Jeremy lay curled on his side. Blood stained his black shirt and pooled, dark and sinister, on the polished tile floor. Harm held a reddening wad of paper towels against a spot just below the boy's rib cage. The rest of the roll lay nearby, along with the discarded ski mask, a jumbled assortment of brightly wrapped candies, and an eight-inch hunting knife. Jeremy's eyes were open, his face pale beneath its sprinkling of freckles.
Bill dropped to his knees, reaching out a gentle hand to Jeremy's shoulder. "Help's on the way, Jeremy. Hang in there."
But Jeremy shook his head. "Billy," he said in a voice that was frighteningly weak. "Somebody needs to look after Billy."
"Don't talk like that," Bill said. "You're gonna be fine."
Harm and Mac exchanged a glance. Jeremy was losing blood fast, and the closest trauma unit was an hour away.
"We'll take care of Billy." Harm ignored Bill's reproving glance.
"Promise?" Jeremy looked up, his gaze finding Mac's. His eyes begged her to understand, to help him.
Mac took Jeremy's hand. It felt so small and light in her own. "Promise."
"Stop it." There was a hint of desperation behind the assurance in Bill's voice. "The ambulance will be here in a minute, and the docs'll have you put to rights in no time."
Jeremy tried to nod, but ended up coughing instead. Blood trickled out of his mouth, and Mac wiped it away with the pad of her thumb, ignoring the searing pain in her arm.
"You saved my life tonight, Jeremy." Mac struggled to keep her voice even. "Thank you for that."
"Couldn't...couldn't let them hurt you. Knew...they would." His eyes drifted closed, his breathing shallow.
Harm brushed hair away from Jeremy's eyes. Ignoring the commotion around them, the three friends formed a guardian circle around the boy whose life force was soaking into a handful of cheap paper towels.
Mac heard the wail of an approaching siren.
"Tell Miss Emily... I'm sorry."
The faint whisper of breath across Mac's thumb trickled to a stop, and the thin chest stopped its regular motion. She met Harm's eyes, and they rolled Jeremy onto his back, starting CPR. But even as she breathed for the boy, even as she sat back to let Harm pump his chest, she knew it was too late. Beside them, tears slid down Bill's face.
When the paramedics arrived, Harm and Mac backed off, letting the professionals take over. Harm reached out to help Bill to his feet, but the other man pulled away, swiping at his eyes and straightening his shoulders. "I've got work to do," he said. Turning, he walked away.
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Harm looked over at Mac as he pulled into the driveway the next morning. She'd said nothing since they'd left the hospital, and even there she'd spoken only when spoken to, answering questions for the police and the doctors in a monotone that worried him. She looked tired, which wasn't surprising, and defeated, which was. Mac was one of the strongest people he'd ever known. Seeing her this way, her face set and her eyes missing their usual spark, was deeply disturbing.
At the front door, she stood quietly while he turned the key in the lock, then led the way inside. Stopping at the couch, she reached for the case files she'd left there the night before.
"I need to call Linda," she said, picking them up.
Harm shook his head. "I called her from the hospital. She said she'd take care of everything." He moved over to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Mac--"
She pulled away from him and dropped the folders back on the coffee table, ignoring the fact that half of them spilled onto the floor. "I'm going to change my clothes and go in for a while. I've got work to do."
"Not today you don't. You need to rest that arm."
"My arm's fine, Harm."
"Like hell it is. That bullet almost severed an artery. Another millimeter or two and you wouldn't be standing there right now." The thought of how close he'd come to losing her chilled his blood.
"But it didn't, and I am."
"And I'm grateful for that, but the fact that they stitched you up and sent you home doesn't mean you're ready to go back to work."
"Don't coddle me, Harm." Her voice was cold.
"Damn it, Mac! I'm not coddling you!" What the hell was wrong with her?
She turned away from him, moving across the room to the stairs. "I need to get out of these clothes."
Without glancing back at him, she left the room, leaving him to stare after her in helpless frustration.
With a sigh, Harm collected the pile of folders and put them away in her briefcase. Then he went into the kitchen and fixed a pot of hot tea, setting it, along with her bottle of pain medication and some cheese crackers, on a tray. When the telephone rang, he set down the knife he'd been using to answer it.
"Hello?"
"Harm. It's Bill. Is Mac around?"
"She just went to get changed. What's up?"
"We've got the rest of the kids in custody. I thought she'd like to know."
"That was quick."
"Jeff gave us the names last night. It didn't take long to round everybody up."
"Any confessions?"
"A few. Jeff, of course, and a couple of the others. Mark and Tim swear they weren't there, but it's just bluster. They know we've got eye-witnesses."
"Have charges been filed yet?"
"I'm heading to the courthouse in a few minutes. We've got Mark for the Delgado place as well as the store, and the prosecutor will probably want to try him as an adult."
"And the others?"
"I don't know yet. It'll probably take a few days for the State's Attorney to sort out all the charges."
"Bill... I'm sorry about Jeremy."
"Yeah." Bill's voice was choked. "I am, too. Guess I waited too long to try to get the kid some help."
"This wasn't your fault, Bill."
"Then why do I feel so damn guilty?"
"You had no way of knowing things would blow up like this."
"I'm the sheriff, Harm. It's my job to know." There was a pause. Then, "Listen. I gotta go. Give Mac my best."
"I'll do that."
Harm hung up, shaking his head. The tragic events of the night before would likely upset their peaceful community for weeks or even months to come. He thought about Mac and her disturbing reticence. How long would it take her to forgive herself for her part in Jeremy's death? And would he be able to find the words to somehow help her through? He sighed and picked up the tray, heading for the stairs.
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Harm set the tray down on the dresser. Water was running in the bathroom, and while he waited for her he crossed to the balcony doors, opening them to let in the sweet morning breeze. He stood there for a moment, looking out over the pond and the woods beyond. It all looked so peaceful, so...normal. It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago a young man who'd wanted nothing more than to look after his little brother had come to such a violent and unnecessary end.
Jeremy's mother and stepfather had been at the hospital. Sharon, a thin woman with faded brown hair and eyes, had clung to her husband's arm, weeping copiously but saying little. Rick was her opposite in nearly every way. He was nearly as tall as Harm, but balding, and with a belly that spoke of too much beer and too little exercise. He'd been belligerent, blaming everybody but himself for Jeremy's death.
When he'd gone after Mac, Harm had stepped in, putting himself between his wife and this angry stranger. He'd faced Rick, legs slightly apart and arms folded across his chest. Silently, he'd dared the man to do something stupid. Rick had glared at him for a moment, but then backed off, grumbling under his breath as he'd dragged his wife out of the room. Sharon had glanced back as they'd left, an apology in her eyes, but Rick had said something sharp to her and she'd obediently followed him out.
Harm heard the bathroom door open and turned to see Mac coming into the room. She'd changed and washed her face, and Harm wondered for a moment why she hadn't called him to help. It had to have been hard to manage the sleeves with her injured arm. Then he shook his head. It was just like her to struggle through it on her own.
He gestured to the tray on the dresser. "I brought up some tea and crackers."
"Thanks, but I'm not hungry."
"Mac, you need to eat. You can't take painkillers on an empty stomach."
"I told you I'm fine, Harm. I don't need anything."
He strode over to her, catching her shoulders in his hands. "Damnit, Mac. Stop doing this to yourself."
She glanced at him, but her eyes slid away. "Doing what?"
"Stop pretending nothing happened."
"I'm not pretending anything, Harm. I really do have work to do."
"No, you don't. Not today. And not tomorrow or the next day either at this rate."
"Excuse me?"
He sensed her rising anger. Good. Anything was better than that icy emptiness. He lowered his voice. "Talk to me, Mac. Tell me what you're thinking."
She pulled away from him. Moving across to the dresser, she poured a cup of tea. "For the last time, Harm, I'm fine."
"God, you're a stubborn woman."
Without answering, she took her cup and moved to one of the chairs by the balcony doors. She took a sip of her tea and gazed outside, ignoring his presence. Harm sighed, moved across the room, and dropped to his knees by her side.
"It wasn't your fault, Mac. There's no way you could've guessed that Jeff would try to come after you with the knife, or that Jeremy would try to stop him."
She didn't answer. Keeping her gaze on the world outside, she took another sip of her tea.
"What happened was an accident. A horrible, unfortunate accident. If you're going to blame yourself for it, then maybe it's also Bill's fault for not arresting the boys sooner, or mine for letting you go out, or Rick's for being such a bastard." He paused, watching her. "You know how this goes, Mac. You start questioning your decisions and wallowing in the if-onlys and the what-ifs, and pretty soon you're making yourself crazy. Don't go there."
Finally, she looked over at him. "There are no if-onlys or what-ifs, Harm. I screwed up. I should've waited for help."
"And if you had? What then? You heard the gunshot, and you said you knew even before that how nervous those boys were. What do you think would've happened if you hadn't acted?"
She shook her head. "Maybe Jeremy'd still be alive."
"Maybe. And maybe you'd both be dead." He reached out, taking the teacup away and setting it on a nearby table. He took her hands in his. "You did the right thing, Mac. You evaluated the situation, gauged the odds, and acted accordingly. There was no other choice."
Tears welled in her eyes. "He was only thirteen years old, Harm. Just a kid."
"Yes, but a kid who made his own choices."
She snorted. "Hobson's choice."
"Even a Hobson's choice is a choice, Mac."
"I wish we could've helped him, could've reached him before it was too late."
"Maybe we still can."
Puzzled, she met his eyes. "How?"
"By helping Billy."
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Over a hundred people attended the funeral. Miss Emily came with Magwitch, and Tom Greeves sent flowers from the hospital. There were teachers from the school, and the town librarian, and dozens of classmates dressed in their Sunday best. A cloudless sky watched over the graveside service, and a gentle breeze played in the floral arrangements. In her own way, Mother Nature seemed to be telling the mourners that Jeremy was okay.
Jeremy's mother and stepfather sat in folding metal chairs with Billy between them. Dressed in a too-small suit, his hair unbrushed, the child reminded Harm of a character out of Oliver Twist. Sharon wept silently, wiping at her eyes now and again with a bit of frayed tissue. Billy leaned into her, away from his grim-faced, thick-necked stepfather.
Harm and Mac sat behind Jeremy's family. In her black dress and veiled hat, Mac looked almost regal, but Harm knew her calm expression hid inner turmoil. It would take her a long time to recover from the events at the store.
After the short service, the mourners filed past the grieving family, offering their condolences. Harm noticed that few of them said anything to the lost-looking little boy who stood so quietly between his parents, so when their turn came, Harm dropped to a crouch, meeting the boy's gaze at eye level.
"You must be Billy," he said.
The boy stared at him, wide-eyed.
"My name is Harm."
Still no reaction.
"You don't know me, but I was with your brother that night." Harm couldn't bring himself to mention Jeremy's death directly. "He loved you very much."
Billy nodded. His eyes welled with tears, and he blinked furiously, forcing them back.
Harm glanced up at Sharon and Rick. Mac had engaged them in conversation, drawing their attention away from Harm and Billy. She was so smart, his wife. She'd known intuitively that he needed time, and had found a way to give it to him. Luckily, Rick's belligerence toward Mac seemed to have faded. Though grim, he didn't raise his voice, and he no longer seemed to blame Mac for what had happened to Jeremy.
Harm turned back to Billy. "Listen," he said. "Do you hear the birds?"
Harm had no idea what kind of birds they were, but he didn't care. It was enough that they sang.
Another solemn nod.
"Have you ever wished you could fly like a bird?"
Billy shook his head. "People can't fly."
"They can in an airplane."
"Oh."
"And it just so happens that I have one of those."
That provoked a flicker of interest. "You do?"
Harm nodded. "She's bright yellow, and her name is Sarah."
"You named your plane?"
"Yep. Would you like to take a ride in her sometime?"
Eyes wide, Billy nodded.
Harm smiled. "I'll see what I can do to make that happen."
"Soon?" A glimmer of hope flickered beyond the sadness.
"Very soon."
Miss Emily came up to them, Magwitch on his leash at her side. She shook Rick's hand, and then Sharon's.
"I'm deeply sorry for your loss," she said. "No parent should have to bury a child."
Sharon nodded through her tears. "Thank you." She reached into her purse. "I found this in Jeremy's room." She pulled out what looked like a small bundle of graying newsprint. "It has your name on it. I was going to bring it by later, but..." She handed it to Miss Emily.
The old woman accepted the parcel with trembling fingers. For long moments, she held it in the palm of her hand, staring at the crudely penciled letters. When she finally began to peel away the folds of paper, it was as though she were handling the finest Belgian lace instead of torn bits of faded newsprint. At last, the brooch lay in her palm, its jeweled edges glinting in the sun.
Miss Emily closed her fingers over the pin and brought it to her heart. "Your son," she said softly, "was a good boy."
Sharon nodded, unable to speak past her tears. She took Billy's hand and, with one last look at the flower draped casket, turned and walked away.
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It rained on the morning of Billy's first flight, a gentle, life-giving mist that made flowers and children turn their eager faces to the sky. Here and there a ray of sunshine snuck between the clouds to dance on Sarah's wingtips, and the clean air carried the faint scent of lilacs.
Billy had come to the airfield in a worn t-shirt and jeans, so Mac had loaned him her leather jacket. Now, as he stood by the plane in helmet, goggles, and oversized bomber jacket, he had a vaguely monkey-ish look about him that made Mac and Sharon exchange a smile.
"Ready to go?" Harm asked.
Billy nodded. "Yes, sir."
"All right then. Let's get you settled." Harm lifted the little boy into his seat, made sure he was safely buckled in, and then turned to the women.
"We won't be long," he said.
Sharon nodded. "Thank you for doing this."
"Are you kidding?" Mac grinned. "Harm'll use any excuse to take his girl out for a spin."
"Jealous, Mac?" Harm's smile was warm, his eyes teasing.
"You better believe it." But she was teasing too, and she kissed him lightly before giving him a push toward the plane. "You'd better get going before Billy takes off without you."
In the plane, Billy giggled, and Mac shot him a wink before backing away. "Have fun, boys."
Harm gave them a wave and started the engine. Mac and Sharon watched while Harm taxied the little plane into position at the end of the runway. Minutes later, Sarah soared into the sky, then climbed and turned, banking to the west.
They watched until the bright yellow speck disappeared over the mountains, and then Mac turned to Sharon.
"How about a cup of coffee while we wait?" she said. "My treat."
Sharon nodded with a hesitant smile, and the two women turned to go. In the distance, the buzz of Sarah's sturdy engine drifted on the breeze.
The End