by Lola StVil
I get out of my car and head towards her. She sees me coming and right away she looks upset. She stops putting the food away, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Hello, Claudia.”
“What do you want?” she demands.
“You know I’m not the enemy, don’t you?”
“I know no such thing,” she snaps.
“The official report is not out to the public, but you know your husband. You know something was wrong, and even if you don’t have all the details, you suspect it’s not as simple as your son is making it out to be.”
“Tyler is a good kid. He just misses his father. He’s in mourning.”
“I miss his dad, too. No matter what happened, he was my partner, and I feel like shit that he’s gone.”
“Tyler is going to graduate this June. And Hank won’t be there. We waited for this day all his life, and Hank won’t see it,” she says as tears flood her eyes.
“Claudia, I’m not here to give you a hard time, but you need to get Tyler to back down.”
“I don’t control him. He’s my son, not a dog,” she counters.
“He’s putting pictures of me online, and that cannot happen. He’s waiting for me outside my gym, and that has to stop, do you get that?”
“Who are you to demand these things? You think I don’t know what you did?” she dares me.
“Enlighten me, what did I do?”
“You went on an operation knowing your mind was somewhere else. That’s why you missed that shot and hit my Hank. You were too distracted by your sister’s failing health. You shouldn’t have been out in the field. Your distraction cost my family everything.”
I can feel a sharp pain begin in my chest and shoot down my body. Tension creeps into my shoulders and behind my neck. I take a deep breath and try to regroup.
“This has nothing to do with my sister. Leave her out of this.”
“No, it’s you, Agent Hunter, who should have left Rose out of this. She’s the reason why I am a widow and why my boy has no father. You and your family took my husband from me.”
“You know damn well that’s not true.”
“What I know is that Hank loved you. He respected you. You have come to dinner in our home. And when he needed you, when you were supposed to have his back, you were too busy thinking about your home life to be effective. You let your personal issues get my husband killed, and I will never forgive you for that.”
“You know what, okay. Maybe I am the source of all your pain, okay? I am the evil in the night. Fine. I’m still a cop who has to do his job, and I can’t do that with Tyler blasting my picture everywhere. If your son doesn’t stop, I will take him in. And believe me, there are no graduations in juvenile detention centers.”
“How the hell do you sleep at night?”
“Well, to be honest, I don’t.”
“You are worse than the vile criminals you hunt. Because at least they don’t try to act good. They know they are wicked. But you pretend to be kind and honorable, then you get an innocent man killed with reckless actions. Get away from me!” she shouts. I walk closer to her. She shivers as if she fears I will hurt her.
“Mrs. Hudson, you don’t need to like me. You don’t even need to respect me. But you do need to keep your son in line. Or the court system will.” She doesn’t say anything; she just glares at me, gets in her car, and drives away.
***
A few hours later, I’m at the Italian restaurant waiting for Sky. I thought about canceling after the awful day I had, but I missed her face. I wanted to see her smile and feel her hand in mine. Yet even before she walks through the door, I already know we’re going to get into a fight. And yes, it will most likely be my fault. Right now, I’m short on patience and even shorter on understanding.
She enters the restaurant looking as beautiful as always. She’s in a simple, yet elegant black dress and strappy heels. Her hair is down the way I like it, and her scent is intoxicating.
Yup, we are definitely gonna get into an argument because that dress just makes me want her more.
We say hello and I embrace her. She orders a glass of wine, and I ask about her day. She says it was nothing special and asks about mine. I rake my hands through my hair and interlock my fingers together, behind my neck.
“My day was awful, to be honest,” I reply.
“What happened?”
“Work stuff.”
“Oh, anything I can do?”
“You can be honest with me,” I reply.
“Yes, of course.” She takes a sip of the wine the waiter brings to her.
“I had a really fucked-up day. Every damn thing went wrong. All I want to do is find solace inside my girl. I want to fuck her so well she passes out with my name on her tongue. Meanwhile, I’m so high off her juices, I can’t remember where I am. I want to go home and bury my face in your pussy until sour is sweet again. Now, what about you, Sky, what do you want?”
The waiter doesn’t know what he’s just walked into, but he wisely decides to leave us alone and come back later.
“Why are you acting like this?” I demand.
“Like what, like I want you?”
“No! Why are you using that want as a weapon?”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Yeah, it kind of is.”
“I knew this was going to turn into an argument because anytime we discuss anything remotely important, you freak out.”
“That’s not fair,” I reply as I force my voice to stay even. He inhales deeply, furrows his brow, and rakes his hands through his hair. We seem to be at an impasse. Whatever I say next, he’ll disagree with, and the same goes for what he says next. Now what?
“I shouldn’t have told you what I wanted when it’s so clearly not what you want,” he says, sounding on edge. “Maybe we should call it a night,” he suggests.
“Fine,” I reply as I get my purse and stand up. He stands up too, placing money on the table.
“I can pay for my own drink,” I reply as I gather up his money and hand it back to him.
“I know you can, but I don’t take women out and make them pay.”
“No, you just push them to talk about things they are not ready for.”
“You’re right. I’ve been pushing, but only because you give me nothing. How am I supposed to know what this is if you don’t talk to me?”
“We talk all the time.”
“No, we joke all the time. There’s a difference,” he snaps. I look deeper into his eyes, past the anger and the frustration. He’s sad. I’ve never seen him sad.
“Cash, what’s wrong?” I get closer to him and place my hand on his chest, searching his eyes for answers.
“Maybe I just want to get laid,” he says.
“You could have gotten that. I doubt you’d need to look far. You told me what you want; now tell me what you need. What do you need right now?”
“I need her. I need Rose alive again.”
***
We get to his house; it’s beautifully furnished in dark and rustic tones. The hardwood floors are gorgeous, as are the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He has a plush brown leather armchair next to one of the bookshelves, over by the window. Many of the books are historical journals and biographies. It’s a booklover’s dream. I want to tell him his place is beautiful but now it not the time.
He’s in pain. Something happened today that’s weighing heavy on his mind, something he can’t seem to run from. He sits in the leather armchair facing the bay window. I watch as he props his elbows on his lap and hangs his head in his hands. My heart breaks for him—seeing him hurt pains me more than I ever thought it could.
I pour whiskey into two shot glasses and hand him one. I then pull out a chair and sit directly across from him, our knees almost touching. He’s a million miles away.
“I should take you home—it’s late,” he says.
“I’m exactly where I want to be.”
“Are you sure? I’m
not exactly great company right now.”
“Cash, you don’t have to entertain me. I am okay just sitting here with you.”
“I was a jerk earlier, pushing you as I did.”
“You had a bad day, and you took it out on someone. It happens. I once almost beat the hell out of a vending machine that wouldn’t release the bag of M&Ms I paid for.”
“Nothing came out?” he asks.
“Worse than that; the machine spit out raisins.”
“Brutal.”
“Exactly. Now you see why I had to take that bitch down. Anyway, the judge let me off with a warning.”
He softly laughs it off as if I’m joking, but I raise my eyebrows and his mouth drops.
“Did you really have to go to court?” he asks.
“Destruction of property. In case you didn’t know, I am very serious about my chocolate.”
“Noted,” he says as the sadness seeps back in his eyes. I reach out and place my hand on top of his. I don’t want him to start looking out the window again; I don’t want to lose him to his thoughts. I know what that’s like, and sometimes, there’s no coming back from that abyss.
“Hey, please talk to me,” I plead.
“I don’t know…”
“What happened today to make you think about Rose more so than any other day?”
“I was talking to someone from a past case, and she brought up Rose, and it just started an avalanche of thoughts that I couldn’t…” He sighs deeply and tries to steady his voice.
“What thoughts?” I ask gently.
“She had lost so much weight in the end; she was so frail. She never let us fuss over her, even then. We’d come to visit, and she’d scold us for not being at work instead. She worried about us. It made no sense. She was the one losing her life before it even began and she was worried about us. She never let us see her cry. Never.
“Then one day, I got there late and visiting hours were over but the nurse took pity on me and let me go into her room to say good night. And that’s when I saw her, crying. That’s when I realized every day she held back her tears until we left. I walked into her room, and I begged her—‘Please, Rosy, don’t cry.’
“And that’s when she asked me for a favor. She said, ‘Please, let me have this. Let me break down—it’s all I have now.’ And I did, I let her cry. And I stayed there all night with her, and before she drifted to sleep, she looked at me and said, ‘Do you think God is mad at me? Is that why I’m dying?’ He shakes his head and swallows hard, too choked up to continue.
My heart breaks for him and his family. But I don’t want to interrupt him. I think he needs to say this, even more than I need to hear it.
“She was the good one. She was the one who deserved a long and happy life. How could she think God hated her? She was the good one. I told her that. I told her.”
“I’m sure she heard you.”
“It didn’t matter, nothing I did mattered. I couldn’t take her pain away,” he says in a pained voice as he blinks back tears. I get out of my chair and sit on his lap. I place my hands on either side of his face and look into his eyes.
“You couldn’t take her pain away, but you did something just as important; you let her give a voice to her pain. It’s hard to put on a brave face for everyone. Sometimes you just want to scream, cry, and set fire to the whole world, but you can’t. You have to smile and pretend you’re okay. But you let her cry. You gave her permission to feel. And that’s a gift not everyone gets. You did that,” I assure him.
“Sky, I miss her. I miss her so much.” I hold him against me as he wraps his arms around me. I try to hold back my own tears, determined to focus on Cash. We sit there for a long while, just holding each other. When we pull away, I smile at him.
“Did I ever tell you that my grandmother was a thief?” I ask.
“Um, no,” he says, not sure where I’m going with my question.
“Oh yeah! She was a big-time thief of little things. She used to love condiments, hotel soaps, shampoos, anything that could fit in her purse. And for God’s sake, don’t take her to a buffet; she’d steal the paint from the walls. Her dream spot to hit was the Four Seasons. She’d go into detail about what she thought their shampoo smelled like. She was an odd woman.
“So when she died, my sister, Stacy, and I wanted to do something to pay tribute to her. We went to the Four Seasons, snuck up to their penthouse suites, and raided the housekeeping cart. We were terrified when security chased us, but it was all for Nana. It’s silly, but at that moment, we felt close to her. We could hear her high-pitched voice saying, ‘Don’t forget the conditioner, that’s the good stuff!’”
He smiles. It warms me all over. “What did you Rose like to do together?” I ask, trying to manage all the feelings coursing through me.
“Well, she was into a lot of different things but the one thing we used to do together, no matter how many times we’d argue—we’d make a fort. All the kids in our neighborhood knew we made the best forts. We actually started a business. We charged and made a killing. As we got older, we moved on, but that’s the time in our lives that we were the most connected,” he says as he reflects.
“Well, I’d like to place my order,” I reply as I stand up and put on my “official” sounding voice.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’d like to place my order—one fort. Please.”
He laughs and then sees that I am serious.
“Sky, you can’t—”
“Please! Cash, I’ve never made a fort. And what better way to feel connected than by doing the activity you and Rose did together? C’mon, one last killer fort. One that she would be proud of.” Before he has a chance to say no, I rush off in search of sheets and pillows.
The project takes us all night, and it’s actually way more fun than two grown-ups should be having. While Cash walks me through the steps, he tells me more stories about Rose and what she was like as a kid. I can see him reliving the stories, and it makes me happy to know that he’s found some happy memories he can hold onto. Soon, there’s more laughter than actual work being done on the fort.
“Wow, this is awesome!” I shout as I look out at the large fort made of sheets, pillows, and Christmas lights. I drag him inside, and the look on his face is priceless.
“I know it’s silly, but no matter what you’re doing—building a fort or running away from the Four Seasons security guards—the people we love are always with us. Rose can’t die. You love her too much,” I promise him.
He looks into my eyes. “Thank you for this,” he says.
“You’re welcome.”
He pulls me close; we lie back on the plush pillows, and we talk some more. I don’t remember what we said, and it doesn’t really matter. What’s important is that the pain in his eyes is gone. And I know it might come back, that’s how life works. But I hope when it does come back, we can face it together.
***
I don’t know when we fell asleep, but we did. And judging by the light streaming through the sheets, the sun is out. I crawl out of the fort and find Cash in the kitchen. He hands me a cup of coffee and says, “Morning, babe.” He gives me a quick kiss and then pours himself a cup.
“Good morning,” I reply, relieved that he seems like himself again.
“Thank you for everything. Last night was…you brought back some parts of life with my sister that I had forgotten about.”
“No problem, I really like hearing about her.”
“Sky, about last night—back at the restaurant…”
“It’s okay; we don’t have to talk about it.”
“No, babe, it’s not,” he says as he walks towards me and takes my hand. “I was out of line. I took my bad mood out on you, and that wasn’t fair.”
“I get it, believe me.”
“I still want you, and God knows I still want to do those things to you,” he says suggestively. “But I came at you with way too much pressure.”
“I
haven’t made it easy. I’m sorry.”
“Forget about it. I’m just happy to wake up with you, naked or not.”
He takes the coffee cup away from me and places it on the counter. He pulls me in and gives me a deep, seeking, soul-shaking kiss.
Naked sounds so damn nice.
My youngest brother, Wyatt, is a detective with the NYPD. He’s exceptional at his job. Now, having said that, he’s fucking clueless when it comes to spotting a woman who is flirting with him. I’m sure he’s blind to that stuff because he’s happily married to his wife, Winter. I guess he’s not an ugly guy. Okay, okay, according to the female cops I’ve talked to, Wyatt is a catch. I think it’s the dark hair and the blue eyes. Whatever it is, women tend to notice Wyatt—often.
We’re at the coffee shop by his house, and two female customers have “accidentally” brushed up against my kid brother twice already. He just smiles politely and excuses the incidents. Before the two women become even more accident prone, I guide Wyatt to an empty table, coffee in hand. He takes a big gulp of his drink and rubs his weary eyes.
“Rough night?” I ask.
“Why can’t criminals keep normal fucking hours? It’s one thing to try and arrange for your husband’s murder, but the least my suspect can do is arrange it at a decent hour. I hate nighttime stakeouts. I haven’t slept in almost forty-eight hours.”
“Did you get her?”
“No, she keeps getting cold feet. But if she is going to set it up, it will happen soon. It’s crazy because she claims to love him even as she plans his murder,” Wyatt adds.
“Why does she want him dead?”
“It turns out she loves his life insurance even more,” he says.
“I heard that can happen,” I mutter. I study his face; he’s tired as hell. “Why’d you want to meet if you’re so dead on your feet?”
