by L. A. Fiore
“That’s the pot calling the kettle.”
I wanted to stick my tongue out at him, when I was younger I would have. “Fine.”
He grabbed his keys, reached for my hand and walked me through the gym. I forgot to be annoyed because I had missed having my hand held in his. Déjà vu swept through me remembering the countless times we had done this when we were younger, but the difference was now he was pulling me away from him, not drawing me close.
We stepped outside and around the building to the sexy, black car parked at the curb. A Maserati? He owned a Maserati? How the hell did he own a Maserati? Did he turn to the dark side, skirting the law like Anton? He held the door for me before coming around and folding himself behind the wheel.
“Nice car.”
The engine purred to life and seeing him behind the wheel, the picture he made, I kind of just stared at him for a good portion of the trip. To be honest, I stared at him for the entire trip so I was more than a little surprised when we pulled up in front of my apartment building.
“How did you know I still lived here?”
“Same way you knew where my gym was.” He climbed out while I pondered that. We didn’t speak again until we reached my apartment. I unlocked my door and turned to him and that night from two years ago—the last time I had seen him—came back in technicolor. Mellowed feelings or not, I wanted a repeat performance. I wanted that so badly I just stared at him like a lobotomy patient.
“Lock your door.”
I felt like Ralphie from A Christmas Story when he finally got to see Santa Claus to ask for his Red Ryder and he froze up. I just stared like a deer caught in headlights, so his suggestion of locking my door was one I grabbed onto. I stepped into my apartment, closed and locked the door. I heard the sound of his heavy footsteps retreating. It was about ten minutes later when my brain reengaged. And that’s when I banged my head against the door, repeatedly. “What’s the worst thing that could happen? Nice job, slick.”
Why did you go so late?” Ryder asked. She and Kimber were over and I was sharing the disastrous reunion between Damian and me from last night. It hadn’t been a complete disaster because I got to see his beloved face again. And despite our reunion, I got weak in the knees knowing he was finally home. It was his response to me that wasn’t so great; it sucked if I was being honest. He treated me much like Cam and Anton did…affectionate in a familial way. I didn’t want Damian as another brother, but it had been a long time. That might be all that was left of our relationship. The man had been home for a month and never once contacted me. That said a lot and it hurt. His silent acknowledgment that we were no longer a we. But I had learned the hard way that life was short, so I’d take Damian however I could get him.
“I was curious and I tried to reason with myself that a visit during a more reasonable hour, like daylight, was smarter, but I couldn’t get the notion of seeing him out of my head.”
“I know that feeling…like that bartender at the little place in the Village. You remember him, right? I couldn’t get the idea out of my head that I needed to blow him. I did, right there behind the bar. That’s a good memory.”
“Only you would equate a reunion with someone’s first love to a blow job.” Ryder rolled her eyes at Kimber before she added, “How did he look?”
“Fantastic…older, sexy, hot as hell. Anyway, I was leaving when a drunken dude got in my face. You know the type, arrogant and on the prowl, looking for the lone female.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No, he was just a pest, but one that was persistent until Damian stepped in.”
“Oh shit. So not only busted for being out late but caught in the exact situation of why you shouldn’t be out late.”
“Exactly. After scaring off my unwanted suitor, he scolded me like a child.”
“I would have scolded you too.” Ryder had a good angry mama voice. “There is more.”
“He’s been home for a month, but he never called me. Why wouldn’t he have called? And his greeting last night was lukewarm at best.”
“Oh, Thea.”
“I knew we were over, he made that very clear in his letter, I’m just surprised how much it hurts getting the confirmation from him.”
“Maybe he was just caught off guard. You’d be shocked senseless if he showed up unannounced at your doorstep.”
“I hope so.” I didn’t want to think about my reunion with Damian because it was depressing, so I moved the conversation along. “Anyway, my plan had obvious flaws, but I’m not the first one of us to come up with a half-baked idea all in the name of a hot guy.”
Ryder squeezed my hand in comfort at the same time she tried to dismiss my comment. I didn’t let her. “You know what I’m talking about. Doing the drive by of the parcel store repeatedly just to see the man working the counter instead of shipping something so you could actually talk to him.”
Ryder tried for nonchalance but failed. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“He never caught me except for that one time.”
My head jerked to Kimber’s, hers to me. It was my voice that pitched a bit higher with incredulity. “The time you drove into the back of the UPS truck that was parked at the curb loading up packages. That one time you mean?”
“It was a small dent.”
“Small dent my ass,” Kimber said then added, “I have some bad news.”
My heart dropped. “Derrick?” She had been out with him several times and from the way she glowed when she talked about him…she liked him, a lot.
“No, he’s great.” She lowered her voice, like she didn’t want anyone else overhearing what she said next, which was weird because it was just the three of us in my apartment. “I have a gray hair on my…” Her comment completely threw me. Made evident when I almost spit out the wine I had just sipped.
“Do I want to know why you were inspecting your lady garden?”
“My vagina and me class.”
“Your what?”
“Yeah, a friend took it. She said it changed her life.”
“As in she no longer has one because she is someone who spends time getting acquainted with her vagina?”
“No, it’s not so much a mystery anymore.”
“I wasn’t aware the vagina was a mystery at all. There are tons of books on the subject that not only explain what it is and what it can do, but also how it is different from the penis.”
Kimber glared. “You’re teasing me.”
“Oh, yes. I am teasing you. I will continue to tease you about this until you are all gray down there.”
“Whatever. Doesn’t change the fact that I have a gray hair. I plucked it, but it’ll come back.”
“Are you worried that the next time Derrick heads south he will see the gray hair and realize he is in bed with one of the Golden Girls and flee?”
“You’re just full of snarky comments.”
“The subject makes it very easy.”
“You’re awfully quiet, Ryder. Don’t you want to add your two cents like this one?”
Ryder was trying very hard not to laugh. “I honestly have nothing to say.”
The lead story for the eleven o’clock news playing on the television in the background caught my attention. “Turn that up.”
Ryder reached for the remote.
It was the McKay case, the one Uncle Tim was defending. My stomach twisted seeing Cathy McKay’s father, Chris, in the courtroom especially after the confrontation I had witnessed between him and my uncle. He looked destroyed, his daughter was dead and her children orphaned and my uncle was working hard to get her killer off.
“The prosecution has rested. The defense, led by Timothy Gallagher, starts tomorrow. Once again, the prosecution in the case of Cathy McKay and Jacob Hunter has rested. The defense team will start opening arguments in the morning.”
I wasn’t listening to the report because I was too busy staring at the picture in the courtroom, specifically my
uncle. He looked smug and the juxtaposition he made next to the devastated father turned my stomach.
That night something jarred me from sleep. I was groggy and in the middle of a really great dream that starred Damian. A part of me was still dreaming, wishing it were him sneaking into my apartment to have his way with me, but lust subsided as that sixth sense kicked in. I had the distinct feeling that someone was in my apartment. I should have locked my bedroom door and called 911. I didn’t. I reached for the bat I kept near my bed and went to investigate. When they found me dead, my ghost could berate my dead form on how foolhardy my action had been.
I cracked the door to my bedroom and smelled coffee. Someone broke into my apartment and started brewing coffee? There was a part of me that had to give the home invader points for having their priorities straight, but that was my coffee. Damn it. I smelled bacon and that was the last straw. Fear gave way to anger. It was one thing to break into someone’s home and kill them, but you were stepping over the fucking line eating their bacon and drinking their coffee. And yes I knew a therapist could have a career treating me for my messed up priorities, but we were talking about bacon and coffee.
I moved from my bedroom, saw the man standing at my stove and lifted the bat.
“I’m making some for you too, sis.”
Cam. Then I screeched, “Cam!”
“Keep it down or Mrs. Cooke will be over and there’s not enough for her too.”
Mrs. Cooke was my seventy-year-old neighbor.
“What are you doing here at this hour?”
“I was in the area and I was hungry.”
“So you break into my house and eat my food? What if I called 911?”
He gave me the look, the one that said he knew me better than that. “You’re not really mad and even if you were, I’m making bacon and coffee.”
He was right. They were my Achilles heel, bacon and coffee and Damian. I moved to the cabinet for the plates.
“Did you call Mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Did she mention yoga man?”
Cam stopped dishing out the bacon to stare at me like I had grown horns. “Yoga man?”
“I visited her a couple weeks ago and she was doing the downward dog with a young, twenty-something trainer. I now know what I will be like at her age. You’ll have to kill me before that.”
“Mom is doing yoga? That’s unnatural.”
“It’s a sign of the pending apocalypse. Have you been following Uncle Tim’s case?” I asked.
“Hard not to. It’s all over the news. Tough case. I wouldn’t want to be him.”
“The father confronted Uncle Tim not too long ago.”
Cam followed me to the table and set our plates down. “How do you know?”
“I was there.”
He tensed as every muscle in his body went hard. “He approached Uncle Tim while you were with him?”
“He was upset. Can you blame him?”
“No, but there’s a line.”
“Had it been you or me, I think that line would get blurry too.”
“Likely.”
“Do you think they have the wrong guy?”
“I wasn’t in on the bust, but the evidence seemed pretty damning.”
“It is kind of a testament to Dad and Uncle Tim’s relationship that they could be on such opposite sides and still stay close all those years.”
“I know. Personally, I think it would eat me up, arresting assholes only to have my best buddy getting them off. Dad was always more level-headed than me.”
“And yet, you’re a lot like him. You and Anton, you a cop and him a…”
“True.” He reached for his coffee. “Damian’s home. Have you seen him?”
I didn’t go into detail since his reaction would be the same as I got from Damian, a scolding. Not to mention there wasn’t much to share about our lackluster reunion. “Yeah, the other day. Why didn’t you tell me he was home?”
Surprise flashed over his face. “You didn’t know?”
“Not until Anton told me the other day.”
“Sorry. I just assumed Damian contacted you. What’s that all about?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Mom is hosting a dinner.”
Cam’s smile was a little sad because he was thinking as I was. All we were missing was Dad. “I’ve started going through the files Dad left for me.”
“Dad left you files?”
“Cold cases he was working on in his spare time.”
“I didn’t know Dad was doing that.”
“And going through his stuff…” Cam leaned back in his chair, “…I want to know what happened to him.”
Unease moved through me. “You don’t think his death was random violence?”
“No.”
At first, I responded to his news with my breakfast wanting to come back up my throat, but this was actually a good thing. If his death was related to the cases he had been working on then there was a chance we could bring his killer to justice. A remote possibility when his death was believed to have been a random act.
“This is why you’ve been so busy.”
“Yeah, I’m working his case on my down time.”
“You must have some theories.”
“I do, but maybe we can hold off having that discussion.”
“Okay, but when you’re ready to talk, I am ready to listen. Have you talked to Uncle Guy about this?”
Cam stood and reached for his plate. “I’m keeping it on the down low.”
“Even from Uncle Guy?”
“Yeah.”
“Is something going on with him?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“I saw him at the fundraiser and the tension between him and Uncle Tim was intense.”
“That’s interesting.”
“I suspect it’s more interesting to you because you know more than I do.”
“I’ll share and soon.”
“Fair enough.”
I popped the last piece of bacon in my mouth. “You always did make it better than me.”
It had been a few days since Cam’s visit and I found myself mulling over our conversation often. Dad had been working cold cases. That didn’t surprise me. He had definitely been an advocate for the victim. I wasn’t even surprised to learn he left his files with Cam, knowing how he was following in Dad’s footsteps. Hearing that whatever case Dad had been working on might have led to his death was harder to process. He was gone, I had worked through that grief, but knowing there was a chance I could look his killer in the eyes, could watch as he was sent to prison. It was closure I never thought any of us would have. I was sure Cam had not mentioned this to Mom. She too was healing, but this would definitely be a setback for her. It was better to wait until there was a resolution before pulling her into it.
To take my mind from questions I had no answers to, I distracted myself with baking a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies. Unlike my failed attempts in my youth, I had become quite the baker. And though I vowed to not share my cookies, I did. The scent filled my apartment, so I wasn’t at all surprised by the knock at the door. Mrs. Cooke lived right next door. She had moved in just last year after she lost her husband of close to fifty years. She was lovely, very friendly showing up on my doorstep her first day with a smile on her face and a homemade Bundt cake. Since that time, she had started dieting, which I didn’t really understand because she was seventy; at her age I think I’d be eating whatever the hell I wanted. But because she was always dieting, she didn’t buy or make sweets anymore, so she came here and ate mine. I guess the calories didn’t count if you weren’t home when you ate them.
“Mrs. Cooke. Come in.”
“Hello, dear.”
“I was just about to pull some cookies from the oven. Would you like some?”
“Oh I shouldn’t.”
Even though that’s the reason she was here. She probably smelled them and followed her nose to my door. “I know, but with a cup of tea.
”
“Twist my arm.”
She settled in the living room while I went to put on the water. “Have you met our new neighbor?” she asked.
“New neighbor? No.”
“I saw him the other day. He’s very handsome. You should stop by with a pie.”
I loved my neighbors, but I was the youngest of them by decades. If there was a new neighbor, he was probably closer to Mrs. Cooke’s age than mine. “I realize I’m not dating much, Mrs. Cooke, but I think I would like to date someone closer to my own age.”
“He is your age, well close. He’s probably in his fifties.”
I choked on my own saliva, but close to my age. Fifty? Really? “You do realize I’m only thirty-one.”
“Well, yes, dear but anyone under sixty is a youngster as far as I’m concerned.”
“I appreciate that, but fifties is not close to my age. He’s probably closer to you in age than me.”
She pondered my words. “I guess you’re right. Maybe I’ll bring him a pie.”
The fact that she could tease about bringing another man a pie was huge. She and my mom had connected, both losing their husbands, and I was happy to see both of them were healing. Which had me wondering how long she intended to stay. She had a lovely place in Westchester, one that she let the staff and lawyers take care of while she mourned. I had seen a few pictures in her albums and the place was amazing.
“Have you given any thought to moving here permanently?”
Her smile dimmed a bit and I got it. There were memories in her home, lots of them. “Our home, you mean.”
“Yeah.”
“I certainly can’t keep the estate myself. And it is a lot of money to keep going.”
Money she apparently had. Her husband had been an investment banker on Wall Street.
“Can I ask why you have kept it going?”
“Mitchell loved that house. He did much of the work on it himself. I wasn’t ready to let that piece of him go. But you’re right, I need to make a decision on the place.”
“Well you don’t have to make that decision right now.”
“True, especially since those cookies smell done.”
And she wasn’t wrong when the timer for the cookies went off a few seconds later.
