The Dry

“It’s good to see you again, Aaron.” Her blue eyes wandered over his face as though trying to memorize it and she smiled a little sadly. “Maybe see you in another twenty years.”

It would have been easy to miss, but when Falk thought about it afterwards, he felt sure. In the corner of his vision, Mrs. Sullivan had jerked her pale gaze up in surprise. She’d stared at her grandson for barely half a moment before casting her eyes back down. Falk had watched closely, but she didn’t look up again once.

“You’re a closed book,” she’d said one final time before she’d left. She’d said it a lot over the two years they’d been together. First intrigued, then concerned, finally accusing. Why couldn’t he let her in? Why wouldn’t he let her in? Did he not trust her? Or did he not love her enough?

“I’m trying to keep Kiewarra safe for our kids. Is that too much to ask? Haven’t things been bad enough? I know you didn’t have much time for Karen, but you could at least show some respect, Gretchen.”

“But seems it’d be better all round if you and I stuck to shooting rabbits together, don’t you reckon?”

‘You know what I mean, Aaron,’ she said. ‘You were there. You saw exactly the same things I did. How weird she was in those last few weeks. When she actually spent any time with us, that is. She was hardly around. She was always working at that crappy job, or—well, I don’t know what. Not hanging around with us anyway. And she’d completely stopped drinking, do you remember? She said it was to lose weight, but with the benefit of hindsight that sounds like bullshit.”

Falk leaned over him, ignoring the dog as it bared its teeth. He stood over an ill man lying on the ground. Later he would hate himself for it. At that moment, he didn’t care.

The tiny pink face, dark hair and chubby wrist peeked out from the folds of a blue blanket in his arms. Luke held the child comfortably, closely. Paternally.