Guilt

'I know. Sometimes, the past couple of months, they almost had me thinking I did it after all. I mean, I remembered being at the driving range. I remember coming home and finding Sheila. But when I first heard about Balian, or the blood, I wondered where those things could have come from. Maybe I blanked, went sleepwalking, something. Maybe I did it.' He squeezed her hand. 'But I didn't. I can't blame you for having your doubts.'

'It's just so hard to see these other people – Glitsky and Mr Balian and Amanda Jenkins – doing what they do. I have to think they really believe they're right.'

Dooher was silent for a moment, wrestling with it. 'People get committed to their positions. Glitsky got himself committed, and he sold it to Jenkins. I think that's what's got us to here. But we can't let them ruin our lives. We've got to fight back. That's the world, Christina. Misunderstandings. I don't know if people are malicious -I don't like to think so. But sometimes they're just wrong, and what are we supposed to do about that?'

'I know,' she said. 'But seeing Wes take them apart, that's hard for me. And if we do get to this Diane Price as one of their witnesses, it'll be me up there, and it will feel personal, and I don't know if that is me.'

'You'll do fine.'

But she was shaking her head. 'No, not that. I'm not worried whether or not I can do it. I know what I'm going to be asking her – I've rehearsed it a hundred times. As you guys say, I'll eat her for lunch. But I have to tell you, I'm not comfortable with it. This isn't what I feel I was born to do.'

He covered her hand with both of his, leaned in toward her. 'What do you think you were born to do, Christina?'

'I don't know really. Something less confrontational, I guess. There must be something in the law-'

'No,' he interrupted, 'I don't mean with the law. I'm not talking about your professional life. You'll do fine there, whatever you decide. I mean you personally. What were you born to do?'

Her finger went back to spreading the salt around. The band finished one song and started another. 'I don't know anymore, Mark. I don't think about that.'

'But you used to know?'

She shrugged. 'I used to have dreams. Now…' She trailed off, biting down on her lip. 'It's stupid. You grow up and all the variables have changed and what you thought you wanted isn't really an option anymore.' She met his eyes.

He raised her hand and turned her palm to him, kissing it gently. 'You're thinking an old man like me – hell, nearly fifty, there's no way I'd want what you used to think you were born for…'

'I don't…'

He touched her lips with his index finger. 'Which is babies, a family, a normal life like your parents have, is that it? Is that what you used to think you were born for?'

She pressed her lips together. Her eyes were liquid with tears, and she nodded.

'Because,' he said, 'we could do that. We could have all the kids you want. I didn't do so well the first time around, maybe we could both start over. Together.'

She leaned her head in against his. He brought his arms up around her and felt her shoulders give. Holding her there against him, he whispered, 'Whatever you want, it's do-able, Christina. We can do it. Whatever you want. Anything.'

Nat Glitsky left a message for his son at Homicide, then braved the new storm that had just arrived air mail from Alaska. He got to Abe's duplex, where he told Rita she could take the night off. He was driving his three grandsons downtown where they were going to meet their father at the Imperial Palace in Chinatown for dim sum, Nat's treat.

It had been a tough-enough year for the family, and after Abe's testimony at the trial, Nat's personal seismograph – sensitive to these things – had picked up rumblings with the boys that made him uncomfortable. Now they were all on the first round of pot stickers. Their father hadn't shown up yet, and the rumblings were continuing. 'What I don't get,' Jacob was grousing, 'is no matter what time we plan something, Dad's late, even if it's like five minutes from where he works.'

'Your old man's busy, Jake, he's in the middle of a trial on top of his regular job.' But it bothered Nat, too, and checking his watch every five minutes, he wasn't entirely successful at hiding it. 'He'll be here. He's coming.'

'So's Christmas.' Isaac really wasn't saying much lately. His mother's death had carved out a hole in his personality where the kid used to be, and now a sullen, gangly, hurt teenager glared across the table at his grandfather. Isaac was the oldest and having the worst time of it, but in Nat's view none of the boys was doing very well.

A waitress came by, as one of them did every couple of minutes, with a new selection of foods – all kinds of sticky buns, chicken, beef and pork dishes, various seafoods (Nat didn't keep Kosher all the time), vegetables and noodles, each served on a small white plate, a pile of which were accumulating quickly at the side of the table. At the end of the meal, the waiters would count the plates and compute the cost – simple and efficient.

'So you been reading about your father in the newspapers?' Nat wasn't going to side-step into it. He knew what the undercurrent was about and knew there wasn't any solution except to talk about it. But none of the boys answered, so he persisted. 'You taking grief at school?'

O.J., sitting next to Nat, was the youngest and looked across the table to his older brothers for cues, but they were pretending to be busy peeling aluminum foil from some chicken wings, so he piped up. 'I don't think Dad's a liar. I don't think he cheated.'

'Shut up, O.J.,' Jacob said. 'He's doing what he's got to do, that's all. He's a cop. It's not the same.'

'What's not, Jake?'

'The rules.'

Nat didn't like hearing that. 'Your dad's not breaking any rules, Jake. He's got the same rules as everybody else.'

Isaac snorted. 'You read the newspaper, Grandpa? You watch any television?'

'Yeah, I've seen it.'

'Well?'

'Well, what?'

'Well, what do you think?'

'I think this man Dooher killed his wife and he's got a smart attorney. Your dad arrested him because he thought he did that. You know he didn't take any blood from the hospital.'

Isaac looked down, unconvinced. Jacob spoke up. 'It doesn't really matter, Grandpa. Everybody thinks he did.'

'Not everybody,' Nat said. 'I don't. You boys shouldn't. Anybody starts telling that stuff to you, you tell them they're full of baloney.'

'But why do they keep saying it?' O.J. wanted to know.

'Because people don't know your father. And people do know, or they like to believe, that there are cops out there who do bad things, who cheat and lie and plant evidence so they'll win their cases. But that's not your father. You guys gotta believe in your old man. He's going through a hard time right now, just like you all are. You got to help him get through it.'

But Isaac was shaking his head, disagreeing. 'Why? He doesn't help us with anything. He's gone in the morning, gone at nights, gone on the weekends. Work work work, and he dumps us off on Rita. He just doesn't want to be with us. It's obvious. We remind him of Mom.'

'If he did,' Jake added, 'he'd be here.'

O.J. was having a hard time holding back tears. 'I just wish Mom would come back. Then we wouldn't even need Dad. Then it would be all right.'

Nat reached out a hand and put it over his youngest grandson's. 'You do need your dad, O.J. Your Mom really isn't coming back.'

'I know,' he said. 'Everybody always says that.' His voice was breaking. 'I just wish she would, though.'

'I don't think we do need Dad, Grandpa,' Isaac said. 'I mean, look right here. Where's Dad now? Who cares? We're taking care of each other. Quit crying, O.J.'