Only time can heal that wound. And her willingness to admit what happened.’) Before him stood the boy with the white streak. He placed his fish whit... hand on the girls shoulder and threw his head back to flip his hair from his eyes. Over his eye was a dent leading up into the hairline. Some might call it a Frankenstein crease. Button black eyes stared at him. (Grandpa telling him when he was a boy, ‘After a person has had a head injury, when they heal, their hair usually grows in white in that. We looked each other directly in the eyes. I could see tears starting to well up.I put my right hand up, palm out, making a stopping motion. She looked distressed and sat up a little straighter, but didn’t start crying.“Please don’t,” I started. “You know I hate when you do that ‘poor me’ crying shit, and in this case, if there’s anyone who should be crying, it should be me. How could you do this ... to us, to me! Thirty-nine years gone ... poof! ... in a puff of smoke.“I’m pretty sure that. She is always right. Always. If you think she is not, she wants to hear about it but only when you and her are alone. If you turn out wrong, your off the case."I write down the second rule as we reach my new office. We don't walk in though. We stop at the closed door. "Rule number three. If you are late without an explanation, you get a punishment. Don't worry, the punishment is paper work. It's not fun. It's not easy. So don't be late." She turns the knob of the door and pushes open the door.. From inside the diner, Helen had been watching with her cell phone in hand, ready to call the cops the moment the young mother and her two helpless kids became homeless. As Ethan drove away with the young family in tow, she stepped behind the counter and dropped the phone back into her purse. Helen had never wanted to kick herself so bad, ‘Damn, I just knew the bitch would walk away or go screaming down the street. Why in the fuck was I stupid enough to tell her she could trust Ethan. I should.