Page 80 of Trapper Road

I give him the answer I’ve given myself when I’ve wondered the same thing. “Even if you could have stopped him, you have to remember that Kevin was the one who made the decision to take the gun to school. He was the one who pulled the trigger. You can’t blame yourself for the actions that someone else takes of their own free will. Failing to stop them doesn’t make you responsible.”

It’s difficult not to cringe as I tell him this. I can’t count the times I’ve blamed myself for things that were outside of my control. But I don’t want that for my kids. I don’t want them to carry the same kind of weight that I always do.

I take a deep breath before pushing on. “Speaking of Kevin, there’s something you need to know.”

His eyes cut to me, sharp and alert. “Did something happen to him? Is he okay?”

“He woke up,” I tell him. I have no idea how he’ll take the news. If there’s any possibility Connor was involved in what happened, the news that Kevin is awake should concern him. It means Kevin could implicate him as an accomplice.

But if anything, Connor appears relieved. Even glad. “He’s going to be okay?” His voice is full of hope and I have to remind myself that Kevin was Connor’s friend. It makes sense Connor would want him to recover.

“The doctors think so.” He looks so happy that it’s that much harder to tell him that his friend turned on him. “He’s been speaking with the police. He admitted to the shooting.”

Connor snorts. “Kind of hard not to, since there were witnesses. Other kids besides me saw him pull the gun.”

“He’s blaming you. He says you put him up to it.”

I watch his expression carefully, and his shock is genuine. “But that’s not true,” he says. There’s a panic in his eyes and a vulnerability that makes him look so young. “That’s not what happened. I didn’t even know about it. I had nothing to do with it.”

It hurts to see him like this — scared and overwhelmed. Especially when I can’t do anything to fix it. “I know.” I reach over and place a hand on his knee. “You could never have had anything to do with something like this.”

He seems relieved that I believe him. Still, though, there are some unanswered questions I need him to address. Questions I know others will want to ask and that he needs to be prepared to answer. “I heard from Sam’s friend at the FBI. They subpoenaed your cloud accounts.”

He must already know where this is going because he slumps forward, his arms across his middle like he’s in physical pain.

“They found the folders on Melvin Royal. That’s how I found out about the message board.” I wait a beat before adding. “They also found the folder with research on all those guns.”

He looks up at me, his eyes red with unshed tears. “I know how it looks, but I didn’t have anything to do with the shooting, Mom. I swear.”

“But why, Connor? Why the sudden interest in guns?” I’ve never known Connor to show any particular interest in guns before. If anything, he always shied away from them in the past, especially after an active shooter drill at school triggered his PTSD. Of course, I’ve taken him to the gun range before — it’s one of my requirements since we keep guns in the house. My kids need to know how to respect firearms and use them correctly. And maybe over the past few months he’s been a little more eager about going to the range together, but it’s always been a family activity so that never stood out.

His stares at the foot of the bed, chewing his bottom lip before finally answering. “Because you love them. I thought if I loved them too, it could be something we had in common.”

His words shatter something inside me. This is how broken things have become between us, that he was forcing himself to love guns just to have something in common with me. This despite the trauma guns have caused him in his life.

How did we go so wrong? How did my son become such a stranger to me? And me to him?

“Oh honey.” I don’t hesitate, I reach over and pull him into a hug. He falls against me, and I realize how long it’s been since I’ve held him like this. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets himself go limp, and I’m reminded of his childhood when I could cradle his entire body in my lap. He’s so much larger now, gangly with growth spurts, but still his head fits that familiar spot against my shoulder so that I can smell his hair and kiss the back of his head.

My love for him is so overwhelming that it sometimes becomes scary. It would shatter me if something happened to him. If something happened to any of my kids. I don’t know how I could continue living life without them.

That’s why I hold on to them so fiercely. I need my kids to live.

The alternative is a darkness I could never escape from.

“I love you, Connor. I hope you know that.”

“I love you too, Mom.” His voice is muffled against my arm.

“We’ll get through this together. I promise. It’s going to be okay.” He nods.

I just hope I can keep that promise.

24

SAM

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