Page 55 of Manner of Death

Oh, that was definitely true. Given how news traveled in this town, especially news in the force, that meant he needed to get going. He opened his eyes and looked at Bashir, who was staring back at him with a furrowed brow. “Can you help me up?”

“Of course.” Bashir took Sawyer’s hands and lifted him back up to his feet. “Do you want me to drive you? Or you can borrow Carlos. I believe he owes you one.”

Sawyer shook his head. He didn’t want to come back here to get his car after everything was said and done. He might never want to come back to this park again. “I can do it.”

“Safely?” Bashir pressed.

Sawyer glared at him. “I wouldn’t be on the road if I wasn’t safe. I’m not a—” drunk like Kurt, who might have been a detective but sure as hell wasn’t a safe driver. “I’ll be fine, I promise,” Sawyer said instead, and Bashir nodded.

“I’ll walk you down.”

Sawyer wanted to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but given the way he was feeling it honestly did seem like a good idea right now. He and Bashir walked down to the parking lot together, ignoring stares from incoming hikers and some very pettable dogs. When they got to Sawyer’s car, he pulled out his keys and just stared at them for a moment.

It was only ten minutes to Kurt’s house from here. Should he call Molly and give her a heads-up? Should he surprise her? Should he…

“Sawyer.”

“I’m fine.” He grimaced. “I mean, I’m not, but I can drive. I’m just wondering whether or not to call ahead.”

Bashir nodded. “I think this sort of thing is best delivered in person. I hate that I had to tell you over the phone.”

“Okay.” Okay, then that was what he’d do. Which meant it was time for him to go and, well, do it.

Fuck.

“I have to go.”

Bashir paused, then clasped Sawyer’s hand in both of his. “You have to go,” he agreed. “I know it’s going to be hard, but you can do this. But later, if you want to talk…I’ll listen.”

Listen to what? To Sawyer talk about how awful this was? It wasn’t as though Bashir didn’t already know. That would just be boring for him, awful and clingy and repetitive. Still, the offer was meant well. “Thanks.” Sawyer pulled away and got into his car, busied himself with buckling up and backing out, then drove away on autopilot. Careful autopilot.

Sawyer knew how to perform grief. He knew how to look sad for himself, sad for other people, sad about pets and relationships and the world. He wasn’t nearly so good at feeling grief—at letting it writhe around inside him for as long as it needed to get the worst of its bite out.

The last time he’d felt sadness like this, his mother had been abducted by a stalker fan. For three brutal days Sawyer had lived with grief, fear, and anger, ignored by his frantic father and his weepy sister. Then his mother had come back, but the feelings hadn’t gone away. If anything, seeing her in the aftermath, how she’d changed, they’d raged more than ever.

No, his personal experience with grief was the worst compass right now. He needed to think clearly, for Molly’s sake. What would make this easiest for her? Did she need straightforward and earnest? Factual and reserved? Gentle and comforting? Did she need a shoulder to cry on, or would she rather he leave as soon as he told her what had happened so she could lean on her family?

Sawyer pulled up to Kurt and Molly’s house before he was able to settle on an answer. He’d have to play it by ear, then. He inhaled deeply, way down into his core, working to settle himself the way his acting coach had trained him to.

Blow out fear, blow out nerves, blow out reservations. You can do this.

You don’t have a choice.

Sawyer got out and walked up the flagstone path to the ramp that had been installed over the steps leading up to their front door. There was a sign taped over the doorbell—DO NOT RING! He knocked instead, fast, before he could let himself prevaricate. A few seconds later he heard footsteps, and then—

“Are you here about that bastard?” a heavyset blonde woman in an oversized purple sweatshirt demanded, one hand on her hip.

“Callie,” Molly called out from deeper inside the house.

“This looks like one of his cop friends,” Callie replied, her eyes narrowing. “You’d better be here to tell us you threw that drunk son of a bitch in a cell this time. He needs to sober up and start thinking straight, that—”

“Will you stop it?” another woman snapped as she came up behind the blonde. She had grayish-brown hair and shared too many facial features with Kurt to be beautiful, but wore a flattering dress and a pair of heels, even inside. “He’s having a hard enough time without you swearing at him constantly.”

“I’m not swearing at him, I’m swearing at this guy!”

“Sawyer?” That was Molly again. “Honey, if that’s you, please come inside.”

Sawyer stepped into the foyer, automatically taking off his shoes and pushing them to the side of the door. He ignored the other ladies’ bickering and went into the living room, where Molly was sitting in her recliner. Her walker, with her portable oxygen tank, was pushed off to the side, and she had a cup of tea in her hand that was still steaming.