Chapter 32
Jack showered, allowing the steaming water to cascade down his face until he was sober enough to think straight.
Afterward, he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He opened the bathroom door that led to his and Corrine’s bedroom and sat on the edge of the king-size bed, which he rarely shared with Corrine.
When he wasn’t in Heaven’s arms, he usually slept on the couch or in his La-Z-Boy.
Corrine was still up in the boys’ room. She was probably telling them how horrible Jack was and scheming to leave him. He would almost respect her if she did.
With the haze of the alcohol starting to lift, clarity crept back in.
It all sounded valiant in Jack’s head. He imagined the headline in the police union’s newsletter: “Hero Cop Defends His Career, Name, and Reputation.” The conservative news media would eat it up.
There wouldn’t be a chance in hell of his being railroaded by the rainbow coalition and kumbaya crowd, who loved demonizing hardworking cops and hated traditional American policing, which meant taking a hard stand against all crimes, no matter how small.
Chicago was a dangerous cesspool no matter who was in the White House, and the country needed to be reminded of the hell that cops went through having to police places like it, Detroit, New York, Los Angeles…
He stood up, walked to the closet, and reached for a shoebox on a high shelf. Inside, wrapped in an old rag, was Hollis Montrose’s wallet. “What are you doing?” Corrine asked, standing in the doorway.
Jack scrambled with the wallet and box and shoved it all back on the shelf. “Didn’t think you’d come back down.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” she said, suspiciously eyeing the shoebox.
“So, what do you want?”
“I never wanted the boys to grow up in a broken home like I did. I don’t know what happened to you. Maybe you’ve always been this way and I was too blind to see it.”
“I smelled meatloaf. Is it ready?”
“I’ll leave it on the stove for you, but it’s better if you eat it in here, away from us.”
Jack shut the closet door. “Just let the boys know I do love them.” Corrine ignored the request. “Are you going out later? The forecast is calling for heavy snow.”
“What’s it matter?”
“It doesn’t. I only want to be able to tell the boys where you are in case they ask.” She was silent for a moment, then approached her husband. Looking him in the eyes, she said, “I’m tired of hurting. Aren’t you?”
“It’s all I’ve ever known.”
“Then let this be it. Plenty of Catholics get divorced nowadays.”
“Yeah right, and have you take half my pension? Not in a million fucking years.”
Corrine sighed. She looked as if she were on the verge of tears again. “Sometimes I wish I knew what happened to the man I married.”
“That makes two of us.”