Exactly one month later, on Valentine’s Day, on the corner of Maple and Kensington in the heart of South’s business district, with the train tracks running inches from the back alley and located directly across the street from the still-new but not-so-shiny Kentucky Fried Chicken, Kitty’s New Place was open for business. And George and Olivia danced.
* * *
The new Kitty’s was busy, way busier than the old Kitty’s had ever been, and George buried himself in it. He added a limited lunch and dinner menu and seven part-time employees. Olivia continued working at Garretson, even though she hated it, and stopped in to see George on her way home every night. Once or twice a week, on the nights Allie was at her mother’s house, Clete would be there when she showed up.
They always ended up in the same booth—the one in the back corner of the bar with the crack in the vinyl seat and a black and white picture of the original Juliette water tower hanging crooked on the wall above it. Clete always had two beers and then went home. Olivia had three or four and stayed until George was ready to go.
Olivia and Clete talked about everything and nothing. Some nights they sat in silence and watched the room. Olivia never asked him to dance, and he never asked her, but he gave her quarters so she could dance with Kenny or Lonnie or George or by herself, and he watched her move and groove and lose herself to the music of her life.
One night, he reached across the table to take her hand in his, and turned it palm up. As he ran his finger across her lobster tattoo, it tingled under his touch. “Why a lobster?”
“I thought they represented true love,” she said with a bit of a laugh at herself. “But they don’t. Apparently, the male lobster is a horny little bastard.”
“Yeah, he is,” Clete agreed with a laugh. With a light touch, he traced every line of the tattoo. She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath as her body temperature rose, and when she opened her eyes again he asked, “Do you know how they mate?”
Olivia shook her head.
“The female lobster makes the decision. She draws the male out of his muddy little house and he dances around, showing off for her, and tries to taunt her. If he’s big and bad enough and she likes his aggression, she’ll wait for him to calm down and then go inside his house with him. She sheds her shell and the male carefully cradles her while they mate, and then he protects her until she re-grows her shell and is strong enough to emerge back into the ocean floor.”
“So?” Olivia asked. She didn’t think it was all that special.
“So, right after the female molts, before the mating begins, she has no idea if she’s made the right decision or not. She’s at her most vulnerable—in a den with a strong, aggressive male with absolutely no protection and no way to defend herself if he decides to attack her.”
“So the female lobster is stupid? Great! Now I hate this freakin’ tattoo even more. Thanks a lot, Clete.” Olivia pulled her hand away from him. Goddamn Mitch. She’d shed her shell for him and look where it got her.
“She’s not stupid, Olivia. She’s incredibly brave. Do you honestly think a male would put himself in that position? She puts her life on the line to continue her species. The female lobster’s one of the bravest creatures out there,” Clete said.
“I suppose.” Olivia looked the tattoo over again. Sometimes bravery and stupidity were one in the same. No matter what Clete said she still hated the tattoo. “I wonder if Dusty could change this into a praying mantis for me. Those females just eat the male when they’re done with them.”
“Ouch,” Clete said and laughed.
“Aw, don’t worry, Clete. If we were praying mantises I would never eat you.” Olivia winked.
“And if we were lobsters I wouldn’t eat you.” Clete winked back.
Once they had that figured out, Olivia didn’t know what to do with it or what else to say, so she slid out of the booth and danced.
The next time he sat across the booth from her, they shared an order of onion rings and she asked, “So you really don’t hear the train whistle at all?”
“I hear it. I just don’t listen for it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You hear lots of things every day, all day long, but you only choose to listen to some of them. Sometimes they’re good things and sometimes they’re bad, and the bad things tend to be more pronounced and harder to ignore. Pretty soon you’re intentionally listening for them without even realizing it, making things worse for yourself in the process,” Clete said.
“I don’t get it,” Olivia said, and she didn’t. She had no flippin’ clue what the heck he was talking about. Man, the guy loved to talk in circles. It frustrated and fascinated her at the same time.
Clete looked at her confused expression and started to laugh. Not at her, at himself. “Neither do I. I’m talking shit. Forget it.”
“You talk a lot of shit. Don’t break my heart and tell me you dream of being a politician some day.” Olivia smiled as he laughed again. She loved to listen to him laugh. He didn’t do it often enough.
“No dreams of politics,” he assured her. He put their used napkins on the empty plate and pushed it out of his way, then placed his elbows on the table and leaned closer to her as he talked. “I’ll always be a cop. There’s absolutely nothing else I want to do.”
“Is it because you get to rescue damsels in distress?”
He smiled. “Maybe.”
“Would you go in that basement again, knowing you would be shot?” she asked, already pretty sure she knew the answer.
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.
“Were you still married at the time?”
“No. It happened about a year after the divorce.” He looked away from her, toward something that wasn’t in the room, something that only lived in his memories. “It happened to me, but Jen got scared it could happen to Mike. She made him quit the force. She tried to get me to quit too, but…”
“You didn’t,” Olivia finished for him.
He brought his eyes back to her. “No.”
“Where did the bullet hit you?”
“Right here.” With his eyes holding onto Olivia’s, his fingers brushed over his heart.
“Wow.” Olivia breathed out. “That’s scary.”
“Yeah,” Clete agreed. “It was.”
“How bad was it?”
“Pretty bad. But I’m ok now,” he assured her and took a drink of his beer.
“You act like it’s no big deal,” Olivia said. “But it’s a huge deal, Clete. Aren’t you scared Allie will grow up without a father?”
“No,” Clete answered immediately and a little louder than he needed to. Olivia flinched at the tone in his voice, and he reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. But, look… I’ve been over this a million times with Jen, and it’s a bit of a sore subject between us. I love my daughter and I will do anything in my power to protect her. Yes, I may get shot at again, but I might not. Parents die all the time, Olivia, from illness or car accidents or any one of a million different things. At least if I’m a cop, I know I’m doing everything in my power to keep my daughter safe when she’s not at home.”
“You’ve got a little John Wayne in you, you know that?”
He smiled again. “I was hoping you’d say Dirty Harry.”
“Kenny says you’re like Spiderman. He says you’ve got spidey-sense.”
Clete laughed. “That poor guy. Did you hear his wife is pregnant again?”
“With another girl.” Olivia rolled her eyes with a laugh. “‘Poor guy’ is right.”
She picked up on his intentional change of subject and she let it happen, even though she wanted to keep talking about it. She could see his point, but she still worried. No matter what Clete said to try and convince her, she would worry about him. It came along with the job.
“He might as well quit trying for that boy,” Clete said.
“Is that a guy thing? Did you hope for a boy when Jen was pregnant with Allie?”
�
��I did actually. The thought of raising a girl scared the hell out of me,” Clete admitted with a sheepish grin.
“Why? We’re not so bad,” Olivia rested her elbows on the table and leaned closer to him, her posture matching his as they leaned into each other. “We’re lots of fun.”
“The energy that kid has… She goes, goes, goes—nonstop. And she talks all the time. Every day when she comes home from school I get all the gossip. I have no idea what she did in Math, but I know who likes who and who’s not talking to who and who called who a bootie head at recess.” Clete shook his head. “Crazy.”
“So who called who a bootie head?” Olivia asked.
“I believe Emily called Trevor a bootie head.”
Olivia gasped. “I thought Emily liked Seth!”
“What?” Clete looked at her as though she had a screw loose.
“Last I knew from Allie, Emily had a crush on Seth! But if she’s calling Trevor a bootie head then that must mean she likes him now… Oh, I’m gonna have to call Allie and find out what’s going on.”
“I give up.” Clete laughed and sat back in the booth with his hands up in surrender. The smile stayed on his lips as he looked Olivia over. “You amaze me sometimes, you know that?”
“Why?” Olivia smiled back.
“Most people wouldn’t bother to listen to a little girl chatter, but you not only pay attention to her, you actually care about what she’s saying. You keep her friends straight in your head, you listen to her music, you watch her shows—it’s like you guys are on the exact same wavelength all the time. You relate to Allie like no one I’ve ever met,” Clete said, still smiling.
“That’s because I’m about as mature as her,” Olivia said with a roll of her eyes, remembering what Clete had said to her not so long ago.
“I never should have said that. It wasn’t what I meant.” He touched her hand in apology, holding her for a brief moment before pulling away.
“Maybe it’s like that train thing you said, that you only choose to listen to the things you want to hear. Maybe some people don’t want to listen to little girl chatter, so they block it out,” Olivia said with a shrug. “But me? I love to hear the chatter, because that’s where the little girl lives.”
“Yeah,” Clete agreed, the smile slowly returning to his face.
Later that night, after everyone went home and George finished his paperwork, he and Olivia danced in a slow, lazy circle in the middle of the dance floor. The lights of the bar were off, the jukebox turned down low, Joni Mitchell softly singing in the background, and Olivia said, “I think we should fix Clete up on a date.”
George ran his hand down her back and up again. “Oh, I don’t think we need to do that.”
“Don’t you want to help him find someone to love?”
“He doesn’t need help,” George whispered, his voice seeming to come from further away.
“Sure he does. I think he’s ready to try again, but I don’t think he knows how to do it on his own.” Olivia looked up at George. “We have to help him.”
“Olivia…” George stopped dancing. He held her away from him and ran a gentle hand down her face. “Clete is the only one who can decide when he’s ready to fall in love again, and as soon as he does I’m sure you’ll be the first to know. Until then, just dance with me. Ok?”
“But—” Olivia started to protest, but George stopped her.
“No buts.” George smiled, but it was a sad smile. “Just dance.”
Olivia slipped her arms around him, and he sighed a deep sigh that spoke more than Olivia was able to hear, and they danced.
* * *
Winter came to an end and life began waking up anew, and Mitch came out of hiding. They happened across each other by chance at the Get ‘n Go on the last Monday of March at exactly 1:55 p.m. Olivia was “going” just as Mitch was pulling in to “get.” Their eyes met as they passed each other on the little curb bump at the entrance/exit of the parking lot, and held for the briefest of moments, but it was long enough for each of them to realize that all of the passion they had felt for each other, both the good and the bad, had completely melted away.
Olivia could have chased him down, but she didn’t. She could have called Clete and had him arrested—and she should have—but she didn’t. She simply didn’t give a shit about him anymore, and that was good enough for her—
Oh, who the fuck was she kidding.
Olivia whipped into the parking lot of the Burger King half a block down and dialed 911. She sat on the hood of her car, smoking and slurping away on her gigantic fountain Dr. Pepper, watching as the entire Juliette P.D. swooped in on the Get ‘n Go with lights flashing and sirens wailing. She climbed up onto the roof of the Mustang when Clete hauled Mitch’s sorry ass out of the gas station, hands cuffed tight behind his back, and she cheered when Clete “accidentally” slammed Mitch’s face into the frame of his cruiser while he was putting the bastard into the backseat. When Clete’s cruiser passed by the Burger King parking lot on its way to the station, Olivia stood at attention, tall and proud on the roof of her Mustang, and gave Mitchell Toler the double-bird send off he deserved.
Two weeks later, on Easter Sunday, Olivia could no longer avoid the inevitable. She met George’s parents. He tied on a tie and splashed on a little cologne, she dressed in the pretty new dress George had bought for her and beat her hair into submission, and they stopped and bought a potted lily for his mom on their way out of town. Olivia held the lily in her lap and chattered non-stop in excitement as they made the long drive to Omaha, but as soon as they hit the outskirts of town, the significance of the day smacked her in the face and butterflies started dancing a samba in her stomach. They threatened to catapult out of her throat in a hot, fluttery rush when she stepped onto the porch of his picture-perfect, suburban childhood home built on a fancy golf course, but once George’s mom greeted her with a warm smile and tight hug, Olivia’s nausea disappeared.
Greg and Ellen Valish were exact replicas of the Cliff-and-Clair-Huxtable image Olivia had created of them in her mind, except neither of them were a doctor or a lawyer, and they were white. One a bank president, the other a director of marketing, both tall, trim, and gorgeous, they had contributed evenly to George’s magnificent DNA. He had his mother’s eyes, his father’s jaw. His laugh was his dad’s, but his sense of humor came from his mom, as did his not-so-great singing voice, which Ellen used liberally in the car on their way to church for the Easter service.
Being raised by an atheist, Olivia had never attended church before, and the nervous butterflies returned as soon as they pulled into the parking lot. She fidgeted with her dress as they settled into a pew, and she clutched George’s hand as the crowd murmured greetings to each other during the prelude. Everyone else seemed to know each other, and know each other well. As more and more of them glanced her way with curious smiles then turned to whisper to each other, she started to feel like an intruder at a close-knit family reunion.
George tried to assure her she was not intruding at all and they were happy she was there, but she didn’t quite believe him. He patted her thigh and told her they were more than likely a little more curious than usual because he happened to be there too after a long absence, and she was with him, and he had never brought a woman to church before, especially one as pretty as her, but she still didn’t quite believe him. He let out a little laugh and whispered, “They’re probably wondering how long it will be before they get a wedding invitation in the mail.”
“Do you think that’s something they’d want? My name on your wedding invitation?”
“Judging from the size of their smiles?” George squeezed her hand. “I’d say yes.”
Even with his gentle teasing and reassurances, the nervous butterflies fluttered their way up her throat again. She was just about to tell George she wanted to leave, and she wanted to leave right now, when the minister approached the pulpit and a hush fell over the sanctuary.
Olivia let out a slow brea
th to help calm her queasy tummy as she looked around and tried to figure out what she was supposed to do. Luckily, she had George to lead the way. She stood and sang when he did, sat and listened when he did, and bowed her head and prayed with him. One by one, the butterflies came to rest. As they did, a calming peace began to wash over her, and she immersed herself in it.
Before she knew it, the service was over and everyone was standing to leave. Olivia let out a little whine of protest. She wasn’t ready to go yet. She wanted to sit and listen and stand and sing some more, especially the standing and singing part, but Ellen had a ham in the oven and they had to go. When George took Olivia’s hand, she reluctantly followed, but when the curious smilers started approaching her from all directions, she let go of his hand and skedaddled across the parking lot to the car before her stupid mouth could accidentally say something that would make them not want to receive that wedding invitation in the mail after all—just in case one day it actually happened.
The somewhat-contemplative mood everyone had been in at church disappeared as soon as they returned to the house. Greg loosened his tie and grabbed a beer, Ellen kicked off her heels and opened a bottle of wine, and the two snuck in a kiss when they thought George and Olivia weren’t looking. George rolled his eyes, but Olivia could feel his love for them in his smile. Before long, George and his father headed for the den, leaving Olivia and Ellen to prepare the meal in peace. Since SpaghettiO’s weren’t on the menu, Olivia mostly watched and tried to stay out of Ellen’s way, but she did wash the vegetables and stir the gravy.
The food was incredible, the conversation at dinner enlightening. Olivia fell in love with George all over again as she listened to stories of his childhood and watched him interact with his parents. George and his father discussed George’s plans for Kitty’s future, argued politics, and bickered over the finer points of Bo Pelini’s coaching style, and Ellen used a second-helping of sweet potatoes or asparagus (eww!) to distract the men whenever their voices got too loud. Their family bond was strong, their love as welcoming as it was palpable, and it wrapped around Olivia like a warm summer breeze as she played the quiet observer.
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