Mixed Blood by Roger Smith

She’d been a sculptor when he had first met her. She’d lost interest in sculpting in the last few years, her passion to be an artist diluted by the duties of a wife and mother. It was a pity. She was talented.
    Susan ignored him. She scraped the vegetables into a wok and walked it across to the stove.
    Burn didn’t take his eyes off her. “Ernie Simpkins.”
    She looked up at him, brushing hair from her face. “What?”
    “The dead cop’s name was Ernie Simpkins.” She shrugged, stirred the wok with a wooden spoon. “I wish to hell I could change what happened, Susan, but I can’t. I don’t want to lose you. Or Matt. Or the baby.”
    “It’s too late, Jack. You already have.”
    “I screwed up, big time. I admit that.”
    She looked up from the wok. “No, Jack, forgetting an anniversary is screwing up. Murdering a cop is in an altogether different category. And let’s not even talk about what you did the other night.”
    Burn watched her as she cooked, determined not to let her anger scare him and drive him into silence. “Baby, do you really want to split up our family? If you do that, you know that we’ll never be able to see each other again. The kids will grow up not knowing who their father is.”
    “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
    “That isn’t you talking, Susan.”
    “It is, Jack. Get used to it. I’m not your cute little trophy wife anymore.”
    “You were never that.” He came up behind her, tried to hold her, but she spun away from him and crossed to the fridge for soy sauce.
    He pressed on. “Let’s go to New Zealand.”
    She laughed in disbelief. “New Zealand?”
    He nodded. He had to sell this. He had one chance. “I made a mistake bringing us here. This place is like, hell, I dunno, a candy castle built on a septic tank. New Zealand is beautiful, wild, just about zero crime.”
    “Now there’s an irony. You looking for a place that’s crime free.” She added soy to the vegetables, stirring rapidly.
    “Susan, look at me.” Reluctantly, she looked up. “I want another chance. Jesus, I deserve a chance to make things right. For all of us. Stop shutting me out. Because I made some bad choices doesn’t mean you have to.”
    She was looking at him, at least. Holding his gaze. “So, you’re saying we go to New Zealand? With me like this?” She pointed at her belly.
    “After you have the baby, yes. I’ll get us an apartment here until then. In a security block. Tomorrow. We’ll pack up and get the hell out of this house. And we’ll leave as soon as it’s safe for you to fly.” He saw that he was reaching her, sensed an opening in her armor. “Susan, I love you. And Matt. I want a chance to make it right.”
    She shook her head, turned away from him, fighting tears.
    He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. She tried to free herself, but he held her tight and at last he felt her begin to relax and give in.
    Susan almost surrendered, almost let his words convince her. Then she saw him with the knife, crouched over the skinny man, and she broke his hold on her and stepped away from him.
    She saw his face, the desperation in his eyes. “Leave me alone, Jack.”
    “Susan …” He was reaching for her again.
    “Just leave me the fuck alone!” She shouted before she could stop herself. Burn nodded and walked back out onto the deck. She held on to the kitchen counter, battling to calm herself.
    She looked up to see Matt staring at her from the sofa. He was crying.
    She composed herself and went across to him, sat down beside him, and put her arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay, Matty.”
    She knew she’d pushed her son away, and she’d been trying, since she got back from the clinic, to reconnect with him. To love him again. But every time she looked at him she saw his father.
    The child sobbed as she held him and stroked his hair and whispered reassuring words. She felt his pain and confusion. And she felt her own guilt. God, how