by Dan Alatorre
A platter in the center of the ancient stove held the first batch of fried, butterflied shrimp, a paper towel collecting the oil as they cooled. On the counter, French fries cooked in a deep fryer.
“Mom, not that I’m complaining, but have you ever heard of cholesterol?” Sergio plucked a fat shrimp from the platter and took a bite. He waved his hand and opened his mouth, exhaling sharply as he fanned his tongue.
“Pfft, cholesterol. Your father ate this twice a week and never had cholesterol.”
“Yeah.” Sergio went to the table. “Those heart attacks of his said otherwise.”
Sergio’s sister tossed the dish towel at him. “Be nice.”
“That’s right,” his mother said. “Or I don’t feed you, Moochie.”
“Moochie!” Carly laughed. “I love it!” She took a sip of beer and leaned back in the chair, grinning at Sergio across his mother’s kitchen table. “That alone was worth the trip out here.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Sergio blushed. “You don’t get to call me that. I’m only Moochie to my mom.”
“Eat!” his mother mock-shouted, coming to the table with another platter laden with fried shrimp. “You’re too thin. Both of you, eat!”
“That is all the encouragement I need.” Sergio took a few more shrimps from the platter.
Carly took her fork and nudged several golden brown shrimps onto her plate as well.
“And that’s the best thing about this partner.” Sergio lifted his beer. “She eats real food.” He grinned at Carly. “Well, almost the best part. She’s awful darned smart, too.”
Carly chuckled, taking a bite of her shrimp.
Sitting next to Sergio’s partner, Mina lifted a napkin to her lips, looking down and smiling. When her gaze made it to Carly’s wedding ring, the smile disappeared.
The thoughts of Carly were a mixed blessing. Each brought a warm, happy feeling, immediately followed by a tinge of sadness when he realized they’d no longer be working together and were in the middle of a fight. Her promotion would lead to him getting a new partner—if he didn’t get fired from the force.
She works hard. She deserves a promotion. More money, more time with the family . . .
But I’ll miss her.
Sergio pushed thoughts of his partner aside and forced himself to focus on helping Mina set the table. She visited their mother much more often than Sergio did, coming two or three times a week, and sometimes more when her schedule allowed it.
“So.” He arranged the forks next to the plates. “How are your classes coming?”
“Oh, I’m so ready for Christmas break.” Mina made her way around the little table. She placed a paper napkin in front of three of the chairs. “My psychology professor is a real pill. She wants us to do all sorts of work over the break. I mean, come on—it’s a break.”
“Yeah.” Sergio stared at the plaid yellow tablecloth. Its vinyl coating shined under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen. “I might be getting a new boss soon.”
“Let’s not talk about our problems.” His mother lifted a scoop of French fries from the fryer and piled them on a plate. “It’s Christmastime.” She came to the table and set down the platters of shrimp and fries, then pulled out her chair and sat.
Her children followed suit, each taking the same places they’d sat in as kids.
Sergio looked at his sister in her chair. “Habits die hard.”
“Then if we can form new habits, they’ll last a while, won’t they?” She put her napkin in her lap. “What’s your new year’s resolution going to be?”
“Geez!” Sergio laughed. “You’re such a planner. I need to make it through Christmas first!” He reached for a shrimp.
“Ah ah ah.” His mother swatted his hand. “Say Grace first.”
* * * * *
Dessert was apple pie, but Sergio opted for a few more shrimp. Despite his best efforts at eating them all, another full platter remained by the stove. By the time he and Mina were ready to leave, the leftover shrimp would be packed into Ziploc bags and shoved into their arms to take home.
“Honey.” Mrs. Martin looked at Mina. “Would you put the dishes in the sink for me, please? I need to talk to your brother.”
“Sure, Mom.” Mina rose from the table, picking up a few plates.
Mrs. Martin stood and walked outside. Sergio followed.
The wind had picked up. The hanging plants swayed in the gusts. Sergio stood on the front porch, his hands in his pockets.
His mother looked at him. “I saw the news today.”
“Oh, boy.” Sergio winced.
“Why do you lie to me?”
“What? I didn’t lie to you about anything.”
“You come here and act like nothing is wrong. It’s a lie. I can see it in your face. Do you think you can fool your mother?”
He shrugged, looking away. “I had a rough day at work, and I was in the neighborhood . . .”
“You thought being around someone who loves you would make you feel better.” A gust of wind pushed his mother’s hair into her eyes. “Me, and Mina.”
Sergio hunched his shoulders against the breeze. “I didn’t know Mina would be here, but yeah.”
“And you want love because you are feeling unloved?” She narrowed her eyes. “Or because you can’t get love from the person you want?”
“Mom—”
“Maybe you do things to impress someone. She is a married woman, Sergio!” She peered through the front window, craning her neck. Mina was at the sink, washing dishes. Mrs. Martin faced her son, wagging a finger. “It’s a sin.”
“Well, say it a little louder, because I’m not sure all the neighbors heard. Mrs. Keller has that hearing aid, you know.”
“You’re wasting your life with this, chasing after your partner. What do you think is going to happen? That she will leave her husband? And she has children! Are you going to raise her two boys? Take them to school and coach their soccer team? Is that what you think?”
“Mom—”
“No, because you don’t think about those things.” She folded her arms, frowning. “There’s more to it than just having fun.”
“We aren’t having fun, okay? It’s not like that. I wouldn’t dream of breaking up her family.”
“Maybe not.” His mother wagged her finger at him. “But you embarrassed your family today. I raised you better than that.”
She opened the door and went inside. Sergio stayed on the porch, staring at the night sky.
Mina pushed the door open an inch, peeked through the gap. “Is it safe to come out here?”
“Oh, yeah. There was a bear, but it bit my head off and now it’s full. So you’ll be fine.” He glanced at the front window. “I think the bear went to her bedroom to hibernate.”
“Not until she packs you a bag of leftovers to take home.” His sister slipped through the entry, standing next to him as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Wow, it got cold. It was warm this afternoon.”
Sergio put his arm around her.
Looking out at the street, Mina shifted her weight. “I’m glad you came over for dinner. Momma is, too. Really. She worries.”
He watched her out of the corner of his eye. “Is this a warmup for a lecture? I’m a police detective. Good cop-bad cop doesn’t work on me.”
“No. It’s . . . I worry, too, sometimes. Like when I see my brother on the news, getting hauled out of the bay like a torn fishing net.”
“Okay, okay.” He stood up straight, letting his arm fall from her shoulder. “I gotta go. I have an early appointment tomorrow.”
“Hold on. I want to tell you something.” Mina put her hands on his collar, straightening it. “You have to promise not to ever say a word to Momma.”
“Okay.”
“I always thought you and your partner were good together.” His sister looked up at him, her big eyes illuminated by the street light at the corner. “When I first met Carly, I thought that you two were perfect, like instant best
friends. The way you acted around her . . . I liked seeing you so happy. She seemed happy, too.” Mina slid her hand down her brother’s arm, taking his hand and holding it firmly with both of hers. “Maybe you can’t have everything that you daydream about, but deciding to just have a best friend . . . that’s still pretty awesome.”
Sergio nodded, frowning. “I think I messed up that friendship today. And my work, as you saw. But Carly and I, we’ve had fights before, but this, today . . . she was hot. I’ve never seen her like that.”
“Well, you did put her car in the bay.”
Sergio winced again. “Did they not televise the part where I caught a killer? Did that not make the news? Anyway, she’s getting promoted so everybody can relax. We won’t be working together anymore.”
Another cool gust blew in, rocking the hanging plants. A few stray flower petals floated down onto the old driveway.
“So, Carly’s moving up, huh? You know what Daddy would say.” Mina put her chin to her chest and wagged her finger. “‘You can’t steal second base with one foot still on first base.’ You know?”
Sergio grimaced, looking at the street. “The way to get over a lover is to dance with a stranger, huh?” Rubbing the back of his neck, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Carly and I were never lovers. Does the saying work for best friends? Because it may be a while before she gets over her car getting totaled.”
His sister’s hair lifted and fell in the gentle breeze. “Maybe. Mourn the loss of your friendship. That seems appropriate. Then, when you’re ready, find out what else the world wants from you.”
Sergio shoved his hands into his pockets and gazed up the street.
“At least let yourself take your foot off first base,” Mina said. “Who knows what could happen?”
Reaching out, he messed up his sister’s hair. “Look at you. When did you get so smart?”
“Always.” She grinned. “Especially in comparison to my older sibling.”
“Well, I think I’m getting ejected from the game in thirty days.” He sighed. “But I’ll try to—uh, pick my foot up off first base. How’s that?”
Mina wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight. “You have a good heart, big brother. Try to use your head a little, too.”
Chapter 13
Carly pulled her rental car into her driveway. Her two boys raced back and forth across Mr. Steiner’s front yard, chasing each other and carrying a tangled green mass of Christmas lights like it was a football.
As she exited the vehicle, she pulled on her coat. Her elderly neighbor held his hand out to the boys, and the ball of green wire was turned over. Taking her box of work files from the back seat, Carly walked to the front porch and set the box down on the steps. She made her way toward the neighbor’s yard, enjoying the cool evening air.
“Good evening, Carly.” Mr. Steiner waved to her as she approached. His thin, silver hair rose with the wind.
Carly waved back as her boys raced to embrace her. Two seconds later—when it could be counted as an official hug—Ethan, her older son, broke off and ran toward the sidewalk where his football lay. She rocked back and forth with Isaac as he held onto her.
She ruffled the ten-year-old’s hair, leaning down only slightly to kiss the top of his head. “I take it my mother dropped these two hooligans off with you again?”
“It’s no bother. She had her cycling class to get to.” Mr. Steiner hunched his shoulders and adjusted the collar on his windbreaker, clipping a string of lights onto the bush. The glass ovals bounced and swayed, illuminating the hedge in small splashes of color as twilight settled over the neighborhood.
Carly’s youngest pulled his face from her midsection. “Spinning.”
“What’s that?” The elderly neighbor looked at the boy.
“They call it spinning,” Isaac said. “Not cycling.”
“Sir,” his mother added.
“Sir,” the boy repeated.
“Spinning, huh? I’ll spin you.” The old man raised his fist, smiling. “Get inside before you catch a cold.”
Isaac ran away, laughing as he fled to the back yard.
Carly shouted at him over her shoulder. “Where are your jackets?”
“Other side of the lawn, near the garage,” Mr. Steiner said. “They wouldn’t keep them on for me today. Too much running around.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s no problem.” He shoved another tangle of green wire into the bush. “Kids need to spend some energy outside and not just play on their computers. Otherwise, they won’t sleep, and neither will you.”
“I hear that.” Carly shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “Ethan, Isaac! Get your jackets and tell Mr. Steiner thanks for watching you.”
The boys ran to Mr. Steiner’s garage, picked up their jackets, and scurried across the lawn to her, thanking their neighbor as they passed.
“Ethan.” Carly pointed. “Get your football, too.”
Her oldest ran back for the ball. Isaac stood by his mother, the cold breeze picking up again.
As they turned toward her house, Isaac held Carly’s hand. “Grandma said to tell you Dad called and he’s working late again.”
She pursed her lips. Because calling me himself is so much effort. “Did you eat?”
“Yeah. Grandma made hot dogs.”
“Great. Were any vegetables involved?”
“Um . . . do chips count?” Isaac stepped up onto their front stoop. “They’re made of corn.”
Carly grabbed her cardboard box, pressing it to her hip as she unlocked the door. “That’s okay. We all know the rules go out the window when my mother is involved.”
They entered the house together. Ethan slammed the front door, tossing his jacket over the back of a kitchen chair.
“Okay, you two,” Carly said. “Go get showered. Isaac, you first.”
“Aww!” He pouted, stomping away. “I had a shower yesterday.”
“Go.”
As her boys went upstairs, Carly set the box of files on the dining room table and stared at it. She’d been reading the investigative notes and assembling her procedural plan all afternoon, but the inescapable facts of the box remained: inside were three folders for three victims. Three people who left home this morning thinking everything was normal. Three people who would not be lucky enough to be returning to their loved ones right now, as she was.
Upstairs, the water in the shower came on.
The files were details and information, but they were also people. Human beings who’d be happy to discover their children ate hot dogs again because it meant they’d have another day with them. Kids that would be happy to get scolded for dining on junk if they knew the other options fate could offer that day.
Now, none of that would happen again for those three families.
Their loved ones were gone. Each file represented an entire life, snuffed out in an instant, on another person’s whim. So much could change so quickly, just like . . .
The newscaster interview from the morning flashed across her mind.
“Your partner delayed the murderer’s apprehension and almost got you killed. Did you ever think of it that way?”
Her partner.
Not anymore. Or probably not, according to their sergeant.
She slid into a chair, leaning back and remembering the image on her phone. Her orange Camaro, at the end of a tow hook, and the bright waters of the bay underneath.
Closing her eyes, she shook her head.
“Detective Sanderson? Hi, I’m Sergio Martin.”
The detective was younger than she expected, maybe thirty years old, and handsome in a rough sort of way. He had the smile and the beard stubble, the untucked shirt and rolled up sleeves that accented a lean, muscular frame.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I misunderstood. I thought they said ‘Carl,’ so I was watching for the big hairy guy from ballistics.”
And a sense of humor.
“Nice to meet you.�
� She shook his hand. “Is it okay that I’m not a Carl?”
“Absolutely.” He grinned. “I was kinda planning on taking Carl and getting some hot wings for lunch, though.”
And there it was. A chance to bond with her new partner by finding common ground, the way Dale Carnegie described in his book. Simple, but effective.
“I love hot wings,” she said.
Sergio threw his head back, laughing. “Oh, I have died and gone to heaven. I’ll drive, partner.” He stepped toward a silver-gray sedan with a large dent in the side.
Carly stopped in her tracks. “Is this your car?”
Sergio nodded. “Yeah.”
“Aha.” She dug into her purse and pulled out her keys. “Let’s take mine.”
The sound of footsteps pulled her from her trance. Isaac stood before her, wrapped in a towel and dripping wet. His favorite trick of late was to come down from his shower, still soaked, giggling until one or both of his parents fussed at him to go back upstairs and use his towel to dry off. His silly new routine made no sense, but a lot of actions by ten-year-olds didn’t make sense.
Tonight, Isaac wasn’t smiling.
“Mom, are you sad? I’m sorry about not eating vegetables at Grandma’s.”
“Oh, no. It’s not that.” Carly reached out and pulled him close, his wet torso soaking into her blouse. “I’m not sad because of anything you did.” She leaned back, pushing his damp hair from his eyes. “This morning, a lady on TV said that when I was chasing a really bad guy, careless things happened at work that . . . she said someone at work being careless could have hurt me and taken me away from you guys. And I’ve kinda been thinking about that today. How much I’d miss you two. That’s what made me sad.”
“Could you have died?”
“That’s what she was implying, yeah.”
“I’d be sad if you died.” He hugged his mother.
“I know, I know. Me, too.” She squeezed him tight, taking in the scent of shampoo and soap. “But there’s good news. I’m trying to get a new job—a promotion—and then things will be a lot better. Less carelessness and more time with you guys and Daddy.”
Her son smiled.
“But.” Carly pointed to the file box. “Right now, I need to focus on my work, or there won’t be any new job. So, you and your brother go play some Minecraft and then get to bed.”
