His Rules

by Scott Hildreth

  I had no idea when the turning point came, but I was glad it did. Having his respect was crucial in my line of work.

  I lowered my left hand and released the clutch.

  While stopped at the traffic light at the intersection beside the coffee shop, Taryn leaned forward.

  “That was weird,” she said. “He had a tattoo just like yours, did you see it?”

  I grinned and released the clutch. “I didn’t even notice.”

  Chapter 33

  Taryn

  The 14-hour trip from Oceanside to Portland was enjoyable in Marc’s car. On the winding roads of Northern California, our speed was often in excess of 100 miles an hour. He was right, the car was almost as enjoyable as the motorcycle.

  Almost.

  When we pulled into the driveway, my heart rose into my throat. Having me meet his parents was important to him, and it was equally important to me. Now that the time had come, however, I was a nervous wreck.

  He must have sensed my anxiousness.

  “They’re as down to earth as anyone you’ll ever meet.”

  I reached for the door handle, paused, and then turned toward him. I let out a sigh. “He’s a cop.”

  “I’m a cop.”

  “You’re a detective.”

  “He was a detective. Now he’s the police chief. He’s the best man I’ve ever known.”

  His response did little to relieve the butterflies that were fluttering about inside of me.

  “He’s the reason I’m the way I am,” he said.

  “That makes me feel better.” I drew a deep breath and then let it out. Nothing changed. “Just…”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Just what?”

  I imagined me dropping an unsolicited f-bomb, or passing gas from the food we ate in the gas stations along the way. At minimum, I’d certainly say something ridiculous in response to a question I was asked. It was inevitable.

  “Don’t get mad if I do something dumb.”

  “You’ll be fine. Ready?”

  I shrugged.

  He kissed me. “If we don’t go in soon, they’ll be out here knocking on the windows.”

  I pulled the door handle. “I know how you are about fingerprints on your car, we better go.”

  The outside of the home was considerably different than any of California’s offerings that I was used to seeing. Real estate in SoCal was unaffordable at best, and most of the homes were either simple single-story ranches, or mansions. There was no in between.

  His parent’s two-story ranch – with what I expected were upstairs bedroom windows – reminded me of the home I grew up in. I envisioned him playing in one of the two rooms.

  “You said you grew up here?”

  He pointed at the upper window on the left. “In that room. I used to sneak out the window and jump off the roof.”

  “Why?”

  “I was an adventurous child.”

  He knocked on the door twice, and then opened it. “We’re here.”

  The smell of roast and potatoes met me as soon as I walked inside. I glanced around the home. In the living room on my right, his father sat in a chair in front of the television. Directly in front of us, his mother stood in the doorway that led to the kitchen. His father reminded me of Kevin Costner. So much so that it was eerie.

  For whatever reason, the resemblance gave me comfort.

  Both wore anxious looks. All but smothered by a blanket of nerves, I stepped toward his mother. “Hi. I’m Taryn.”

  “Rene.” She gave me a hug. “Nice to finally meet you. I wish we weren’t so far away.”

  She was adorable. Easily eight inches shorter than me, and petite, she wore her hair in a short blond bob.

  His father cleared his throat. “Some reason why you didn’t introduce her like a proper human being?”

  “I was going to, but she--”

  “When?” his father asked. “After dinner? Next week?”

  I turned toward him and smiled. “Hi.”

  “I’m Matthew.” He shook my hand. “Don’t take it personal that he didn’t introduce you, March can be a turd at times.”

  I chuckled. “He says the word turd all the time. He must have got it from you.”

  He grinned. “When he describes himself?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “When he describes himself. Is that when he says it?”

  I laughed. “No. He thinks pretty highly of himself. He uses it to describe me.”

  He looked me up and down, and then glanced at Marc. “Prettiest turd I’ve ever seen.”

  I did a half-assed curtsy. “Thank you.”

  Matthew glared at Marc. “Where the fuck are your manners?”

  “Matthew!” Rene hissed.

  “Did it on purpose,” Matthew said with a laugh. “To break the tension. She looks like she’s going to shit a brick.”

  Matthew was funny. I liked him already.

  “Does it show?” I asked.

  He chuckled. “You look like a guilty perp, fifteen seconds before he gives it up.”

  “What’s that stand for? Perp?”

  “Short for perpetrator.”

  “I’ve always wondered.”

  “Ask you beau,” he said. “He’s been at it long enough to have an answer or two.”

  “You watch detective shows all day and night, and you don’t know what a perp is?” Marc asked.

  I shrugged. “They never say.”

  “Come in here, Taryn,” Rene said. “They’ll talk police jargon all night if you’ll let them. I’ve got dinner almost ready.”

  We’d been on the road since 5 in the morning. After a day of gas station burritos, corn nuts, and pig skins, I was starving. The smell of her cooking was easy for me to identify. Roast and potatoes was a staple in my home as a child.

  I followed her into a massive kitchen. With wooden cabinets from floor to ceiling on two sides, and an open dining room on the far side, it looked like it was big enough to support a huge family. It seemed sad to think they only raised one child.

  “It smells so good.”

  “It’s March’s favorite. Pot roast, potatoes, carrots, and homemade bread. March insists on the bread. That’s all we’re waiting on. He rarely eats it, but demands it when he has roast.” She turned toward me. “So, you’re from Oklahoma?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Towels were draped over three bread pans. She removed the towels and set them aside. “Please, call me Rene.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” I sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s just how I was raised.”

  “It’s fine for now,” she said with a smile.

  “I’ve been around San Diego for ten years now,” I said.

  “March went to training not far from there. Coronado Island. It was awful from what he said. Glad to see that’s all over with. So many of those boys didn’t make it home. It’s sad when you take time to think about it. Every parent expects to be outlived by their children.”

  “I can’t imagine losing a child.”

  She put the bread pans in the oven, and set the timer. “March says you’ve never been married?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Do you want to be?” she asked, incapable of hiding the hope in her voice or her eyes.

  “I’d love to be. Some day.”

  “Do you have an agenda? Something keeping you from it?”

  I laughed. “No one has asked me yet,” I whispered.

  “We’ll keep our fingers crossed. I’ll be the happiest woman in the world when he decides to get married. I’m so worried he’ll be too old to bring us grandchildren.”

  “The happiest woman in the world, huh?”

  She leaned against the kitchen counter and gazed up at the cabinets for a moment. Then, she shifted her eyes to me and nodded. “I think so.”

  “I doubt you’d be happier than his fiancé. Or wife.”

  “I think you might be surprised,” she said. “We’ve waited a long time for him to find someone. The thought of
him sharing himself with someone he’s proud enough to marry? I’d likely fall down dead from happiness. He’s quite a catch. We think so, anyway.”

  Hearing her talk openly about it filled me with hope. I’d love nothing more than to be married to March. After having him in my life, I knew I could settle for no one else. It would either be him that I married, or no one.

  “He is quite a catch,” I said.

  She looked in the living room and then shook her head. “We did our best with him. He was as wild as any child could ever be, but he always had a good heart.”

  “He still has a good heart. Great, really.”

  “No children?” she asked.

  “Me? Nope,” I said. “Saving those for marriage.”

  “So many don’t. I realize things are different, but it makes me sad to think about it. Divorce and single parent homes. I wish I could fix it, but I can’t.”

  “I wish I could fix it, too.”

  She turned toward me and placed her hands on my upper arms. “March told us about your parents. I’m sorry. I know that’s not enough, but I am. And just know…” She sighed. “We’re here for you if you need us. March, or no March, we’re here for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  She patted her hand against my arm. “I mean it. Who knows, one day I just might be your mother in law.”

  The timer went off, and she pulled the bread from the oven. After letting it cool for a few minutes, she spread butter over the top of each loaf, and then looked around the room.

  “What can I do?” I asked.

  She nodded toward a large cast iron pot on the stove and then motioned to two crock pots. “You can carry any of those to the table if you like. You’ll see why I’ve got so many carrots and potatoes when those two animals start eating. It’s quite a sight.”

  I smiled. “I bet.”

  We set the table. After checking everything, she pointed to the seat the corner of the table. “March sits there. Always has. He’s odd about some things like that, I don t know if you’ve noticed.”

  “It makes him unique,” I said.

  “He’s ever bit of that. You can sit beside him. Matthew doesn’t much care where he sits, as long as he’s fed.”

  The thought of eating a Sunday meal with Marc’s family brought back memories. As much as I wondered if I’d struggle with the loss of my parents while we were there, I didn’t. My only feelings, at least so far, were good ones.

  “It’s ready!” She looked at me and smiled. “Listen,” she whispered.

  “Look out, Turd,” Matthew said.

  “Age before beauty,” Marc responded.

  “Beauty?” Matthew exclaimed. “You’re so damned ugly I’m going to ask your mother to have you sit outside. It’s the only way I’ll be able to keep my food down.”

  “They fight like best friends,” she said. “Or brothers. Always have.”

  Elbowing each other and shoving, they came into the kitchen and immediately noticed we were watching.

  They both straightened their posture as if they’d been confronted by the principal in school.

  “Can you two get along long enough to eat?” Rene asked jokingly.

  “Suppose so,” Matthew said. “As long as I don’t have to look at him.”

  Marc and I sat across from Rene and Matthew. After Matthew said a prayer, we started our meal. It reminded me so much of home that it was scary, right down to the prayer.

  Pass me this, please, followed by thank you was repeated throughout the meal. Rene was right, Marc ate half the crock pot of carrots, and his father ate other half. They each had more potatoes than my mother typically cooked, and Marc ate almost a loaf of bread.

  I’d never seen him eat so much or so fast. It was almost as if he was in a contest with his father to see who could devour the most.

  “Are you two in a contest?” I asked.

  “Everything’s a contest with them,” Rene said. “Everything.”

  “No need for me to try and out eat this ape,” Matthew said. “I know what I’m capable of, and I know what he’s incapable of.”

  Sitting across from each other, it was even more clear that they were father and son. Matthew looked like Marc with gray hair. I looked at Rene, and then at Matthew, and imagined them as a young couple. The though made me smile.

  “When Matthew was still a detective, he used to--”

  Matthew sighed an exaggerated sigh. “Here we go…”

  “Stop it.” She shot him a glare and then looked at me. “He used to call Marc and say, ‘I’m starting this investigation. What are you working on?’ Marc would tell him what he was working on, and they’d see who solved their crime first. They’re a competitive bunch, for sure.”

  “Not competitive when it comes to women,” Matthew said, “I settled for you, didn’t I.”

  “Matthew David Watson!” Rene snapped. “That was uncalled for.”

  He scowled playfully. “I thought it was endearing.”

  “Far from it.”

  “What’d you make for dessert?” Marc asked.

  “Care to guess?”

  “Cranberry cobbler?”

  Rene stood. “Why would I cook anything else?”

  “Because we’re tired of that shit, that’s why,” Matthew said.

  He looked at me and winked, then leaned over the edge of the table. “Wait ‘till you try this stuff. It’s amazing,” he whispered.

  “I’ll bring you a Twinkie,” Rene said over her shoulder.

  He leaned to the side and peered through the doorway. “We’re out of Twinkies.”

  Marc show his father a look. “You’re still eating those things?”

  “From time to time. When I watch sports.”

  “You always watch sports.”

  Matthew shrugged. “Probably why we’re out of ‘em.”

  Rene carried four plates in, and then returned with a cake pan and spatula. “It’s cut into squares. Help yourselves.”

  Matthew nodded toward the pan. “Ladies first.”

  After I helped myself to pre-cut square, Marc pointe to the pan. “Pass the cobbler, Tee.”

  Matthew looked at him. “Tee?”

  “Nick name.” he shrugged. “Pet name.”

  Matthew looked at me and grinned. “It’s cute.”

  I watched in disbelief as Marc and Matthew took three each slices of cobbler.

  Before I was finished, Marc looked at his father’s empty plate. I looked at Marc’s. He had half a square left. Matthew reached for the pan. Marc quickly ate what was left on his plate and then began to drum his fingers on the edge of the table.

  “Haven’t got all night,” he said. “Get those old bones moving.”

  I looked at Rene. She mouthed the word coffee. I smiled and nodded.

  It had only been two weeks since the barista made the icing on the cake reference, but in those two weeks I’d developed a taste for coffee, and an addiction.

  Rene returned to the room and handed me a cup of coffee. A moment later, she returned with another, and some cream.

  “I never much liked this stuff,” she said. “Until one day, I did. Now, I can’t live without it. Don’t care much for it without cream and sugar, though.”

  “I’m the same way.”

  I fixed my coffee and took a sip. It was the perfect mix. Not bad, for a novice, told myself.

  Pleased at what my life had become, and grateful for Marc and his parents, I watched as Marc and Matthew made themselves sick one piece of cranberry cobbler at a time. I looked at Rene. She alternated glances between the men and sipped her coffee.

  Our eyes met. She smiled and raised her cup. I raised mine.

  And, it dawned on me.

  For the first time in ten years, I had a family again.

  Chapter 34

  Marc

  “Do you like it, or love it?” she asked.

  I cocked my head to the side and unfocused my eyes. It reminded me of the opening to a cave. Or, half of a human
skull. I couldn’t decide. I shifted my gaze from the painting to Taryn.

  “I think I like it.”

  She looked disappointed. “But you don’t love it?”

  I looked at it again, and then shrugged. It was weird, at best. “If you love it, get it.”

  I’d agreed to let Taryn put artwork on the walls of our home, and we were shopping for said masterpieces at Neiman Marcus in San Diego.

  “I think I just like it.”

  “You need to love it, you’ll be looking at it for a long, long time.”

  I’d decided if art would adorn my walls, it needed to be abstract. That way, when I looked at it, I could see whatever I wanted to see, depending on my mood. A landscape would always be a what it was – mountain and a pond, or a lake and a cabin – no matter how I looked at it. A street scene in Italy would be a row of multi-story buildings with a few people sprinkled around along the sidewalk.

  “Let’s keep looking,” she said.

  I gave the painting one last look, and then shrugged one shoulder. “Sounds good to me.”

  She meandered along the aisle, glancing at the paintings as we walked past. “Are you mad?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Far from mad.”

  “Bored?”

  Boredom in Taryn’s presence would be impossible. I could sit on one side of and empty room and she on the other. If I could see her or touch her, I’d never feel a need to have anything else. I’d never been so enthralled by the mere existence of another human being, but then again, I’d never met Taryn Fisher, either.

  “Not even close, why?”

  “I just don’t want to make you mad about this. Or have you feel like I’m pushing it on you.”

  “I agreed to it,” I said.

  “I know, but that doesn’t mean you’re happy about it.”

  I chuckled. “I don’t say things just to say them. Believe me. If I said it, I mean it. I said you should pick out some artwork for our home. That means I’ve embraced it, and that’s all that matters.”

  “I like it when you call it our home.”

  “What else would I call it?”

  “It’s your home. I just live there.”

  I crossed my arms and shot her a glare. “That’s the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever heard you say.”