Thatline of thinking would have him sitting in the car forever. He packed it away with all the other shit he dealt with at work, gathered up his stuff, and headed inside.
Hannah greeted him with a smile but read his face and could tell instantly that something was wrong.
“Tough day at the office?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
“Why don’t you go change, and then if you feel like talking about it, I’ll be here.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled, heading off to his room. He’d never had anyone waiting at home to talk to about this kind of stuff. Usually, he talked to his coworkers and then got over it himself, sometimes with a couple of beers. He’d be fine in a day or so. Death was a part of the job, and even though it was inevitable for everyone, seeing it and dealing with it repeatedly took its toll.
He hung his gun belt on a hook he’d installed specifically to hold it and neatly hung his uniform in the closet. He took off his undershirt and ripped the Velcro straps of his bulletproof vest, breathing deeply once the pressure was relieved. Finally, he stripped off his tank top and, thirty pounds lighter, headed to the shower.
When he returned to the kitchen, he was already feeling better. Hannah had made spaghetti, and the garlic bread that went with it smelled delicious.
He hadn’t planned to mention the accident, but found himself spilling his guts over noodles and meatballs.
“Today was different. I mean, I’ve seen dead bodies before. Lots of them actually—people in pieces, burnt beyond recognition, splattered after a jump off a bridge, decapitated, you name it. But this guy…Hannah, he looked exactly like me. It was a very weird feeling.”
He noticed she’d stopped eating at his mention of the accident. Perhaps he should tone down the gory details. “I’m sorry. We’re eating, and I’m talking about horrible stuff.”
“No, that’s okay. If it helps you cope with it, I’m fine. I’m sorry you have to deal with that kind of stuff. It must be difficult.”
“He had a wife and a little boy, probably about one-year-old. She was devastated. Obviously.”
“You had to tell her?”
“Yeah. Death notifications are hands-down the worst part of the job.”
She put her hand over his and squeezed. “I’m sorry,” she said simply.
He nodded and changed the subject to her day. Thankfully, she realized he was done talking about it and didn’t push. She let go of his hand with a final squeeze and smoothly transitioned into what she had done that day.
“So, something weird but good happened today,” she said, picking up her fork again. “I wouldn’t call it having a memory come back per se, but, well, it was like information just sort of showed up in my brain. I don’t remember being at a specific lecture or reading the text the knowledge must have come from, just that all of a sudden I knew the material.”
“That’s awesome,” he said, smiling around a mouth full of pasta. The noodles were undercooked, and the sauce was watery, but it was edible, and he hadn’t had to make it, so he dug in with gusto. “Thanks for making dinner.”
“You’re welcome.” She laughed. “It won’t hurt my feelings if you want to order a pizza. I know I’m no prize in the kitchen, but I’m trying. I baked cookies for dessert, though, and those turned out divine. Clearly, that’s my forte!”
After choking down as much spaghetti as he could and then gorging on cookies, Jake put away the leftovers and cleaned the kitchen. Seemed fair since she’d made dinner.
“I know it sounds lame, but my brain is fried. I’m gonna hit the sack early. You okay alone?”
“Of course. I’m sorry about your bad day,” she said, reaching out to hug him. “Good night, Jake.”
Lying in bed, he couldn’t help but wonder if he should take today as some sort of sign from above. Bradley DeWitt passed away today, leaving his wife and child behind. Jake’s profession was a risky one, and the possibility of him doing the same to any future family was real. He’d thought of this before. It actually played into his decision to never commit to anyone. But he’d been thinking more and more lately that the one-and-done sex thing was getting old. Especially after having Hannah around for the week, he was warming to the idea of coming home to someone.
Hannah had been sensitive, but not overly so, and seemed to take the gory details in stride. No tears, no being grossed out, no advice trying to tell him how to cope. Some guys he knew could talk to their wives about anything—dead bodies, hurt children, horrible crimes, but other guys had to keep it all inside because their wives couldn’t deal with it.
It surprised him that even just the brief conversation with Hannah had helped. Usually, he relied on his coworkers, or sometimes Sam in a pinch, to vent to. He’d rehashed it with his buddies at work that afternoon, but troopers all had a protective layer about them that made it impossible to get too deep intoactualfeelings. They stuck to the superficial stuff only. Some used a sick sense of humor as a protective measure. It was morbid, but a way to cope.
What he hadn’t mentioned to Hannah was his empathy for the baby. Jake knew what it was like to grow up without a dad—it sucked. Maybe the kid’s mom would remarry, and some other guy would fill the void, but never knowing his father would always affect him a little. Then again, it was possible Jake was just transferring his feelings and projecting his own insecurities onto the poor kid.
He finally fell asleep thinking of Hannah’s hug at the end of the night—soft and tender. That hadn’t been so bad. Maybe even something he could get used to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Friday, Jake slept in and then helped Dirk with some fence-mending. Hannah only had one class, so he drove her to the light rail station and then killed time in town while she attended class. They stopped by Hannah’s apartment to do a thorough search for any clues that would lead to the whereabouts of the down payment money, but they came up empty-handed. Hannah was hoping she’d kept a journal or something similar, but found no signs of that, either. They packed up some warm weather clothes, picked up takeout for dinner, and headed back to the farm.
