The first time, I had much more to lose.
"What are you doing?"
My head pops through the turtleneck to find Caleb standing in the bedroom. "What does it look like I'm doing?" I button my jeans. Stuff my feet into my clogs.
"Patrick got you out of bed," he says, and there is a note in his voice that strikes off-chord.
"Patrick gave me information that got me out of bed," I correct. I try to move around Caleb, but he blocks my exit. "Please. I have to go somewhere."
"Nina, you're not going anywhere. The bracelet."
I look at my husband's face. There are lines on his brow I cannot remember seeing; with no small shock I realize I have put them there.
I owe him this.
So I put my hand on his arm, lead him to the bed, have him sit beside me on the edge. "Patrick found the name of the bone marrow donor. He's the priest that came to visit St. Anne's this October. The one with the cat. His name is Arthur Gwynne, and he works at a church in Belle Chasse, Louisiana."
Caleb's face goes pale. "Why . . . why are you telling me this?"
Because the first time, I acted alone, when I should have at least told you my plans. Because when they ask you in court, you will not have to testify. "Because," I say, "it's not finished yet."
He reels back. "Nina. No." I get up, but he catches my wrist, pulls me up close to his face. My arm, twisted, hurts. "What are you gonna do? Break your house arrest to go kill another priest? One life sentence isn't enough for you? "
"They have the death penalty in Louisiana," I shoot back.
My response is a guillotine, severing us. Caleb releases me so quickly I stumble and fall onto the floor. "Is that what you want?" he asks quietly. "Are you that selfish?"
"Selfish?" By now I am crying, hard. "I'm doing this for our son."
"You're doing this for yourself, Nina. If you were thinking of Nathaniel, even a little, you'd concentrate on being his mother. You'd get out of bed and get on with your life and let the legal system deal with Gwynne."
"The legal system. You want me to wait for the courts to get around to charging this bastard? While he rapes ten, twenty other children? And then wait some more while the governors of our states fight over who gets the honor of holding his trial? And then wait again while Nathaniel testifies against the son of a bitch? And watch Gwynne get a sentence that ends before our son even stops having nightmares about what was done to him?" I draw in a long, shaky breath. "There's your legal system, Caleb. Is it worth waiting for?"
When he doesn't answer, I get to my feet. "I'm already going to prison for killing a man. I don't have a life anymore. But Nathaniel can."
"You want your son to grow up without you?" Caleb's voice breaks. "Let me save you the trouble."
Standing abruptly, he leaves the bedroom, calling Nathaniel's name. "Hey, buddy," I hear him say.
"We're going on an adventure."
My hands and feet go numb. But I manage to get to Nathaniel's bedroom, and find Caleb haphazardly stuffing clothes into a Batman knapsack. "What . . . what are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Caleb replies, an echo of my own earlier words.
Nathaniel jumps up and down on his bed. His hair flies to the sides like silk. "You can't take him away from me."
Caleb zips shut the bag. "Why not? You were willing to take yourself away from him." He turns to Nathaniel, forces a smile. "You ready?" he asks, and Nathaniel leaps into his outstretched arm.
"Bye, Mommy!" he crows. "We're on an adventure!"
"I know." Smiling is hard, with this knot in my throat. "I heard."
Caleb carries him past me. There is the thunder of footsteps on the stairs, and the definitive slam of a door. The engine of Caleb's truck, revving and reversing down the driveway. Then it is so quiet I can hear my own misgivings, small susurrations in the air around me.
I sink onto Nathaniel's bed, into sheets that smell of crayons and gingerbread. The fact of the matter is, I cannot leave this house. The moment I do, police cars will come screaming up behind me. I will be arrested before I ever board a plane.
Caleb has succeeded; he's stopped me from doing what I so badly want to.
