A Change Of Pace

by Freya Barker

  "Can we go out on the paddleboat?" Millie is already climbing in as she asks.

  "Can you swim, Jordan?"

  "I'm a level six, Mr. Tobias. I did my lifeguard readiness and personal water safety certification last fall."

  Clever kid, he may not have much bulk, but it's good to know he has skill and endurance. Colour me impressed.

  "Excellent," I praise him. "You're still both wearing life jackets, but you can be responsible for dragging my daughter from the lake when she starts flopping around like a fish."

  "Da-ad!"

  Jordan grins wide as he goes to fetch the vests from the grass.

  Nice kid.

  "Sweet set-up," he compliments later, walking up to where I'm flipping burgers on the grill, dragging a sopping wet life vest behind him. Clearly these kids are much hardier than I am, taking jumps off the dock in the chilly water after returning from their paddle around the lake. I won't go near it yet without donning my wetsuit.

  "Thanks." I smile at him and wave my tongs at the lounger just off the back patio. "Toss the vest on there to dry."

  The kids are almost dry by the time we're done with dinner.

  "Can we have a fire and roast some marshmallows?" Millie wants to know.

  I found an old drum from a front-loading washer at the dump last week and propped it up on a couple of bricks as a makeshift firepit near the water's edge. The plan is to eventually bury it halfway and build up the outside with rocks, but I haven't gotten that far yet.

  "Not tonight, Sweet Pea. It's technically a school night, and I promised I'd have Jordan home by seven, which means we have to make tracks shortly. Let's save that for summer vacation, okay?"

  "Can Jordan come back for that?"

  I grin, looking at the boy's eager expression.

  "Absolutely."

  I finally manage to herd the kids into the car at six forty-five, and already there's no way I'll get Jordan home at the promised time. The drive is almost twenty minutes. I'm starting to realize, for at least another two or three years, I'll be carting my daughter around everywhere. Living out here means you can't walk over to the corner store to grab milk when you run out. That's a bit of an adjustment I'm sure we'll feel even more when winter gets here.

  Jordan's house is a nice-looking side-split with a double-car garage and a wide driveway that fits at least four cars. The only car on there right now is a nice little Mustang convertible. No sign of the embellished truck.

  "Hang on, buddy," I call out to Jordan, who hops out of the Jeep the moment I roll to a stop. "I'll drop you at the door. I want to apologize to your parents for being late."

  "Oh, that's okay," he says a little nervously when I join him on the sidewalk. "My dad is probably still at work, and Mom may be sleeping, she gets tired a lot."

  Tired my ass. If my brief conversation with her is anything to go by, she'll more likely be passed out.

  "Still dropping you off at the door," I insist.

  Jordan's shoulders drop a little before he turns and walks, resigned, up the driveway. I'm following closely behind.

  "See if your mom is available, will you?" I prompt him when he pushes open the front door. No locks, another thing I have to get used to living up here. People generally are a lot more trusting.

  "Jordy? Is that you?" The voice comes from somewhere inside the house, followed by the sound of someone stumbling into furniture. A woman appears down the hall and makes her way to the door, with one hand propping her up against the wall. Uh oh.

  "Mrs. Baldwin? Newt Tobias," I introduce myself, reaching around a visibly uncomfortable Jordan to shake her hand.

  "Ella. Please," she slurs, grabbing onto my hand with both of hers, while inappropriately stroking the skin of my wrist with the tips of her fingers. Despite the fact the woman is not altogether unattractive, the uninvited touch has me pull back my hand abruptly.

  "I just wanted to make sure Jordan got in okay, and apologize for being a few minutes later than promised."

  "Awww, Jordan can take care of himself, can't you, buddy?" She ruffles his hair, just as he ducks to move around her, disappearing into the house. "Come in for a bit?"

  "No thanks, I should get going. See you later, Jordan!" I call into the house, ignoring the quasi-pouting woman in front of me.

  "Later, Mr. T!" I hear echo back down the hall. Grinning at the boy's nickname for me, I turn on my heels and head out to the car where Millie is waiting.

  "Is that his mom?" she asks, staring out the side window as I pull away from the curb.

  "Yup."

  "Was she drunk? Jordan says she drinks a lot and that's why his father works all the time."

  "He talked to you about that?"

  "Uh huh. He told me his brother was pissed when he had to drop him off at our place, because his mom was already too drunk to find the keys to her car."

  I grunt in response, mainly because I don't trust myself to speak. Too many times I've seen the results of drunk driving splattered over the road. The thought she would've climbed behind the wheel without a thought, with her damn kid in the car, sets my hair on end.

  "Can he still come over?" I turn to her, seeing the concern on her face, and put a hand on her knee, giving it a squeeze.

  "Yup."

  I'm rewarded with a little smile before I turn my attention back to the road.

  "But I'll damn well do the driving from here on in."

  Freddy

  "What on earth did you all bring?"

  I'd been tempted yesterday to call and cancel lunch, and set up a proper office appointment in an attempt to keep all interaction on a professional level. My main concern should be Millie, who is technically my patient. All day I wrestled with the question of how wise it would be to blur the lines between professional and personal, even further, by indulging in this—flirtation? If that's what it is. Well, I know it is on my part, I really have no idea what's on his mind, although I'm sure he doesn't make a habit of forcing lunch on someone he dislikes.

  Seeing him walk in, as promised, with hiking boots on his feet and carrying a large backpack, has me cracking up. Boulder, who can smell a walk a mile away, is already on his feet, wagging his tail excitedly at the prospect.

  "Lunch," he deadpans, grinning back.

  "Pray, elaborate, while I change my shoes." Luckily, I have a pair of sneakers in the office I wear on my walks. My casual but office-appropriate footwear is not made for strenuous exercise.

  "I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I brought a selection; a humburger, a—"

  "You mean a hamburger?" I interrupt.

  "No, a humburger. It's Millie's invention. She's become quite food conscious as of late. It's a burger, topped with cucumber slices and hummus in a lettuce wrap."

  "That actually sounds delicious. Wait, you cooked?" I'm pleasantly surprised; I thought he was going to pick something up.

  "It's no big deal," he scoffs dismissively. "Completely self-indulgent; I love my new barbecue, that's all." Amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I watch with interest as it morphs into a full smile.

  "Understood. So what else?" I stand up, shove my keys in my pocket, and clip the leash on Boulder's collar.

  "Buffalo cauliflower and grilled Halloumi with ranch dip. Barbecued pork ribs with potato and egg salad. Only thing I didn't bring is dessert. I'm hoping we can pick that up."

  I've come to a full stop, just outside my office door, and shake my head. "Okay, I am at a loss as to what I should imagine a buffalo cauliflower to be. I have not the faintest idea what a Hal...whatever the heck you're serving with the ranch dip is. And I don't think you need to worry about dessert, I doubt there is room after we tackle the contents of that backpack."

  "You don't have to eat it all."

  I snort—loudly. "You're forgiven because you don't know me, but I will never pass up an opportunity to try something new. Especially when it comes to eating."

  "So noted." He grins, holding the outside door open for me. "Although, I'm
sure you've had ribs and potato salad before. You could just skip those."

  "Fat chance, ribs are my favourite."

  He throws up his hands. "Just don't complain when you're sick to your stomach."

  "Scout’s honour," I promise, holding up my pinkie and index finger in the sign of the horns.

  He stops in the middle of the parking lot, laughing as he shakes his head. "You're something else, lady."

  The term "lady" has me snort again. It's nerves. I don't know why I'm being a goof, but this feels like a date, and I get nervous on dates. Not that I have a lot—or any in recent memory—but this feels like one.

  "Are you good to walk, or do you want to take the car down?" he asks, as I desperately try to get my burning cheeks under control. Of course that just makes it worse, so I fan myself, only drawing more attention. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine," I mutter, calling on my inner Zen, which apparently is on lunch break as well. "I don't even know where it is we're going. I only have an hour or so before my next appointment."

  "Right. Okay, in that case, let's drive. We can park down by the boat ramp. There's a small stretch of quiet beach, just five minutes up the trail along the water. It has some decent-sized rocks where we can have lunch."

  "Lead the way."

  The five-minute drive feels oddly intimate: sharing a relatively small, closed-off space with a man who has to be hitting six two, maybe six three. I'm not exactly short, or small, but I feel dainty in the seat beside him. I like that he has his radio tuned to the same channel I usually listen to in the car, Moose FM. Fortunately he doesn't blast the volume, my ears have become sensitive to excess decibels over the years. Newt never does anything more than tap with his fingers on the steering wheel, while I find myself trying to limit myself to humming along to “Bohemian Rhapsody.” It's a challenge, and I really have to bite down on my lip to refrain from screeching Scaramouche at the top of my lungs, like I would when alone in my car. I suspect Newt is not oblivious to my struggles. When I sneak a sideways glance at him, his mouth is twitching.

  The parking lot by the ramp is empty when we pull in; apparently we're the only ones out here. I'm out of the car before he has a chance to open the door for me, earning me a raised eyebrow, to which I just shrug my shoulders. Chivalry is not common in this area.

  "Have you done this trail before?" he asks, when I stop to let Boulder off his leash.

  "A few times with the dog, but it’s been a while. I'm not sure there are many who know it’s here, how did you find it?"

  "Google Earth." He turns and grins at me. "It’s a great way to find trails that are a bit off the beaten path. I walked a bit of it a couple of weeks ago."

  "Yeah, it's nice—quiet, even this close to town. I like it because I can let Boulder run free. People tend to be intimidated by his size, even though he's just a big pussycat, so I don't often let him off the leash."

  We fall silent again, and for the next few minutes our footsteps, and the dog rummaging through the brush, are the only sounds.

  The beach is no more than the length of a football field. A small stretch of sand among the rocks and trees. Newt leads the way to a section of rocks that jut into the water and reaches out his hand to help me climb up. I hold my breath as I take his hand. It's warm and slightly rough, as it easily wraps around mine. It feels good, and I almost moan in complaint when he releases mine.

  For a moment he pauses, looking at me searchingly, before walking to the edge of the large flat rock hanging over the water.

  "Come sit."

  He sits down himself, his legs dangling off the edge, pats the rock beside him, and starts pulling stuff from his backpack. I take him up on his invitation.

  "This is good," I mumble around a mouthful of his 'humburger' a few minutes later.

  "I'll tell Millie you like it." He's already finished his and is starting in on the ribs.

  The mention of his daughter reminds me why we're supposed to be meeting in the first place. A little embarrassed to have lost track of this, I immediately broach the subject.

  "You were shot a year ago," I dive right in. He swings around, a surprised look on his face.

  "Grazed," he corrects me. "How do you know that?"

  "Your daughter told me."

  "Millie? But I never..." His voice trails off as he looks out over the water. "I thought I was so careful to shield her from that." I hate the guilt in his voice and reach out. The moment I touch him, his eyes turn to where my hand rests on his arm, before slowly coming up to lock with mine.

  "You did, but she had a classmate whose father was on the force as well? I guess she heard it at home and told Millie."

  "She never mentioned anything."

  "I know. I'm sure it scared her, especially after having lost her mom so tragically. You're all she has."

  "Fuck."

  My hand falls away as he pushes himself up and starts pacing the rock.

  "Kids that age don't always know how to express themselves, and in an already emotionally charged situation, they turn inward. I'm guessing Millie never really talks much about her feelings, period."

  He comes to a stop beside me, and I have to tilt my head back to see. "Like father, like daughter," he admits, voicing my thoughts exactly.

  I grab the hand he reaches down, and let myself be pulled to my feet. With only a few inches between us, I'm tempted to wrap my arms around him and give him the hug I think he could use. I quickly take a step back, but almost go off the edge. A pair of strong hands land firmly on my hips, steadying me.

  I keep my head down, afraid to look, when finally after a tense few moments, he releases me and steps back, clearing his throat. For something to do, I start packing up the remains of our lunch.

  "Here, I'll take that," he says, taking the pack and slinging it over his shoulder, before calling out, "Let's go, boy!" As if he's never known another boss, and with a lot of rustling in the underbrush, Boulder comes barrelling out onto the beach. Traitor.

  Again, I accept Newt's help getting down the rocks, but when I try to pull back my hand once back on the beach, he holds tight and starts walking. I can make a fuss or go with the flow. I pick the flow; I'd forgotten how nice it could be just to hold someone's hand.

  "That's when she started hurting herself, am I right?" He finally speaks again when we reach the edge of the parking lot.

  "Yes, but don't take that on. It has little to do with you, and more to do with how powerless she feels. If it were just about you, she wouldn't still be doing it. This is about her taking control when emotions overwhelm her."

  He drops my hand when we get to his ride, opens the back gate for Boulder, and tosses his pack in the back seat. I'm about to climb in, when he stops me, swinging me around so my back is against the Jeep and my hands inadvertently land in the middle of his chest.

  "So what do I do?" His voice is gruff and his face is so close to mine, I can count the lashes framing his intense blue eyes.

  "You be her father— her stability, her security, her safety—and let me be her therapist."

  "Then I guess this would probably be unethical," he mumbles, leaning in further so I can feel his breath fan over my cheek

  "Probably," I whisper, my lips brushing against his.

  I'm completely lost to the moment.

  TEN

  Newt

  Goddammit.

  I'm normally someone firmly in control of his impulses—who leads with his head and not his dick—but it sure as fuck was my dick carrying the banner just now. Worst thing is, if not for Millie calling on her lunch break to remind me to pick her up some coloured printer paper for a project she's supposed to hand in tomorrow, I'd have had my mouth and hands all over Freddy against my damn Jeep. It's a special kind of woman who one moment slaps you with some harsh insights into your life, and the next makes you forget all reality. Those eyes—Christ.

  It's not like I didn't know I was playing with fire, thinking I could enjoy her company and look but not touch. The
woman is my daughter's therapist, for fuck's sake. Getting something started with her could impact Millie, if we ended up not hitting it off. Hell, just starting something could undermine the trust Freddy is building up with my daughter.

  The ringing of my phone was like a damn bucket of ice water. By the time I assured my daughter I hadn't forgotten, Freddy had already let herself in the Jeep and was sitting in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. Needless to say, the drive back to her office was awkward, the heavy silence almost tangible. She would've been out of the car the moment it rolled to a stop, if I hadn't stopped her.

  "Wait, I'm sorry if I..."

  "It's okay," she said quickly, before I could get my thoughts straight and out of my mouth. "A misunderstanding. It happens." The smile she threw me was strained. "I'll see you next Saturday when you drop off Millie."

  The next moment she was out of the car, collected Boulder from the back, and was walking into the clinic.

  I did nothing to stop her.

  -

  I'll do anything for my daughter, and I prove it by pulling into the Walmart parking lot, way the hell on the other side of town, to get her some damn paper. It's a store I generally avoid like the plague. Not only because what should be a five-minute grab and dash, turns into a flipping half hour treasure hunt, but also because crazy people shop there.

  I can't tell you the number of times I was on patrol and got called out to Walmart for some kind of disturbance. Fights, public mischief, indecent exposure, theft. I recall one shoplifter who managed to tick all those boxes. She shoved a stolen portable battery charger up her twat, in the middle of the electronics aisle, pulled over several displays in her attempt to run from security—who had tagged her—and then proceeded to beat on a stocking clerk who tried to stop her before they were able to wrestle her to the ground.

  This time is no different. By the time I walk out half an hour later, I've encountered a butt-naked toddler sitting in an empty kiddie pool—no parent in sight—someone in a chicken suit checking out birthday cards, and to top it off, a nasty domestic dispute in the check-out lane in front of me. Sadly, the feeling of relief at getting out of there is short-lived, when I spot a woman sporting a teased up helmet of bright red hair loitering around my Jeep. Shit.