Page 85 of Sighs By the Sea

Later, after a fun evening, George snuggles between Maggie and me in the big bed, quickly falling asleep with a contented smile. I lie there, watching them both, feeling a peace I haven’t known in a long time. For a while, I can’t peel my eyes away from them, overwhelmed by a warmth that fills my chest, as if this moment is what I’ve been missing all my life. Eventually, I let my eyes close, a smile still on my face.

Hours later, the tranquility is shattered by the sound of Maggie’s phone. She quickly answers, her face turning serious in an instant.

“I’ll be right out.” She hangs up and slides George off her arm. As soon as she’s up, she heads to the closet, explaining in a whisper. “Harry drove by, and he says there’s a suspicious vehicle. He’s going to talk to them.” She has that tone, the work voice that turns me on and worries me sick.

She comes back out with her pistol in hand. “If I’m not back in five minutes, call 911.”

I’m about to agree when I hear tires squealing, followed by the unmistakable sound of gunshots. Adrenaline surges through me as Maggie dashes back to the closet, retrieving a second pistol from the childproof gun safe.

“Do not leave the house.” She hands me the gun and kisses my head before rushing out the door.

Once she’s gone, I’m frozen in shock for a moment. Then, my protective instincts kick in. I carefully extract myself from the bed, not wanting to wake George, and go to the living room. I peek through the curtains, the gun clutched in my shaking hand.

I’m not a coward, but the idea of Maggie rushing toward gunshots drives me mad. The thought of losing this newfound happiness is unbearable, like a vice tightening around my chest.

It’s dark outside, but the streetlight barely illuminates the figures in the middle of the road. Maggie is bent over Harry, her phone pressed to her ear. She’s ripped off her own pajama shirt and is using it to stop the bleeding on his chest.

I have to do something; I have to help. I know how much Harry means to her. But as I watch, Maggie’s movements are calm, even comforting. I can see a small smile on Harry’s anguished face.

Damn. Maggie is making him laugh, even while he’s bleeding out. God, she’s amazing. Seeing this reassures me—if Harry can smile, he’s hopefully going to be okay.

“Daddy? Where’s Miss Maggie?” George’s voice makes me tense. I don’t want my son to see me with a gun. I tuck it under my shirt before turning around. He’s in his favorite pajamas, clutching Nick the giraffe. My heart breaks a little more at the interruption to his night. He doesn’t need this. Not on his first night home.

Keeping my voice calm, I say, “Her friend called and needed her. She’ll be right back, bud. Go back to sleep.” George rubs his tired eyes but turns around and heads back to the bedroom.

I stay by the window until other officers and an ambulance arrive. After making sure George is asleep, I hurry outside just as Maggie helps load Harry into the ambulance and jumps in after him.

I stand there, heart pounding. “Maggie!” I yell.

She frowns at me, already huddled over Harry. “I told you to stay inside,” she snaps.

“I… what can I do?” I ask, desperate to be useful, to be there for her in any way possible.

She shakes her head, her messy hair swishing with the movement. Even in her Batman pajamas pants and no shirt, she’s beautiful. Surreal, even. Far too good for me. “Two uniforms will stay all night. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

The ambulance doors shut, and my chest hitches. That could have been me. It should have been me. Harry was shot because he was watching out for my family. The realization hits me like a wave, threatening to drown me in a sea of guilt and helplessness.

Left alone with George, I feel a sense of responsibility settle on my shoulders. I have to protect my son, to keep our new home safe. I go back inside, securing the gun in the safe, then check every window and door to make sure they’re locked. My mind races with plans and contingencies, ways to help Harry.

Sitting on the couch, I think about the one person I know who always gets things done. Though it’s three in the morning, I send the text and get an immediate reply.

Me: Maggie's friend was shot. Can you come help?

Only a few seconds pass before my phone dings.

Henrietta Hillcrest: I'll be there first thing in the morning. Send me the address.

I almost laugh at the quick response, relief flooding through me.

I’ve heard stories of Henrietta’s fierce protective nature, especially when Tilly was in trouble a few years ago. Thankfully, it seems that extends to me. She’ll know what to do. I’m sure of it. People think that once you’re a certain age, you have all the answers. It’s not true. Right now, I feel as clueless as I did when my mother died. That was at nine years old. And now, at 34, I’m even more lost.

How do you support someone as strong as Maggie? She hardly lets me do anything without some sort of resistance. With Henrietta coming, Maggie won’t have a choice. There’s no pride or judgment with Tommy’s mother. Only help. It makes me long for my own mother. You never grow out of needing your mom.

As I lie back in bed, George still asleep and oblivious to the chaos, my mind is anything but calm. The night’s events have shown me the stark reality of Maggie’s world, a world now intertwined with mine. I know I’d do anything to protect it, to protect them.

In those long hours, I realize just how much I need Maggie. I can’t lose her. This can’t scare her away. She’s the sunshine to my storm, smooths out all my rough edges. Hell, she loves Batman almost as much as George does. That's something I could never fake well enough.

As dawn breaks, painting the sky with streaks of pink and orange, I hold George a little tighter, silently promising to keep him safe and keep our new, fragile family intact. If that means tracking Don and Suze down myself, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.

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