 'I told you so' or maybe a disappointed 'How can you feel like this and still believe that Mickey Scott's death was justified?'
He could be exploring the other thing he really, really didn't want to explore, the fact that if Mickey Scott was dead, at least part of the reason was because of him. He'd helped put that needle in his arm. That twitch in his limbs, that long beep and flat line on the heart monitor. He believed life was sacred, he believed it wholeheartedly as a cop and as a Catholic and as a human being... and yet this morning he had helped to end a human life. To kill a human being.
He didn't want to even think about that. He didn't want to be at home, he didn't want to be in church. He didn't want to be Detective Reynaldo Curtis, husband, father, practicing Catholic, not right now. Normally, yes, he did, he was happy with his life, but today all of those things were not what he wanted. Today all of those things felt uncomfortable, even painful.
And here, in this apartment, he didn't have to be any of those things. JC didn't even know he was a cop. JC didn't know anything about him, and didn't want to. There was only one thing JC wanted from him. Only one thing he wanted from her.
The song ended and JC let go of him, stepped back. They looked at each other for a long moment.
"Do you want something to drink?" she asked him.
"Sure," he answered, hearing his voice very low, very quiet... the way Deborah teased him it always got when he was very aroused.
"Wine?"
"Sure," he answered again, and she gestured to her couch. He sat and watched as she reached back and undid her hair clip, his heart inexplicably skipping a beat at the sight of her long hair loosened and spilling down over her shoulder. She went into her tiny kitchen and poured some wine for them both, and brought their glasses into the living room.
"Thanks," he took his glass from her.
"My casa is your casa," JC sat down.
"So you do this all the time?" he asked, finally acknowledging where this was going. Where JC had known it was going all along. Where, if he was honest with himself, he'd known it was going all along too. He could feel his body simultaneously relaxing in the knowledge that he knew pretty much what was going to happen and was OK with it, and tightening with anticipation. He tasted the wine. Sweet, nicely chilled.
"Usually I drink vodka," JC said, clearly not wanting to talk about it.
"You know what I mean," he pressed slightly, wondering why she was doing this. What she was getting out of it? Was she getting over a lost relationship? Needing her ego salved from a rejection? Dealing with the stress of a dissertation? A difficult thesis supervisor? Or was this just what she did for fun, no other reason or motive behind it?
"You're my fourth guy today," she answered, obviously not willing to go there. Fine. There were places he didn't want to go either. They put their glasses down, and she moved closer to him on the couch.
"You gonna kiss me or what?" JC asked. She drew closer, bit by bit, and the part of his mind that knew he should move away didn't make a sound. This had gone too far to back out now. And he didn't want to back out. The last of his hesitation vanished as her lips parted, and then so did his, and their mouths met in a gentle open kiss. Then he was breathing in, feeling her warmth, her lips, her tongue, her body, feeling a surge of passion taking over him, knowing that there was no decision to be made. He'd decided way back in the Park. He pulled her closer, drawing nearer to her, hands sliding around her waist, up her back, her hands sliding around him too. Welcoming the pull of desire, the mindlessness of sex. The exact, blessed opposite of introspection and death.
ooo000ooo
Everything was so easy after that, although he hadn't been with another woman since he'd first started dating Deborah. You'd think he would have forgotten the etiquette of a first-time sexual encounter, the exciting awkwardness of being with somebody whose favourite spots and turn-ons you didn't know, who didn't know yours. But his body remembered. And she was apparently no stranger to one-night stands. She was experienced, direct, passionate... incredibly erotic. He was completely lost for hours.
The lovely slow soft early caresses and gradually more passionate embraces and increasingly urgent movements had given way to post-coital lassitude and languidness. They had relaxed together, chatting about nothing, and slowly gone back to playful teasing, and back to caresses, and urgency and now back to relaxation. Twice in one day was plenty, he wasn't eighteen any more, and he doubted she wanted much more from him either.
He shifted so that he wasn't resting all of his weight on her, and she smiled at him and stretched a bit. She traced the line of his jaw absently and he cupped her breast, following the graceful line of her body with his eyes and appreciating her slim waist. The shadows from her bedroom window were playing along the side of her body as she shifted to her side. He glanced out her window and saw that it was already near sunset. She moved and their legs became entwined, her long pale limbs contrasting against his dark skin. That was a sight he hadn't seen since... Marcy, the last white girl he'd dated before Deborah. Also tall. Eight... nine years ago?
Wait. Shadows from the window? What time was it?
Seven o'clock. Deborah would be wondering where he was.
What was he going to tell her?
Oh my god. What was he going to tell her?
What had he done?
Oh God. What the hell had he done?
He had a sudden vivid image of Deborah. And Olivia. And Serena. And Isabel.
He pushed those images out of his mind and raised himself on one elbow, looking down at JC and clearing his throat.
"JC, sorry, I didn't realize how late it was."
"Mm, yeah," she said, glancing at the clock. "Want some dinner?"
"Actually, I have to get going," he said apologetically.
"So soon?" she teased. He looked at her, not sure whether she was serious. That was the thrill and the nuisance of being with somebody new; they could surprise you in ways you couldn't foresee, but they also confused the hell out of you because you just didn't know them. This was why he hadn't missed single life more than once or twice a year since he'd met Deborah - because he liked predictability, at least as much as he got with Deborah. Deborah wasn't terribly predictable, but she was familiar enough that he didn't always have to wonder what she was gonna think or feel or do about any given situation. Although he didn't have a clue how she would react to this.
"JC, I really-"
"Yeah, I know, Wall Street, duty calls," she patted his hand, a little disappointed but not making a big fuss. "You go back to wifey and I'll go back to Henry James," she smiled. Something in his eyes must have twigged her or something because she suddenly raised her eyebrows. "You OK?"
"Yeah, yeah," he said, shrugging off his growing dread. He sat up and started to look for his clothes.
ooo000ooo
Once out of JC's apartment, he took out his cell phone and stared at it. What the hell was he going to say to Deborah? Hi hon, went to the gym and forgot the time. No, that was stupid. Nobody forgets the time at the gym for the entire day. Hi hon, went to church and got caught up with Father Morelli. No, she'd been planning on going to the bazaar and Morelli might have been there for some of it. He might get that alibi wrong if she asked at what time he met with Morelli.
Alibi. It wasn't a question of a Catholic evasion any more. There was nothing he could say to cover this that would be as bad as what he was covering.
Hi hon, I went to Lennie's place to talk to him about the execution, and lost track of the time. Yeah, he was upset about it.
No. She knew Lennie, had his phone number, had probably already called him to figure out where he was.
Kincaid. No, he wasn't going to cover being with one woman by saying that he was with another woman, no matter that he had no interest in Kincaid and she was taken anyway.
McCoy. Hi hon, I went to Jack McCoy's office, talked about the execution, ended up talking about an ongoing case.
OK.
He steadied himself and before he could think too much about what he was about to do, he called home. Seven o'clock. The kids would be done dinner, winding down at the end of the day.
"Curtis residence."
"Hi hon-"
"Rey! Where the hell - Isabel! Put that down!! Hang on, hon," Rey winced as his ear was assaulted by a loud noise - Deborah putting the phone on the counter in order to grab the baby. There was a bit of yelling on the other end, and Rey waited patiently for Deborah to get the situation under control at home. He heard another adult voice and laughter, then Deborah's breathless voice on the other end. "Sorry about that," she chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, third drawer," she said off-phone, then back to him, "Isabel got into the chocolate chips. Luisa came to dinner with her kids, so she's got Isabel for now," Deborah said something else to Luisa, then came back to him. "So where have you been all day?" she sounded irritated but not angry.
"I'm sorry, hon," he said apologetically, "I should've called."
"Yeah, you should have. Or at least left your phone on, for heaven's sake. I was starting to get worried. Are you OK?" Oh, god, she was irate because she was worried about him. Jesus.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, feeling a pang of guilt as he lied. Here goes. "I went to see McCoy, you know, the prosecutor?" she mhhmm'd at him. "He was there too this morning. We talked about it and then we ended up going over a case we're working on. I'm sorry, I lost track of the time."
"That's gotta be a first for you," she teased him. "Are you OK, hon?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he lied again, feeling a knife twisting in his gut. I'm fine, I just slept with another woman for no good reason at all and now I'm lying to you and you don't even have the decency to give me an excuse like 'I had to sleep with another woman because my wife is a bitch' or 'because my wife doesn't love me any more' or 'because my wife is over-controlling and I need my freedom' or anything.
"I'm fine. I'll be home in a bit."
"Hon, you don't sound fine," Deborah said, a little perturbed. "Are you sure you wanna come home? The kids are a little wired," he could hear them shrieking in the background. "You know what? If you come home right now they're just gonna get more hyper and want to play with you and not want to go to bed. How about you go to the gym or something, come home after their bedtime?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure."
"I hate to stick you with them all day when it was supposed to be my day off," he said slowly.
"Well it's a little too late to do anything about that now," she said a little waspishly, "It's almost bedtime anyway."
"I'm sorry..."
"No, no, I told you to take as much time as you needed," she reminded him, waspish tone gone, "and we had a good day at the bazaar anyway. Here, say good night to them and go to the gym. Just leave your cell phone on this time, OK?"
"OK."
"Daddy?" his five year old, Olivia, had the phone. "Daddy, we went to the bazaar and Tommy was there and you know what the best part was? There was cotton candy!"
"Yeah? What colour?"
"Blue and pink and green and purple! And Mary was there and she had a Pocahontas t-shirt, can I get one too?"
"What did Mommy say?" Deborah had mixed emotions about Pocahontas.
"She said if you said it was OK then maybe I could oh Serena wants the phone night night Daddy love you," Olivia was gone before he could answer, and another little voice was on the other end of the line.
"Daddy?" There was Serena, his three year old. "Daddy I told Olivia that I needed the phone," Serena said cheerfully, "'cause I missed you today and it was fun going to the b'zaar but I wish you came with us too."
He closed his eyes in sudden pain. He should have been there. His family had been at church, his girls playing with other kids and eating cotton candy, and he'd been with some grad student who didn't even know his last name and thought he worked on Wall Street. He brought himself back to Serena's happy voice.
"And Mommy was wearing that dress you got her, 'member the one with the flowers? I wanna dress like that too, Daddy. An' I won't do cartwheels and show my undies," she assured him seriously, and he chuckled despite the growing pain in his chest. His middle daughter was a bit of a tomboy, and Deborah usually kept her in sturdy, sensible clothes because she ruined anything else. Deborah, a former tomboy herself, somehow didn't relate to Serena as well as he did - probably because Serena liked a lot the same things he did, like computers and basketball, and thought police work, what little he told her of it, was 'cool'.
"OK, we'll talk to Mommy about that tomorrow, Bunny," he told her. "Maybe we can take you out to get a pretty dress. But you have to promise, no cartwheels."
"OK bye bye Daddy. See you tomorrow. Love you," she ran off too.
"OK, here's Isabel," Deborah told him. Silence on the other end of the line. Isabel, not yet two, didn't quite get phones yet.
"Sweetie, it's Daddy. Time to say night night, Isabel. Have a good night, and I'll see you in the morning when you wake up. Love you."
"Luhvoo," she lisped back, and then Deborah was on the line again.
"OK, well, give me a call when you're coming home, hon. Love you."
"I love you," he said, and stared at the phone in his hand after she hung up.
He'd never felt so lost in his life.
What should he do now? Go to the gym? Go for a walk?
Go back upstairs to JC's apartment?
No, definitely not that last one. But he was at a loss. What do people do when they've just betrayed their loved ones? When they've just betrayed everything they believe in? Where do they go?
Lennie would know, he thought bitterly. Lennie knew all about lying to wives, breaking marriage vows. Lennie was real familiar with all of that, and it didn't seem to bother him at all. Lennie... Lennie would probably be able to help, now that he thought about it. Lennie would probably understand how he felt right now, even though he didn't understand it himself. He'd been at the execution too this morning. He wouldn't make any of the comments he'd run away from, run to JC to avoid. Lennie might even be able to help him figure out what in God's name he was going to do now.
ooo000ooo
At last. Lennie's place. He knocked on Lennie's door, leaning against the door frame, feeling hollow. Getting here had been a bit of a nightmare, as he tried to keep a hold of himself and minimize what he was feeling, while inside emotions he didn't even know how to identify grew and jumbled and threatened to overwhelm him.
Please, Lennie, please open up. Knocked again. Please be home.
The door next to Lennie's opened up and an elderly woman in a bathrobe and rollers in her hair peeked out.
"I don't think he's home. Haven't seen him all day." Rey's heart sank. Shit and double shit. What was he supposed to do now?
"Oh, OK, thanks."
"You're Leonard's partner, aren't you?" the old woman asked, peering up at him.
"Yes ma'am," he replied automatically.
"Thought so. Saw you both on the news. Good job!" What news? Oh right. The execution. He nodded thanks, wishing he hadn't gone to Attica, wishing he'd never heard of Mickey Scott, wishing the world would let him forget that name, forget this whole day. Wishing there was a rewind button on life and he could just rewind all the way to yesterday morning, only this time stay in bed with Deborah and just take the day off.
"I just thank the Lord for boys like you and Leonard," she told him earnestly.
Boys like me and Leonard. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He nodded politely to her and started down the stairs.
Thank God for boys like me and Leonard. Yeah. Thank God for us. Thank God for what, adulterers? Thank God for selfish bastards who run out on their wives and children, too stupid to deal with life the way a responsible adult should, too goddamn self-centered to remember their vows when a pretty face comes along and promises a no-strings attached way to forget an unpleasant incident? Thank God for jerks who do their thinking with their dicks instead of their brains?
At least Lennie admitted he was no better than the lowlifes they dealt with. He'd been so contemptuous of him, of all of them, knowing he'd never stray, never fall off the straight and narrow, never do anything he'd regret with his whole being like he regretted what he had done today. And now, here he was, no better than any of them, certainly no better than Lennie, needing Lennie to help him deal with this because he didn't know how to deal with it himself.
He needed to do something.
He went into a coffee shop and ordered a coffee. Sat for a long time, thinking. No idea what to do, but his mind was logical and orderly and even in the midst of confusion and growing guilt it didn't stop figuring out practical ways of dealing with the situation.
OK. What he needed was to go back to his family. What he needed was to own up to what he'd done. Tell Deborah. Try to explain it to her and deal with what happened from there. Be a man.
He shivered. He felt... he felt fear. He wasn't used to that. He was used to the adrenaline rush of dealing with violent criminals, he was used to the slight nervousness of telling Deborah he'd screwed up in some minor way and knowing he was in for what he now realized was a pretty minor tongue-lashing... but he wasn't used to this feeling. Fear. The abject fear of losing everything that meant anything to him. What the hell would Deborah do? How would their marriage survive and be anything like what it had been this morning?
Be a man. You don't know what's going to happen, but you've faced difficult and even dangerous situations before and you've been OK. Take responsibility for your actions, however stupid they may have been.
Feeling fearful but resolute, he paid for his coffee and started to head home.
ooo000ooo
Author's Note: the grad student is not named in Aftershock, but she is referred to as "Jamie" in the TV credits. I originally wrote this with the name Jamie, but kept being reminded of Jamie Ross as I edited, so I've changed her name to JC.