“Me too. And me first. I think my news will turn that frown of yours around.” He half sat on her desk, pulled out a sandwich wrapped in butcher paper, and placed it in front of her. “Carl Franks is in custody. Apparently, Ginnie gave him up. He showed up at her apartment, and she told him to get the hell out. He didn’t take it very well, and she ended up calling 9-1-1.”
“Oh, geez. Is Ginnie okay?”
“Far as I know.”
“Well, that’s great news,” she said with very little enthusiasm.
“What’s the matter? I thought you’d be more excited to hear about this.”
“No, it’s good. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about that anymore, but listen…We need to talk.”
“Uh-oh. ‘We need to talk?’ Already? This doesn’t sound good.” His tone was light and teasing, and he looked so carefree, so different from the tense, brooding man she’d met weeks ago, that her throat tightened.
“This is difficult to explain—there’s so much I can’t tell you, because it’s privileged information. But I—” She felt foolish. She was about to say she couldn’t see him anymore, but she really didn’t even know if he intended to keep seeing her.
He reached out and touched her cheek, tipping her gaze up to his. “Em? What is it? What’s wrong?”
Her eyes and nose started to burn from holding back tears. “We can’t see each other anymore, Mac. It wouldn’t be right.”
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I found out today that I have a conflict of interest with one of my clients.”
“What’s the conflict?”
Looking into his chocolate-brown eyes, she answered hoarsely, “You.”
He dropped his hand from her face and moved to sit on the arm of one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Do you think maybe you could tell me what the hell is going on? ’Cause I don’t get it. What the hell does your client have to do with our relationship?”
Our relationship. They had a relationship. In other circumstances she would have been elated to hear those words from him. But hearing them now made the situation infinitely more painful.
“I can’t divulge all the details…there are confidentiality issues and possibly legal issues, I don’t even know, it’s an incredibly complicated situation.”
She pulled her gaze away from his hurt expression, focusing on her hands, which she twisted together with nervous energy.
“Please, Emily.” His velvet voice was almost her undoing. “Can you just be straight with me? Can you just explain so I can understand? Forget about this confidentiality crap. If I’m involved in this—If this means we can’t be together, then I have a right to know what’s going on.”
“Mac, please, just trust me when I tell you that—for right now at least—it’s not a good idea for us to be involved.”
“Trust you? That’s a two way street you know. Don’t you trust me enough to tell me the truth? I won’t share anything you tell me about your client.”
She couldn’t hide the frustration from her voice. “I do trust you, Mac, but I don’t think the ACA code of ethics says, ‘keep your client’s information confidential, unless of course you really trust someone, then by all means blab.’” The tears she’d been holding back spilled over. “I’m just trying to do the right thing. My clients are important to me—”
“More important than us.”
“Mac, don’t. Please. Can’t you see this isn’t easy for me? This isn’t what I want. But it is what it is.” He wouldn’t look at her. He stared out the window, at some distant point beyond her shoulder, his arms crossed over his chest as if he’d already closed himself off from her.
“This doesn’t mean we can’t be together ever,” she said. “It just means we can’t be together right now.”
“So, you’re saying…” His voice was cold, detached. “When you’re no longer working with this client, then we can be together.”
“I hope so.”
“And how long are you going to be seeing this client?”
“I don’t know. There’s no timeline on healing.”
“Right.” He stood up and without looking at her, headed for the door. “Tell Sean he can pick up your bag at my place later today.”
The door clicked shut, and she stared at it with unseeing eyes, wondering if the hot tears streaming down her face would ever stop.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After work, Emily slid into the passenger seat of Sandra’s little red Toyota, on the way to pick up Emily’s car from the police station.
“I saw your cop leave the office today after lunch. He didn’t look very happy. Is everything okay?” Sandra asked, pulling the seatbelt across her body and clicking it.
“It’s complicated,” Emily said.
“Hmm.” Sandra started the car and pulled out of the parking lot without saying another word. Her uncharacteristic silence was her way of encouraging Emily to talk, but she didn’t feel like talking. She felt exhausted.
“So…are you guys…like…seeing each other? Lover’s quarrel? Trouble in paradise? Throw me a bone here, Emily.”
“I wish there could be something between us. But the timing’s not right. I guess you could say my work got in the way.” Not wanting to discuss it any further, Emily changed the subject. “Speaking of trouble in paradise, you never did tell me what happened with you and Kyle. Did you find out for sure if he’s cheating or not?”
“You’re doing that thing you do,” Sandra said, shaking her head.
“What thing?”
“Shifting the focus to me so that we don’t have to talk about you.”
“Hmm. I was doing that, wasn’t I? I’m sorry, Sandra. You’re such a good friend to me.” The blast from the heat vents hit Emily in the face and she tugged on her scarf, loosening it. This was her opportunity to change her M.O.—to stop being the counselor in her friendships and start being a friend who took as much as she gave. “It hurts. I want to be with him, and I can’t, and it just flippin’ sucks. And the worst part is that it was my choice.”
“Was it the only choice?” Sandra asked.
“It was the right choice.”
“I’m sorry, girl. Sounds like a crappy situation all around.”
Emily nodded, hating that once again today, she was on the verge of tears. Thankfully, Sandra seemed to get that she was all talked out—nothing more to say really.
Sandra gave Emily a sideways glance, never completely taking her focus from the road, and said, “Do you remember when we got coffee the other day and I was telling you about the text messages I accidently saw from some chick named Skylar?”
“Yes.” Emily didn’t remember actually. She’d been having quite a bit of trouble focusing that day. “Did you confront him about it?”
“I did. And it turns out Skylar’s a dude.”
Emily sputtered, a tear slipping out even as she giggled. “Wh-what?”
“Yep. Skylar is a coworker of Kyle’s. And evidently has a penis.”
“So, Kyle’s gay?”
“Nope. No. Not gay. That would have been better though.”
Emily’s mouth dropped open. “How would that have been better?”
“Because maybe then I would have been right to be jealous.” Being right was evidently very important to Sandra. “Instead, I’m just a trust-challenged shrew who got so crazy with jealousy and suspicion that I drove a perfectly good man away.”
Emily chuckled at her friend’s dramatic depiction and the pain in her chest dulled, her tears subsiding. It was good to lean on a friend once in a while. She should do it more often.
“I’d say I’m sorry to hear about it, but you don’t seem terribly broken up.”
“Nah. Kyle was a good guy, but he wasn’t the one for me. Any guy I end up with is going to need to have a significantly higher tolerance for drama.”
Emily laughed. “Oh, Sandra. It’s good that you know yourself so well.”
Pulling into the police parking lot, S
andra stopped the car and said, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out with you and Mac.”
“Me too.”
“Want to go get drunk?”
“Yes.” Emily laughed. “But not tonight. I’ve got something I need to do tonight. Rain check though?”
“You can count on it.”
Sandra drove away from the PD, and Emily waved goodbye. She shivered. Dismissing the sensation as a result of the cool autumn breeze, she dug her phone out of her purse.
One unheard message.
She scanned the parking lot and weaved in and out of cars toward her sad, lonely Mazda, unable to shake the sensation she was being watched. It was like knowing a TV is on in the next room, without even seeing it or hearing it, the electricity can still be felt. Seeing nothing unusual, she pushed her apprehension aside, unlocked her car, and slid inside, grateful to have shelter from the wind. Giving her car a moment to heat, she listened to the message.
“Where are you, Emily? Why aren’t you at home, you little slut? I’ll find you, and you’re going to tell me what the fuck you’ve been up to these last few nights. And then you’re going to pay for what you did.”
Her blood turned to ice, her numb fingers almost dropping the phone.
Wait. This message was from before Carl was picked up by police. It had to be. She checked the time on the message. 8:02 this morning, the call she’d ignored while talking to Ruth. Yes, of course. That would have been before Carl was apprehended.
Relieved, she tossed the phone into her purse and made a mental note to share the voicemail with Detective Dorsey. He’d certainly want to add it to the list of Carl’s transgressions. But later. Right now, she needed to make things right with Ruth.
* * *
Checking the address one more time, she verified the modest gray town-home was indeed Ruth Swanson’s house. She walked up the paved sidewalk to the door marked 15, taking in the neat mounds of orange and red chrysanthemums that dotted both sides of the walk. After a deep breath for courage, she knocked on the door.
A few moments later, she rapped again, this time using the heavy doorknocker. She chewed her thumbnail and waited.
The door opened slowly, and Emily sucked in a startled breath when she saw Ruth’s face, her eyes bloodshot, still wet from crying. She held a crumpled piece of paper in her hand.
“Ruth? Are you okay?”
Eyes glazed over, Ruth pushed the door open further and backed up, allowing Emily to enter.
“I’m so sorry to come to your home like this, but I hated the way things ended, and I hoped you would let me explain.” Ruth’s silence and unfocused gaze alarmed her. “Ruth?”
“He did it on purpose,” she whispered.
“No,” Emily said, gently laying a hand on Ruth’s arm. “Officer McAvoy didn’t know the gun was fake. He thought he was in danger—thought the other people in the convenience store were in danger too.”
“Not the cop,” Ruth said, her face crumpling, tears starting anew. “Mitchell. He did it on purpose. He provoked the cop on purpose.”
“What do you mean?”
Between sobs, Ruth said, “I was so upset when I came home from your office…I decided I needed to do something to take my mind off everything.” Emily winced, hating that she had caused Ruth such distress. “I always clean when I’m upset. I like things to be orderly, makes me feel like I have some semblance of control.”
Ruth wiped her hands over her cheeks, brushing away tears and calming down a bit. “I was going to get rid of that jacket, donate it to Goodwill.” She pointed to a black wool pea coat on the floor. “I never wear it anymore. It reminds me too much of when I found out Mitchell died. I was wearing it, coming home from work the night I found two police officers at my front door.”
Ruth held the crumpled note out to Emily. “I found this when I emptied the coat pockets.” Her tears began again, and she just barely choked out the words. “He must have put it in my pocket that morning, and I never found it.”
Emily unfolded the note, smoothing it out and noticing where tears had smudged the ink in a few places.
Dear Mom,
I'm so, so sorry. I just can’t handle it anymore. It’s too much. I can’t take it. Things are just too hard. I know you won’t understand, but I don’t fear death. Knowing that there’s an end to all of this is comforting to me. I just wish there was some way to spare you the pain. I know you loved me. I know you’ll miss me. But I hope you will find some comfort in knowing that it was what I wanted. I love you. I’m sorry.
Mitchell
It was a suicide note. Mitchell had pointed a fake gun at Mac, knowing he’d be shot. Emily’s hand went to her mouth. It was too terrible to contemplate. Where on earth had Mitchell gotten the idea for suicide-by-cop? Silly question. All he’d had to do was google ways to commit suicide and he’d have found it.
Emily looked up from the note. “I’m so sorry, Ruth.”
“I just don’t understand,” she cried. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand. ‘Can’t handle it anymore?’ Can’t handle what anymore? Why didn’t he ask me to help him? I had no idea that anything was wrong, that he could feel that hopeless, that depressed. No idea at all…”
Emily wanted to offer comfort, to say something to ease her pain. This too shall pass? No. Emily didn’t think the pain of losing a child ever really passed. Time heals all wounds? From losing her parents, she knew that wounds did heal, but they left scars. They left the body forever changed, the landscape of the skin permanently marked. Even years after losing her parents, the emotional scar was a touchstone, capable of triggering memories of a pain so vivid, it was like reliving it.
For Emily, this was the most difficult part of being a counselor. She wanted to fix it. She wanted to take the pain away and make it all better for Ruth. But that wasn’t possible, so she swallowed the words of condolence that were on the tip of her tongue and wrapped her arms around Ruth. She held her while she shook with sobs, supported her while she experienced the pain of knowing her son had meant to leave this earth. Had meant to leave even his mother.
Ruth was losing her son all over again, and all Emily could do was hold her and bear witness to her grief.
Many moments later, Ruth pulled back, breathing deeply and wiping the tears from her face. “I’m sorry about this morning,” she said.
“There’s no need to apologize. You must have felt incredibly betrayed, and I’m so sorry for that. I hope you believe me when I tell you that I really hadn’t made the connection between Mac and your son’s death.”
Ruth nodded.
“I hope we can continue with counseling. I know you must feel conflicted about my involvement with Officer McAvoy, but I want you to know I’ve stopped seeing him, and my door is always open.”
“You broke up with him?” Ruth asked, her eyes widening.
“Yes, I knew you’d never feel comfortable coming back to counseling if I was seeing him, and I felt terrible about that. You’ve come so far. I didn’t want you to have to start over with another counselor.”
“Oh, Emily, I appreciate that, but in light of all this…I could hardly ask you to break up with him. My God, he’s just as much a victim in all this as anyone.” She took a deep breath, brushing her heavy blonde locks back from her face. “You know, I knew in my heart that it was never his fault. I wanted to blame someone. I wanted to be able to point to someone and say, ‘you are the reason I don’t have my son anymore,’ even though all along I knew it was just a terrible tragedy.”
Moments ticked by, and Emily’s gaze slipped to the floor, avoiding Ruth’s perceptive stare.
“Is he someone special?” Ruth asked.
“I think so, yes.”
“Then don’t end things with him. We’ll be fine.” She attempted a small smile. “I like you, Emily. I can talk to you, and I do trust you.”
“Even after all this?”
“Yes, especially after all this. Your willingness to stop seeing him shows how much you care.
But I’m not so selfish that I would ask that of you. Or him. I’m sure you’re very special to him too.”
Perhaps not as special as she used to be. Something told her Mac would not be quick to forgive her for pushing him away.
“Could you do something for me?” Ruth asked.
“Anything.”
“Will you explain all of this to him and tell him I’m dropping the civil suit? It was never the right thing to do, and I see that now.”
“Yes, absolutely, I will tell him.” If he’ll even talk to me.
* * *
Mac stared at the contents of his fridge. His stomach growled angrily and yet, he didn’t feel like eating. Nothing appealed to him. Pulling the lid off the left over capellini Emily had made, he popped it in the microwave, figuring it would be the easiest thing to make.
He watched it turn, the smell of warm pasta and sweet tomato sauce filling his small kitchen and reminding him of the evening they’d spent together. The easy feel of her in his kitchen, the ups and downs of their conversation over dinner, the feeling of utter rightness later that night when he fell asleep with her in his arms.
She’d given him hope, opened him up to the possibility of living his life again instead of existing in shadows, and then for some inexplicable reason, she’d ended it.
He’d been mulling it over in his mind all afternoon and decided she must have a client that he’d arrested or had some other dealings with as a police officer. Funny, the day he’d first met her, he’d teased her about working with the same people. Crazies he’d called them, knowing he was getting under her skin, but unable to act any more mature than a besotted little boy pulling the ponytail of the prettiest girl in school.
She was trying to do the right thing, and it clearly hadn’t been easy for her, hadn’t been what she’d wanted. But knowing that didn’t take away the hurt. And it hurt. Hurt not to be able to hold her, laugh with her, love her. And he did love her, he realized suddenly. The seed had been planted the moment their hands had touched over a wad of crumpled bills in a busy coffeehouse. She’d brought her own sunshine into his life, watering and nurturing that seed until it had bloomed into a love like nothing he’d known before. Jesus, she’d turned him into a sentimental schmuck.
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