“How do you suppose that happened?”
One of her shoulders moved. “School’s hard.”
“Life is hard.” When she rolled her eyes, my jaw clenched. “That doesn’t mean you get to use that as an excuse to go from the honor roll to barely passing.”
“Whatever you say,” she muttered. “You’re the expert on winning at life.”
Rising from her bed, I forced myself to take a breath before replying. “I’m not going to let you throw your life away,” I said as I turned to leave her alone with her drawing.
The scratch of her charcoal silenced. “You can’t fix something until you know what’s broken.”
Her words stopped me when I was stepping out the door. “That’s true . . .”
Her charcoal went back into motion. “Close the door when you leave.”
Doing as requested, I closed the door, not knowing if it was the right decision or not. Something was askew, but I didn’t know the extent of the situation. Was it a troublesome teenage phase? Hormone-driven angst? Or something deeper? With the way she viewed me as the enemy, I wasn’t sure I would ever know.
The energetic child who’d wanted my endless attention when I had so little to spare had grown into a young woman who seemed to want nothing of me, least of all my attention.
As a distraction from the pain of regret, I powered up my laptop after changing into some leggings and an old sweatshirt of Noah’s. I studied Skovil’s case file for the thousandth time, wondering if there was anything I could pinpoint to confirm or deny a homicide—a plausible suspect to lead the investigation with or a note in the psych eval mentioning suicidal tendencies. It was pointless, of course. I knew the ins and outs of Skovil’s case, being fresh from the trial.
When I reached the section detailing victim accounts, I closed my laptop and headed for the front door. The victim accounts from all of the cases I’d worked were seared into my memory—I’d die with those images and details tucked inside me.
It had been months since I’d gone on a walk. Setting aside the time to do so was a luxury I rarely had. But tonight, I knew better than to convince myself I could fall asleep, despite going on my twentieth hour awake. Fresh air seemed like a good idea, and physical activity was something my GP had been encouraging me to place a priority on for years.
The late September air was crisp, hinting at the promise of rain. The glow of porch lights was diffused by the faint hint of fog settling into the neighborhood. Given this perspective, it felt like I was seeing everything for the first time. Something that looked one way in the light could appear entirely different when cast in darkness.
I was nearly to the main gate that stood as a stalwart sentential for the hundred odd houses tucked inside when it opened, a pair of headlights cutting through the advancing fog. It was impossible to identify the car until it was pulling up to the curb beside me. The window whirred down.
“Grace? What are you doing out here?” Noah leaned across the passenger seat, the skin between his brows drawn.
“Taking a walk.” My shoulders moved beneath the oversized sweatshirt. “I’ll start heading back in a bit.”
Noah opened the passenger door. “Get in the car.” His voice was firm to match his expression. “It’s not safe out here by yourself at night.”
I made a point of staring up and down the empty sidewalk, hiding my smile. “We live in a gated community in one of the wealthiest suburbs in the area.”
He leaned back into his seat, waiting. “Given both of our lines of work, we know better than to think a person is safe no matter their surroundings.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, turning back down the sidewalk. “I picked up some dinner for you. It’s in the fridge. I’ll be back in a half hour or so . . . in case you want to talk?”
What had transpired over the weekend hung heavy in my mind, though I wasn’t sure if it did with him. I wanted to talk about it, about what was happening with us, but I wasn’t sure I knew the words to frame it. I wasn’t sure the words we spoke to each other had the same meaning they once had.
He turned off the car, then pushed open the driver’s door.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Walking.” His eyes met mine as he stepped onto the sidewalk beside me. “Unless you prefer to be alone?”
I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. “Company sounds nice.”
The sharp rap of Noah’s dress shoes joined the muffled padding of my sneakers as we continued down the road, bending at the street just before the gate. Neither of us said anything, and the reminder of what comfortable silence felt like caused my chest to tighten. Noah and I were no longer capable of that kind of quiet in each other’s presence.
“Do I seem happy to you?” I asked after a minute.
His head tipped in my direction. “You don’t seem unhappy.”
My hands twisted inside the large pocket of the sweatshirt. “Are you happy?”
His head tipped back as he inspected the starless night sky. “I’m not unhappy.”
“And you’re content with this? Not unhappy, but not definitively happy either?”
“I’m not sure I care to build my life with happiness at the core. I guess I believe there are more important things to attain in life than mere pleasure.”
“Things like what?” I pressed.
Noah watched the fog thickening in front of us. “Things like fulfilling a purpose in life. Meeting a need. Being a force for positive change. Happiness . . .” His head shook. “It’s too damn selfish and superficial. Could you imagine the world we’d create if all eight billion of us lived each day with happiness as the sole marker? We’d implode in the span of a single generation.”
My face pulled together in consideration. “You’re right.” The words were soft, fading into the night. “I’m not sure if that’s more reassuring or daunting.”
“More daunting.” Noah came around the other side of me when a dog barked at us from the yard we were passing. “Happiness is easy—you only have to consider yourself. With purpose, you must consider the rest.”
“And is that why you do what you do? Spend so much time trying to help others?”
“Trying to help?” I could feel him watching me from the side.
“You know as well as I do that the men you counsel rarely, if ever, become cured.” My hands twisted inside the large sweatshirt pocket. “That isn’t a demerit to your skill as a psychiatrist, but one to their depth of depravity.”
“You’re right. There is no way to cure a person of that kind of affliction.” Noah watched the yard with the dog, his shoulders tensed as though he were expecting a confrontation. “But there are ways to ensure they don’t indulge their drives. There are tools, principles that safeguard society from future offenses.”
The passion in his voice, the glint in his eyes when he talked about his profession—I envied him that. My own passion had withered years ago.
“Yet the endless cases that wind up in my department every month prove otherwise.” I checked his reaction. “If men like that could be prevented from reoffending, I would switch to your side of this battle.”