leaning over, his free hand braced on the back of the couch, breathing shallowly, while Grizzly barked wildly. Maybe Nelson would hyperventilate, pass out, Edward Everett thought, but he sucked in a breath, let it out and straightened.
“Fuck, Skip. I’m fucking going to shoot that fucking dog.”
“Grizzly,” Edward Everett bellowed, so loudly that Nelson startled. The dog did stop barking but then another noise began in the closet: the dog’s nails clicking against the hardwood floor, every once in a while something knocking against the wall. It was his head, Edward Everett knew, Grizzly in the throes of a seizure.
“Ross,” he said. “Let’s just put the gun away. We can talk. Long as you want.”
“Skip,” Nelson said, leaning against the back of the sofa, the gun resting on a cushion. “I’m fucked.”
“No you’re not,” he said, keeping his eye on the gun.
With his free hand, Nelson fumbled in his sweatshirt pocket and came out with a folded wad of paper: something with a pale blue cover sheet. A legal document. Nelson tried unfolding it with one hand but became frustrated and thrust it at Edward Everett, who took it, his own hand shaking so much the paper rattled. Unfolding it, he saw it was an order of protection, prohibiting Nelson from coming within fifty yards of the petitioner, Cynthia Nelson, as well as Jacob Nelson and Sarah Nelson, minor children.
“I don’t know what this means, Skip,” Nelson said. He was crying and he reached up to wipe his eyes with the wrist of his hand that held the gun. What kind of weapon was it? Edward Everett wondered. Not a revolver; a gun that loaded with a clip in the handle. He knew nothing about guns except what he had seen in movies and on television, but he thought: Guns like that have a safety. He squinted at it, trying to find it, but had no idea where it would be or what it would look like on or off.
“Oh, fuck, Skip,” Nelson said, pointing the gun in Edward Everett’s direction. “Don’t even think of trying to get this away from me.”
“I wasn’t,” Edward Everett said. His head was suddenly light. He wanted to sit down and, without thinking of how Nelson would respond, he staggered back until his knees felt one of the upholstered chairs he had in his living room, and he sat.
“Order of protection,” Nelson said. He moved unsteadily around the couch until he was on the other side and sank into it, sitting, dangling the gun between his knees. “I would never hurt Cindy or … My God. My kids. Why would she say something like that?”
Because you’re crazy, Edward Everett thought. Because you’re in my house with a gun. He said nothing, pretending to study the document. He could comprehend nothing on the page now, not even individual letters; they were squiggles, circles and slashes.
“Fuck, Skip. I really screwed things up,” Nelson said.
“I don’t know, Nelson,” he said, talking quietly. “What did you do?”
“I went to her dad’s house. He said, ‘She doesn’t want to see you.’ ‘Like hell,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t want to see you. You need to leave.’ Then he fucking closed the door.”
“What did you do then?”
“I didn’t fucking leave, that’s what I did. I stayed on their fucking porch and he called the cops. They came and took me away and next day, order of protection.” He moved abruptly toward Edward Everett, making him flinch, snatched the document out of his hand and ripped it into two pieces, then ripped it again, until it was too thick for him to tear easily and he flung the pieces around the room. “I wish I’d had the gun then. I’d’ve fucking shot him, right there on his fucking porch.”
“I don’t think you would do that, Ross,” Edward Everett said. “I don’t think you’re the kind of person who could shoot someone.”
“You think so?” Nelson said. He raised the gun and eyed along the barrel, squinting. “If he was here, I would so pull the fucking trigger.”
“We can fix this, Ross,” Edward Everett said.
“I’d say we’re pretty far past the fixing stage.”
Was he going to shoot them both or just himself? Edward Everett wondered. Maybe someone would come by. Meg. Surprise! I missed you, honey. Or maybe Vincent, who wanted to pay more of the money he owed for his girlfriend’s root canal. I’m a good person, Edward Everett thought. The kind of person who lends a thousand dollars to someone and doesn’t