“Ma’am, it’s over. I need the gun,” Nola said, stepping toward her, arm outstretched.
“Don’t,” Tessa warned. “I swear on my life, I will shoot you.”
“You won’t. You would’ve done it already. It’s over, ma’am. I need your weapon,” Nola said, taking another step forward.
“Mom, give her the gun. It’s okay,” Huck said. “I’ll be okay.”
“No . . . pleaseplease, Nola . . . blame it on me. It was me!” Tessa cried, blinking away tears, her whole body starting to shake as fear became panic. “I’ll show you! I can prove it!”
“Ma’am, you can’t.”
“DON’T TELL ME WHAT I CAN DO!” Tessa exploded, snot running from her nose, her body teetering, coiling forward, like there was a black hole in her chest, about to collapse in upon itself. “You tell them what I said . . . you tell everyone it was me . . .”
Nola moved closer, extending her hand toward the gun.
“WHY AREN’T YOU LISTENING!? IT WAS ME!” Tessa insisted, her eyes darting back and forth. Her face was blank, like she was no longer in there.
Nola froze. She’d seen that look on other soldiers, including one who, in full panic, put their gun to their own head. Since the moment Nola arrived, she didn’t think Tessa would pull the trigger. Now, she wasn’t sure.
“Mom, what’re you doing?” Huck asked.
“Protecting you. That’s my job.” Tessa’s hands were shaking, vibrating, as she pointed the gun at Nola’s chest—center mass—just like she was trained.
“Mrs. Mint—I’m not your enemy . . .” Nola said, raising her hands.
“Say the words,” Tessa warned. “SAY IT WAS ME.”
“Mom, please!”
“Say it was me! This is on you now!” Tessa said, still locked on Nola.
“Mom, put the gun down!”
“MA’AM,” a voice called out. A new voice.
Tessa spun toward the source. Behind her, by the door.
Waggs stood there on the threshold, her palms open, facing them. Nola’s first thought was that Waggs should’ve pulled her own gun. But she was trying to deescalate the situation.
“It’s over,” Waggs insisted.
Tessa shook her head, over and over. “N-No . . . if you . . . he can still—”
“Ma’am, we’re done. The police are on their way,” Waggs explained. “It’s done. Your son—”
“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST SAY IT WAS ME!?” Tessa pleaded, screaming at Waggs, then Nola. She kept looking around at Huck, at the garage, at her husband’s old tools, old bikes, at all these abandoned artifacts from her cratered life, as if nothing looked familiar.
“Mom, I’ll be okay,” Huck promised.
“You hearing what I said? Put down the gun,” Waggs insisted.
Mucus and tears ran down in a waterfall, the black hole in Tessa’s chest starting to swallow her whole. Her gun was still pointed at Nola, but Tessa didn’t seem to notice. She was crying, huffing uncontrollably as she fought to catch her breath. Her face was red, approaching purple, and just like that . . .
Tessa’s body teetered slightly, then went limp, sagging sideways, unconscious, a psychogenic blackout caused by extreme distress.
“Mom . . . !”
As Tessa’s knees gave way, her head smacked into the side of the workbench—a dull, awful thud.