Page 109 of Beyond Protection
"Good. Three things you can hear."
"Rain. The furnace. Your voice."
"Three things you can touch."
He reached out slowly. Pressed his palm against the wall. "Paint. Rough." Touched the sofa. "Fabric. Worn." Found a ceramic Santa. "Cold. Smooth."
His breathing started to even. Some of the wildness left his eyes.
We ended up sitting on Ma's floor, backs against the wall, like two soldiers after a firefight—checking each other for wounds that didn't bleed.
"I've been there," I said quietly. "After Kyra died. Still happens sometimes. Last week, I cleared Michael's house top to bottom before I sat down for coffee."
"That's your job."
"It was Wednesday afternoon. Michael was making sandwiches. There was no credible threat."
Understanding flickered across his face. "But you had to check anyway."
"I had to check anyway."
Claire arrived at one-fifteen, rain beading on her coat. She took in the tactical maps, the police radio, and her son pacing.
"I'm taking him out."
Ma looked up. "Claire, I don't think—"
"One hour." Not a request. "He needs to breathe."
Mac stopped pacing. "Mom, I'm fine here."
She stared at him and saw past his performance to the fracture lines underneath.
"Get your shoes, Cormac."
Michael appeared on the stairs. Looked at Claire. "Actually, that's probably good. He needs something that isn't this."
"One hour," I said. "Any sign of trouble, we're back immediately."
I drove Mac and his mother to Beacon Hill. It took twenty-three minutes. I monitored my mirrors. A red Honda and a white pickup—neither pinged as threats.
Claire's studio smelled like earth, rain, and cedar. North-facing windows. Potter's wheel center stage.
She handed Mac an apron. Fixed the straps when his fingers fumbled.
She pulled a brick of clay from the shelf. Set it on the work table with a solid thunk.
"We'll start with wedging. You remember how?"
Mac worked the clay, pressing and folding.
Claire watched. "You're forcing it. Feel the resistance. When it pushes back, yield."
He tried. The clay fought him.
"Cormac, breathe."
"I am breathing."
