Cuffing Her: A Small Town Cop Romance

by Emily Bishop

  With that, she hurries back into the house, and I manage to keep myself from laughing until she’s gone.

  “Great work, Zombie.” I pet his still-damp fur. “It seems like you’re better at sniffing bullshit.”

  He licks my face, and I continue laughing. Helena may have tried to scare me but for this round, I have the last laugh.

  I wonder what Randall will think.

  Meddlers

  Randall

  What the fuck are they thinking? That they can just drop by unannounced and scold me like I’m a five-year-old boy? That they can run my life like they used to?

  I frown as I look across the desk at my father, William Brewster, and my older brother, Lloyd.

  They weren’t happy when I married the first time. They didn’t even come to the wedding. Now, they’re still unhappy. What? They still want me to marry some CEO’s sister or some Senator’s daughter?

  “I regret that you were not informed of my decision.” I sit up in my chair. “But I stand by my decision.”

  “And we will not respect it.” Lloyd gets off his chair and rubs his temples. “Have you no decency, Randall? Have you no concern for us? No respect for us?”

  “On the contrary, I feel like it is the other way around.”

  “You married a nanny, Randall,” Lloyd points out. “Just when the world has finally forgotten that you married a chambermaid, just when you’ve finally made something of yourself, you go and marry your son’s nanny.”

  I pick up my pen. “Well, she cares about David and that’s what matters most.”

  “Randall.” My father beats his fist on the table.

  “You know, I don’t understand. I’ve always been a disappointment to you so why put up a fuss about it now?”

  “You think this is funny?” my father asks. “Is this all a game to you?”

  “Actually, you–” I point to him and my brother– “are the ones who treat this as a game. You’re the ones who pull the strings, who move your pawns across the chessboard. You’re the ones who think marriage is some business agreement, just another step in your grand plans.”

  “We’ve worked hard to establish the family name,” my father reminds me. “And you? What have you done?”

  “Haven’t you read my feature in Time magazine, the one with my picture on the cover? I finally have one.”

  “Don’t mock me, boy.” He points a finger at me. “You wouldn’t be where you are now if not for my money or my name.”

  “Maybe, but now it’s my money and my name and my troubles are my own.”

  “Do you really think we want to worry about your problems?” Lloyd asks, approaching the desk. “Do you think we want our business partners to bring up your failures?”

  “I’m sure it makes for interesting conversations,” I say, unfazed.

  I’m bored, actually. I can’t remember how many times we’ve had this conversation.

  “You will divorce that woman, and we will say that the newspaper made a mistake,” my father says, his expression stern.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but no.”

  “She’s a nobody!”

  “So why is everyone worried so much about her?” I place my hands on my desk. “What can she do to you, huh? What has she ever done to you?”

  “She can ruin you and all of us,” my father points out. “What if she runs away with all your money? Haven’t you thought of that?”

  “Thank you for your concern but she won’t,” I assure him.

  “Please tell me you had her sign a pre-nup,” Lloyd says, one hand on his hip.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” my father says. “She’s not fit to be a Brewster!”

  “Then we’re both alike.”

  My father just shakes his head. Lloyd looks like he wants to say something but suddenly, the door opens and my mother and sister enter.

  Great. More family.

  “Look what that bitch’s dog did to me.” Helena gestures to the muddy paw prints on the front of her jumpsuit.

  I try not to laugh. “Well, first of all, that bitch is my wife. Second, the dog isn’t hers. It’s David’s.”

  “David should come with me,” my mother says. “That woman is not fit to be his mother.”

  I sigh. “Mother, please calm down. David isn’t going anywhere. He’s my son and Sabrina – that’s her name, please call her that – isn’t going anywhere, either. She’s my wife now. She’s indispensable.”

  Helena narrows her eyes. “But she said she’s not pregnant. Is she really that good in bed?”

  I stand up, going to her. “You may be married now and you may have kids now but you haven’t changed. You’re still as spiteful as ever.”

  “And you’re a fool.”

  “Fine. I’ll answer. She is amazing in bed. Now, can you say the same for yourself?”

  She snarls. “Fuck you.”

  “Stop it,” my father says, getting up with the help of his cane. “We’re leaving. We shouldn’t have come.”

  “Why did you?” I ask, putting my hands in my pockets.

  “How dare you not invite us to your wedding?” my mother says.

  “But the last time I invited you, you didn’t come. So, I thought, why bother?”

  “We came because we wanted to see with our own eyes if you’ve really made a fool of yourself again,” Lloyd says as he helps my mother. “We hoped it was not the case. We hoped to save you but now, we see it’s hopeless.”

  “You don’t have to save me, older brother,” I tell him. “I’m not in trouble. I just married a wonderful woman. I think our marriage may last even longer than your first one did.”

  His jaw clenches.

  “Why, oh why, did I have a son like you?” my father says as he leaves the room. “I told you, Jackie, we should have just stuck with two children.”

  “Well, it wasn’t my fault you insisted on fucking me when I said it was risky,” she says.

  I slap my forehead. Really?

  “Come on,” I tell them. “Every family needs a black sheep, right?”

  They don’t answer, leaving. As soon as they’re gone, I go back to my chair, swiveling it to face the window and sitting back, sighing.

  What a morning and what a family. I’m glad I don’t live with them anymore. I’m glad I have David and Sabrina now.

  Sabrina.

  I stand up. Maybe I should go and talk to her.

  ***

  I find her in one of the guest bedrooms, reading a book.

  “Are they gone?” she asks when she sees me.

  I chuckle, handing her one of the mugs of coffee in my hand. “Is that what you’re doing here? Hiding?”

  “I’m not hiding,” she argues, putting her book down so she can take the mug with both hands. “I just didn’t want to see them. There’s a difference.”

  “I see.”

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude or anything. They are your family. It’s just…”

  “Hey.” I put my hand over one of hers as I sit on the bed beside her. “You don’t have to explain a thing. I know how they are. Each time I think I’ve forgotten, they remind me.”

  “Have they always been like that?” she asks.

  “Mean? Thinking that they are the only ones who are perfect? Yes.” I nod. “They’ve always looked down on me.”

  “Well, if they look down on you, then what’s the hope for the rest of us?”

  I chuckle, squeezing her hand. “Don’t mind them. Anyway, they’re not the ones you married. I am.”

  “I feel guilty, though. I did marry you for your…”

  I press a finger to her lips. “We both thought it was best for us to marry and so we did. Let that be the end of it.”

  “But…”

  “Do you want to kiss me again? Because I want to kiss you.”

  She smiles. “You’re right. I shouldn’t pay attention to them. I just told myself I’m not going to let fear run my life.”

&
nbsp; “That’s good.”

  “But you can still kiss me if you want.”

  I do that, placing my hand on the back of her neck and pressing my lips to hers, slipping my tongue in between to taste her. As I do, I feel a jolt of heat go through my body.

  Damn. I want to fuck her again. Right now.

  But I can’t stay long or Tess will kill me.

  Sabrina pulls away, smiling before she takes a sip of her coffee. “Did Helena tell you what Zombie did?”

  “She showed me.”

  She chuckles.

  “I thought it was funny, too.”

  “At first, I felt bad that I smelled like a dog since I just finished bathing Zombie but it wouldn’t have made a difference, would it?”

  I shake my head. “You could smell like Chanel no.5 and Helena would still have turned her plastic nose up at you.”

  “Plastic?”

  “Honestly, I can’t remember how many surgeries she’s had done to her face. For sure, she wasn’t always that pretty. Why, she had so much acne when she was a teenager and she had crooked teeth, too.”

  Sabrina laughs.

  I sip my coffee and as I do, I glance at the book she’s reading. What catches my attention, though, is the pen and paper beneath it.

  “Are you writing something?” I ask her.

  “A song,” she confesses. “Lately, I’ve been feeling so many different emotions and experiencing new things that I think make good lyrics for a song.”

  “Wow.”

  “It’s just lyrics, though. I can’t write a song without a guitar.”

  “Then I’ll buy you one. Just look for one online and use my card.”

  “What?” She gives me a look of disbelief.

  I nod. “Consider it a wedding present.”

  Sabrina gives a radiant smile. “Thank you. I’d love to play the guitar again.”

  “And I’d love to hear you play. Maybe you can teach David, too, if he likes.”

  She nods, taking another sip of her coffee. “I plan to talk to him when he comes home later. Wish me luck?”

  I hold her hand. “I know everything will be all right.”

  Music

  Sabrina

  “So, is everything all right at school?” I ask David, sitting on his bed as I watch him bang on his drums.

  “Mm-hmm.” He nods, though I’m not sure if he’s nodding at me or to the music.

  He’s finally allowed me inside his bedroom and he’s talking to me now – mostly mumbling and nodding. He doesn’t look into my eyes. But at least he’s no longer pushing me away. Maybe the time Randall spent with him yesterday did some good, after all.

  “So, how’s Josh?”

  “The usual.”

  I pick up the leaflet for his school recital from the bedside table. It’s on Thursday. No wonder he’s practicing so much.

  “Do you think it’s okay for me to go to your recital?” I ask him.

  He just shrugs.

  Okay.

  “Is this the song you’ve decided to do?”

  It’s “Two Steps Behind” by Def Leppard.

  He nods.

  “I know this song. It’s one of my favorites.”

  No answer. I’m beginning to think I’m having a monologue.

  “Who taught you this song?”

  “My drum teacher last summer,” he says.

  Finally.

  “You seem very good,” I tell him. “I can tell you’ve been practicing for a long time and that you really like the drums. How long have you been playing?”

  “Since I was six.”

  “I see. I learned to play the guitar when I was your age.”

  David falls silent again.

  “If there’s anything you need—”

  “Sorry but I’d like to concentrate on practicing,” he cuts me off.

  Right. That’s my cue to leave. At least I lasted more than ten minutes.

  I stand up, the leaflet in my hand. “I’ll give this to your dad. Keep up the good work. You’re doing great.”

  I leave the room, sighing but trying not to feel down. Hopefully, after the recital, David will have more time and then he’ll warm up to me again.

  I go back to the bedroom, finding Randall there, sitting on the bed and looking at some papers while he watches TV.

  “How was it?” he asks.

  “Better,” I say as I sit on my side of the bed. “But I think we still have a long way to go.”

  He looks at me. “At least you’ve started again.”

  “Yup. My visiting rights have been restored.”

  Randall chuckles.

  “By the way, this is the leaflet for his school recital on Thursday.” I hand the piece of paper to him. “You’ll go, right?”

  “Of course.” He looks at it. “And so will you.”

  I sit against the pillows. “I’m not so sure I should go.”

  “Why not? Did David tell you he doesn’t want you to go?”

  “Not directly.”

  “I’ll take that as a no. You’re imagining things again.”

  “I just feel like he doesn’t want to be seen with me, especially in school. What will his friends think? That his nanny is now his mommy?”

  Randall touches my hand. “Who cares what they think?”

  “David may. He’s the one who has to see them every day at school. What if they tease him?”

  “They don’t know you were his nanny before. I don’t even think David tells his friends that he has a nanny.”

  “But he still doesn’t want me there. Maybe if I go, he’ll think I’m really trying to be his mother and–”

  “Sabrina.” Randall squeezes my hand. “You’re my wife. That makes you David’s stepmother. You’re his mother now so you have every right and reason to be there and to cheer him on, whether he likes it or not.”

  I sigh. I’m not yet used to this mother thing. I’m not even used to this wife thing. I’ve only been married for two days.

  Already, I’m finding it difficult to be a mother to him here at home. How much more in public where everyone can see? And in a school which is filled with experts on motherhood, what will the other moms think?

  ***

  “You’re so young,” the mother who’s sitting beside me in the school amphitheatre says. “How old were you when you had David?”

  “Oh, I didn’t,” I tell her. “I’m his stepmother.”

  “I see. No wonder I’ve never seen you before.”

  “Michelle isn’t going to be happy when she hears Mr. Brewster is married again,” the woman on her other side, who’s wearing a striped blouse and a blue skirt, says. “She was hoping to get Mr. Brewster this year.”

  My eyes grow wide. So, it’s not just the nannies who throw themselves at Randall, huh?

  “Shh.” The woman beside me holds a finger to her lips. “Don’t be rude.” She turns to me. “I’m Fiona, by the way. I’m Kimberly’s mother. She’s in the same class as David. And this is Tracy. She’s Alex’s mother. Alex is a year older, and he’s the brightest in his class.”

  “Oh, don’t say that,” Tracy scolds.

  “It’s true,” Fiona says. “Alex is smarter than Emily. Everyone knows she only won that last quiz show because the history teacher has a thing for her mother.”

  Tracy gives a look of disgust then offers me her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  I smile as I shake her hand. “I’m Sabrina.”

  “By the way, nice dress, Sabrina,” Fiona remarks.

  Is it? For the afternoon, I decided to wear a faded denim dress with buttons in front – maybe Randall’s right and I do like buttons – and some embroidered flowers. It comes with a brown belt, too, and I’ve worn it with a pair of black, suede ankle-high platform boots.

  “Nice shoes,” Tracy adds.

  “Thanks. You, too.” I glance at her white sandals. “And nice pedicure.”

  “I’ve got a great nail artist if you’re interested.”

  �
��And I have a great hairdresser,” Fiona says.

  I nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Oh, look.” Tracy puts her hand on Fiona’s lap. “There’s that Paula. I thought she wasn’t going to show up. I bet that’s her new boyfriend. She…”

  I no longer listen, turning to Randall.

  “Seems like you have new friends,” he says.

  “Not really,” I whisper.

  I’m not sure I want to be friends with mothers who gossip too much and are too concerned about their children’s performance at school or their looks. Are all the mothers like this?

  “Coming to these things alone must have been tough, huh?” I ask him.

  Randall looks at me and holds my hand. “You have no idea. That’s why I sometimes bring Tess, just to scare them off or keep them at bay.”

  I chuckle, imagining Tess glaring at the mothers.

  Just then, the show starts. Some of the parents start filming and click away but Randall and I just sit and watch, enjoying the kids’ performances, some of them dancing, some of them singing, some reciting poetry and others playing musical instruments.

  Finally, Josh goes on stage, playing his drums as an older girl sings.

  “That’s Josh,” I whisper.

  “Who?” Randall asks.

  I don’t answer, simply watching. I have to say he’s good but not as good as David sounded during practice.

  I see David watching Josh’s performance from the side, and he doesn’t look happy. In fact, he looked like he was about to cry just before he disappeared.

  I squeeze Randall’s thigh. “I think I’ll go talk to David.”

  “Okay.”

  I go to backstage, where I find David sulking, his leather jacket on a chair.

  “David, what’s wrong?” I ask as I kneel in front of him.

  “I don’t want to play anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Josh is better.”

  “He is not.”

  “It’s unfair. His older sister is singing with him while I only have the tape. People will think he’s better.”

  Well, David has a point. Performing with someone live is better.

  Performing live, huh?

  Suddenly, my eyes rest on someone’s guitar and I have an idea.