But he remained out there for a half hour or longer, fielding every question the reporters asked him calmly and politely. He used the techniques he sometimes suggested to his patients- focusing on his breathing, speaking from his chest rather than his throat- and gradually he felt more relaxed, almost normal. When the reporters were out of questions, he thanked them for their time and went back into the house.
three
When Marissa heard the gunshots, she was convinced her father was dead. God, it had been so stupid to go out there with the gun and start shooting, what the hell had he been thinking? But that was just the way her dad was- when he made his mind up to do something he got totally possessed.
Hiding in the closet with her mother, Marissa had started to scream, but her mom put a hand over her mouth, shutting her up, and said, “Shh.”
She could tell how angry her mother was about the gun, too. It had all happened so fast, there was nothing either of them could do to stop him.
The gunfire ended very quickly- it seemed to last for only a few seconds - and the house was silent.
Her mom said, “Wait here,” and went to see what was going on. Marissa, afraid her mother would get shot, too, went to try to stop her, but then they saw her dad standing there at the top of the landing, holding the gun. He looked so terrified and panicked, and then he lost it and shouted for her and her mom to get back to the bedroom.
A few minutes later, he joined them.
“Did you kill him?” her mom asked.
“Yes,” her dad said.
“Is he dead?”
Her dad swallowed, clearing his throat, then said, “Yes, he’s dead.”
When the police arrived, her dad went down to talk to them and explain what had happened. Then they heard more sirens, and more cops arrived. Marissa and her mom stayed upstairs for a while longer, talking to some cop who grossed her out the way he kept smiling at her and checking out her boobs; then they took the back staircase downstairs. On her way past the main staircase, Marissa took a peek over her shoulder, looking down toward the bottom of the stairwell, and saw the blood and one of the guy’s legs- his jeans and a black high- top sneaker. God, this was so fucked up.
Downstairs, a cop took Marissa and her mom into the living room and asked them questions. Her mom was much more together than she was, or least she seemed more together. She was able to describe everything that had happened, but when Marissa spoke it was hard to keep her thoughts or ganized, and she thought she sounded scattered.
After what seemed like forever her dad came into the living room and said, “How’re you guys doing? You two okay?”
She could tell he was trying to put up a front. He was trying to take charge, be Mr. Strong, Mr. In Control, but he had never been as in touch with his emotions as he thought he was. Just because he was a shrink didn’t mean that he wasn’t as screwed up as the rest of the world. She could tell that inside he was terrified, a total mess. She felt sorry for him, but she also knew that he’d gotten himself into this situation. No one had made him get that gun. No one had made him pull the trigger.
“A detective just got here,” her dad said. “He’s gonna want to ask us some questions.” He sounded removed deadpan.
“Are you okay?” her mom asked her dad. She was obviously furious but trying to restrain it.
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me,” her dad said. Then, without emotion, he added, “So they didn’t find a gun.”
Now her mom was raging, seething. Her dad seemed oblivious, but how could he be? It was so obvious.
“Are they sure?” she asked.
“Yeah,” her dad said, “but it’s not my fault. I saw him reach for something. What was I supposed to do?”
She could tell he wanted reassurance, but there was no way he was going to get it from her mom.
“I have to sit down,” her mom said.
A few minutes later, when her dad left the room to talk with the detective who’d just arrived, her mom said to her, “What the fucking hell was he thinking?”
It wasn’t like her mom to curse. It was kind of scary actually.
“I know, right?” Marissa said. “When he got the gun I couldn’t believe it. I was, like, what the hell’re you doing?”
“I’m so angry right now I just want to… I just want to strangle him.”
Her mom’s face was red. Marissa couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mom so angry. Maybe she never had.
Although Marissa was pretty angry at her dad herself, she felt like she had to take on the role of calming her mom down and said, “I guess he was just doing what he thought he had to do.”
“He thought he had to go shoot someone?” her mom said. “Come on, give me a break, okay? I was on the phone with nine- one- one, how long did it take the police to get here, five minutes? We could’ve locked ourselves in the bedroom, hidden in the closet. He didn’t have to take the gun out, and he sure as hell didn’t have to shoot somebody.”
“Maybe it was like he said, he thought he was defending himself.”
“I don’t care what he thought,” her mom said. “How many times did I tell him to get rid of that stupid gun? Just a few weeks ago I told him I didn’t feel comfortable with it in the house, and he hit me with his usual.”- she tried to imitate Adam, making her voice deeper-“It’s just for protection. I’ll never actually use it.” Then in her normal voice she said, “I knew something like this was going to happen, it was just a matter of time.”
Detective Clements came into the living room to talk with Marissa and Dana. They pretty much told him what they’d told the first cop, Dana doing most of the talking. Then Clements and Marissa’s dad went back into the dining room for another round of questioning. Sharon Wasserman and Jennifer Berg had come over. Marissa was best friends with Sharon’s daughter, Hillary, who had graduated from Northwestern last year and was now living in the city. Jennifer’s son, Josh, was going to GW Law School and in seventh grade had been Marissa’s first boyfriend.
After what seemed like at least an hour, Clements and Marissa’s dad returned, and Clements said he wanted to talk to Marissa, alone this time. Marissa was exhausted and just wanted to get into bed and crash, and she didn’t see why she had to answer the same questions all over again.
She went back into the dining room with Clements and sat across from him at the table.
“I know it’s late,” Clements said, “but there are a few more things I need to run by you.”
“Okay,” Marissa said, crossing her arms tightly in front of her chest.
“Your friends,” he said, “any of them have a criminal background?”
“No.”
“I’m not necessarily talking about jail time. I’m talking about anyone who might’ve stolen something in the past, or talked about wanting to steal something, or-”
“If you think one of my friends broke into our house with that guy, you’re crazy.”
“What about drug users? Any of your friends do drugs?”
Of course her friends did drugs. Well, some of her friends. She was twentytwo years old, for God’s sake- but what was she supposed to do, rat out her friends to some cop?
“No,” she said.
He seemed incredulous. “Sorry,” he said, “but you’re gonna have to answer these questions honestly.”
Thinking, Yeah, right, I’m not under oath, she asked, “What do my friends have to do with our house getting robbed?”
“Where do you get your pot, Marissa?”
Now, not only was she upset, but she was starting to get seriously scared. She had a bong in her room and a dime bag of pot in the back of her underwear drawer. She didn’t know if Clements had been up to her room yet, but he probably had. Still, she wasn’t dumb enough to admit drug use to a police detective.
“What’re you talking about?” she asked.