''When I said I wanted answers, this isn't exactly what I had in mind.''
He puts the car in park, turns off the ignition and motions for me to get out. I roll my eyes at him and it dawns on him that I can't actually get out without assistance.
''Oh right,'' he says bashfully. ''Sorry, I forgot.'' He rounds to the passanger side and helps me up, then leans to get my bag and crutches. ''Thanks.''
''Don't mention it.''
I see the familiar building of the local police station and my stomach twists in knots. I knew the day was coming, the day I had to face the music, but denial had been my safe haven for so long. If you pretend it never happened, maybe you'd start to internalize it and it'd become a reality.
If I pretend that there wasn't a shootout, I wasn't injured and Bob may or may not be a new addition in heaven, then maybe it'll be true,
But this is my reality and the crutches are a cruel reminder.
