Hold Me Like a Breath by Tiffany Schmidt

and I turned the TV to C-Span. People were debating something, their names and credentials displayed below them on the split screen, but I couldn’t be bothered to read them or listen. The television provided an excuse not to talk, an excuse to stare straight ahead and not look at the person who’d shared Carter’s last night with me. The person who was supposed to protect him. The person I’d wanted to kiss—still wanted to kiss—and now wanted to punch. The person whose voice and eyes and company made me wistful, resentful, angry, and so, so lonely.
    Our head gardener leaned in the doorway. “Penelope, there are two officers here to see you.” There were grass clippings in his hair and he had work gloves on, but I also knew he had a gun strapped under his jacket. Father insisted most everyone be armed these days. “Should I show them in?”
    â€œI guess.” I looked to Garrett for confirmation, letting my eyes rest on him for a half second before I had to turn away. Father was off-estate this morning. He, Miles, and Al were atTurtle Island Spa in Connecticut looking into a security breach. It was the first time he had left since the funeral three days ago, and nerves had driven Mother to a bottle of Xanax and her bedroom.
    The officers looked like bookends; they were both around Father’s age, both slightly bald and going soft around the belt. They had the same stride, the same direct eye contact, and they said in near unison, “We’re sorry for your loss, Miss Landlow.”
    They held out hands to shake, but Garrett intercepted these with a gruff “Hey.” He shut off the television. “We were about to head over to the clinic. Penelope needs some blood work. If you have to ask her questions, do it there.”
    I raised my eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Typically my blood work took place after a meal, and Mother had been too distraught to demand I have a CBC today. I’d been looking forward to giving my veins a break.
    My brain may have been spinning with questions about Garrett’s motives, but Mother’s etiquette training was ingrained deeper than my confusion. “Welcome, officers. I’m sorry my parents are unavailable to meet with you today, but I’ll be glad to answer your questions if you don’t mind accompanying us to the clinic.”
    The officers exchanged a look. Now that they were closer I could see they weren’t quite mirror images. One was about three inches taller than the other. He spoke, “Mrs. Landlow had told us this would be a good time.”
    â€œI apologize; she’s indisposed at the moment.” I aimed my gaze over Garrett’s shoulder. “Who did my father leave in charge?”
    â€œNolan.”
    I made a face.
    â€œDo you want to reschedule?” asked the shorter cop. “You’re a difficult girl to question, Miss Landlow. This is our third trip out here.”
    No one had mentioned this to me.
    Garrett snarled. “It’s hard to question someone when she’s unconscious.”
    â€œNow is fine,” I reassured them. “I want to help.” I held the door to the library so the two men could follow me through it to the clinic. Garrett had stridden ahead and emerged from Dr. Castillo’s office with the doctor in tow.
    â€œMake this fast,” Garrett demanded. His face was stone and anger. “You’ve said it’s just a formality, and we’ve told you she doesn’t know anything.”
    I expected them to snap back, to threaten to drag me down to the station if I wouldn’t cooperate—that’s what always happened on TV when cops’ actions were questioned.
    But they didn’t; they shuffled their feet and apologized again. “We’ll try and make this as quick and painless as possible.”
    They were on the Family payroll. They must be.
    â€œIn here, please.” Dr. Castillo put the materials for a