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she thought how mean she
was to David, how she withheld herself as if she wanted to punish
him when he had done nothing but give his best. She thought of
saying she was sorry, but she was no good at apologies.
    Sometimes she let herself think what their life would have been
like if Bailey had been normal. There would have been another
child by now, maybe two. They had bought the Miranda Street
house because Mission Hills was a safe neighborhood and they
wanted a big family. As Dr. Wren told her every time she saw him,
there was no reason not to have another child. Bailey’s disability was
no one’s fault. Though she understood his words with her logical mind, another part of her felt responsible. She had soured on her
body. Occasionally David brought up the idea of another child,
though rarely in the last few months. She knew he hoped for a son,
someone to play ball with and dream for. So why not just say yes,
let’s have another baby?

    She did not want to think about what might be holding her back.
    “You want to watch the news?” she asked.
    “God, no. I don’t even want to think how that sheet’s going to
televise.”
    She felt the blush of heat in her cheeks. “I used the only thing
big enough-“
    As soon as the police and press left, David had called his partner,
Marcus Klinger, who appeared an hour later with a bag of nails and
several large sheets of plywood that they hammered into place over
the window.
    “I’ll call the glass man tomorrow.”
    “You won’t have to.” David got into bed wearing short-legged
sweat pants and a T-shirt with the Miami of Ohio Athletic Department
logo fading on the front. “They’ll be lined up after seeing the mess
on TV.”
    Dana’s diaphragm tightened. “Did you tell the reporters what
the note said?”
    “Just that it was a threat.”

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    “Maybe Marcus should take the case. If you were second
chair-“
    “I won’t be intimidated, Dana. You know me better than that.
Whoever did this, he’s a coward. Only cowards and kids throw
rocks and run away.”

    She grabbed a hairbrush off her dresser and dragged it through
her thick dark hair.
    “Frank Filmore deserves a fair trial just as much as anyone.”
    She nodded.
    “I know you hate the work I do.”
    Her temper flared. “I don’t hate your work. I believe in it. But
couldn’t you for once defend someone who’s not a scumbag?
What’s wrong with a clean-cut bank robber?” She thought of
George Clooney or Cary Grant. “Maybe a nice jewel thief?” She sat
beside him and laid her hand on his chest, feeling the heat of his
body beneath her palm. “Why does it always have to be the dregs of
the earth? Can’t you see how these people pollute our life?”
    He couldn’t leave them behind at the end of the day. He brought
them home from the office and court and jail-the rapists and drug
addicts, the thugs and derelicts. And not just their crimes and cases,
but their agonized histories, too, all their rage and pain and deprivation. He couldn’t help it.
    “You weren’t so miserable when I showed you that hundredthousand-dollar retainer.”
    Giddy described them both when they’d counted the zeros on
the check. And astonished when it didn’t bounce, when it settled
comfortably into the business account beside the two-hundred-andfifty-dollar payments on time, the five-thousand-dollar checks for
twenty-thousand dollars’ worth of labor. Overhead at Cabot and
Klinger was high, and the money was gone in less than a week; but
for a day or two they’d both felt rich.
    “If this trial goes the way I think it will, there’ll be plenty more
big retainers. You can pay off all the charge cards and Bailey’s
school and finish fixing the garage apartment and get yourself a new
car. Think about it, Dana, no more pinching pennies, no more
debt.”

    “This isn’t about money.”
    It was about injured dogs, broken windows, and the danger