You don’t deserve them. You’re an asshole who doesn’t deserve them and that’s why they’re there and you’re sitting here …
Behr was in his car across the street from Susan’s place watching her get Trevor out of his car seat. He didn’t care much about being spotted, so he didn’t bother parking out of sight, and when Susan turned she saw him. Her hands full with the baby and plastic shopping bags, she kicked the car door shut and marched right toward him.
“What are you doing?” she said when he’d lowered the window.
“Just wanted to see him. You. But wanted to respect your wishes—”
“You’re weirding me out, Frank,” she said. Then she pointed Trevor toward him. “Okay, say hi, Trev, say hi to Daddy.”
Behr smiled despite himself when he saw his boy.
“How you doing, buddy?” he asked.
“He’s doing fine now,” Susan said, “just going to day care and being with me. Not chasing murderers.”
“I said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m sorry,” Behr said.
“Good,” she said. “And now you’ve seen him, so you can go.” Susan turned and walked away, leaving him sitting there.