Dream a Little Dream

by Melinda Curtis

  Darcy drank her morning Coke in the sunroom, right out of the can. There’d been no tumbler of ice waiting. No love note. She threw away the stack he’d left her during his stay. The pond was rippling from the wind. There was no man skipping rocks at the pond’s edge. No shirtless man puttering around the house. Stogey moped and refused to touch his breakfast. He barely tooted.

  She was heartbroken, but Darcy knew she’d done the right thing. Jason had known how upset she was over being a bigamist, how worried she’d been that Rupert or Oliver would discover she was a felon. And he hadn’t told her there was a possibility it was all a misunderstanding.

  When Darcy went to the cottage to give Pearl the new gate code, she clutched Stogey to her chest as if afraid Pearl would steal the one being in her life who couldn’t be disloyal to her.

  She went into work, half expecting to see Jason at the courthouse. He wasn’t. She and Stogey arrived promptly at seven thirty. Her hair was down, and she wore wedges instead of the chunky-heeled, hated sandals, and a wraparound green dress that actually made her look like a young professional.

  No one commented on her appearance all day. Or treated her with any more or less respect.

  Take that, George.

  He had no comeback. Not surprising, since she hadn’t heard him for days.

  Tina Marie poked her head into Darcy’s office that afternoon. “Is it okay if I load up next Monday’s schedule with divorce cases?”

  “Can we take a day of marriages on the rocks?” Former-bigamist humor. Darcy might have given in to her stomach upset several times that day if only it wouldn’t have given rise to pregnancy rumors.

  “You can do it, Darcy.” Tina Marie gave her a smile, one of the few she’d had since they’d begun working together again. “You’re tough.”

  “Thank you.” Darcy lowered her voice. “But I’ll never be as tough as you.” It was the truth. Tina Marie was protective of the office of judge, no matter who sat on the throne. “You’ve somehow managed to run through enough cases that there’s light at the end of the tunnel.”

  “It helps that you’re the hanging judge.”

  Darcy sat back, stunned. “You mean like George?”

  “No.” Tina Marie’s tone changed. They’d come a long way since Darcy’s appointment, but there were still hard feelings. “George created alternative sentences that put those brought before him between a rock and a hard place. There was no easy way out. But by allowing them to choose, it put them in charge of their fate. No one blamed George for their lot in life after being arrested.”

  Darcy nodded. Everyone blamed her. The lawyers. The defendants.

  “You, on the other hand, you represent everything they hate and fear about the law. There’s no pleading with you. It’s cut-and-dry.” Tina Marie smiled, but it was a grim smile, an I’ve-accepted-my-lot-in-life-until-retirement smile. “Yep, you’re the hanging judge. Won’t help you preside over divorces on Monday, though.” Tina Marie returned to her desk.

  “You’ve already got a reputation,” her mother had said.

  Darcy drew Stogey into her lap, needing to feel less bloodthirsty than Tina Marie had painted her. She knew the right thing to do was step down as judge. She just had to work up the courage to do it.

  Henrik knocked on the doorframe. “Can I have a moment, Judge Harper?”

  “Of course.” Darcy indicated he should take a seat, wondering what she’d done to bring him out here. Had Rupert heard her confession to Jason?

  Henrik closed the door behind him, shutting Tina Marie out. A bad sign. He took his time sitting down, unbuttoning his suit jacket, and taking stock of the office. A really bad sign.

  “I haven’t changed much in here,” Darcy said self-consciously, glancing around at the dark paneling and traditional painting on the wall. “It still feels like George’s office.” Except she kept the heavy drapes open to let in the natural light.

  “But you’ve changed a lot in the courtroom.” Henrik nodded toward the door opposite the one he’d come in.

  “Is there a compliment in there somewhere?” It didn’t feel like it.

  He studied her for a moment. It was different from the way he’d studied her the first day they’d met. “Our office has received some complaints.”

  It was almost a relief to know why he’d come. “About sentencing.”

  The hanging judge.

  It was better than a rumor that she was a bigamist.

  Henrik nodded. “You know, when George sat the bench, this was one of the lowest-crime districts in the area. And the lowest rate of repeat offenders in the state.”

  “No one ever said George was soft on crime. And I’m not either.” If Darcy was going down, she was going down swinging.

  “You’re adhering to the guidelines,” Henrik allowed. However, it felt like there was a but in his assessment somewhere.

  Darcy didn’t give him time to tack that on. “Aren’t judges supposed to uphold the law of the land?”

  “Most don’t hold to the letter of that law.” Henrik scooted forward in his chair, leaning his forearms on the desk. “If the minimum sentence is ten days, they might give them two nights in jail. Perhaps stipulating that the sentence be carried out over a weekend so that a citizen might not miss work.”

  Darcy settled back in her chair, hands clasped over her stomach, which wasn’t happy with the tacos she’d had for lunch. “I’m not entirely clear on the course of this conversation, Henrik. Are you censuring me?”

  “No.” He glanced toward the courtroom. “But there have been complaints filed. Several were registered with the clerk of the court of appeals for this district. It’s unusual for so many to be filed so soon after an appointment.”

  Darcy nodded. She was a special case. “And what did these complaints allege?”

  “Erroneous decision.” Henrik cleared his throat. “You know, the thing that made George a good judge wasn’t his compassion for his community. It was his sense of humanity. He knew who he was and who he wanted to be. He cared for people. And through that caring, he earned their respect.”

  Respect. The lack of it grated on her nerves.

  “Henrik, George wasn’t perfect.” The man had had rough edges up until the day he died. “I’m sure he had several complaints filed against him.” Most likely for the same thing.

  “And he’d admit that if you brought it up.” Henrik nodded.

  “He’d admit…” Darcy hugged herself. Her mouth was dry. She’d been furious with Jason for keeping the revelation that their marriage might not be legal a secret. But the secrets in her professional life were weighing her down too. “I need to admit something.”

  “Besides you marrying George for something other than love?” He didn’t say it with acrimony. In fact, Henrik shrugged. “I think you know how George and I felt about the alternatives for the position.”

  He didn’t care? Darcy frowned. “You could have appointed Reese or Keli.” The public defender and district attorney.

  “George talked to them privately a few years ago. Neither one was interested in the position. Reese has a health issue, and Keli had more personal reasons for turning the opportunity down.” Henrik shook his head. “No, it was you. It was always you we pinned our hopes on.”

  “And how’s that working out for you so far? You came here to tell me I suck as a judge.” Darcy drew herself up when what she really wanted to do was slump over her desk and admit defeat. “You should have told me you knew about my marriage to George from day one.”

  “Would that have made you feel better?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe.”

  “Precisely. Not even you have sorted out how you feel about the path that brought you here.” Henrik got to his feet and went to stand behind his chair, leaning on the back. “You have regrets. There are words and actions in everyone’s past that they regret. Learn to forgive yourself.”

  “But—”

  “I want you to be the best judge Darcy Jones Harper can be. And if th
at means a little soul-searching to figure out who you are and how you want to proceed, so be it.” He stood smiling at her ever so gently. “In time, Sunshine will forget how you became judge if you’re a good judge.” He’d said his piece, and he left.

  Darcy slumped in her seat. Forgive herself? She’d have to forgive others first. Jason and George were at the head of the line.

  Darcy stared at the dusty bottle of whiskey on the bookcase on the far wall.

  She wasn’t one for drinking on the job. Or drinking alone.

  It was time to belly up to the bar at Shaw’s.

  * * *

  “You’ve been avoiding me.” Jason ran down Ken at his mother’s yarn shop late Monday afternoon because he hadn’t received word on his marital status.

  “I’ve been busy.” Ken wore a dark-brown sweater vest over a tan polo shirt and was reviewing a paper list of some kind.

  “Go easy on him.” Mom snagged Jason in an exuberant hug. She wore a black, lightweight sweater with bell sleeves, reminiscent of Darcy’s judge robe. “I’m thrilled to say Ken has shown me how to sell my knits online. He set me up with a website and everything.”

  “Clarice agreed to take pictures of her merchandise and post them online.” Ken tucked his cell phone into his back pocket and gestured toward Clarice in the back room, who held her camera over a pair of mittens.

  “It sounds like you’ve fixed everything,” Jason said evenly.

  “Not everything, but close to it.” Ken grinned.

  Ken never grinned.

  Grinding his teeth, Jason led the way to the door. “Say goodbye to the kind ladies, Ken.”

  “Goodbye, kind ladies.” He bowed.

  Jason held the door, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Mr. Fix-It. I’m overdue for an update.”

  “Coffee?” Ken asked.

  Jason nodded.

  They walked toward the bakery. It stayed open until six on weekdays to feed the town’s caffeine cravings.

  “I did get some news today, and you’re not going to like it.” Ken nodded to Tiffany Winslow as they passed the pharmacy. “Turns out you’re not married.”

  Jason swore. The wind carried the word away. “I know it’s not right to pull for something that makes Darcy a felon, but I was really hoping our marriage was legal.”

  Ken tsk-tsked. “You’d be a lot calmer if you ate fewer carbs.”

  Jason swore again. Louder. His leg threatened to cramp.

  They crossed the street, nearing the movie theater.

  Avery came rushing out the front door, dressed up for date night in high heels and a skirt that showed off a lot of leg. “I’m ready.”

  “Give me a minute,” Ken said in a voice unburdened by lost loves and missing marriage licenses. “You look fantastic. I’ll be right back.”

  They proceeded down the street.

  “My life is in ruins and you have a date?” Jason settled his hat more firmly on his head, the way one does before throwing a punch.

  “I’m allowed a personal life.” Ken smoothed a hand over his fresh haircut, undoubtedly obtained at Prestige Salon.

  “You’re fired.” He’d stand by Iggy before Ken.

  Ken sighed. “I told you I’d fix this, and I will. You have to have a little patience. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

  “Like you called in the professionals and they had all the answers.” Jason’s hands fisted. He’d wait to pop Ken in the nose until they reached the bakery. There were napkins at the bakery to capture the blood. Mom would be upset if her sweater vest was permanently stained.

  “I made those calls, Jason. And do you know why?” Ken narrowed his gaze on Jason. “Because I’m an adult. Which means I have to keep my eye on the professional ball. I can’t just show up and cheer on my clients. I have to wipe up their blood and patch up their marriages. I have to schmooze potential clients and laugh at their bad jokes. I can’t just sit and twiddle my thumbs and wonder how serious twinges are. I have to approach the problem as if I’m the guy who’s going to fix it.”

  “Like I can’t.” Jason shuffled his feet.

  “That’s always what I assume. Yes.” Ken blew out a breath.

  This was why Ken was such a good fixer. He didn’t shirk his responsibilities. He didn’t get married in Vegas in a drunken stupor and send the documentation to someone else. He didn’t let anger dictate the choices he made. With Ken, the buck stopped here. Jason had the good grace to stare at his boots and be thankful his agent had developed such skill. And while he contemplated the worn boot leather, he gave a moment of consideration to what his life might look like if he embraced adulthood. It wouldn’t include eight-second rides on angry bulls. It wouldn’t include days spent alone in a truck driving to the next big rodeo. That didn’t mean he’d spend every day shooting the breeze with Iggy at Shaw’s. Jason would have days filled with things needing to be done. Not that he knew what those things were yet. But those nights. His nights would be filled with the company of a warm woman and a loyal little dog. At least at first.

  They stood in front of the bakery. Ken gestured to it as if giving Jason an invitation to draw back and—

  Edith waved at Jason through the window. She sat next to Bitsy and Mims. A glance over Jason’s shoulder showed Clarice trailing behind them, working that walking stick, gray braids swinging.

  “I thought you were joking about the widow consultation.” Jason scuffed his boot across the pavement.

  “It’s no joke.” Ken opened the door for Jason. “It takes a strong man to ask for help where he least wants it.”

  And for a strong man of Sunshine, the last place to go for help was the Widows Club.

  * * *

  Darcy stepped into Shaw’s and let the door hit her on the backside.

  It was a weekday happy hour. The bar wasn’t busy.

  There was no one at her regular table in back.

  Darcy hurried to the bar and ordered a beer. She set the bag with Stogey in it on the floor.

  “We don’t allow pets in here,” Noah said firmly.

  Dang, he had good eyes. “He’s my emotional support animal.”

  Noah slid a beer in front of her. “Therapy dogs require a special jacket.”

  “It’s in the wash?” She gave her former boss a pleading look. They both knew she was lying.

  Noah shook his head and walked to the other end of the bar to take care of two customers who had been hidden by a thick post. It was Lola and Drew.

  Darcy picked up her beer, her purse, and her dog and scurried over to join them. “I don’t mean to interrupt date night, guys. But can I just sit here and pretend like I have a life? I’ll be quick about downing this beer, I swear.”

  “Sweetie, you stay as long as you need.” Lola’s head rested on Drew’s shoulder. “Becky’s at her grandma’s house. We’re here for a cocktail, then it’s on to dinner and a movie.”

  “Not necessarily the movie.” Drew’s smile grew slowly. “And maybe not even dinner.”

  Lola laughed. “How was your day? Getting any easier?”

  “The short answer?” Because the long answer was too complicated. Darcy glanced at Drew. “Everybody hates me.”

  Lola sat up. “But not Drew.”

  Both women stared at him, waiting for an answer.

  “I don’t hate Darcy,” he said on cue in a neutral voice. “But if she wants to be elected in the fall, she needs to think about the sentences she’s handing down.”

  “I’m the hanging judge,” Darcy explained to Lola. “Isn’t that what folks want? A judge who’s tough on crime? George was tough on crime.” If Oliver had been in her shoes, he’d be a hanging judge. Rupert too.

  She took a generous swig of beer, imagining what Rupert would look like in her clunky grandma shoes.

  Drew patted her consolingly on the back. “Do you know what prison does to someone?”

  “Well…” She thought of the hard planes of her mother’s face.

  “You put a petty criminal in a confined situat
ion. They’re bitter because their freedom has been taken away. And they’re locked up with a bunch of other people, mostly hard-core criminals who are full of advice about how to become a harder-core criminal. Not to mention they bond over their hatred of law enforcement and laws in general.” Drew paused, possibly realizing who he was talking to. “Sorry. You might know someone like this. Someone who went to jail for what might have been a starter crime? Someone who, upon release, became a repeat offender?”

  “You’re talking about my family.” Darcy ran a hand through her hair. She wasn’t finding her stride fast enough for the community. “You’re saying the way I sentence perpetuates the system.”

  Drew held up his hands. “It’s just one man’s opinion.” Which happened to align with George’s opinion.

  If they’d been texting, she’d have inserted the “mind blown” emoji.

  Lola and Drew finished their drinks.

  “We’re headed out,” Lola said, threading her arms into her sweater. “Unless you’d like us to stay until you finish your beer.”

  “No. Don’t worry about me. Go on to dinner.”

  “Or somewhere with a nice view of the valley,” Drew said slyly.

  “Don’t break any laws,” Darcy said around a weak smile. All too soon, she was alone at the bar. “Noah, can I have some peanuts or snack mix or stale popcorn?” Anything to make it look like she wasn’t pathetically alone in the bar. “And you forgot my coaster.”

  “You want me to turn on Oprah, too?” He nodded toward the baseball game on television as he placed a small bowl of snack mix in front of her. He slapped a round paper coaster on the bar and positioned her beer bottle on top of it.

  “Don’t be so judgy. Aren’t bars supposed to be where you go to drown your sorrows? Where you reminisce about the good ol’ days?” She shoved a handful of snack mix in her mouth.

  At her feet, Stogey raised his nose and sniffed.

  Darcy passed him a square of Chex. “It’s brown, so it must be made of wheat.” The vet had warned her about feeding Stogey people food. But wheat was healthy.

  Noah looked aghast. “You can’t feed your therapy dog in my bar.”

  “Have me arrested.” Darcy gave Stogey another square. “We’re out of here as soon as my beer is finished.”