“That’s what I told him, late one night. The kids were asleep. He came home, he still in his police uniform but tickling the ivories, me sitting amidst my lit candles. I remember the way the flickering light hit the bracelet when he handed it to me, at times shiny, at times dark. He told me how beautiful I was. How beautiful the bracelet looked on my wrist. Like it belonged. It was only the first of the gifts he gave us. Electronics for the kids, a new car that was his pride and joy. On his off days, he would polish it with a zest, whistling. Except, I saw what his newfound wealth was doing to him. Eating at him.”
“How so?”
“I saw it in his eyes. The light had dimmed.”
“Guilt,” Jimmy said. “Blood money.”
“Jimmy, how does what happened tie in with your father’s case? What am I missing?”
