Making Home with You

by Claire Raye

  “But you, Sarah, you are right for him. Even if he hasn’t said it, I can tell he loves you. The way he looks at you, the way he behaves when you’re around. It’s different than anything I’ve ever seen. Finn isn’t one to show his emotions and with you, they radiate from him.”

  “Thank you,” I respond, not sure what the correct response is. “Do you think this thing with Carla will continue?”

  “I have no idea, but I’ll ask around, find out what people are saying and what Carla is up to.”

  I thank Kelsey again and we say our goodbyes with her thanking me in return for all my efforts in regards to her business. She also asks again if she can share my information with a few people and this time I agree. I can always turn someone down if I feel like I won’t have the time. But knowing it could possibly help my career, declining straightaway seems like a bad idea.

  As I’m walking out the door Kelsey calls, “Talk to Finn tonight. Maybe you sharing what is happening at work will help him open up to you about Carla.”

  It’s later than I expected it to be when I finally make my way back to Finn’s house. I had to pick up some clothes at Erin and Ryan’s, and with the detour in conversation at the inn, it’s after six.

  The house smells unreal, like an Italian restaurant and to say I’m shocked would be an understatement. After spending the past few weeks with Finn, I would have assumed he couldn’t cook to save his life. His fridge and freezer always filled with frozen pizza and premade salads.

  “Oh my god! What are you cooking?” I yell, skipping into the kitchen to find Finn standing at the counter tossing a salad in a wooden bowl.

  I slip my arms around his waist, and rest my head against his back.

  “Lasagna, my mom’s recipe,” he says and turns in my arms so he’s facing me. “How’d it go at Kelsey’s?” But before I can answer, he presses a kiss to my lips and murmurs, “I missed you.”

  “Me too.”

  I fill Finn in while he finishes up making garlic bread. We talk while I set the table and pour the wine, and he gets everything out of the oven.

  And while the timing probably sucks, I know I need to talk to Finn about what is happening at work. The conversation up until this point has been light and casual, with Finn continually complimenting me on how well things went with Kelsey, and me asking about his afternoon. But I know if I don’t say something now, I won’t say anything at all.

  When we are both finally sitting, the food served, I take a deep breath and say, “I need to tell you something.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Finn

  I freeze at Sarah’s words as my brain tries to work out how we suddenly went from light, easy conversation to potentially serious, I’m-not-going-to-want-to-hear-this in the space of a few seconds.

  I already know what she’s going to say, too. It’s the words I’ve been dreading since I found out who she was, since she got the job in Boston, since she started the daily two-hour commute that leaves her exhausted.

  I’m leaving.

  Swallowing hard, knowing I can’t expect her to keep doing this every day, week in, week out, I smile and say, “What?”

  Sarah takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving mine as she exhales in a rush. “I hate my job,” she blurts out and even though it’s completely selfish, a small part of me can’t help but be relieved.

  “Why?” I ask. “What’s happened?”

  Sarah shakes her head now as though maybe she regrets her words and it’s nothing, even though it’s obvious it’s really bothering her. “I don’t know,” she starts. “The commute sucks, it’s not my area of expertise,” she continues.

  “Maybe it would be easier if you didn’t have the commute,” I suggest, even though the idea of her moving to Boston is the last thing I want. “And maybe you could transfer to another section.”

  Sarah stares at me again, her eyes searching mine as though she’s looking for something, some sort of answer. Realizing I’ve probably made it sound as though I don’t care if she moves to Boston, I quickly add, “It’s not that I’m trying to get rid of you, okay? I’m just saying maybe it would make things a bit easier? I know the commute is killing you.”

  Sarah shrugs in response, not saying anything as she picks at a piece of garlic bread. “I like being in Rockport,” she eventually says, her words quiet as a half laugh falls from her mouth. “Kinda ironic given I couldn’t wait to get out of Eddington, huh?”

  “Hey,” I say, reaching for her hand. When she finally looks at me, I smile. “I like you being in Rockport too.”

  “Yeah?” she asks, her eyes wide.

  I lift her hand to my mouth and press a kiss to her palm. “Yeah, Sarah, I really do. But I know how exhausted this is making you and now to hear you don’t even like your job, maybe…”

  I trail off because I have no idea what the answer is.

  “My boss is kind of a dick too,” she adds on, eyes on her plate again.

  “What?” I ask, the word hard. “What do you mean, a dick?”

  Sarah shrugs, “I don’t know,” she says, still not looking at me. “He’s sort of known for being a bit of a sleaze and…”

  “Has he done something to you?” I ask, cutting her off.

  She shakes her head, but still won’t look at me.

  “Sarah,” I say, getting up and moving around to where she sits. I kneel in front of her, taking the fork from her hand as I take both of her hands in mine. “Sarah,” I repeat, waiting until she looks at me. When she finally does, I repeat my question. “Has he done something to you?”

  She stares back at me, a strange look on her face as though she’s debating how to answer my question. It sends a sliver of fear down my spine, not just at the idea that this dick might be being inappropriate with her, but that she feels like she can’t tell me about it.

  “No,” she eventually says. “I mean he says some inappropriate stuff, but nothing I haven’t heard working in a bar.”

  I breathe out a sigh of relief even if it still feels like she isn’t telling me everything. “Want me to come down and have a word with him?” I ask, even knowing I hold no weight in Boston.

  She offers a half smile. “No, it’s okay,” she says. “Thank you though.”

  I lift her hands for another kiss. “How about I take you out for lunch tomorrow,” I suggest. “Let him see exactly who your boyfriend is?”

  Her smile widens a little, even as she ducks her head, her eyes on our joined hands. “You’d do that?” she whispers.

  “Baby,” I say, tilting her chin so she’s looking at me again. “Of course I would.”

  The next morning, Sarah and I wake early. We share a quiet breakfast and afterward, I drop her at the station, promising I’ll be at her office by 12:30 to take her out to lunch.

  I head into work, knowing there’s little point in me going back home. Unsurprisingly, the station is quiet, the only person there, the duty officer from last night. After I send her home, I make myself some coffee and head into my office to write up a report about what happened early Sunday morning at my place.

  Even though I can’t prove it was anything, much less Carla, years of police work have reinforced the need to document absolutely everything, regardless of how minor or unimportant it seems at the time. I’ve already made notes on the fish and chips shop saga and I definitely want to document this possible incident too.

  Considering how much all of this could potentially fuck with my career, hell with my whole life, I’m not taking any chances.

  A couple of hours later, my report is written and the station is buzzing with people. After I deal with a couple of HR matters, I print out my report and head out to see Sam so I can pass it onto him.

  Just as I’m walking out the door though, my phone buzzes with a call from reception. Frowning, because Mavis usually walks in to talk directly to me, I grab the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Ah, Sir,” Mavis st
ammers, a nervous edge to her voice.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s, ah…there’s someone here to see you,” she says, her voice muffled as though she’s covering the mouthpiece or something.

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Someone,” she stops, clears her throat before trying again. “Someone from the State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigation.”

  It feels like a punch in the gut and as much as I wish I could ignore her words, pretend that whoever this person is, isn’t here, I know I can’t do that. Clearly the matter has escalated and while I don’t blame Sam for not being able to tell me it has been taken out of his hands, it would have been nice to know I was going to be ambushed this morning.

  “Send them in,” I say, before hanging up the phone.

  I remain standing as I wait for the person they’ve sent to enter my office. It takes only a minute before I’m greeted by a man about my age, dressed in a black suit, light pink shirt and a green tie.

  He offers me a small smile as he holds out a hand and introduces himself. “Detective Ian Greenwood.”

  “Chief Finn O’Loughlin,” I reply, returning the handshake. “Can I get you some coffee or anything?” I offer, knowing it’s in my best interests to be professional and accommodating with this guy. Pissing him off is the last thing I want.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” he says.

  I nod and move to close my office door before offering him a seat. I walk around my desk and sit down, hands on the desk in front of me as I try and remain calm.

  “So,” he starts, clearing his throat as he opens the file he’s carrying and quickly looks over whatever it contains. “I’m guessing you know why I’m here?” he says, looking up at me.

  I nod. “I’ve got a pretty good idea, yes.”

  He returns the nod, offering a small smile as though to reassure me. “You’re aware of the allegations being made against you then?”

  “This is a small town, Sir, even if I wasn’t the Chief, it would be hard not to know,” I say, immediately regretting my words. “But yes, I know.”

  “Okay,” he says, not giving anything away. “Well, obviously this is something we have to treat seriously,” he continues and I say nothing, only nod at his words. “But, that doesn’t mean we don’t take a balanced approach when we do,” he adds.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning,” he continues. “That I’m here to get your side of the story, that’s all.”

  I let out a long exhale, loosening my fingers which have somehow become tightly entwined on my desk. “And do I get to hear her version of events.”

  The detective shakes his head. “No,” he says. “At this stage, you are aware of her allegation, but in order to make this fair and unbiased, I need to ask for your version of events first.”

  I watch as he pulls a small recording device from his pocket and places it on the desk between us. He makes a note of the time and who is present in the room before nodding toward me, as if to signal I can begin.

  I fall back in my chair, push a hand through my hair as I try to imagine exactly what Carla has told this guy. When he could possibly have gone to see her. Two weeks ago, I never would have dreamed that a single night from high school could have ended up like this.

  “It was nearly sixteen years ago,” I start, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. “Which of course doesn’t dismiss things, but I do want to categorically state that what did happen was entirely consensual.”

  Detective Greenwood nods. “Just start from the beginning,” he says. “Tell me what happened.”

  So I do.

  I explain how one night, toward the end of our final year in high school, at a party to celebrate our upcoming graduation, Carla approached me. I’d always known she’d had a bit of a crush on me and while I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend or anything, I wasn’t going to dismiss the idea of a one-time hook-up either, especially when it was something she wanted too.

  We’d both been drinking, but neither of us was so drunk we didn’t know what we were doing. I’d probably had four beers at most and at first we spent an hour or so just hanging out in the kitchen, flirting and innocently touching each other.

  At some point though, Carla suggested we take things somewhere private, slipping a hand under my t-shirt as she pressed her body against mine. I remember looking at her, wondering if she was serious, wondering if this was a good idea, especially when I knew she probably wanted me more than I wanted her.

  “Come on, Finn,” she’d said, practically purring. “Let’s go fool around a little.”

  I don’t know what made me do it. Guess I was just a horny teenager like everyone else at that age. Either way, I let her lead me into a bedroom upstairs where she proceeded to jump me, even supplying the condom after she’d pulled my clothes off.

  We’d had fun, of that I was certain and afterward as we’d laid there trying to catch our breath, we’d even discussed our plans now that school was nearly over.

  I was moving away, heading to the police academy in New Braintree like my dad and granddad had done. Even though it was only two hours away and I had my own car, I wasn’t sure I’d be coming back to Rockport on a regular basis. Certainly not often enough to consider having a serious girlfriend.

  Carla told me she was heading to BU to study business and even though that was thirty minutes closer, it still wasn’t enough to convince me that us trying for any kind of relationship was a good idea. I thought she’d accepted that. Thought she understood that even a casual friends-with-benefits thing when both of us were back in town wasn’t what I was looking for.

  We’d left on good terms. She’d even thanked me for the good time before she kissed me and walked out the door. Never in a million years could I have expected she’d turn this into something as ugly and perverse as sexual assault.

  “Okay,” Detective Greenwood says, when I finally finish, glancing down at the notes he’s been making as I’ve recounted this story. “There’s definitely some differences in your version of events,” he says. “Can you think of any reason why Ms. Robinson might be suggesting things happened differently?”

  I let out another deep breath, suddenly exhausted by all of this. “My guess would be because I’ve been seeing someone,” I say. “It’s serious and I guess she doesn’t like that because ever since her divorce she’s been repeatedly asking me out, hoping for something more.”

  “And your response to those invitations?” he prompts.

  “Has always been no,” I say, sitting up a little. “I’m not interested in a relationship with her. I never have been and I’ve made that clear from the get go.”

  “Okay,” he says, holding up a hand as though to placate me. I realize I’m now leaning forward, an urgency in my body language as though I’m willing this guy, who could ruin my career with the stroke of his pen, to believe me.

  I force myself to sit back, to relax so I don’t come off as too defensive, or worse still, aggressive.

  “Right,” he says, jotting down a few more notes. “So from here, I’m going to need to do a little more investigation before we make any decisions.”

  “What kind of decisions?” I immediately ask, my heart pounding in my chest despite my attempts to remain calm.

  “Look, Finn,” he says, his voice calm as he offers me a smile. “We’re not out to ruin anyone with this, okay? Yes, this is a serious allegation and there are procedures we need to follow, but we will investigate it thoroughly.”

  “But…”

  “And,” he says, cutting me off. “Your version will be listened too and both sides will be given a voice. I give you my word,” he promises as he looks across at me. I nod, swallowing hard as I force myself to believe him. “In the meantime, I will ask that you continue to stay away from Ms. Robinson and to keep the details of this investigation to yourself.”

  “So I’m not suspended?” I ask.

  “You’re not,” he says and
I immediately feel a weight lift off me. “But you do need to be careful,” he adds. “If anything comes up, or if Ms. Robinson requests police assistance for any reason, you are not to become involved, is that clear?”

  “Yes,” I tell him.

  “Right,” he says, gathering his things. “Here’s my contact details,” he adds, sliding a business card onto my desk. “Feel free to get in touch if you think of anything else that may help this investigation.”

  I stare down at it, at the words printed across the plain white card, the insignia in the top left-hand corner. It’s not something I ever expected to see in my policing career and it scares the shit out of me that I’m seeing it now.

  Part of me wishes this guy could provide some kind of reassurance that everything will be okay, that we’re on the same side and I’m not facing the prospect of losing my job and my career.

  But I know he can’t do that. He has to remain impartial and unbiased, regardless of the fact we both took the same oath to serve and protect.

  “Thanks for your time,” he adds, reminding me he’s still here. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I nod, unable to say anything as he shakes my hand and walks out the door. It’s only after he’s gone that I realize I haven’t told him anything about my run-in with Carla at the fish and chips shop she owns or my suspicions about her being in my backyard last Saturday night.

  “Fuck,” I mumble, glancing at my watch. “Fuck,” I repeat, louder this time when I see it’s now twenty-seven minutes after twelve and I’ve completely forgotten and now missed my lunch with Sarah.

  I grab my phone, type out a quick text.

  Me: Babe, I am so sorry. Something came up at work and I’m still in Rockport. Will have to raincheck lunch. Sorry.

  I stare at my phone, willing the three floating bubbles that tells me Sarah is replying to my message to appear on the screen. But they don’t and all I can do is wonder if she’s waiting somewhere for me to show up, trying to avoid the boss she doesn’t like and who I already have a bad feeling about.