by V. K. Powell
“I’m not very good with families,” Finley finally admitted.
“We don’t bite…not on the first visit anyway.” Why was she trying so hard to convince Finley to do something Dylan wasn’t sure she wanted either? She’d made a totally spontaneous, emotional decision, and her family would attach meaning to it. Was she ready for questions about Finley’s presence on top of everything else they’d be dissecting at brunch?
Robin jerked on Finley’s shirttail. “Can we please go?”
Finley nodded and looked at Dylan. “If you’re sure.”
Dylan wasn’t, but she said, “See you both at eleven thirty.”
Chapter Seven
Finley parked her old red Jeep in front of the two-story Carlyle home and took in the welcoming wraparound porch with cushioned rockers and the colorful pansies and ornamental cabbages in the yard. She imagined the Carlyle clan sitting on the porch sipping beverages, watching the kids play, and sharing their days, just like a real family should. She couldn’t remember a time when her family had sat on their porch for any reason. And if it weren’t for landscapers, her lawn would be overrun with weeds and not a plant in sight. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Doing what?” Robin asked.
“Coming here. What was I thinking?” She turned in her seat to look at him and chuckled at how his mouth twisted and his nose crinkled in an inquisitive expression.
“Uh-oh. You’ve got that you-better-behave look.”
Finley ruffled his sandy hair. “And you’re just too smart for your own good sometimes. We both need to be on our best behavior because Bennett and Jazz are your dad’s and my bosses. I think you’ll be fine. Not so sure about me though. I’m not good with families…or behaving sometimes.”
“You’re good with my family.”
“Yeah, but…” She couldn’t explain to a ten-year-old that all families weren’t like his or how dysfunctional hers had been. He didn’t need to know, and she didn’t need to remember. “Your family is special.”
“Obvi.” He pointed to himself.
“Good point. Come on, rock star. Let’s eat so you can play longer.”
She rang the doorbell and brushed the sleeve of her soft plaid flannel shirt. She should’ve worn something less woodsy and stopped by Hank’s to get Robin some clean clothes. Serious parenting fail. She was about to turn around when Dylan opened the door.
“You made it. Welcome.” She stepped aside and waved them in.
But Finley couldn’t move. She stared at Dylan’s parted lips, her smile, and her chestnut ponytail wrapped into a loose knot atop her head. Her mind flashed to their first meeting—Dylan leaning in the doorway, feet crossed at the ankles, watching her having sex with another woman—so attractive that Finley had totally lost concentration. Dylan was more beautiful now, her cheeks flushed and her steady gaze pulling Finley in.
Robin pushed her from behind. “Hello. The lady said welcome.”
The strawberry-blond Carlyle twins rushed to the door and saved Finley from offering an embarrassing excuse.
“Hey,” Ryan said to Robin. “Riley and I are playing Dragon’s Crown on our PlayStation. Dragons, sorcerers, treasure. It’s got everything. Wanna join?”
“Yeah.”
“The three Rs together again,” Riley said. “We whipped serious butt in basketball yesterday.”
Finley caught Robin’s arm before he shot after the twins. “Remember your manners. Say hello to the family first and don’t forget to wash your hands before you eat.”
“Guys, introduce Robin to everyone,” Dylan said. “Finley and I will be there in a sec.” The kids dashed toward the back of the house, and Dylan turned to her again. “I need a favor.”
“Anything…I mean sure.” Either she was in serious danger of being irrevocably attracted to Dylan or she was more nervous than she thought.
“This invitation, actually any invitation to Sunday brunch, is a big deal to our family. I asked you because—”
“It would be good for Robin to be around other kids, have some play time, and distract him from what happened and his dad’s condition.” The considerate gesture was just so Dylan. Finley had experienced her nurturing side at the hospital last night and with Robin earlier today. Dylan’s compassion and caring made her an excellent doctor and a very appealing woman; the kind of woman who’d be an excellent partner and loving mother, exactly the kind of woman Finley should avoid.
“Yes. I just didn’t want you to think…” Dylan flushed a light shade of pink. “My family tends to jump to conclusions when we bring someone to Sunday brunch, so don’t be put off if they ask questions. We talk about everything. If you feel uncomfortable at any time, you can say so…or leave if you prefer.”
Finley tried for what she hoped was a cocky smile but felt a pang of disappointment. “I get that it’s not about me.” Had she wanted the invitation to mean more? How could it? “Would you prefer arrogant or flirtatious?” Detachment was her trademark, but it felt forced and shallow under the circumstances. Damn it, she wanted the Carlyles, and especially Dylan, to like her.
“Just be yourself, Finley. My family is pretty good at figuring out the truth anyway.”
Dylan clasped Finley’s hand and drew her toward the kitchen. The way her smaller hand curled into Finley’s and the silkiness of her skin sparked a longing for something Finley couldn’t name. Before they entered the eating area, Finley stopped her. “In case I forget to say this later, thank you for the invitation, for both of us.”
Dylan stared at her a few seconds longer, took a deep breath, and preceded her into the room. “Everyone, this is Finley Masters, an officer at Fairview Station.” She launched into introductions as she pointed around the large refectory table. “At the head of the table, Norma Carlyle, affectionately known as G-ma, and to her right is my mother, Gayle, aka Mama.”
“Ma’ams, thank you for having me.” Finley nodded toward Norma. Her overalls, covered with bright balloon designs, and red T-shirt added a touch of lightheartedness to a room filled with serious faces directed at her. Finley suppressed an urge to laugh.
“Oh my, you’re a handsome one,” G-ma said. “I can see why Dylan brought you home.”
Gayle brushed a hand through her loose curls, and Finley saw where Dylan, Bennett, and Simon got their rich brown hair color. “Norma, don’t start,” Gayle said, waving her down like a dog whisperer soothing an overzealous puppy.
Dylan pretended not to hear or ignored the exchange. “You already know Ben and Kerstin,” she said.
“Welcome, Fin,” Bennett said in her captain’s voice.
Bennett and Jazz looked less imposing in casual clothes, but today their eyelids drooped and shoulders sagged, like they were near exhaustion. Finley hadn’t heard anything about the search for the second shooter today and had to ask, “Anything new in the case?” Bennett shook her head, and Dylan directed her attention to the opposite end of the table.
“And you’ve probably seen my brother around. This is Simon, the firefighter.”
“The city’s newest battalion chief, if memory serves.” Finley shook hands with Simon. “We’ve rolled on some fire calls together.”
“How’s it going?” Simon grinned, flicked the collar of his plaid shirt, and then nodded at Bennett and Jazz. “Glad you got the dress code memo.”
“Comfort first, dude.”
Dylan pointed to the woman next to Simon. “This is Stephanie, Simon’s better half, and the new owner of Ma Rolls food truck. You’ve already met their kids, Riley and Ryan.”
“Nice to meet you, Stephanie,” Finley said. “I see where your twins get their gorgeous reddish-blond hair. Definitely not the Carlyle side of the family.”
Stephanie smiled appreciatively and her freckled face flushed.
Dylan guided Finley around the table. “And this lovely creature is Emory Blake, Jazz’s fiancée.”
Dylan wasn’t kidding. Emory’s auburn hair, twisted in a French braid down her back
, sparkling green eyes, and full figure made her hard to forget. “I’ve seen you around the hospital. You a doctor too?”
“Social worker,” Emory said.
“You were at the station yesterday. Thanks for what you did for Robin,” Finley said.
“Just glad I could help. He and Shea will need to talk to someone about what happened, but they’re young and resilient.”
“Let’s save that discussion until after we eat,” G-ma said and motioned toward the adjoining room. “Since the kids are happier in front of that machine in the den, I’ll let them eat in there just this once.” She hollered over her shoulder, “Come and get it, kids. The rest of you unload.” She pointed to the sideboard. “Phones in the basket.”
Everybody complied, and then Bennett and Jazz played block the food from Ryan and Riley as they dodged between them snagging bacon and biscuits. Robin stuck close to Finley and behaved like a perfect little gentleman. Though she had no part in his upbringing, Finley couldn’t have been prouder.
“Seriously, guys,” Simon said, “if you don’t stop playing, we’ll never eat.”
While the children filled their plates and disappeared again, the rest of the family took their places around the table. Mama waved to an empty chair between Emory and Stephanie. “Finley, you can sit there. Neither my daughter-in-law nor soon-to-be bite.”
When Finley settled and looked up, she found herself across from Captain Carlyle. Damn her luck. Which was worse, staring at the woman she wanted to sleep with or her sister who could probably read that desire on her face? Finley started to reach for the bacon but caught Dylan’s eye and got a slight head shake.
Everyone focused on G-ma, the shot-calling matriarch. From the few interactions she’d seen, Finley deduced the role dynamics around the table. They deferred to gray-haired Norma, not from some outdated sense of duty, but because of deep love and devotion to her and their traditions. Gayle served as second-chair, the conductor, and smoother of rough patches. Simon, de facto patriarch, herded the unruly pack. Bennett and Jazz played equal parts jester and fierce protector, while their accomplished wives nurtured, guided, and supported with equal vigor. Dylan acted as the heart of the family, full of raw emotion, honesty, and compassion. No wonder everyone wanted to protect her. Finley wanted the same—wanted and didn’t want. She’d never fit in here.
G-ma lifted the bacon tray, took a few slices, and passed the plate right, which seemed to be the go signal. Everybody grabbed, their spoons and forks clattering against the dishes. After several minutes, the room quieted while everyone ate. Finley glanced toward Dylan, but she hunched over her plate as if her food might try to escape. When Finley looked up again, Bennett stared at her, brows knitted, eyes searching. Was she the reason everyone was so quiet?
“So, where did you meet my baby sister, Finley?” Bennett crossed her arms over her chest as Finley had seen her do often when addressing lineups. Her tone was full of protectiveness and a hint of warning.
Finley swallowed hard and searched for an answer that wasn’t a total lie, wouldn’t make her sound exactly the way she’d behaved that night, and wouldn’t result in discipline.
“At the hospital, where do you think?” Dylan said without looking up. “Cops, doctors, nurses, patients, and visitors, you meet the whole community eventually.”
“Sooo, you two aren’t dat—”
“No, Kerstin, we’re not dating,” Dylan snapped. “I simply asked Finley and Robin to join us because I thought they could use a hot meal and a distraction for an hour or so.”
Finley glanced around the table, and everybody was staring at Dylan, who still hadn’t looked up from her plate. Bennett nodded with a satisfied grin, and the rest of the family kept eating. Finley had a feeling she was missing something. This family talked about things. Novel approach. Love bound them to each other like invisible strings, a connection that both comforted and saddened Finley for her loss.
“Well…” G-ma placed her fork across her plate and released a deep sigh. “In case you’re wondering, Finley, we’re not usually so touchy or so quiet. My husband, Garrett, and I started these brunches years ago to keep in touch with each other and our children when he worked shifts as a patrol officer. These times are usually filled with good food, sharing our weekly news, and lots of laughter.” She took another deep breath. “But the shooting dug up painful memories and put everyone on edge.”
Dylan finally looked up and dropped her fork, the sound reverberating in the silence. “Do we have to—”
“Yes, darling.” Mama cupped her hand. “We need to talk about what happened. Our family faces things and deals with them.”
“In front of strangers?” Dylan motioned toward Finley. “No offense.”
Finley wiped her mouth. “None taken.” Family drama was the last thing she wanted. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. And she wasn’t anxious to expose her emotional discomfort and clumsiness to the entire Carlyle clan at once.
“And you, young lady,” G-ma said nodding toward Finley. “Your friend was shot, nearly killed, and his son watched the whole thing. That leaves a mark.”
Finley’s throat tightened. “Yes…ma’am.” The words barely squeaked out past a jumble of unexpected and unwanted emotions.
“Norma, really?” Mama asked.
G-ma shrugged. “Since when isn’t honesty welcome at our table?”
“We usually wait until our guests have eaten to begin the inquisition,” Mama said.
Dylan shook her head. “We might have to do this, G-ma, but Finley doesn’t.”
“And you, my precious baby girl.” Mama took Dylan’s hands in hers. “You ran into a gunfight. I thought you were the only child I wouldn’t have to worry about getting killed on the job.” She made eye contact with Bennett, Jazz, and Simon and gave each a weak smile. “What were you thinking?”
Dylan stared at her mother, and Finley felt exactly what she saw reflected in Dylan’s brown eyes—fear, anger, and sadness. “She had to help,” Finley said. “Isn’t that what we all do, in the line of duty?” She understood the all-consuming need to do something in times of crisis. It defined her, and doing was better than feeling any day.
Tears pooled in Dylan’s eyes, and she swiped them away before giving Finley a hard head shake as if to say, don’t be nice to me right now.
Finley wanted to draw attention away from Dylan, but everything inside her resisted exposing herself any further. She didn’t share her feelings, especially with strangers. She cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll check on Robin.” She stood and started toward the den.
“Sorry if we made you uncomfortable, Finley,” Mama said and then turned to Dylan. “I love you, darling, so please don’t ever take that kind of risk again.”
Dylan pushed her chair back from the table and stood slowly, and Finley waited for what came next. “Seriously? G-pa and Papa died in the line of duty. Ben and Jazz face the same dangers every day, and Simon runs into burning buildings. But I’m supposed to stand by and watch people die when I could be useful? If you know me at all, you know that’s not me.” She threw her napkin on the table. “I can’t do this right now.” She headed toward the front door.
“Honey, wait,” G-ma said, but when Dylan didn’t stop, she called after her, “Remember the fundraiser next weekend. We need to discuss the arrangements. It’s all hands on deck.”
Finley started after Dylan, but Mama waved her off. “She needs to process. Let her go.”
For some reason, that was the last thing Finley wanted to do.
* * *
Dylan fast-walked down Elm Street, her boots tapping angrily against naked concrete or crunching dried, fallen leaves with each step. Her family was unbelievably insensitive sometimes, or maybe she was too sensitive. She yanked the hairpin from her topknot letting her hair fall and enjoying the way it whipped around her face in the cool breeze. It symbolized freedom and separation from the heavy mood at home. She usually looked forward to family
brunches and found them restorative, but Finley staring at her across the table like she understood had proved too personal and intimate on top of the recent shooting. What did Finley know about losing someone or a need to serve so deep it felt like hunger?
Dylan passed through the arched stacked-rock pillars marking the entrance to Green Hill Cemetery on Wharton Street and continued to the circular family plot where G-pa and Papa were buried. A few months earlier, the family celebrated her father’s birthday here with their annual picnic, but today she needed to be alone and think.
She brushed a pile of dried leaves away from the headstone, sat on the corner, and lowered her head in her hands. “Why am I such a mess, Papa? I’ve put police officers back together after shootings, knifings, fights, and car accidents. Why is this one different?” She closed her eyes to an image of Finley kneeling in front of Robin. “No, it’s not about her.”
Talking with Papa made things easier when she was a child, but since that horrible night the police chief and chaplain knocked on their door to deliver the news, Papa’s comments had been internal. She still imagined them as clearly as if he sat next to her, his rich baritone voice always kind.
“You experienced the danger your sisters face.”
“I preferred to imagine their jobs like on TV where everything turns out right, but I saw happiness turn to tragedy in a second. It scared me, Papa.”
“I know, and you did what had to be done, just like they do every day. What else? Are you close to the injured officer?”
“Not really. He’s one of Bennett’s and Jazz’s…and he has a child…”
“And…”
Even in death, Papa forced her to face her feelings and the truth. He’d inherited G-ma’s candor gene and been the perfect complement to Mama’s tact and diplomacy. “I’ve seen a different side of Finley since the shooting, but it doesn’t change my decision about dating cops. I can’t lose someone else I care about. It’s easier to be alone.”
