Page 13 of The River Is Waiting

“Yeah well, don’t say you can appreciate how hard this is when you have no idea what it’s like to know that your little boy has just died and it’s your fault because you got distracted. Made a simple mistake.”

We stare at each other, at a standstill until I ask her whether she has kids.

“I do, yes. Two daughters.”

“What are their ages?”

“Twelve and fifteen. But let’s stay focused, okay? The more we get sidetracked, the longer this interview’s going to take.”

I nod. All I want is for her to leave me alone. Leaveusalone. Emily is bound to be a mess when she comes back from seeing him and I need to protect her from this third-degree bullshit.

Sparks flips to a new page in her notebook. “Okay, so let’s back up a little. I’d like you to take me through your morningbeforethe accident? You wake up, get out of bed, and…”

“I went out to the kitchen. Started making breakfast while my wife was getting ready for work. She’s a teacher.”

“And what about you, Corbin? What do you do for work?”

“I’m a commercial artist, but I was let go a while back. Laid off, not fired. I was planning to spend the day looking for another position, which is what I do on the days when my wife’s mother can take the kids.” It’s a lie, yes, but in fairness, it’s what Ihadbeen doing in good faith in the beginning. In all those weeks of trying, I’d only gotten as far as showing my portfolio twice. And neither of those times led to anything. “By the way,” I tell her. “Corbin’s my official name, but most people call me Corby.”

“Okay,” she says. “So on the days when your mother-in-law babysits, you do what? Send out résumés? Do internet searches? Make follow-up calls?”

“Yeah, all of that.”

“And otherwise, you’re the stay-at-home parent?”

“Yes. For now.”

“Do you enjoy that role, Corby, or has it been difficult?”

“Not one or the other,” I say. “Both.”

She jots something down. “Okay, so you were making breakfast and your wife was getting ready for work. Then what?”

“I heard the twins babbling to each other. Amusing each other, you know? They almost always wake up in a good mood.” She smiles. “So I went in to change them and pack the bag for their day with their grandmother. But I’d forgotten to turn off the burner and the friggin’ smoke alarm started wailing, so—”

“Why do you think you forgot to do that, Corby? I would have thought, if you were going to leave the room, turning off the stove would be something you’d do automatically.”

I shrug. “Don’t know. I guess I was just spacing out a little.”

“Huh,” she says. “Were you drinking this morning, Corby?”

Curveball! Don’t panic. “Was I drinking? Yeah. I was drinking coffee.”

“But not alcohol?”

“At six thirty in the morning? No. Why would you—”

“Because Sergeant Fazio said he thought he smelled liquor on your breath when he and Officer Longo got to your house this morning.”

I can feel the thumping of my heart. “I mean, it’s probably… I had insomnia in the middle of last night. Woke up a little after two and couldn’t get back to sleep for, I don’t know, an hour and a half maybe? So I got up, had a stiff drink—well, one and a half—so that I could knock off again. Which I did.” I look over at Fazio. “Maybe that’s what you were smelling? Now that I think of it, I may have forgotten to brush my teeth when I got up.” He stands there, poker-faced. Says nothing.

“What were you drinking to put yourself back to sleep, Corby?” Sparks wants to know. “Whiskey? Vodka?”

My palms feel clammy. I grab on to the arms of my chair so they won’t see my hands shaking. “Rum.”

“Okay. What proof?”

“I’m not sure.” Another lie. I graduated from seventy to a hundred proof two or three bottles ago.

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