"I'm sorry," I said finally. I don't know how long we sat there with her holding me and crying but I just couldn't take her tears anymore. She just shook her head against me.

"I should be sorry," she said, "I'm a terrible person to even ask what I did."

"I don't mind," I said and it was true. It was something I had lived through and come out on the other side of. It wasn't that I never felt sad about it but it was almost easier to talk about the beatings and how they hurt my body than it was to talk about the betrayal and how they hurt me deeper for that.

"James," she said, "How can you not mind? How can you talk about something so terrible and be so matter of fact?"

"Because it is a matter of fact," I told her, "But I still shouldn't have told you that story."

I was feeling it more and more that I shouldn't have told her and not just because I made her cry but I was starting to see this look in her eye when she looked at me and it wasn't sympathy or empathy, it looked an awful lot like pity. I didn't want to have to see that every time I looked at my girl.

"Don't think me a terrible person," she said, "But I'm glad you did. I've heard you say they hurt you and I knew that meant they were violent to you but I never really understood. I am just so, so sorry for what you went through."

"I don't want you to be sorry for me," I said and I know I sounded angrier than I meant to but I just couldn't take that look of pity anymore. I was a grown man and not that little kid anymore. I had even gotten some of my own back before I left home and I'll just say the old man learned to leave me alone.

I got up and stalked off to the edge of the roof and looked out over the city and wished for a minute I was driving one of those sets of taillights across the bridge. Leaving the country seemed a decent enough idea right then. Joanie came up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. I turned away and I knew exactly how much that would hurt her and I guess I wanted to at that time. It's amazing how quickly you can go from trying to soothe someone's pain to wanting to hurt them. Now really I never wanted to hurt Joanie, not really but right then I just was hurting too much myself and not for what I had remembered but for how her pity stung me. I mean she asked me to tell her and then she had the nerve to pity me.

"James," she said and she was fighting real hard for me not to hear how I was hurting her. It was a losing battle. "If you don't mind talking about it then why are you angry with me?"

"You wouldn't understand," I said and it was more I wasn't sure I could explain.

"I want to understand."

"Right," I said, "You just want to understand everyone, don't you? Me, your friend, the poor people that come to your dad for help; but you don't understand, Joanie. You just don't. You can hear about the things we've been through and you can imagine yourself going through them but it doesn't count because my whole life isn't that day my dad turned my bed over. You go on ahead and feel sorry for that little boy if you want but he's not here. He's not anywhere because he grew the hell up. I'm a grown man Joanie; I don't need my girlfriend's pity. You can try all you want but you'll never understand."

Joanie stood there with her head held high and refused to cry. I have to give her credit for being pretty damned tough when she wanted to be. All the effort she was using to not cry was building up quite a head of steam and I could tell she was ready to blow but I didn't really care. I was mad and if she was too then I wouldn't have to feel bad about yelling.

"James," she said finally but she didn't say it as much as she yelled it. "Maybe if you weren't so busy wallowing in your own self-pity you'd actually know when someone was pitying you and when they aren't. There's a difference between being sorry and feeling sorry. A couple years ago my friend Liz's aunt died and I went to pay my respects. I told her I was sorry. I wasn't sorry because I caused her aunt's death or because I could have prevented it. I said it because that's what decent people say. I was sorry for her loss. I didn't feel sorry for her or pity her, I was just sorry. Sometimes people say they are sorry when there's no one else to seek apology from. I don't pity you and I don't feel sorry for you. It hurts me to hear you lived through something like that, it really does. And I'm angry at every person who let you down from your parents to your teachers to those stupid doctors. No child should endure what you did but it happened and you did grow up and mostly you grew into a nice man. I'm not the guilty one here unless you're mad at me for giving you more slack than you sometimes deserve."

Okay, I'll say it right now; the truth can really sting sometimes. It surely did that night. She was right. I didn't see pity in her eyes; it was my own reflected back at me. It was me feeling sorry for me and sometimes I think it's alright to feel sorry for yourself a little as long as you don't attack the people you love for it like I had just done. I felt bad for it too. She hadn't really done anything wrong except cry for that little boy which was something I wasn't able to do anymore. Maybe I resented that she still could. I slid down the wall and sat there with my arms rested on my knees and my head resting on my arms. It wasn't long at all before I felt an arm around my shoulders. I just felt weary to my core. I couldn't even pick my head up to look at her.

"You're not mad at me," she said, "I don't even think you're really even mad. You're just used to using anger to cover everything. What's really going on?"

"I don't know," I lied.

"You might be the worst liar I have ever met," she sort of half teased me. "I'm not leaving so you might as well talk to me. I'll still love you, you know."

"I'm ashamed," I mumbled into my arms.

"What was that?"

"I am ashamed," I said clearer and looking at her with as much anger and defiance as I could muster which wasn't much, I'll grant you.

"It's hard enough to get past the things you know and have and do that I didn't even know existed," I tried to explain. "French food and art museums and things like that; I can't even fake it most of the time. I got past that stuff mostly even though it wasn't easy. But this is so basic; my parents didn't think to feed me most days. I spent a lot of time sneaking into Kid's room after dark and sleeping under his bed to hide from his old man when my mom locked me out. It's one thing to grow up with things that maybe not everyone gets to take for granted like a nice big house but I don't even know what it's like to have halfway decent parents. And you don't have the parents you have because you're family has money; they are just the way parents are supposed to be, Joanie. It makes me wonder what's wrong with me and how defective I must be that I couldn't make them love me."

"There's nothing wrong with you, my love, nothing at all."

That was the first time I think I ever heard Joanie call me anything like that; not the last time but I think it was the first.

"That's not how it feels," I said.

She sat next to me and sort of wrapped herself right around me like a cocoon. It felt so good to be back in that safety but I still tried to push away thinking I didn't need a woman to protect me and make me feel safe. I'd gotten that far in life without someone mothering me, well, maybe I hadn't but mothering wasn't what I wanted from Joanie.

"James," she said softly but without reproach, "Please stop pushing me away. Everyone needs a soft place to land."

"I don't need mothering," I said getting all indignant, "Least of all from you."

"You think I'm trying to mother you?" she asked and I thought she might laugh at me. I couldn't answer her because her lips were covering mine and she was climbing onto my lap. I guess mothering me wasn't at all what she had in mind but she was making me feel better by the minute. We didn't waste any time at all in getting out of our clothes and we made love right there on the roof. We both needed that for our own reasons and maybe for some of the same ones too.

Later we were close together under that afghan and I was just basking in the feel of her still heated skin on mine.

"James," Joanie started tentatively, "Can I say I'm sorry without making you angry again?"

"Depends on what you're sorry for," I answered, "Because I sure hope it ain't for what we just did."

"I'm never sorry for that," she told me, "I'm sorry I brought up all the other stuff before. I badgered you into telling me something you didn't want to. I shouldn't have done that. It was wrong."

Now I wasn't mad at her but even if I had been, she picked a damned good time to apologize because there's no way a man is going to hold a grudge against a woman who just had sex with him while she's still lying naked in his arms.

"You're right that I didn't want to tell you," I said, "But I'm not angry with you and you don't need to apologize."

It was about then we heard the sirens heading down the street next to the garage, the street Al and Emma both lived on. I jumped up without even thinking and grabbed my clothes. I was doing up my jeans and pulling my t-shirt over my head as I headed down the stairs and only then did I notice Joanie behind me. She'd gotten dressed quickly too and was smoothing her hair.

"Stay close to me," I told her and she did. I was thankful for that for once she was content to stay a little behind me so I could protect her. The cops being somewhere don't mean everything is secure.

We hurried over to where Al was on his porch and Emma was clinging to him in fear. The cops was all swarming around her place.

"Emma," I called to her and she ran up and threw her arms around me crying. Joanie just went and stood with Al on the porch. "What happened, Emma?"

She couldn't really talk for her crying and shaking so I looked to Al.

"Someone broke into her place, Jimmy," he said, "She scared them off before they got anything but they sure did make a mess."

We saw another car pull up, this one was unmarked and a man in a suit stepped out of it and headed over to me and Emma. He looked at his notepad.

"Mrs. Emma Shannon?" he asked and I nodded to him that she was indeed the woman I was holding.

"Mrs. Shannon," he went on as if she had answered for herself, "I'm Detective Sam Cain. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

She gripped me tighter and I rubbed her back to soothe her. I nodded at the man. You'd think after all my run ins with the cops that I'd have something against them but it wasn't their fault I'd done bad things of course there were a few that believed whatever someone told them without looking at evidence but if I hadn't done stupid stuff in the first place it wouldn't have been so easy to believe. This man seemed alright enough.

"Could we go on the porch?" I asked, "I think she needs to sit down."

This Detective Cain guy nodded and then let me lead the way. We got settled on the porch swing while Joanie went into Al's house to start some coffee and the detective sat in a chair near us. He looked at me kind of helpless since Emma still had her face buried in my shoulder.

"Emma," I said gently, "The detective's over there. I ain't going nowhere."

She picked her head up and I saw a fleeting look cross that detective's face. It wasn't much and if I hadn't been watching him close, I wouldn't have seen it. He was trying to look at her with professional curiosity but there was that little bit of a look where his professional self took a back seat just for a moment. Now, don't get me wrong, there was nothing disrespectful in the look. It was merely a noticing that the woman in front of him was an attractive woman even with her hair a mess and her eyes puffy from crying. I kept my arm around her. I didn't know enough about this guy yet. Judging by Emma's reaction to seeing him though, she thought he was attractive too.

"Ma'am," he began, "Did you see who broke into your home?"

She shook her head, "I'm sorry."

"Emma," I said softly, "It's okay. I'm glad you didn't have to face them."

Det. Cain nodded, "It's probably best they didn't see her. But can you tell me exactly what you remember happening?"

He spoke with a certain tone that was assertive but still sympathetic and soft. I was starting to think I liked this guy. Even more than his tone, I liked that even though Emma was sitting there in her nightgown and robe, he was keeping his eyes on her face. Now that I think of it, Emma had some pretty eyes so maybe that wasn't hard at all but I still think it said a lot about the man. Emma took a deep breath and I gave her a squeeze to remind her that she wasn't alone.

"I was sleeping," she started, "And I woke up all of a sudden but I didn't know why and then I heard the noise. It was breaking glass. I got up and I was going to go downstairs and I don't even know what I thought I was going to do. I bumped my dresser on my way out the bedroom door and I heard voices, two voices, maybe three. And I heard feet running out. I came right over here and called for Mr. Hunter to wake up. He called the police for me."

"That must have been very frightening, ma'am," he said to her and he was real genuine when he said it. Yeah, I liked this guy plenty. "Will you be staying with your son tonight?"

Emma looked baffled, "My son? I don't have, I mean."

I figured it out.

"I'm not her son," I told Det. Cain, "Unfortunately."

"I'm sorry," he said, "It's just that the best anyone's going to be able to do for you tonight is cover the windows with cardboard and you shouldn't be there alone like that. I'd like to know how to get a hold of you-in case I have more questions."

I took note of the nice recovery. Emma just looked around not knowing what to do.

"I have an extra room," Al offered.

"Or you could come to my place," I said.

"I-I just, well, I just don't know," she said. I knew her objections. She worried it wouldn't look right to stay at Al's though I know she trusted Al and she would feel uncomfortable at my place with me and Joanie together in the next room. She tried not to make much noise about our living in sin a good part of the time but it did bother her and she was afraid that there would be an awkward situation.

"I'll take the couch," I said, "I still have the one that folds out. You shouldn't be alone, Emma."

"I still don't know."

"It'll be just fine, Emma," Joanie said, "You can sleep in the bedroom with me. James is right, you shouldn't be alone."

I gave the detective my number.

"But we'll be back here in the morning to get to work fixing Emma's widows and changing her locks," I said, "In case you need to find her."

Det. Cain looked at Joanie, "Would you take Mrs. Shannon to get what she needs from her house? It's clear and safe with all my guys combing it for evidence."

Then he pulled me aside and walked me down the steps off the porch.

"Jimmy was it?" he asked and I nodded. "You look after Mrs. Shannon?"

"It only seems right," I answered, "She's been looking after me for years."

"Could you use a little help with those windows?"

"Sure could," I said smiling, "If I know Emma, she'll probably even feed you for your trouble."

What I did then was pure overprotective behavior on my part but I took a quick glance at his left hand just to be sure he was as nice a guy as he seemed. The hand was clear of all jewelry.

"So I'll see you tomorrow morning then, Detective Cain?"

He nodded, "Call me Sam."

Well, I did say I was thinking about how Emma maybe should meet a nice man and no one was nicer for her than good old Sam Cain and he just had to still be a lawman of some sort. I feel bad that her house had to get broken into but now Sam will have to come check on her often and they will have opportunity to fall in love. I think she's ready to love and trust a man again.

I know that Joanie is still going to be fretting over how bad Aaron is hurt until he gets back to Michigan but I think she and Jimmy will be okay for a little while. That was a lot of heavy stuff to pile on all at once but then that is how things go sometimes. And hurray for rooftop stress sex!

Nothing Michigan centric too much except for the reference to the bridge. The bridge in question would be the Ambassador Bridge and if you get on it in Detroit and drive across you will find yourself in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. Land of maple leaves (and Leafs-hockey joke there), lumberjacks, curling and hot, physically aggressive hockey boys. O Canada indeed!

So I hope you liked my lame attempt at bringing something happy to the story. I know this chapter isn't all sweetness and light but you can see how happiness is just on the horizon, can't you?-J