After
Gretchen
Bruce was gone for more than thirty minutes.
Longer than he’d suggested it would take, leaving plenty of time for Gretchen’s stomach to twist into a rock-hard knot.
She needed Scotty to get down there. He was the criminal attorney and one of Richard’s best friends.
He was the only person Gretchen could really trust to manage this situation.
Gretchen could have gone to their apartment, could have demanded that the doorman ring up until she woke them.
But that would have meant leaving the police station, and Gretchen felt sure that her mere presence was keeping the police in check.
The devoted wife, so sure of her husband’s innocence—it had to be giving them at least a little pause.
The whole idea that Richard could have hurt someone, much less killed them, was absurd.
Despite his size, Richard was not an aggressive person.
Perhaps it was even because of his size and physical confidence that he was so gentle.
He didn’t need to use force, because he intimidated people at first sight.
Besides, Richard was determined to be nothing like his own brutal father.
He was kind and good and sweet—almost to a fault.
* * *
The cross-country road trip the summer before senior year had been Richard’s idea.
Gretchen hadn’t really been on board. All those hours in Richard’s rattling old Chevy?
It was honestly the last thing she wanted to do, especially given that her parents had offered to send them to Paris all expenses paid, or at least Gretchen.
They could have paid for the other half themselves.
But Richard and his romantic notions! Richard and his pride!
He didn’t want Gretchen’s parents paying for anything.
He thought that all the two of them needed was the open road and their love, and who was Gretchen to argue when she adored Richard for appreciating the simple things in life?
For being utterly without pretense? Being with Richard had cracked open the surface of the world, revealing all kinds of wild magic that Gretchen had never experienced before.
With him, she’d gotten high, lying in a damp pasture without even a blanket, staring up at the stars while listening to an owl hoot.
Richard claimed he was singing to his mate, which made Gretchen laugh hysterically.
(She was very high.) He taught her how to play the drums, and they’d drive around the twisty back roads of New Hampshire for hours singing to the radio—very, very badly.
Both of them. She stopped wearing makeup altogether and yet felt more beautiful than she ever had.
Gretchen had never felt so completely at ease around someone, either.
She’d never felt so fully herself, period.
Being with Richard had cleared a path for her to find the person she was meant to be.
With him she didn’t have to pretend to be sweet or demure or feminine.
She didn’t need to remember to smile all the time or to always be pretty.
Richard loved her whether she was smiling or not.
When her hair was a ratty mess. And he really did seem to find everything she said fascinating.
He was always saying she was the smartest person he knew.
When he wrapped his arms around her, she felt truly safe for the first time in her life.
Safe, but never weak. Somehow, Richard always made Gretchen feel both protected and strong at the same time.
Brooks had once gently suggested that Gretchen was only with Richard as some kind of rebellion against her parents.
And he had (in an uncharacteristically uncharitable moment) pointed out that in spite of Richard’s sketchbooks full of still lifes, he wasn’t a real artist: That fall, he was starting a job in investment banking, like so many of the rest of the boys (and some girls) from their graduating class.
But Gretchen knew it was for her sake that Richard had given up on the idea of working at a museum or gallery.
Brooks could get that way, a little jealous.
The reality was that love changed even the closest friendships.
And between her and Richard, it was love. True love. Plain and simple.
The road trip had taken a dark turn one day when Gretchen was in a booth alone at a truck stop while Richard went to the bathroom.
A filthy-looking man with a ratty beard and stains on his shirt slid right in across from her like he belonged there.
And then he—well, Gretchen still didn’t like thinking about the things he’d said.
Disgusting, sexual things. Things he wanted her to do to him.
She’d never repeat them to anyone. And then he licked his revolting lips.
When Richard returned a minute later, she’d been looking forward to him wiping the smirk off the vile man’s face.
And yet, “I think you’re in my seat, friend,” was all he’d said, at which point the guy grunted and went on his way.
Him leaving was, of course, the point. But Gretchen couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
Friend? Classic Richard, really. Everyone was a friend.
So where did that leave Gretchen, when she was supposed to matter the most?
“You could have done something more,” she complained. Like break most of the bones in his face, she’d been thinking.
“Why? To prove that I can?” Richard said with a shrug, seeming genuinely confused. “I think it was pretty obvious.”
“Some women like it when a man makes them feel protected.”
But that wasn’t even what Gretchen meant, was it? Because she did feel safe. She always did. Special—she wanted to feel special. Sometimes she worried that her need to feel singled out from every other girl in the world was a hole that even Richard could never fill.
Richard gestured. “He’s gone. Isn’t that the important thing?”
“Yes, well…”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe in doing things for appearance’s sake—getting angry, making a scene.
I thought you liked that about me.” He’d seemed so ashamed then, and Gretchen had felt awful.
She did like that about him—it was a refreshing change from her father, whose drunken rages were blunted only by the fact that he routinely passed out mid-eruption.
“I love that about you,” she’d said, grabbing his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry.”
Richard’s own father had been like hers, except his rages had often ended with Richard’s face black and blue. And here she was, asking him to be like that?
On the way back to the car, they’d seen the man again in the parking lot, leaning against his beat-up truck, drinking a beer out of a paper bag.
He whistled at Gretchen as they passed, like she was a dog.
She bristled a little but had every intention of getting back in the car and driving away as if it had never happened.
She still felt so bad that she’d challenged the very quality that made Richard who he was.
But before she knew what was happening, Richard pulled away and had the man by the throat. He’d lifted him off the ground, the man struggling and grunting. With one hand Richard was squeezing the life out of him.
“Richard!” she’d shouted, and finally, finally, he let the man go. The guy was coughing and retching once he was free, so drunk he probably wouldn’t remember a thing.
But the look on Richard’s face was something Gretchen would never forget—deathly, deadly cold. Like he could have killed the man.
* * *
Finally, the door opened, and Bruce emerged from a room down the hallway. Richard was nowhere in sight. Gretchen suddenly found it impossible to breathe. Things were very bad—worse even than she’d imagined. She could tell from the look on Bruce’s face.
It took an eternity for Bruce to reach her. When he did, he just shook his head and frowned.
“What is it?” Gretchen pressed a hand flat against her belly.
“Richard’s been arrested for the murder of this Frankie Callahan person.”
“No!” Gretchen shouted, and too loud. She knew it was too loud. “How did you let that happen, Bruce?”
“Come on,” Bruce said through clenched teeth, then grabbed her by the arm. “It’s better if we talk outside.”
Gretchen wrenched free of Bruce’s sweaty grasp. How dare he patronize her. This was exactly why she didn’t like him. “I’m not leaving here without Richard.”
“We absolutely should not talk in here,” Bruce said more firmly. And this time it didn’t even sound especially condescending, which was—it turned out—far worse. “It won’t be good for Richard.”
Reluctantly, Gretchen followed Bruce outside, feeling slightly dizzy.
The sun had just barely risen, the light thin and gray.
They crossed the street and stopped on a quiet stretch of sidewalk a block away.
“Okay,” Bruce said finally, looking around and seeming satisfied that the coast was clear. “They have a witness.”
“What?” Gretchen shouted so loudly this time it made something in her neck pop. “That’s not possible!”
“Shh, shh!” Bruce scolded, glancing back toward the police station. He raised his palms, and Gretchen had to resist the urge to bite his big fat thumb. “You need to lower your voice.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. This doesn’t make any sense.” Gretchen stepped closer to him, heart beating wildly. “You need to tell me everything! Right this second!”
“Gretchen, please!” Bruce shouted back, visibly alarmed by Gretchen’s emotional display. “Listen, I don’t know the details. They said they have a witness, that’s all. Also, apparently Richard made some incriminating statements.”
“What statements!” She was still shouting. She couldn’t help it. This was spiraling so quickly.
“Come on, breathe,” Bruce said, still with his palms up. Like she was a toddler. He was exactly like her father. She imagined her teeth sinking into the side of his hand now. She could almost taste the blood.