Loving Caspar

by Rea Winters

  “And that’s it? We just bury the whole situation?”

  The older man leaned back, settling deeper into his seat, and sighed, scratching his beard. “The situation is this asinine back and forth between my big-headed niece and that hot headed Adami girl. It can’t be buried. Those two will just keep going at each other until they get whatever it is out of their system and for once, we’re just gonna let ‘em do it. I’m too old to be dragging legal adults in here by their ears, telling them to shape up or else. And so are you, but I understand why you think you need to. It’s honorable.” On that note, he raised his glass to Des, then took a sip of his drink and grunted through the burn.

  “Sir, Caspar hasn’t started anything with Jo in six years. Jo was completely out of line and an innocent person was harmed in the process. There has to be some consequence for that.”

  Sheriff Becker swished his drink in the glass. “Out of line, huh? Guess that means Caspar forgot to mention that she’s been sleeping with Natalie Lui, otherwise known as Natalie Becker. You know, Jo’s wife? Been going on for the past six odd months.”

  Desmond swallowed the next words out of his mouth, shut his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

  “Yep. Natalie and Jo get into a fight over where she spreads her legs, she lets the cat out of the bag about Adami. So, Jo has a few too many, rounds up her bois and takes out a little steam on a couple office chairs. Better than taking the axe to Caspar’s head, you ask me.”

  “But what about Amie Seda? This isn’t a simple case of vandalism; she could’ve been killed. Shouldn’t someone answer for that?”

  “Best believe, I will give Jo the business about that part. But it was an unfortunate consequence that wouldn’t have happened if Adami had kept her phala on the mantle. I may not like how she went about it, but if you think I’m dragging my niece down here in cuffs over a drunken tantrum she had every right to throw, think again. Let it go, Taylor. That’s an order.”

  Desmond buried his frustration with a deep inward sigh. “Yes, sir.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Needing some alone time to expel more buried frustration, Caspar took a toolbox to Hammer and got to work on some repairs. The damage in her own office was worse than Amie’s, but she lingered in the latter, glaring at the closet where the girl had hidden, imagining her afraid and alone.

  Desmond stood in the doorframe of the main office, watching the steam rise off her shoulders. She was a young woman of so few words, yet so easily read. It would be comical if it weren’t so troubling. Des cleared his throat, grabbing Cas’ attention.

  “Fixing up the place?”

  “Yeah.”

  She returned to the cabinets behind her desk, kneeling behind the jagged remains of Grandpa Adami’s chair. Preparing a power drill was the only excuse she had for keeping her back to Des, who perched on the corner of the dented and scratched desk. The Sergeant looked around at the rage that went into splintering, tearing, and scrapping every inch of the room. Words couldn’t describe his relief that none of it touched Caspar this time. It was knowing that the ladda would gladly welcome the challenge that worried him.

  “About the case…”

  “Don’t worry about it.” The drill released a shrill cry at Caspar’s pull of its trigger. “I figured there would be nothing you could do. I’ll handle it myself.”

  Desmond stood. “Actually, I think you’ve done enough. This stops now, Cas.”

  Caspar paused, put the drill down and glanced over her shoulder.

  “Yeah. I know about you and Natalie. Of course, Sheriff Becker would want to cut his niece some slack after that.”

  “I didn’t get involved with Natalie to screw with her. They’re separated and don’t give a damn about each other, but she still gets to play the Wounded Spouse defense? Unbelievable.”

  “It’s actually very believable. It doesn't matter how many people know how screwed up their relationship is. They're still married, they still have a family, they still claim each other. You should've known better than to get mixed up in their bullshit.”

  Caspar agreed, but be damned if she admitted it. “She came to me,” she mumbled, continuing to drill in short bursts.

  "Yeah and why do you think that is, Einstein? Of all the people she could've gotten her thrills with, Natalie chooses the one person her wife hates the most. She used you to screw with Jo. Again! And you know what, deny it all you want, but some part of you knew that was her reason for showing up at your door. But instead of things ending with you two wrestling in the mud again, your bullshit with Josephine Becker led to somebody who's got nothing to do with it getting hurt."

  Caspar stopped the drill, looking at the floor. “You think I wanted that?"

  “I think…” Desmond scoffed, then shrugged and threw his hands up. “Screw it, yeah, I think some part of you wanted to kick off something with her. You spent six years in that house all alone, day in and day out, with nothing to look forward to. If it was just sex you wanted, you could've gone back to hitting up the bars in the county over and picked up anybody you wanted. I think what you really missed is having somebody to fight, having a reason to fight.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “I wish it was, kid. I do. But I see parts of you in a different light than you do. Everyone does. So did your mother—"

  Caspar threw the drill in the toolbox, sending a loud rattle through the room, then hoisted the box up onto the desk and snatched her balled-up jacket off the floor. “I’m done here.”

  She tried to stomp out of the room, but Des blocked her path. Caspar sighed through her nose and avoided his eyes.

  “Look at me.”

  Caspar opted for a glare instead, but Des wasn’t shaken.

  “The second Seda got hurt, this was already out of hand. And I can tell you’re just itching to make it worse. I’m warning you, kid. It ends here or else you’re the only one that'll truly pay for it. Even if you don’t end up in jail, there’s more at risk here than that. This place, for one.” Desmond gestured around. “It’s your family’s pride and joy. And it’s yours, too, whether you can admit it or not. But if people stop coming in—if you let the rumors ring true and reduce yourself back to that creepy kid with a violent streak…you’ll lose this. All of it. And I don’t want you to lose something that’s finally given you purpose.”

  Caspar stood still as stone, but inside her stomach dropped as her heart pounded against her ribs. Desmond’s words rang true, both in the way he meant it and in a way he didn’t realize.

  “You understand what I’m saying, Cas?”

  She swallowed the hard lump in her throat called pride and gave him a nod.

  “Good.” Desmond patted her on the arm. “Is Seda still at your place?”

  Caspar nodded again.

  “Okay. I’ll head up with you. Let her know she’s got nothing to worry about.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Music hadn’t played in the Adami house for a good decade.

  Caspar entered her home and found the stereo turned to eighty as a woman crooned over an upbeat folk-pop tune about being better for her health than the wicked one she loved. The better find was the woman in Caspar’s living room limping around, swaying, singing and vacuuming along. Caspar grinned, captivated by the thoroughly amusing sight.

  Amie hadn’t noticed Roadie abandon his post on the couch and run up to his Mama, too engrossed in the song and task ahead. She turned off the vacuum and opened its back compartment. After swiping her ponytail off her perspiring neck, she pushed up the sleeves of her snug white top and secured one of Cas’ plaid button-ups around her waist, covering her jean shorts. Not only had she failed to stay off her feet, she changed clothes and busied herself with unnecessary housework. Her aim was to clean the filter, finish the laundry, and mop the kitchen before Caspar came home.

  Then the music shut off, muting the singer’s crooning mid-sentence, disrupting her plan, and startling the crap out of her in the process.
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  “Sorry,” Cas apologized, though her poorly hidden grin betrayed any sincerity.

  “Yeah, right.” Amie playfully pouted, slightly breathless. “How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough. For your ankle.” The ladda of the house held up a pack of compression wraps and her guest lightly hobbled to the couch, plopping down. Caspar bent down on one knee before her, sparing a glance at the melted ice wrap on the arm of the couch before gently taking Amie’s ankle in her hands. She rolled up the white legging, grimacing at the swelling of a light purple bruise.

  “It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks. I’m more of a ‘walk it off’ kind of girl. Besides, it’s practically healed already. You saw me busting a move just now.”

  Cas scoffed in amusement. “Is that what you were doing?”

  “Oh what, you can do better? I would love to see that. Go on, show me.”

  “I’ll think about it.” While wrapping her leg, she caught a whiff of cleaning solution coming off the end tables. “You cleaned the whole time I was gone?”

  “Pretty much. I can’t help it. It feels wrong just sitting around, taking up somebody else’s space. I have to earn my keep at some point, right?”

  “No.” Cas finished securing the compression wrap, but kept hold of Amie’s ankle a little longer as she looked up into her eyes. “I want you here.”

  Nothing about Caspar’s expression betrayed any sincerity, but despite her desire to, Amie struggled to trust that it would last. There were certain knots around her heart that couldn’t be pulled apart so easily. But they were tugged at, nonetheless, by the warm flutter such a soft declaration summoned. A familiar anticipation began to raise the temperature in the room as their gazes fell to each other’s lips. Then Roadie’s sudden bark pulled their attention to the door, where Desmond stood with a bag of groceries.

  “Sgt. Taylor, hi,” Amie greeted, starting to sit up.

  “Oh, no don’t get up.” His stare flit between the pair. “Uh, I’m making dinner. Hope you like pasta.”

  “Carbs, cheese, what’s not to love?”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “You worked in a sewer?”

  Desmond couldn’t fathom it, yet Amie sat kitchen side of the breakfast bar nodding affirmative.

  “Yup. Winter of my sophomore—no, junior year of high school. GreenWorks, Incorporated. Ironic name because there was nothing green or organic or renewable about it. They used cheap tools and the cheapest cleaning solutions. If that stuff touched a single inch of your skin, you had to rub ketchup on like it was sunscreen.”

  “Why ketchup?”

  “Tomatoes. They got rid of the itch.”

  “Wow. And your dad was on board with his little girl doing that kind of work?”

  “My dad got me the job. I was under the age requirement, so they paid me under the table, but I got a little more than what was in my dad’s check for picking up the slack. We stunk to high hell for weeks, but we had the best Christmas that year. Well, I did. Dad blew his earnings on a poker game in the back of some bar. But I spent an entire weekend in a moderately swanky hotel, treating myself to bubble baths, a marathon of all my favorite movies, and every snack food imaginable.”

  Amie’s gaze had dimmed for just a second at the mention of her father before she revved the lights back up and pumped some pep in her voice. If anyone blinked, they would’ve missed it, but Cas never missed a thing when her eyes were on her.

  “That sounds like heaven,” Desmond raved. “I could use a day like that. Just don’t tell my mother or she’ll try to hijack it. She’s been raging at me for years to take her skiing in North Calafia. I hate skiing.”

  “Your secret is safe with me, Sarge.” Amie started to gather plates and clean up.

  “I got it,” Caspar offered. From behind Amie, she glanced at Des with a disgruntled look on her face. Des took the hint and got to business.

  “Uh, Amie, mind if we talk over there for a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  The pair settled on the couch and Roadie followed, sitting between them and trying to bury his head in Amie’s stomach. She gave him all the attention she could, while still paying full attention to the perturbed looking Sergeant.

  “Something’s wrong. Am I in trouble for sleeping at the office? Because it was only two nights, technically a night and a half—"

  “No, no. Amie, you’re not in any trouble. But there is an update on the case. We found the culprits from that night. I don’t know if Cas told you about this, but sometimes the young people around here get their jollies screwing with her. That night, a few of them thought it’d be fun to break into her place of work and…well, you know the rest.”

  Amie nodded.

  “Um, so, the Sheriff decided to let them off with a warning. I know that probably doesn’t sound like enough, but I can have the youngins write you a formal letter of apology—”

  “Or do a hundred push-ups in the rain?”

  Desmond laughed. “Sure, whatever it takes to make it right.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. Look, I know Restless Punk Syndrome pretty well. So long as I don’t have a round two to worry about next time I pull a late one at the office, I’m good. We can just let it go.”

  “Thanks for being so understanding.”

  “No problem—”

  Shattered glass drew their attention to the kitchen. Amie rushed over to Caspar, frowning at the broken glass in the sink. She grabbed her hand to check for cuts.

  "Jeez, don't know your own strength?"

  “Guess not.”

  “Luckily, you are injury free.”

  “Of course, I am. It’s just glass.”

  “Of course, she says. Like when we met her hand wasn’t practically severed in two—”

  “It was one little cut. You can barely see it now.”

  “Must be all the callouses. It’s like armor, huh? Still, you should be careful.” Her hand slid over Caspar’s back as she moved to the other side of her.

  “Here, I’ll dry these.”

  “I can do it.”

  “But I’m already doing it, so there.”

  “You’re supposed to be resting. You really can’t sit still, can you?”

  “I’m standing still. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  Des observed how Amie playfully nudged Caspar while they fought over cleaning the mess; the little smiles, breathy laughs, and lingering touches shared as they bantered.

  “Hey, uh, Cas. Heading out. See ya around, Amie.”

  “See ya, Sarge.”

  Caspar stepped out into the crisp autumn air without a jacket and walked Des to his car. Desmond stopped short of climbing in the driver’s seat, leaning against the car door.

  “So, that Amie Seda. She’s on another level, isn’t she? A real hard-working charmer.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I mean, she’s smart and funny and…beautiful.”

  “Your point?”

  “Nothing, it’s just, I can see that you care about her.”

  "Is that a bad thing?"

  "Nah. Well, it came as a bit of shock, to be honest. It's been a while since I've seen you so…"

  "Normal?"

  "Comfortable. At ease. She eases you. It’s actually a great thing to see.”

  Caspar stuffed her hands in her jean pockets, bracing through a cold breeze. “You know that thing you mentioned earlier about having a reason to fight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s it, this time. I don’t want to fight because I like it, Des. I’m just trying to protect her. I owe her that. Simple.”

  She said it like she’d been saying it all her life about a girl she’d only known for a month or so. Des almost smiled at how much she looked and sounded just like her grandparents – a man and woman who had made similar declarations about him when he was just the aimless son of the struggling single mother next door. That Adami conviction. Sharp as steel and worn like armor, it could be unbreakable, especially when for
ged with indignation. In Caspar’s case, that was the problem. Her family had been many things, but violent was never one of them. That she got from somewhere else, Desmond suspected, and the less it was indulged the better.

  The man rubbed his neck, slightly shaking his head. “Okay. Fair enough. But if anything, protecting that girl is all the more reason to stop fighting for once. You remember how ugly things got between you and Jo Becker. Do you really want Amie caught in the middle of Round Five Hundred and Seven? She’s one of the few people in this town who doesn’t look at you with panic in her eyes. I mean, more than that, she…she looks forward to being around you, despite the horror stories she must have heard by now. Do you want to lose that?”

  “No.”

  "Good. So, do what you need to do – not what you want to do – to keep it.”

  Caspar inhaled deeply, letting cold air fill her lungs to quell the flames of resentment and revenge brewing there.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A couple hours after midnight, Caspar woke to the sound of two men bickering in the living room, followed by Amie’s laughter at every other thing they said. She shuffled to the front of the house and found her curled up at the end of the couch, propped up on the armrest. Roadie got up from the floor and trotted over to her, alerting Amie to her presence.

  “Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?” She turned on the small lamp by the couch, bathing the living room in a bronze glow.

  “No, your friends did.”

  “Sorry, I’ll turn it down.”

  “No, leave it.” Cas continued to watch her, taking special notice of her choice of nightwear. A little pair of shorts and Caspar’s oversized plaid button up from earlier. She liked the way Amie took to her clothes. Her home. Her day to day.

  “Roadie, why don’t you invite Mama to join us. She clearly wants to.”

  Caspar half-smiled and joined her on the couch. Amie explained that she had only seen the movie of the hour in snippets over the years and only just now realized she had all the time in the world to finally watch it all the way through.