I have to be the worst blogger in the history of blogdom. Not sure that’s a word, it probably will be eventually. I know it’s weeks and weeks in between posts. I also know that’s no way to get a following. I promise to try my darndest to do better now that the school year is winding down. I am happy to say I have made some actual, meaningful progress on my work-in-progress. I even have enough to share an excerpt. In this, Dee finds the danger of Harry’s job–as well as Otis’–is a little more real than she bargained for. I look forward to your comments:

Ambulances took both Clingertons away, and Autumn Black and two other people I didn’t recognize were led in handcuffs to three state cars before Otis’ ambulance arrived. They let me ride with Otis. As we pulled away, I remembered to check my phone. Three texts from Dee. I didn’t want to read them. But I knew I needed to.

–Sorry, Mister Man, just got out. Everything ok?

–Hello? Answer, please.

–HARRY? WHERE ARE YOU?!

I grimaced and started typing.

–I’m okay. Can I call?

–What’s wrong?

–I’ll call.

She picked up on the first ring. “What’s wrong? Is that an ambulance siren? You got shot, didn’t you?”

“Dee, I’m fine. I did not get shot.”

She was silent for a few seconds. “Oh, no, please no.”

Otis lifted his head. “I’m fine! Just a flesh wound.”

Dee drew in a ragged breath. “Is he really okay?”

“He will be. It’s more than a flesh wound, but it’s a clean through and through on the shoulder. No vital organs. He’ll need surgery and a few units of blood.”

“How could you let him get shot?”

“But—what—you said I couldn’t get out of the car!”

“He’s your best friend. You let him get shot.”

“He’s a cop. And you made me stay in the car.”

She sobbed softly. “I know. I’m sorry. I swear, I can’t take this. Can he talk?”

“You talk?”

He nodded. I put the phone to his ear. He gave me some side eye and took it from me with his good hand. “Hey Dee. How are you…I’m good…I promise…no, there’s no need for that…ok…love you too, bye.”

He handed me the phone back. “She wants to talk to you again.”

“Hi.”

“Where are they taking him?”

I looked at the EMT, who was fiddling with Otis’ IV. “Marietta Memorial?”

He shook his head. “Camden is closer.”

“You hear that?”

“I’ll meet you there. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Pretty sure she’d already hung up before I said it.

As we pulled into the ER bay, she stepped out of her car, which was parked across the alley in the overflow lot, dashing across the street under the railroad trestle. I flinched toward her as she stepped past one of the foundations into the path of an approaching car, but without even looking toward it, she held out her hand, as if that’s all it took to stop three thousand pounds of moving steel and rubber. To my relief, it apparently was, though not without a considerable amount of brake screeching, horn honking, angry cursing, and bird flying. She waved at the car as if the driver had let her go voluntarily and she was thanking him.

“Is he okay?” She took his hand as they were wheeling him inside. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll have a cool scar.”

I followed the gurney inside. “Actually, you’ll have two.”

Otis laughed. “I’ll be one ahead of you, technically.”

Dee huffed. “This is nothing to joke around about. He could have died.” She looked over her shoulder toward me. “You could have died. How are you so cavalier about this?”

I put my hand on her shoulder, but let go when I felt her stiffen. “We’re not cavalier, Dee.”

“Then what do you call it?”

We got to a door we couldn’t pass with him. Dee let go and we were left in awkward silence. I tried to say something, but was at a loss, so I held out my hand. She looked at it, sighed, and took it. She hit a big square button, which opened a double door leading out to the waiting room. The guy at the desk took our names and told us he’d let us know when there was any news. We went to the corner opposite the only other person in the room, an older guy dozing in front of a television. He was kind of pear-shaped with a salt-and-pepper goatee and no hair. Based on his breathing, he was in a deep sleep. We chose seats on either side of a table covered in ancient periodicals. Dee flopped into her seat and buried her face in her hands. I put my hand on her knee, but she didn’t respond, staying frozen in that position. It finally occurred to me she was praying, so I bowed my head and joined her.

My prayer complete, I lifted my head. Dee was still unmoved, so I picked up a well-fingered copy of a fishing magazine and absently began flipping through it, not actually reading anything on any of the pages. Eventually, I got to the end and dropped it on the pile, but it slid off onto the floor. Bending down to retrieve it, I was slightly startled to meet her eyes.

Her lips were pursed. “Well?”

“Umm, well what?”

“What do you call it?”

It took me a second to catch up. “I don’t know. A defense mechanism?”

She rolled her eyes. “Defense against what?”

I picked at a thread on my coat. “Against thinking too much.”

“Thinking about what?”

“About how dangerous what we do can be.”

She pulled her legs onto her seat and wrapped her arms around them. “You should be thinking about it, don’t you think?”

“Of course, I have to be aware of it, but if we think about it too much, we couldn’t keep doing it. Nobody could. If I dwell on the idea I might get shot or hit or whatever, I’d freeze up. It’s part of the job you have to learn to put in a box and keep the lid closed tight or you’ll crack up.”

“What about me? Am I supposed to put it in a box? What if I don’t have a box? What if the lid won’t stay on?”

I shrugged and held out my hands to my sides, palms up. “I…I don’t have a good answer. I mean, and I don’t want to sound callous, but did you not know this was a reality in my job, in Otis’ job?”

“So why do it?”

“Because somebody has to.”

“But why you?”

“Because we’re good at it. And because it’s part of us. It’s baked in. Bad people are predators who prey on good people, people who can’t defend themselves. I defend them.”

“Can’t you do that in a way that doesn’t involve guns and knives and fists?”

“How?”

“Be a lawyer.”

I leaned back in my seat. “Ask Fred Gailey how that worked out.”

She let her legs loose and stomped both feet on the floor. “That is not funny!”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Then why are you joking about it?”

“I’m not! I’m dead serious. This world isn’t safe. Good people get hurt and killed by bad people every single day. You think my choosing a different profession guarantees my safety?”

“Random violence is one thing, but you see danger and you run toward it.”

“Exactly. And that’s part of what you fell in love with.”

“Well, I don’t know if I fully understood that.”

“I shot a man who was trying to shoot me just a few months ago. I bought you a gun for Christmas. We’ve talked about the danger of this job. You were okay with it, or you said you were. How is it different now?”

“I don’t know.” She bolted up out of her seat. “This is too real. I need to think. I need time.”