Page 115 of Donovan's Men

Cleaning up the dishes and the kitchen took little time. Personally, I would’ve preferred we all go back to bed for somephysical exertions, but Donovan appeared implacable, and despite everything, Hamish clearly needed to get this off his chest. I could guess, of course, but better that he confirm it. As Donovan said, if we didn’t know each other’s triggers, we might inadvertently hit a raw nerve. Not the end of the world—as long as we were strong enough to talk it out.

Jesus. Talking. All my wife had ever wanted to do. And the one thing I hadn’t been willing to.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. Tammy hadn’t wanted to talk about what I wanted to talk about, so I would shut her down any time she tried to get me to converse with her.

Hamish had a surprisingly large sectional dark-gray fabric couch.

I expected Donovan to settle in the middle corner, but he coaxed me into that spot. He tucked Hamish in to my left side while he sat to my right.

We each held mugs. Donovan and I had coffee while Hamish nursed an extra-hot tea. Honestly, I didn’t know anything about tea except English Breakfast probably came from England and likely went with breakfast.

Or so I assumed.

I had learned Hamish preferred it well-steeped and plain.

Donovan, although usually preferring water or spinach protein shakes, settled with a black coffee. I’d added liberal amounts of milk and sugar to mine. Sometimes black worked—sometimes I wanted something that resembled a latté.

Hamish stared into his mug and sighed.

“You don’t—” I tried.

“Yeah, he does.” Donovan cut me off.

I shot a glare at him. Back to being bossy after having unloaded his father’s incest of his sister and his sister’s subsequent suicide. As well as his father’s ultimate demise and Hamish’s suggestion it might’ve been suicide. I wasn’t sold on that. I’d only arrested a couple of pedophiles—I didn’t, thank God, work sex crimes—but those I’d nabbed honestly didn’t believe they’d done anything wrong. They had tons of excuses and justifications for their abhorrent behavior.

“Yeah, I do.” Hamish took a sip of his tea. “I was in my first year of practice. I hadn’t started working at JEAP yet and instead was working in a teen center. I looked young—”

I snickered.

“Younger,” he corrected. “Like I was just out of high school myself. And the administrators believed the kids would relate to me better than someone older.” He winced. “And I think they were right. I was careful to maintain a professional distance, but I could relate to the kids. I’d been a late bloomer, so to speak. My growth spurt hit my second year of university. I’d always been a bean pole with bad acne and a sense of never quite fitting in. These kids were much as I’d been—many super smart but not wanting others to see it lest they lose theircoolvibe.” He sighed. “Kids.”

“Yeah.” I’d done some mentoring in my early days on the force. Before my father’d gotten sick. Back when I’d had Tammy’s support.

“Then there was Iris.” He ran his finger along the rim of his mug, not looking at us. “She was a girl out of time—a traditional name and very traditional clothes. She wore prim blouses and long skirts. When I spoke to her, I always had the sense I was speaking to an old soul. As far as I could see, she’d adapted well to life in Canada. Oh sorry, she was from the Middle East.Her family came to Canada as refugees. She’d spent part of her youth in a refugee camp, and at times, she struggled with the abundance of her life in Canada. I mean, they weren’t wealthy, but they had shelter, healthy meals, and she was able to attend a good school.”

He took a deep breath. Then he looked up, but not at either of us. “She told me she was fine. I’d taken her aside one afternoon just to check in. Somehow she seemed…sadder. Or even more introspective. I tried to talk to her, but she assured me she was fine.”

“You didn’t believe her.” Donovan gently laid his hand on Hamish’s thigh.

“I believed we had a relationship where she could be honest with me. And conversely, I thought if she was really suicidal or something that I’d know. I had a PhD. I knew everything.”

My heart seized at the pain in his voice.

“Well, I didn’t. The next day the program administrator brought me into her office. She’d seen me talking to Iris, and she wanted to know what we’d discussed. I was worried she might think I’d done something inappropriate—so I calmly explained we’d just been talking. And how we’d always been in sight of other adults and then…” He swallowed. “I could see it on her face. They weren’t worried I’ddonesomething inappropriate. They were worried I’dsaidsomething inappropriate.” He wrapped both hands around his mug, clearly ignoring Donovan’s hand. “And she told me that Iris had killed herself the night before. She’d taken a bunch of pills. Didn’t leave a note. Didn’t give her parents any hint this was coming.”

“And they thought you’d counseled her to do it?” That didn’t feel right, but—reading between the lines—that appeared to be exactly what he was saying.

He moved his head back and forth in neither a nod nor a shake. “More that they thought I should’ve seen it coming.Amazingly, they’d never lost a kid to suicide in this program, which had been running for almost ten years. They’d decided the program was infallible but I wasn’t. I must have done something.” He looked up bleakly. “And maybe I did. Maybe I said the wrong thing. Or maybe I didn’t say the right thing.”

“You know that’s bullshit.” Donovan whispered the words.

I rescued Hamish’s mug when he nearly dropped it. I put our mugs on the coffee table and managed to snag Donovan’s before he tugged Hamish close.

Hamish went willingly—silently sobbing.

This felt sudden to me. Like it should’ve taken longer to get to the breakdown.He’s been holding this in for, what, more than ten years? No one’s seen. No one except us.I’d spotted it, for sure, but Donovan’d been on it almost from the beginning. I couldn’t explain how he saw the world differently than others—had a perception that most people lacked. Whether because they were so wrapped up in their own lives, or because Donovan felt things acutely after losing his sister, I wasn’t sure. Clearly, he’d spent years beating himself up for having missed signs he couldn’t possibly have been expected to spot.

And now Hamish faced losing his vocation. After Iris, he’d found the strength to find another job and to keep working. I wasn’t certain I’d have had that strength. Only, if things went badly, he could lose his accreditation forever.