by Mark Stone
My grandfather was having better luck though. He was responding to treatments and still had much of his energy. I couldn’t help but think that a lot of that had to do with the woman sitting across from me right now, a woman I was quickly learning was amazing in a lot of different ways.
“Besides,” I said, shaking my head and changing the subject. “I think I was responsible for at least half of those reschedulings.”
“I’m not the only one saving people, Detective,” she said, her eyes moving toward my waist, where a hint of my gun must have been visible from her side of the table.
“You think it’s making them nervous?” I asked, smiling and following her gaze.
She chuckled at me again. “God, I hope so,” she answered, finishing off her glass of soda. “The dolls in this place look like they could use a bit of shaking up.”
“You won’t get any argument from me,” I answered, laughing myself. It was strange. I had come out here for a real live grownup dinner, complete with appetizers, mentions of the daily special, and a host who looked at me as though I was something right above a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal. It was supposed to quiet. It was supposed to be stuffy. It was supposed to be sophisticated. Yet here we were, five minutes in and already snickering like teenagers in the black row of a movie theatre. I couldn’t have been happier.
“I do appreciate you taking a chance on this place though,” Rebecca said. “I know it’s not your usual spot.”
“Is it yours?” I asked, my eyebrows arching.
“I haven’t had enough time off for a sit down dinner in months,” she balked, sitting back comfortably. “Outside of that meal we shared at Boomer’s house, my ‘spot’ is a brown paper bag or a to go salad. The owner had been pressing me to come here and, with nights off being so few and far between, I figured I could kill two birds with one stone.”
“Oh, am I a bird now?” I asked, smiling at the woman.
“What’s wrong with being a bird?” She asked. “I happen to think birds are cute.”
“Is that so?” I responded, pushing down what had to be a flush of red coming up in my cheeks. It had been a long time since this had happened to me, since I felt a real connection with a woman. Sure, there were people up in Chicago; girls I dated, even some I dated for a while. But I never managed this; this kind of spark that made something as awkward as a first date feel easy and fun.
In fact, the last time I felt something like that for someone had to be with—
“What can I get you guys?” A familiar voice asked from above us. I had been so wrapped up in my conversation that I hadn’t heard the waitress approach. Now that she had, the sound of her voice set me on edge. I recognized it immediately. In truth, I’d have recognized it on the moon.
Looking up, I saw Charlotte, red hair and green eyes, staring back at me with a pen in her hand hovering over a notepad, ready to take our order. She stood there, the first girl I had ever loved, the first woman who broke my heart so bad I thought it might never come together again, the woman who gave me a nephew after a drunken night with my less than scrupulous half brother, and the woman who still honestly tied my feelings into such tight knots that I wasn’t sure how I was ever going to untangle them.
She was staring down at me, watching me on a date.
She blinked as she cleared her throat. “So,” she started. “Have you decided what you want yet?”
Chapter 3
“What?” I asked, looking up at Charlotte surprised. Seeing her here had me taken aback a little. While we were nowhere near as close as we had been in our teenage and early adult years, Charlotte had made a concentrated effort to make a friend of me since my return to Naples. We spoke semi regularly, and nothing was more important to me than making sure my nephew (whose own father refused to acknowledge him) didn’t grow up without a man in his life, the way I had.
If she had picked up a job at this restaurant, on this side of town, I figured I would have known about it. That certainly wasn’t the case though, as this took me by complete surprise.
“Food, Dilly,” she said flatly, looking at me with eyes that had held so many of my dreams in them once upon a time. “Do you know what you’d like to eat?”
“You know,” I answered, swallowing hard. “I honestly don’t.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes at me, a gesture I was intimately familiar with by now. Shaking her head, she turned to Rebecca. “Sorry. If you haven’t figured this out by now, the guy you’re dating is sort of absent-minded.” She reached her hand out to Rebecca, who took it dutifully. “I’m Charlotte.”
“Rebecca,” Rebecca answered. “And, while this might be our first date, I’ve got to admit that I’ve found him to be quite focused.” She looked over at me. “Especially for someone who obviously has so much on his mind.”
“The missing girl?” Charlotte asked, looking over at me, her face suddenly heavy with empathy. “I heard about that on the news. Saw Boomer was giving a press conference. I was going to ask, but I know how you are about ongoing cases. Is it true she had just run away to be with a boyfriend?”
Wow. Word gets out quick.
Now normally, I would have balked at the idea of a civilian asking about the status of an ongoing investigation, but Charlotte was no ordinary civilian. While I couldn’t have told her anything regardless of who she was, I understood where she was coming from. We had shared so many things in our lives with each other, things we’d never be able to share with anything else. The idea of there being any walls between us was strange, even if those walls were enforced by police protocol and even if she was currently serving me on a date with a new lady.
“I can’t really say, Charlotte,” I said, nodding at her.
“Well, I'm glad you found her, and I hope she’s okay,” Charlotte answered.
“So do I,” I said, finally chancing a glance at the menu. “This thing is huge.”
“Yeah. It’s a little disjointed,” Charlotte said. “I’ve only been working her a couple of weeks now. So I haven’t been able to try much of what’s on the menu, but it all looks pretty good.” She reached over and grabbed the menu from my hand. “Don’t bother with that. I know what you like.”
She looked over at Rebecca, who was staring at me and trying to hold back a smirk.
“I suppose I’ll have whatever he likes then,” she said.
“Right,” Charlotte said, looking down at her apron as though she just realized that what she’d done might have gone too far. “I hope I wasn’t too forward.”
“Not at all,” Rebecca said. “I’m sure whatever you choose will be great.” She looked back at me. “You obviously have impeccable taste in friends.”
Charlotte sighed, a sound that was half relief and half something else. “Thanks, and you as well. If Dilly like you, then you must be all right.”
With that, Charlotte nodded and walked away, taking both our menus with her.
“How long did the two of you date?” Rebecca asked, looking over at me from across her empty soda glass.
“Was it that obvious?” I asked, shaking my head.
“It would have been obvious to Helen Keller,” she answered, smiling at me. “Dilly.”
“Yeah,” I grimaced. “That was from when I was a kid. This must be a little awkward for you. I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” She asked, running a hand through her hair again. “I’m the one who picked the restaurant, and besides, we’re not a couple of thirteen-year-olds going to the spring formal. You have a past. I have a past too. This is your city, Dillon. It’s where you grew up. You have roots here, and some of those roots are undoubtedly going to be of the romantic variety.”
“That’s a very grownup way of looking at things,” I answered, immediately sucked into the aura of her again.
“That’s because I’m a grownup,” she answered, leaning across the table and pushing a little hair from out of my eyes. “And, as a grownup, I will make you a solemn promise. Regardless of whethe
r this date goes down in flames and we never see each other again outside of a professional capacity or its so successful that, one day, we’re telling our grandkids about it, I will never, even in a million and a half years, ever call you Dilly.”
I chuckled so loudly that I would have been afraid it would draw a scene if that was the kind of thing I gave a damn about.
“I guess I appreciate that,” I answered, leaning forward myself so that we had both nearly bridged the table between us. “It was for a long time,” I admitted, taking a breath and blinking at her. “It was in high school, and then for a bit after. We were young, but it was serious. It was real. You should know that.”
“Okay,” Rebecca answered. “Thanks for telling me then.”
There was more to it though and, even though I would have never opened this particular can of worms on a first date under normal circumstances, Charlotte kind of did it by showing up. I figured since this was out on the table already, I might as well lay it all bare.
“I wanted her to come with me,” I admitted. “When I left. My mother had just died and my father’s damned name was plastered all over this city. It didn’t feel like mine anymore. It didn’t feel like anywhere I belonged. So I decided to go, and I asked Charlotte to come with me. She said she would, but she never showed up.” I shrugged. “We were kids. I understand that now, but it—”
“Means things might have turned out differently if she had,” Rebecca answered, shaking her head. “That’s understandable, and it’s not something you need to be concerned about letting me know.” She reached across what was left of the gap in their table between us and took my hand. It was a bold move, given the early state of our relationship. I didn’t mind at all though. I wrapped my hand around hers and waited for her to speak again. “Life is funny, Dillon. It changes in a million different ways and could change again tomorrow. I don’t know where this relationship is going. I don’t know if it’s going anywhere. I know that I’m enjoying myself tonight, and I’m not interested in worrying about what might have been…for either of us.” She squeezed my hand. “Charlotte being here isn’t awkward for me unless it’s awkward for you. Is it?”
Looking at her now, I told the truth. “Not a bit.”
“Good,” she smiled. “So let’s me and you have the best date we can, and we’ll go from there.”
“Alright,” I said but, as the words left my mouth, my phone started to ring.
Then, as I looked down at it, I heard Rebecca’s ring too. She looked at me, her eyes steeling over. She was a doctor and I was a detective. Neither of us tended to get calls when good things happened. We got calls for the other side of things, for the bad. And if the both of us were being called at the same time, something in my gut was telling me it was really bad. The look on Rebecca’s face told me she felt the same way.
Both of us were more right than we could have ever imagined.
Chapter 4
I slid into the employee parking area of the emergency room parking lot on two wheels. In the back of my mind, I thought Rebecca had been a little bland for drinking club soda tonight but, after we got the calls, I understood why it was necessary.
There had been an accident, a hit and run off Calhoun street, leaving a victim lying in the middle of the road. When her co-worker called, informing Rebecca of the situation and telling her of the man’s condition, she moved quickly and confidently, assuring the hospital that she’d be there in mere minutes to a job she wouldn’t have been able to perform if her drink had been spiked with anything.
For my part, Boomer called me to explain the crime, but insisted I meet him at the hospital myself, affording me the opportunity to drive Rebecca to work.
It wasn’t exactly the way I had hoped this date might end.
Screeching to a halt in the parking lot, I threw my truck into park and looked over at the woman. She was still gorgeous, but it was in a different, more motivated sort of way.
“I wish it could have been longer,” I said, nodding at her.
“Next time it will be,” she answered, opening her door. “Good luck, Dillon.”
“You too, Rebecca,” I answered.
She didn’t wait for me to step out of the truck. Instead, she was gone in a flash, a capable wave headed toward its destination. I slammed my door shut and walked toward the patient entrance, where Boomer promised to meet me.
Walking through the automatic doors, I took a look around. Must have been a full moon tonight, because the entire waiting area was packed with perspective patients. Naples had always been a hot bed for injury. Drunken tourists and idiot teenagers this close to the water was a perfect combination for broken arms, dislocated shoulders and—during the summer months—firework related injuries.
Still, while I knew the numbers, seeing it was something else. Maybe it was the fact that I had just come off a date with Rebecca and that I knew exactly what the rest of her night was going to look like, but seeing this pile of people in need of her assistance put me in awe of her. They came for her help, and she made them better. And, if tonight was any indicator, the line never stopped forming. I shook my head. At this rate, it’d be another month before we were able to get together again.
I couldn’t worry about that right now though. Rebecca might have had her patient, but I had my case, and I needed to find Boomer to get into it.
Scanning the room, I saw the chief of police and my best friend since kindergarten was nowhere to be found. Luckily for me, that wasn’t a problem. I knew the man well enough to know exactly where he would be at a time like this.
So, strolling up to a lady dressed in scrubs behind a desk with the words “Check in Here” on a sign hanging above her head and asked, “Where’s the closest vending machine?”
They had changed things in this hospital since I’d returned home and, while I had been inside it a few times now, I had always either just been shot or stabbed or something like that. Which was a long way of saying I hadn’t exactly been in the right frame of mind to go looking for a bag of potato chips.
The woman kindly directed me to the machine and, just like I thought, I found Boomer standing beside it, his palms pressed flat against the glass as he shook the machine for dear life.
“What the hell are you up to?” I asked, settling beside him as his assault on the vending machine continued.
“Damned thing took my dollar and it won’t give me my Snickers!” he said, shaking the thing. “I don’t have another damned dollar!” His voice was irate and his hair was in a mess across his head. Both those things were troubling to see on a police chief who, for all intents and purposes, should have been able to deal with intense situations. A stuck chocolate bar shouldn’t be rattling him like this, which led me to believe something else was going on. Still, even the best fireman can only put out one blaze at a time. So I grabbed his arm and pulled it down.
“I do, Boom,” I said, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him toward me. “I’ve got a dollar. I’ll get you the candy. Just tell me what’s going on. Tell me why you wanted to meet me here instead of the crime scene.”
“Didn’t he tell you when he called?” Boomer asked, looking at me with wide eyes. He was referring to Daniel Fairbanks, a rookie cop on desk duty who had been the one who called me and told me to meet Boomer here.
“He told me there was a hit and run,” I answered flatly, my heart jumping a little. What on earth could this have to do with me, and why would Boomer ask for me to come here instead of Calhoun Street, where I might have been able to dig up some clues? “Said the victim was a sixty-three-year-old Caucasian male who was unconscious when the EMTs made the scene.” I shook my head. “Don’t tell me the old guy is dead.”
I thought about Rebecca, about how distraught she’d be if she ran into that OR to find the patient she had been called in to save had already passed on. She’d no doubt blame herself, saying that if she’d only been here instead of a date with me, maybe she’d have been able to save the guy. Of course, there wa
s the guy himself to think about too, and his family (should he have one). Still, I was jumping to conclusions. I looked at Boomer, waiting for an answer.
“No, Dil,” he said, swallowing hard, a move that mad me even more worried about what he hadn’t told me yet. “He’s not dead. Though, judging from the look of him, he couldn’t be that far off.”
“The look of him?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Were you here when he was brought in? How’d you see him.”
“I had to sign off on the surgery, Dil,” he said, his voice shaking. “It turns out the sweet old coot made me his next of kin, and I had to—”
“Next of kin?” I broke in, my heart flattening out as I put the pieces of all of this together. A sixty-three-year-old white male who had Boomer marked down as his next of kin. It could only be one person but, if that was true, it meant one of the finest men I had ever known in my life was—at this very moment—fighting for his life with Rebecca working to save him. “Oh, Boom,” I said, my eyes widening and getting misty. “Tell me it’s not him. Tell me somebody didn’t run down Father Jameson.”
I didn’t need him to answer. I could tell from the look on his face that I was right, regardless of how much I wanted to be wrong.
When Boomer’s dad died, it left the then teenager with something of an anchorless existence. My grandfather was good to him, as he was good to me. Still, he wasn’t as good at getting through to Boomer as he was with me. Boomer, it turned out, needed a stronger sort of hand. He needed a man who, like his father, knew how to be hard on him when it was needed. Given the fact that, at that time, Boomer had let himself fall into some bad behavior, it looked like it was needed then.
