Mostly I just, like, walk away.”
“In other words, you’re hoping if you ignore the whispers, they’ll go away.”
He jerked his shoulders. “I guess.”
“Ignoring things hardly ever makes them go away, you know.”
If she’d said that, Jake would have gotten sullen. But because it was Ethan instead, he screwed up his face. “I sort of know that.”
“Well, here’s what I’d tell them instead. ‘Something really bad did happen, but I was only five. It was an accident. I never meant to hurt anybody. Five-year-olds don’t understand much. I’d give anything for it not to have happened, but I can’t go back.’”
Laura watched Jake’s lips move as he silently repeated every word. Hero worship being born, she thought ruefully. And...she couldn’t even be sorry. Ethan had been sympathetic without getting maudlin, practical and philosophically, well, not that different from where she stood.
Disturbed by the tenor of her thoughts, she reminded herself that he did carry a gun, and was fully prepared to use it at any time.
Ethan glanced down at his phone, and she realized it must have vibrated. He rose to his feet and said, “I do need to go now. Laura, will you walk me out?”
She nodded.
Neither of them said anything until they’d reached the sidewalk by his SUV.
“Maybe I should move again,” Laura said suddenly. “Tino’s two aren’t going to rush around school on Monday telling everyone Dad says he was wrong, that Marco’s death wasn’t Jake’s fault.”
“Probably not. Kids don’t want to admit they were wrong.” His forehead creased. “What are his kids’ names?”
“Names?” She blinked. “His oldest is Niccolo, although I think he goes by Nick. And the girl is Gianna. Then they had another girl...Maddalena, I think. She’d be...eight. Then the boy in kindergarten and, heck, probably at least one more if not two.”
“Does Jake lengthen?”
“You mean, is it Italian? No. His full name is Jacob. Matt’s parents were not happy. He was Matteo, you know. They blamed me, but it was all him. I’d have been fine with Rico or Roberto or something like that, but he refused. He kept saying, ‘Mama doesn’t want to admit it, but we’re American now.’”
“Huh.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I take it that Mama Vennetti did not approve of her son marrying a woman who isn’t Italian?”
“Mama did not, and she never tried to like me.” At first Laura had been hurt, then mad. She’d become a damn fine Italian cook, she’d consented to raise their children in the Catholic Church even though she herself didn’t take the sacraments, but she wasn’t good enough and never would be. She wasn’t a woman who would hover in the background, as Renata had done today. The irony was that Mama was a domineering woman who wouldn’t hang back while her husband made decisions, either. Truthfully, what Mama didn’t want was another woman in the family who would challenge her.
Ethan studied her thoughtfully. “So the setup was already in place after the shooting.”
“For Mama to reject me? Absolutely. Matt...” She had to swallow and it was a struggle to go on. “That, I never would have expected—”
She wondered if being cut off by his family had devastated her husband more than her fury and inability to forgive him. Sometimes she almost hoped so, as if that would reduce the weight of her own sins.
“Hey.” Given how hard Ethan Winter’s face could be with its stark angles and planes, he had a way of looking remarkably gentle. Even...tender. “I didn’t mean to depress you even more.”
“What’s happening with Jake tears off scabs,” she said honestly. “How can it not?”
He didn’t say anything, his eyes intent on her.
“I think you’re right,” she said in a rush. “About the gun safety class. Can you suggest someplace I can sign him up?”
She felt his subtle relaxation. “Yeah. In fact, I sometimes teach a session. Let me see what’s coming up and call you, all right?”
Laura nodded. “And...thank you. For everything you said in there.”
He smiled. “You’re welcome.”
His smiles made her feel and think things that weren’t realistic. She looked away. “What can you do about the vandals? It is scary. I work for Lehman Fine Furnishings. The family that owns it is Jewish.”
“What do you do there?” he asked.
“I manage the store. Uri Lehman started the store and hired me. He had a stroke two years ago. Neither of his kids was interested enough in the business to want to run it. So I got promoted.”
“My ex-wife dragged me in there one time. Steep prices.”
“Top quality,” Laura countered.
His grin was devastating, his eyes warm. “I’ll take your word for it. A cop’s salary does not run to an eight-thousand-dollar sofa.”
She laughed. “You didn’t see any eight-thousand-dollar sofas in my house, either. Even with an employee discount, it’s not happening.”
They smiled at each other for a moment that stretched, before he sobered.
“I’m heading out to keep canvasing neighbors. I might catch people home we haven’t been able to talk to yet.”
“Wouldn’t they have come forward if they saw anything?”
“People don’t always. Maybe they think what they saw wasn’t significant. Or they don’t read the newspaper or watch the local news and aren’t aware the vandalism at the Finkels’ wasn’t an isolated incident. So we keep trying.” His lips twisted. “Alternative is to wait until these punks strike again. The mayor doesn’t like the idea of telling callers that the police don’t have any leads to pursue and are having to wait until another attack occurs.”
“Which is really what you’re doing.”
“Afraid so.” His grunt might have been intended to be a laugh. “On that note...”
“Yes.” She stepped back, unsure how she’d come to be standing so close to him. “Good luck.”
Something moved in his eyes, but then he said only, “I’ll call,” and went around to get in behind the wheel.
Laura stood where she was and watched him drive away.
* * *
EVEN THOUGH HE had things he ought to be doing instead, once Ethan was parked in front of the Finkels’ house again, he made a call to a gun range that offered youth hunter safety classes.
He waited on hold for barely a minute for Ken Rice, the owner. When Ethan explained, Ken said, “We have one scheduled for Saturday, but it’s booked. So are the next three. We have a waiting list, Ethan.”
“If you have range time for an add-on class but no instructor, I’ll volunteer as long as I can get this kid in.”
There was a moment of silence. “And here I saw you at the press conference. You’re not tied up?”
He gave a short laugh. “I’m always tied up. But this kid...” He hesitated, but he trusted Ken. “His dad left a gun out and he shot and killed another kid when he was only five years old. He’s eleven now, and getting too interested in guns.”
“A lit fuse.”
“Maybe.”
“Okay, let me see what I can do. I’ll call you back.”
He