“I’m sorry,” Dick says.
He is sitting on the toilet as Dee kneels in front of him, cleaning the cut.
“I think you might need stitches,” she says.
“Dee—”
“You saved that little boy.” She shakes her head as tears brim in her eyes.
She dabs at the wound with iodine, and he winces. The gash is an inch long and slices clean through the skin, and he thinks she might be right about the stitches. Around the wound, his arm is splattered with blood. Cray’s blood. And seeing it causes bile to rise in his throat.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, the words a confession, and this time, she nods in understanding.
She places a bandage over the cut and wraps a strip of gauze around it.
When she is done, she pushes to her feet, and Dick stands with her. She washes her hands as he pulls on a fresh shirt.
Her back to him, she dries her hand on a towel and says, “Steve knows what you’re doing.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
He buttons the last button. “He’s very good at what he does.”
She turns, her green eyes so sad it hurts to look at them.
“It’s why I need to go.”
“Go? Where?”
“I’m not exactly sure.”
“Dickie—”
“Don’t.”
She stops, and her eyes drop to the floor between them, her chin trembling, as bravely she fights to keep her emotions at bay.
“I need a favor,” he says. “Actually, several favors. I need you to look after things. Greg Larson is in charge of my estate—”
“Estate!” she yelps, her face snapping to his, and he realizes it was the wrong choice of word.
“My finances,” he corrects. “I’ve set money aside for Jim and Kiley, and there’s a college fund for each of the kids, including Jesse—”
“College funds!”
He gives her a minute to catch up. He killed a man. He won’t be coming back.
The tears she’s been fighting escape, and it’s almost more than he can take.
“I need you to look after this place,” he manages, “and Gus.”
On hearing his name, Gus thumps his tail.
“And I need you to check in on Jim and Kiley from time to time to make sure they’re okay.” His voice catches. “Make sure they know I didn’t abandon them and that I love them.”
Her hand goes to her mouth as the tears continue to leak, but she manages to nod.
“Thank you,” he says, then leads the way out of the bathroom and through his very cool living room, with the Tom Blake surfboard, out the door to his car.
When they reach it, he turns to her and says, “He’s a good man.”
“He’s trying to arrest you.”
“He’s doing what he believes is right.”
“But it’s not.”
“Who’s to say?”
“Dickie—”
“Dee, he believes in something and is willing to sacrifice for it.”
She takes a shuddering breath. “Everyone I love gets destroyed.”
“The opposite.”
She looks up through her teary lashes. She has the prettiest eyes, and looking at them, he realizes they’re the exact color of the ocean when you first jump on your board and can look through the water and still see the sand.
“You saved me,” he says. “More than once, you saved me.”
A car pulls onto the street, startling them. It’s a false alarm, only a minivan on its way to a driveway a few houses away but warning enough for them to finish their goodbye. He hugs her tight then climbs in his car and, eyes on the rearview mirror, drives away, watching his sister, his house, and his dog until the road turns and they disappear from sight.
* * *
Dick knew this day was coming. He just didn’t think it would come so soon.
As he drives to Anaheim Hills, he thinks about all the things he still wanted to do. Mostly he thinks about the kids and the time he is going to miss with them, and he tries not to feel sorry for himself, but finds it impossible.
It’s nearly nine when he pulls to a stop beside Ingall’s estate. With barely a thought, he climbs from the car and turns the second gas main back on, then drives back the way he came.