When I exit Harley's front door, I peel off my leather gloves and put them in my purse. The gun has been left behind, as planned.
I come around the side of the house, where Cooper has stopped screaming my name and is trying to look in one of the windows. Actually, he looks like he's about to break in. He's got a suspiciously large rock in his right hand, which he is raising in the air. I better put a quick stop to this.
"Cooper?"
He whirls around, arm still raised. His eyes widen when he sees me, and the rock falls from his right hand. He doesn't say a word, but he runs over and throws his arms around me.
"Debbie," he murmurs into my neck. "Jesus, I was so worried."
At first, he is hugging me while I stand there stiffly. But after a few seconds, I realize I'm hugging him back. And then we're clinging to each other. It takes a good several minutes before we pull away.
"I was so worried," he says. "I thought I heard a gunshot."
He absolutely did. But the bullet in question is lodged in the ceiling of Harley's apartment.
Jesse is still alive.
"What was that sound?" he presses me.
"I didn't hear anything," I say. "Maybe it was a car backfiring?"
He looks like he doesn't quite believe me, but he doesn't push it. "What are you doing here?"
"A friend of mine lives here." It's the truth for once. "She has the basement apartment with the entrance in the back. I came to see her, but I guess she forgot because she's not answering her door."
"Oh."
He seems to believe me. There's no reason he shouldn't. He doesn't know Harley, except from in passing at the gym, and has no reason to think I'd do anything to harm this stranger.
"So, uh…" I glance at our cars, trying not to think about that crime scene behind us. Does Cooper recognize Jesse's car? He hasn't mentioned it. "Should we go?"
"Not yet." He grabs both my hands in his and squeezes tight. "I need you to know something, Debbie."
"Okay…"
He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. "I have a drinking problem."
I blink at him. It's not what I expected him to say. "What?"
He falters, like he's not sure if he should continue, but then he plows forward. "It's more than just a drinking problem. I…I'm an alcoholic. I've been sneaking off to AA meetings without telling you."
"For how long?"
"I've known since college."
"Since college? And you never told me?"
"I know." He hangs his head. "I'm sorry, Debbie. I'm so sorry. I was…I was ashamed, and that's why I kept it from you. I should have told you the truth from the start, but you're always so perfect and amazing and…and I didn't want you to think less of me."
He manages to raise his eyes to meet mine. He should have told me sooner, but I also understand why he didn't. I can't throw stones. And now?
It's my turn.
"I was raped in college," I say. "That's why I dropped out."
His jaw drops open. He stares at me for several seconds—too long—until I almost wish I hadn't told him.
But just when I'm about to try to figure out a way to take it back ("Ha-ha, wasn't that a funny joke?
"), he reaches over and pulls me into another tight hug.
There are no words, only his warm, comforting body pressed against mine.
When he finally pulls away, his eyes are slightly damp. "I think," he says, "we need couples therapy."
A laugh bubbles out of me. No freaking kidding.
"There's something I need to ask you though." He rubs the back of his neck. "And I need you to tell me the truth."
"Okay…"
His brows scrunch together. "Do you promise to tell me the truth?"
"I promise," I say, hoping it's a promise I can keep.
"Did you shoot Ken Bryant with my gun?"
I flinch. He must have gone over to Ken's house. He must've seen him lying dead with the bullet wound in his head. He thinks I might have killed him, but instead of calling the police, he ran to find me.
"I swear on our children's lives"—I place a hand on my chest—"I did not shoot Ken Bryant with your gun."
And it's true.
I used Jesse's gun.
"Thank God." He believes me. His body goes limp with relief. "I was worried that…well…" He heaves a sigh. "In that case, we better call the police when we get back home."
I nod slowly.
"Also," he adds, "my gun is missing from the safe. Do you know what happened to it?"
That's another softball that I can answer truthfully. "I got rid of it."
"You got rid of it?"
I put my hands on my hips. "I told you, you're more likely to shoot a family member than an intruder."
Cooper just shakes his head. It's something we'll have to talk out in therapy. And I have a feeling after tonight that he won't be eager to have a gun in the house.
"Okay," he says. "Let's go home."
He doesn't have to ask me a second time.