Chapter 15
Saturday was busy for McCoy. All the chores and errands he had put off all week were waiting for him: dry cleaning to pick up, a package to mail to his sister, a stack of unopened letters on his desk to sort, and a week’s worth of newspapers piled on the sofa waiting to be recycled. He also straightened the living room and cleaned the kitchen of his small apartment, just in case he and Morgan ended up spending any part of the evening at his place.
And he checked the clock often, eagerly anticipating the afternoon and evening.
He arrived at Morgan’s building precisely at
After phoning from the lobby, he headed up to the fifth floor, then continued to the sixth in the private elevator that only serviced Morgan’s apartment.
The doors opened and he found her waiting, shoes dangling from her fingertips, but otherwise dressed.
He smiled as he emerged from the elevator. “You look nice. Blue is my favorite color.” He noticed with appreciation how the silky fabric of her dress clung in all the right places as Morgan walked to the kitchen bar stools and sat down to put on her shoes.
“Thanks. You look nice, too. I don’t remember seeing you wear that suit before.”
“I usually save it for special occasions. I considered wearing a tux but thought that may be a bit much for our plans.”
Morgan rolled her eyes in amusement. “It would have been. You’re talking to someone who would live in jeans and t-shirts if I could get away with it, remember?” She stood up. “I’m ready to leave if you are.”
“I’m ready,” he agreed, turning around to push the elevator call button.
On the way down to the lobby, McCoy leaned back against the elevator wall facing Morgan. “Did you get caught up at the office this morning?”
“I never get caught up, but I did take care of some things that were
bugging me. I’m glad I did; I feel a lot less stressed than if I hadn’t. I
would’ve spent the morning with the
“There’s nothing wrong with being mushy. It’s those thoughtful little things that have probably kept them married so long,” McCoy observed. He openly looked her up and down again. “Did I tell you that blue is my favorite color?”
Morgan gave him a warning look, then noting the teasing sparkle in his eyes, shook her head slowly and smiled. “I believe you did mention it.”
When they were safely in his car and on their way across town, she turned within the constraints of the seatbelt to face him.
“What was the deal with you and Grace ditching us last night? We waited an hour and a half before we finally decided to eat without you.”
He shrugged. “We were having such a great time, we decided to continue it at a restaurant. Besides, you and Drew had your own thing going on. We didn’t think you’d notice.”
He could feel Morgan’s eyes on him, studying him. When she spoke, her voice sounded both amused and puzzled. “What we had ‘going on’ was a drink.”
“I believe Grace called it a celebration.”
“She also called it an affair; it was neither. And Grace knew about it
before they even left
“So if it wasn’t a celebration and it wasn’t an affair, exactly what was it?”
“Kind of nosy, aren’t you?” she asked pointedly.
With a nod he answered, “I’m a D.A. ‘Nosy’ is in my job description. And I happen to be very good at it.”
Morgan’s smile faded slightly and she was quiet a moment before
answering. “Yesterday was the seventeenth anniversary of the resolution of a
difficult case Drew and I were involved in. Even though we were on opposite
sides of the courtroom, the outcome was a relief for us both. When I still
lived in
McCoy glanced at her. “Now I’m jealous. You don’t commemorate an anniversary of any sort with me.”
“I’ll tell you what,” she suggested, “in a few months, when the anniversary of Peter’s acquittal rolls around, I’ll buy you a drink. Then you won’t have to be jealous anymore.”
“It’s a deal,” he agreed with a satisfied smile.
“My turn to be nosy,” Morgan decided. “Why didn’t you come in and find us when you brought Grace back to the hotel last night, instead of dropping her off at the door?”
“Dropping her off was her idea. She said she could blame standing you up on me that way.”
“Well, she didn’t. She really didn’t offer any explanation. All she said was that the two of you had started talking and lost track of the time. What did you find to talk about for nearly three hours, anyway?”
“Oh, this and that,” McCoy said vaguely. “We talked about working in the
D.A.’s office and about our favorite places in
Morgan’s head snapped around. “Whoa! Let’s get one thing straight right
now, MISTER McCoy. That is a nickname I picked up in
McCoy chuckled at her anticipated reaction. “On one condition: You tell me how you got it.”
“If I tell you, do I have your word that you won’t ever call me by that name or mention it to anyone else?”
He nodded. “You have my word.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” she vowed. “When I first moved to
“Well I like it. I think it suits you.”
“Jack,” she said warningly, “you promised.”
He laughed again. “I’ll keep my end of the bargain.” He looked over at her. “But it does suit you.”
***“I’d still like to know which
one of you paid for dinner. That was supposed to be my contribution to the
evening,”
“You and Grace are guests,” Morgan insisted. “You aren’t allowed to pay when you’re visiting us.”
Fairchild added, “Tell you what: Next time we’re on your home turf, the honor will be all yours.”
After good-byes were said, the Fairchilds left the other two couples alone. McCoy handed the valet ticket to the parking attendant and they waited for his car to be retrieved.
“My feet are killing me,” Grace complained. “I shouldn’t have worn heels.”
Morgan turned to face him, crossing her arms. “Now why do you want to start trouble? We’ve had a perfectly enjoyable evening without mentioning anyone’s most embarrassing moments.”
McCoy regarded
With a groan, Morgan turned her back on the two.
“It was the first case she tried on her own, too,”
While
McCoy smiled down at her. “You shouldn’t feel too bad. I once prosecuted a defendant whose attorney gave his entire opening statement with his fly open. The jury held it together for a while, but it finally got to be too much for them. After a very persuasive argument from said attorney, the judge actually declared a mistrial and we started over with a new jury a few days later.”
Morgan laughed. “Now I don’t feel so bad. That story has to top the most embarrassing moments list.”
As the attendant drove up with his car, McCoy sighed to himself. The only word that came to his mind to describe Morgan that evening was “sparkling”. She had been happy and relaxed, and with each smile, he had found himself looking forward to the next. He also felt unusually pleased with himself when he was the cause of her smile.
Driving to the
When it was
“How far from the hospital did it occur?” McCoy asked.
“Six or seven miles. According the M.E., the unnatural event of the accident accelerated the heart attack and the delay getting to the hospital made a difference. If he had gotten to the hospital sooner, and hadn’t suffered the shock of the accident, he would have made it.”
“Sounds like a solid case,” McCoy nodded.
“How old is the defendant?” Morgan asked.
“I don’t know. Late thirty’s, early forty’s maybe. Why?”
“Does he have kids?”
“Yes, I think he has two or three.”
“Did it ever occur to you to compare the benefit to society of locking this man up for most of the rest of his life, to the harm it will do his children to live without a father?” she asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Morgan argued. “But would it kill you to take into consideration the effect that sending this guy to prison is going to have on those he leaves behind?”
“An innocent victim is dead and his widow was left behind. What about them?” McCoy interjected. “Don’t they deserve justice?”
“Can the M.E. really give a one hundred percent guarantee that the old man would have lived had it not been for the accident?”
“No one can give a one hundred percent guarantee in this world,”
“And we all know that winning is the single most important thing in life,” Morgan snapped.
Silence filled the car for several minutes. Morgan finally turned to look over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to spoil the evening by arguing. I know you have to call them as you see them.”
“You know how he loves a good fight,” his wife added.
“Well I’m glad to know I was useful for something,” Morgan retorted.
When they reached the hotel, Morgan and McCoy got out only long enough to say good-bye, then continued on toward her apartment. They drove in silence for a good part of the way.
McCoy was irritated. The evening wasn’t ending the way he had hoped. But more than that, he had really wanted to speak his mind during the argument between Compton and Morgan. Given the company, though, he had held his tongue. And after all, he reasoned, Morgan had finally apologized.
He was still irritated.
Beside him, he heard a sigh. Turning from looking out of the window, Morgan said, “You’ve been unusually quiet. Did you enjoy the evening?”
He took a moment before answering slowly, “Yes, I did. But I am a little upset about the discussion you had with Drew.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Morgan’s head drop back until it hit the headrest with a muffled thump. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, Jack; I wasn’t thinking. I should’ve steered the conversation toward a less painful subject.”
“I can handle the subject,” he assured her. Biting his lip, he wondered if he should let it drop or forge ahead. His irritation won out, although he chose his words carefully. “It was your comments that I’m having some difficulty with. I don’t see how you can arbitrarily defend someone whose irresponsible and reckless behavior caused the death of an innocent person. Or were you only playing devil’s advocate?”
“I never say anything just for the sake of argument,” Morgan answered with a hint of annoyance. “I meant every word.”
Despite his feelings to the contrary, McCoy kept his voice calm and neutral. “Well maybe your view would be different if you had experienced the death of a loved one at the hands of someone who had chosen to get behind the wheel after having too much to drink.”
“And what makes you think I haven’t had that experience, several times over as a matter of fact?” she snapped.
He glanced at her quickly but couldn’t read her expression in the dim light. As he turned his attention back to the street, he frowned in confusion and thought back to when he had first told her about Claire. She hadn’t mentioned anything then. They had been discussing her family…
That couldn’t be it, he thought. Surely she would’ve told him.
McCoy looked over to find Morgan staring out of the window again. At her continued silence, he sighed. Consider the source, he told himself.
“Calea, are you referring to your family?” he asked quietly. "Was a drunk driver responsible for the accident that took their lives?"
She didn’t turn to look at him as she spoke. “Not everything is black and white. Sometimes people, prosecutors in particular, forget that there are at least two sides to every story. There are a lot of factors to consider when passing judgement and condemning someone.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my view of drunk drivers,” McCoy insisted. “Whatever their excuse may be, they don’t deserve any more sympathy than any other person who willfully harms another. They should have to pay for their crimes like everyone else. And given your experience, you of all people should understand.”
“Understand what? A need to condemn and punish someone without knowing all the facts, simply because of my personal loss? That’s revenge.”
He shook his head. “It isn’t revenge to require someone to be held accountable for their actions. People equate drinking and driving with a social problem. Judges hand down harsher sentences for traffic tickets than they do for D.U.I.’s. This country needs to be forced to see the criminality of getting behind the wheel while under the influence of alcohol.”
“Holding someone accountable doesn’t always require punishing them to the full extent of the law. I’m not saying they shouldn’t be punished at all, but each case needs to be examined individually to do what’s best for everyone concerned. Despite my personal experience, I’m capable of looking at things from both sides of the courtroom.”
“Oh, I see,” he replied angrily. “Becoming a defense attorney gave you some sort of special ability to overlook the pain and suffering experienced by those left in the wake of an intoxicated killer.”
“Being a defense attorney has little to do with it. I can see both sides of the issue because the drunk driver who killed my family was my father, Jack. And as a result of the personal injury suit filed by the other parties involved against my father’s estate, I lost the house I had lived in all my life and property that had been in my family for generations. In the majority of D.U.I. cases, the people who are directly involved in the accident aren’t the only victims.”
McCoy was completely taken aback. Her revelation wasn’t something he had expected and for a few moments he was at a loss as to how to respond. He finally said the only thing he could think of to say.
“I’m sorry.”
In the silence that continued for the remainder of the drive, he thought about what she had said. In the months that followed Claire’s death, he had been furious at the driver responsible. And he had turned to alcohol as a solace for his overwhelming, oftentimes conflicting feelings. He had usually had sense enough not to drive after doing so, but there had been occasions when he was sure his decision to drive himself home had been questionable. It had taken some major introspection to realize that he could quite easily have found himself in the same situation as others who also thought they were sober enough to drive. Others, like Claire’s killer, or Morgan’s father.
When they reached their destination, McCoy pulled into the visitor parking area and turned off the car. Instead of opening the door immediately, he sat trying to figure out what to say.
After several seconds, Morgan turned to him. There was sadness in her voice as she said, “You don’t have to come in with me. It’s been a long day and I’m sure you would like to go home. Thank you for going with me tonight and for driving. I enjoyed the evening.”
As she started to open the door, McCoy caught her by the arm. She looked at him questioningly.
“Calea, will you go for a walk with me?”
As she regarded him for a moment, he could see the hesitation in her eyes. “It’s kind of late, Jack.”
“It isn’t that late. Come on; just a short walk.”
With a reluctant nod, she finally relented. They left the car and began to walk down the sidewalk, away from her building.
“You know, you could’ve mentioned something about your family the first time I came to your apartment, when I told you I had lost someone to a drunk driver,” he suggested gently.
“I didn’t know you very well then. Besides, you know I’m not very good at sharing personal things. And of all the subjects in my life I would rather avoid, my father is at the top of the list,” she confessed.
“I suppose I can understand that sentiment,” he admitted dryly. After pausing for a few seconds he asked, “Will you tell me how it happened?”
Morgan shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat and began to chew the inside of her lip. “I’d rather not. It’s a very unpleasant memory and I’m not comfortable talking about it. I’m also not sure you need to hear it any more than I need to share it.”
He stopped on the sidewalk and waited until she had done the same. Looking into her eyes, he could see her fear.
“I think it may do us both some good.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “What makes you say that?”
McCoy reached out and brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead. “Maybe this is another of those situations where facing your past will turn out to be for the best. And maybe sharing it will help me with mine, too. I thought I had made my peace with what happened a long time ago, but then something like the discussion tonight comes up and I’m not so sure. If you tell me what happened with you, maybe we can find a way to help each other.”
She focused on the ground, avoiding his intense eyes. After a moment, she turned and continued walking. He fell into step beside her, unsure whether or not she would comply.
When she did finally begin, her voice was flat and emotionless. “We had
driven to the coast for the day. My father wanted to go fishing. He drank all
day, as he did every weekend. At about
When she paused for a breath, McCoy swallowed. “You were in the car when it happened?”
She glanced at him and nodded. “There were no laws at the time and my parents didn’t require it, but I almost always wore my seatbelt when my dad was driving. Even when I was only six or seven, I figured they had to be there for a reason and his driving always made me nervous. You know how the older cars had a hump in the middle of the floorboard of the back seat?” At his nod, she continued, “That was my spot. I would buckle my seatbelt, then loosen it as far as I could, and lean on the front seat. From there I would watch the road for my dad. If he drove too far onto the shoulder or crossed the middle line, I would tell him. I also talked, non-stop, to keep him awake. I would talk about my cats, or the trees, or the grass on the side of the road; anything to help keep him alert.” She took an uneven breath. “That day, we had gotten up early to be at the bay by sunrise, so my mom and my brother fell asleep on the way home. I could never sleep when my father was driving, no matter how tired I was.”
Their walk had brought them to an intersection. Another couple was also approaching the crosswalk, so Morgan remained silent as they waited to cross the street.
When McCoy took his hand from his pocket to push the button for the pedestrian crossing light, he realized it had been clenched into a fist, as was his other. He could feel the tightness in his stomach and tension in back of his neck. Part of him wanted to tell her stop, that he couldn’t listen to any more. Images and memories were flooding his mind, things he didn’t want to remember. Many times he had thought about Claire’s last moments. The coroner’s report stated that she had died on impact. Had she seen it coming? Or had she been blissfully unaware? He had always hoped the latter and feared the former. He had often wondered if Briscoe could answer that question, but had never even entertained the idea of asking him. Some things were better left unknown. But as difficult as it was to listen to Morgan’s story, he knew he had to hear it. He wanted to know more about her, about what made her the person that she was. And he knew without a doubt that what she was telling him had to be a huge part.
After the light changed and they had crossed the street, McCoy led the way in a different direction than the other couple had taken. As they walked, he waited quietly for Morgan to begin again.
“Most of the highways in
When Morgan didn’t continue for several seconds, McCoy looked up from the sidewalk. Her eyes were focused straight ahead and he could see that she was trembling. He was sure it wasn’t from cold. His first thought was to reach for her and wrap her in his arms, to offer comfort. But since he wasn’t at all sure how she would respond, instead, he reached for her arm and pulled her hand from her pocket. When she looked at him, he smiled slightly, then tucked both her hand and his into the roomy pocket of his jacket. He could feel her hand shaking even with his wrapped around it.
They walked in silence for a few more seconds before she continued in a shaky voice.
“The man and his wife in the first car that hit us died. Their three children were in the back seat. They were all injured but survived. My brother was sitting beside me, behind the driver’s seat. He and my dad were killed instantly. If I hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt, I know I would’ve been killed too. Since it was loose, I ended up close to the back door on the passenger’s side. The truck that hit us crunched it in, so I was trapped in a pretty tight space. I couldn’t move and my whole body hurt. Everything became very quiet afterwards and I remember calling out to my mom. I could hear her breathing, but her breath was sort of rattling. After a few minutes, there were people shouting from outside and someone tried to pry open the door I was near. I kept focusing on my mom’s breathing, trying to be as quiet as possible so I could hear it. Then after a while, it just stopped. I didn’t really care if they got me out of the car or not after that.”
Inside his coat pocket, McCoy squeezed her hand. He wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t seem to find his voice behind the tightness in his throat. In his mind, he could see the little girl from a picture he had once found inside Morgan’s desk, huddled inside a wrecked car, life as she knew it shattered.
“I was in the hospital for two weeks.” Morgan’s voice became more unsteady. “I missed the funerals. I tried to get my grandparents to postpone them until I was well enough to go but they wouldn’t even consider it. It made me angry that they couldn’t see how important it was to me. I felt like I never really had the chance to say good-bye.”
Morgan grew quiet and McCoy knew she was fighting back tears. Trying to think of a way to offer comfort, he offered gently, "I'm sure your parents and brother understood and didn't hold it against you. They must be proud, watching you all these years, seeing how you turned out."
She shook her head sadly. "I don't hold the belief that people have an immortal soul. My family wasn't suddenly hovering somewhere above, watching over me. They were just gone, leaving holes in my life where they used to be."
He glanced sideways with a frown, unsure of how to answer, but deciding it wasn't the time for a theological debate. The bright glow from a coffee shop a few yards up the sidewalk beckoned to him. He continued to head toward it, finally coming to a stop outside of the door.
“Why don’t we go inside and have something warm to drink?” he suggested.
She started to pull her hand from his. “This isn’t something I can sit down in a room with other people and discuss, Jack. It’s too difficult.”
“Okay,” he agreed quickly, refusing to release her hand. “It was only a suggestion. I thought you might be getting cold.”
“I’m fine. It isn’t that cold out tonight.”
“You’re shivering,” he pointed out.
When Morgan looked away and tried to tug her hand from his again, McCoy held it firmly and resumed walking, passing the coffee shop and pulling her gently along with him.
“It’s all right,” he said reassuringly. “We’ll keep walking.” When she followed willingly, he added, “I guess I understand now why there’s a cabinet full of liquor in your kitchen that you never touch.”
She nodded slowly. “What happened with my father made me so angry, I never even had a desire to try it. Maybe I was worried that once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. Some people say alcoholism is caused by a genetic defect and can be inherited. I don’t know if that’s true, but I never wanted to risk it.”
“I’ve heard that as well. I’m not sure if I believe it either, but I suppose there could be some truth to it. You mentioned a personal injury suit. Who filed against your father’s estate?”
“The brother and sister-in-law of the man who was killed. They became guardians to the children and filed the suit on their behalf a few weeks after the accident. My grandparents hired Emerson Kilgore, an old family law attorney. He thought the case would be simply a matter of character witnesses. Besides my grandparents and me, he brought in many of the people my dad had worked with over the years. They told the jury what a great guy he had been. I remember feeling so jealous of those people. They were all so sincere in their praise. That they knew a side of my dad he had kept hidden from his immediate family seemed very unfair to me. The difference was he couldn’t drink on the job. They knew a sober, kind-hearted, generous man. But he worked thirty miles from home at an oil refinery, and by the time he had made the drive back every day, he had usually finished four or five beers and at least a couple of shots of whiskey. And he didn’t stop once he was home. That was the person we knew: The unpredictable, brooding man who only wanted to be alone with his alcohol.”
McCoy could feel tension in Morgan’s arm and adjusted his slightly, pulling her a little closer toward him.
“If so many people testified in behalf of your father, why did you lose so much?”
The anger that had crept into her voice subsided, to be replaced by remorse. “Once Mr. Kilgore had paraded everyone else through, he put on the person whom he considered to be his ace in the hole. He coached me on what to say and actually suggested that I should cry on the stand. I guess he thought that the sight of a frightened child would garner enough sympathy to minimize the other parties’ suit. But I couldn’t do what he wanted. When he asked me what kind of father my dad had been, I said some things I shouldn’t have. Mr. Kilgore tried to cover it over by alluding to the fact that I was still traumatized by the accident, but the attorney for the other side saw how angry I was at my father and he used it. He asked questions that got him even more than he could have hoped for. The last question he asked me was whether I thought my dad was responsible for the deaths of my mother, my brother, and the other couple. In the middle of Mr. Kilgore’s objection, I answered ‘yes’, although I knew I was supposed to wait. Even though the judge had the question and my response stricken, I guess the jury agreed with me. The plaintiff’s attorney made it clear that I was going to be well cared for by my grandparents, so they awarded almost all of the estate to the other couple’s children.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” McCoy observed. “You were only twelve years old.”
“Maybe, but I knew my grandparents were disappointed in me. After all,
it was their son I had maligned in front of a good portion of the population in
a fairly small community. I wasn’t all that close to them before the accident
and things were strained afterwards. They took good care of me materially, but
I always wondered if they resented it. I never really felt like I belonged in
their home. I had skipped a couple of grades in the small country school I had
started out in, and that combined with summer school got me a high school
diploma when I was only fifteen. I moved in with some friends of our family
afterwards so I could attend college in
McCoy shook his head in confusion. “Given everything that happened, I can understand perfectly why you were angry with your father. What I can’t understand is how you can now argue in defense of someone like him, someone who caused the death of, and ruined, so many lives. It seems to me that being a prosecuting attorney in order to put people like that away would have been a more logical choice for you.”
“It took a long time for the anger to even begin to wear off. Then after my grandparents died, I was going through some of their belongings and found a journal that my mother had written in a box of things they had taken from my parent’s house. She didn’t write consistently once she had kids, but there were a lot of entries for the first few years she and my dad were married. In reading them, I learned that my dad had started drinking before he was even a teenager. He used to help his father with the crops as a boy, and when they came in from working, they had a shot of whiskey. It was just a normal occurrence. He was an alcoholic long before he was old enough to make an informed choice. Learning that and other things about him made me start to see things in a different light. Sometimes a person’s path is chosen for them by someone else. Back when my father started drinking, no one really knew the dangers, not even his parents. I don’t feel that excused all of his culpability, but it certainly was a mitigating factor. And as far as my choice of professions is concerned, I became a defense attorney in order to help people who find themselves on the wrong end of the law, for whatever reason. I knew how it felt to be misrepresented and somewhat taken advantage of. I wanted to give other people in similar situations the kind of representation everyone is entitled to, whatever their mistakes may be. It became important to me to help prevent someone else from becoming a victim of the system.”
He came to a stop on the sidewalk and turned to face Morgan. Giving her a little smile he said, “You mean you didn’t become a lawyer because of Perry Mason like you told me when I first asked you about that?”
The sadness in her eyes remained as she regarded him, but he gradually saw a hint of a smile appear on her face. “He wasn’t the sole reason, but he definitely had a place in my decision.”
McCoy felt a sudden wave of closeness. She hadn’t let her guard down around him to such an extent before and he had to resist an impulse to draw her to him. Glancing at their surroundings, he saw that his strategic turns while they were walking had brought them close to where they had started, so that they weren’t far from her building. “Are you ready to go back now?”
With a nod, she turned with him as they continued. Within his pocket, he was sure he felt her hand actually holding onto his during the walk back. He quickened the pace slightly, eager to return to her place so that they could be alone.
When they reached their destination, she pulled her hand from his pocket as he opened the door for her. But instead of leading the way to the elevator, she stopped inside the door and turned to face him.
“Now it really is late,” she said softly. “You should be on your way home.”
He gave her a smile. “I have some time before my curfew expires. I’ll walk you up.”
Morgan studied him intently, searching his eyes. He wasn’t sure what she was looking for or why she seemed suddenly uncomfortable.
“That’s okay. I’ll go up by myself. Thanks again for going with me tonight and for listening. I hope I didn’t ruin your evening by dragging up a lot of unpleasant memories.”
“You didn’t,” he assured her. “I’m glad you told me about it all. I know it wasn’t easy. I think I understand your point of view a little better now. And you know anytime you need an ear, or a shoulder, I’m available.”
She nodded slowly. “I’ll try to remember that.” Taking a step back, she said, “I’ll see you Monday, Jack. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”
“Good-night, Calea. When you see them tomorrow, please tell the Comptons again how much I enjoyed the evening.”
Morgan smiled and nodded again before turning toward the elevator.
***On the drive home, McCoy’s head was filled with a disarray of thoughts. He didn’t understand how Morgan could go from seeming perfectly relaxed and at ease with him, to nervous and uncomfortable in the blink of an eye. And he didn’t know why she had been reluctant to allow him to accompany her up to her apartment; it wouldn’t have been the first time he had done so. In spite of the tragic story she had shared and the feelings it had provoked, he had been pleased that she had confided in him even though she had at first been unwilling. But just when he had felt she finally trusted and felt comfortable with him, she had backed away once more. He wondered if he would ever really win her trust.
When he arrived home, undressed, and fell into bed, he found that despite the late hour sleep eluded him. In his mind, he went over every detail of what Morgan had told him. He could only imagine what he would have done if he had been called upon to tell the world what he thought of his own father when he had been twelve. It certainly wouldn’t have been easy to say anything good. And it would have been hard to live with himself if he had been forced to tell the truth. His thoughts also turned to Claire. He had spent a good deal of time thinking about how he could have prevented the accident, how if he had waited for her, she would have been driving on a different street that night. It had been difficult enough to lose her. He wondered how he would have felt if he had been the one in the accident with her instead of Briscoe, to stand helplessly by while her life faded away.
It was a long time before the peacefulness of sleep overtook him that night.