“It’s okay, buddy,” he said. “It’s okay.”

“This is all my fault,” Theo said.

The detective sat across from Theo, writing on a yellow legal pad. He raised his head, pushed his glasses up his nose. The guy who had yelled at Raoul for kicking dirt around in Antoinette’s driveway. The guy who had bullied Kayla. There wasn’t an ounce of emotion in the guy’s face. But that wasn’t exactly true-the detective looked interested. This was just one hell of an interesting day at work for him. Raoul narrowed his eyes.

“What’s going on?”

The detective leaned back in his chair, scratched his head with a pencil. “Theo, here, was explaining a few things.”

“Such as?”

“He admitted to ransacking Ms. Riley’s cottage. He admitted to vandalizing a work site out in Monomoy with a hatchet.” The detective paused. “You know about that? It’s your work site.”

Raoul nodded.

“Yes,” the detective said. “One of your crew called to report it. Theo also told us that Ms. Riley was in fact pregnant and that she had an appointment to get an abortion on… Tuesday, right, Theo? This coming Tuesday?”

Theo put his hands over his face. He broke into high-pitched, breathless sobs and for a minute, the men listened to the sound of Theo’s crying. Raoul closed his eyes, tightened his grip on Theo’s shoulders.

The detective cleared his throat. “Theo told us that he was against Ms. Riley getting an abortion, and he thinks she may have disappeared on purpose-to carry out her plans without any interference from him.”

“She wanted to get away from me,” Theo said. “Because she knew I would do anything to keep her from killing our baby.” Theo looked at Raoul, and Raoul remembered him vividly as a little boy. Tough, funny, afraid of nothing. When he was only a year old, he used to sit inside his toy box and row it like a dinghy. When he was learning to talk, he repeated words again and again, and one week he said nothing but “backhoe loader.” As the oldest, Theo had taught Raoul everything he knew about being a parent. He broke all the new ground. Even now.

“Theo wants us to place him under arrest,” Paul Henry said quietly. “He feels he needs to be punished.”

“I wish I were dead,” Theo said.

Raoul squeezed Theo’s shoulders. Nausea overcame him, an urgent sense of personal shame. He was going to vomit. “Is he arrested?”

“No,” Paul Henry said. “In fact, I think you should take him home right now. We’ll deal with the vandalism charges later.”

Theo started crying again. “They’re not even going to look for her, Dad. They’re not even going to try.”

“We’re looking for her, son,” Paul Henry said.

“The divers are going back out this afternoon,” the detective said.

Theo shot up. “She’s not in the water!” he said. “I know she’s not. She’s not dead and my baby is not dead!”

Raoul backed away; the other two men were quiet. Raoul studied the detective’s face. It was strained, and Raoul realized that the guy was trying to suppress a smile.

“You think this is funny?” Raoul said. “You’re looking at an eighteen-year-old kid crying over a woman who’s pregnant with his child and that amuses you?”

The detective let out a giggle, and the giggle turned into a laugh.

Paul Henry tried, but he could not contain Raoul. No, not Raoul who had woken up that morning to find that his wife had cheated on him, his son had vandalized his workplace, and the whole island thought his wife was a murderer. Raoul jumped over the table, and before he could think better of it he had the detective jacked up against the wall, his glasses half-cocked, his face blanching. Raoul held him there a minute-this was the time to say something meaningful-but Raoul had nothing to say. Raoul hit the detective as hard as he could. It was an odd, sick feeling, connecting with another human being in that way. The detective’s face gave like a piece of overripe fruit. It caved in, smashed, smooshed, soft and wet. There was blood everywhere, but before Raoul could truly appreciate the damage, and before he could pull his arm back to hit the motherfucker again, there were other officers in the room, and Raoul was facedown on the table, hands pinned behind him. There was a lot of shouting, and the cold steel of handcuffs pinching his wrists.

Raoul raised his head. Theo was standing against the wall watching the men shackle Raoul. But he wasn’t crying. He was shaking his head in disbelief, admiration even, and Raoul smiled at him. A real smile. Raoul was crazy-this wasn’t a good example for his son at all, this wasn’t the way he’d brought his children up to act. But hitting the detective had felt honest, and Raoul smiled.

Theo smiled back. Thank you, he mouthed. Thank you.

…

They put Raoul in the holding cell and let him sit there for hours, or so it seemed. Raoul vomited- finally, gratefully-into the toilet. The blasted cream horn. He lay down on the cot and drifted in and out of consciousness. In his mind he hit the detective over and over again. He wondered what would happen to him. Would he have to go to court? Probably. The prick detective would press charges; Raoul’s name would be smeared across the police blotter of the Inquirer and Mirror on Thursday. This was a downward spiral, worse following bad. How would it end?

The sound of Kayla’s voice roused Raoul from his dream-sleep.

“Raoul?”

Raoul lifted his head from the dirty mattress, which had probably absorbed the bodily fluids of dozens of drunks. Kayla stood on the other side of the bars, her blond hair glowing in the faint light of the hallway. “Come on,” she said. “We’re going.”

Raoul signed papers at the reception desk, papers diligently typed by the officer behind the glass barrier. Kayla had paid $105 to spring Raoul from the cell; he had a court date in six weeks. He needed a lawyer.

Before they left the police station, the detective appeared on the other side of the glass. His nose was mottled and misshapen; he had half a black eye. He pointed at Raoul, and when he spoke, it sounded like he had a bad cold.

“You, sir, are going to pay for this.”

“Feel safer behind glass, Detective?” Raoul asked.

The detective sneered at him and Kayla. He touched his nose gingerly and shook his head. “You two are quite a pair,” he said. “You two deserve each other.”

“I’m sorry,” Raoul said when they got in the Trooper. “I was out of line. None of us needed that.”

“I’m glad you hit him,” Kayla said. “I hate that man.”

Well, it won’t look very good. I’m going to need a lawyer.”

“You’ll get a lawyer.”

Raoul noticed she said you instead of we.

“Should we stop for pizza or something?” he said. “For the kids?”

“Sure,” Kayla said. “Theo won’t eat. He’s locked himself in his room again. Jennifer was still at the beach when I left. But Cass and Luke will like pizza. I’d like pizza.”

“Me, too,” Raoul said. His stomach was sour and empty. The thought of bubbling cheese and a thick, doughy crust appealed to him. Plus, the normalcy of it: he and Kayla walking in together with a hot pizza. They might be able to distract the kids with food until this whole thing blew over.

Kayla drove to the Muse. She went in to order the pizza while Raoul waited in the car. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. Tomorrow, Monday, was a holiday, but he’d make an appearance at work. Fix the damaged walls himself. The lawyer thing would need to wait until Tuesday. Val had handled all Raoul and Kayla’s legal matters until now; that would have to change. She didn’t handle criminal cases, anyway. Criminal cases-Raoul’s heart steeled itself against the new names that would be coming his way. His son was a vandal, his wife a murder suspect, and he, Raoul, was a criminal case.

Suddenly, Kayla flung open the door. She was sniffling.

“I saw Marty Robbins in there,” she said. “Theo’s boss? He said he read about me in the paper. “What did you do to that woman?’ he asked me. “Rumor has it you poisoned her.’ ” She handed Raoul the piping hot pizza box; the car filled with the smell of the pizza, and Raoul’s stomach tensed with expectation. Kayla slammed her door shut. “Rumor has it? Everyone knows, Raoul.”

“Well, yeah,” Raoul said. “They know what they read, but no one knows what actually happened.”

“What actually happened doesn’t matter!” Kayla said. “Word is out.” She sped down Surfside Road toward home. “Everyone’s talking about it, Raoul. You know how when something bad happens to someone and everyone you meet whispers to you about it? And you end up knowing the gory details of someone else’s private life, someone you barely even know? That someone is me. People are gossiping about me.”

“That’s why you need to go on vacation,” Raoul said.

“So people can say I’m running away? So people can say you kicked me out of the house?”

“No one will say that, Kayla. Two weeks from now the only people who will remember this happened is us.”

“My life is ruined, Raoul.”

“Yeah, well, mine’s not looking too rosy, either.”

This made her cry. She cried until they pulled into the driveway. Raoul held his open palms against the burning bottom of the pizza box. He was ashamed to say he was glad Kayla was being punished, even if it was for the wrong crime.

Inside, Luke and Cass were sitting at the breakfast bar playing Crazy Eights. Raoul heard music coming from Theo’s room upstairs.

“I have pizza,” Raoul said. “Cassidy, will you get plates and napkins, please?”

Neither kid moved. They were watching Kayla cry. She ripped a paper towel from the roll, blew her nose, and then dropped the towel in the trash can.

Cassidy B. stared at Raoul. “What’s wrong with Mommy?”