Title: Good Enough
Chapter 10
*****
The hospital waiting room looks like a reunion of all the suspects in Danny Kincaid's death. Obviously, Cody Briers' parents are here. So are Danny's mom and dad, Mrs. Cooper and Molly, Garret and Natalie Ames, and a teenaged boy I assume to be Garret Ames' younger child.
Sara's talking to Mr. and Mrs. Briers, while Grissom and I sort of just stand by the door and watch. I'm not in the best mood to be talking to those people right now. And Grissom . . . well, he may have had some kind of catharsis when he was talking with me in the officer earlier, but he still has the social skills of a rock. Besides, according to Sara, Gris and I didn't make the best impression on Mrs. Briers when we met her. Can't imagine why.
I glance around the room at the other visitors. Despite my best efforts, I seem to have picked up Gris's habit of watching people. When we got here, Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid had been consoling the Briers, but when Sara walked over, they retreated to a pair of seats at the far end of the room. Now, they're sitting quietly, and watching Sara interview the Briers. Mrs. Kincaid looks pretty shaken up, but she's covering it well. Reminds me of my mom.
Mrs. Cooper pretty much has her hands full with Molly, who's a sobbing wreck. When we first got here, though, Mrs. Cooper walked over and said hello to me. This must be heartbreaking for her. I mean, she talked to the Briers about Cody, but here we all are—in a hospital waiting room picking up the pieces after his suicide attempt.
I'm starting to understand why my friends have been freaking out. And I'm starting to appreciate it.
The Ames' are sitting by themselves. Natalie's sort of wringing her hands, but other than that, she's pretty stoic. Mr. Ames has one arm around Natalie, and with the other, he's stroking his son's hair. As I watch them, I notice that there's a distinct class difference between the Ames' and the others. The Briers', the Kincaids, and the Coopers are all dressed pretty affluently, but the Ames' are wearing worn jeans and faded t-shirts.
About then, Sara walks over to us and crosses her arms. "Well," she says. "They pumped his stomach. It was pretty bad." She glances at me. "But he's stable now. They're going to take him upstairs pretty soon."
"Did he leave a note?" Grissom asks, sneaking a look at the Briers.
"Yeah," Sara says. "It was pretty cryptic. Just said he couldn't take it anymore and that he's sorry."
"Pretty standard," I say.
Sara glances at me again. I can only imagine what's going through her head.
Just then, Mr. Kincaid walks up to me. "Mr. Stokes," he says, extending his hand. "This is a tragedy."
"Yes, sir," I say.
He lets out a long, painful-sounding breath. "Do you have anything new on our son?"
"We're looking into some things, sir."
"Right," he says. He looks around the room as if he's searching for someone that isn't there. "Well, let me know if you find anything."
"I will, sir," I say.
As Mr. Kincaid walks back across the waiting room, I notice Mr. Ames staring at me. Part of me wants to walk over to him, but this isn't the best time.
"Nicky," Gris says.
"Let's get out of here."
"Sure, Gris," I say.
*****
"Yeah, Mom," I moan.
I'm slumped on the couch, my phone in one hand, the remote in the other. I've been home almost an hour. I want to get off of here so I can order some pizza or something. I still haven't gotten to the store.
"Are you listening?" My mom asks.
"Not really," I say honestly. I was home exactly two and a half minutes before my phone rang. Like an idiot, I picked it up. Now I'm stuck listening to my mom tell me how my life would be better in Texas.
"Well, that's nice to know," my mom snaps.
"What?" I say.
"Nick, for God's sake. Can I have your attention for a few minutes?"
Can I have yours? I think.
"Mom, I'm tired. I'm hungry." I hear a knock at the door, so I trudge over to the door. "I've had a rotten day, Mom. This isn't really a good time."
"There's never a good time with you," she says.
There's no point in arguing with her, so I just say, "I'm sorry, Mom. You're right."
Sighing, I swing open the door.
Greg. Greg and a pizza.
"Your mom?" he asks, gesturing to the phone in my hand.
"Yeah," I say vaguely.
"Déjà vu," he smiles crookedly.