A Change Of Pace

by Freya Barker

  "That's great." She sighs in relief. "Except..."

  "What?"

  "I'll have to be on the road by eight to make sure I'm at the hosp...at my appointment for ten thirty," she finishes quickly, but I caught the slip.

  "I'm usually up by seven so that's not an issue, but, Freddy, is everything okay?"

  "Yeah...absolutely. Everything's fine. Look, I really appreciate you taking the dogs. It's a load off my mind."

  Clearly she's not in the mood to talk, but even if I hadn't been a cop for decades, I would've been able to tell she's far from fine. It doesn't take her long to get off the phone and I head back inside.

  Luckily, the kids are talking animatedly about some movie or other that is coming out this week, their earlier animosity apparently forgotten. I load up my dinner and sit down at the table, trying to follow their conversation but finding my mind drifting.

  Freddy appears to have an appointment at the hospital she obviously doesn't want me to know about. Being naturally suspicious, it makes me wonder whether last week's visit to Sudbury might have included the hospital as well. Then there were Alex's comments last Thursday, while we were working on the invisible fence. He warned me to be careful with his sister; that she'd been through some stuff. And she seemed a little withdrawn when they were over on Saturday. One may not have anything to do with the other, but I wonder.

  "Dad, are you even listening?"

  "Sorry, honey—what was that?" I shake the thoughts from my head and focus on Millie, who's rolling her eyes at me.

  "Can I go? Tomorrow night? Jordan's dad's taking him to see Spiderman."

  "I'm sure he won't mind," Jordan pipes up, making it clear the invitation was his idea. One he hasn't quite passed by his father yet.

  "Still, I'd like to hear it from him before I make any promises."

  "But if it's okay with him I can go, right, Dad?"

  Make no mistake, I'm happy as fuck my daughter seems to have found things to get excited about again, but that doesn't mean I'll let her manipulate me.

  "Not promising a thing, Sweet Pea."

  -

  The kids found a Harry Potter movie on the TV, and I'm responding to a few emails from a couple of buddies on the force, when I see Jim's cruiser pull up outside. Jordan jumps up when he hears the car door slam. Jim barely has a chance to step on the porch before the kid is pleading his case from the front door.

  "Let your dad come in, Jordan." He reluctantly steps to the side and waits for his father to step inside. "Jim."

  "Newt."

  "Want a beer?" I offer, but he shakes his head no.

  "Maybe some other time. I'm wiped. Get your stuff, kid, and say thanks," he addresses Jordan.

  "But can she come, Dad?"

  Jim throws me a questioning look and I shrug my shoulders. Parent language that apparently my daughter is well-versed in, since she's already smiling big.

  "I don't have a problem with it, but since I was going to ask if you could take Jordan again on Wednesday, perhaps Millie wants to stay over? I could drop the two of them off in the morning. Don't worry," he says, reading my concern. "I'll keep an eye out."

  It takes me a moment to think this over—not an easy task with Millie hanging off my arm, begging. The dramatic pleas wake the puppy, and in no time we have pandemonium, while I try to figure out what the right parental move is here. I'm the one who encouraged Millie’s friendship with Jordan, but I have to admit, I never thought this far. Is it appropriate to let your daughter have a sleepover with a boy, who is just a friend? I'm positive that's all they are, friends. If I had any doubts about that, I would shut this down without thinking. But it's summer vacation, and Millie used to have sleepovers with friends when we were still living in Kanata. What does it teach my daughter—that just because he's a boy—different rules apply? The father in me requires some assurance, and I wish I could run it by Freddy, get her take on it.

  "Fine," I finally concede, still a little uncomfortable with the idea, but if I can't trust the commander of the Parry Sound OPP, who the fuck can I trust?

  I send the kids out with Bella, and use the two minutes of peace to make my concerns clear to Jim, who only needs half a word.

  "They can camp out in the living room."

  With a little lighter heart, I agree to drop Millie off around five thirty tomorrow afternoon. Perfect time to drop in on Freddy on my way home, see how she's doing. See what she thinks about the sleepover.

  Maybe I can get her to open up about what's going on with her.

  SIXTEEN

  Freddy

  "Are you gonna tell me what's going on?"

  I stop on my way out the door and look at Jess, who is regarding me over her reading glasses.

  "Nothing to tell," I quickly answer, "not yet."

  I can tell she wants to call me out, despite giving the appearance of a hard-ass; Jess is actually quite perceptive and reads the sharp little shake of my head correctly.

  It's been hard enough trying to keep my head in the game today. There were times I wanted to call Alex so badly—fill him in on what's going on and let him be there for me—but I didn't. Mainly, because I don't want to worry him, but also because if I talk about it: it becomes real. I don't want it to be real.

  Reality will come at me soon enough when the all too familiar smell of antiseptic hits me.

  "We'll see you Thursday then," Jess simply says, turning back to her computer screen.

  "Yes, you will, see you then." At least I hope so.

  I did some reading online last night, and from what I gather, the procedure is a relatively simple one and has minimal after-effects. In most cases, just some minor discomfort. That shouldn't hold me back too much. I have no desire to lie about the house, letting my mind drive me nuts with a list of what-ifs.

  Staying as busy as I can is the name of my game this time around.

  -

  I stop by Pet Valu and No Frills on my way home to stock up on some essentials. It'll be one less thing cluttering my brain.

  Boulder lets out a soft woof in greeting when I open the gate to unload the overflowing cart into the back of my car. I wince when I consider the hit my credit card is taking with this shopping spree. I have enough food for the cats and dogs to last them the remainder of the summer, and I'm not even sure my freezer can handle the stuff I got for myself.

  I see Newt's Jeep the moment I pull into my driveway and almost turn around. But with a trunk full of perishables, desperately needing refrigeration in the late afternoon thirty-degree temperatures, running is not an option.

  He heard my slip last night, I know it, and given the determined look on his face when he gets up from the porch step he was sitting on, I'm guessing he's here for some answers.

  Well, he's not going to get any, but I won't say no to a hand lugging these damn groceries inside, though.

  "Are you stocking up for the apocalypse?" are the first words from his mouth when I open the back of my Matrix.

  I shrug. "Just trying to avoid braving the summer line-ups at the store more than I need to."

  I grab a handful of bags and start walking toward the house, when Newt steps into my path and leans in, planting a hard kiss on my mouth.

  "Sorry, should've started with hello."

  I can't help smile at his sheepish apology.

  "It'll all be forgiven if you help me get this stuff inside."

  I leave him to it while I quickly check on my guys in the barn. A few scratches and cuddles, fresh water and food, and I leave them comfortable for the night.

  "Where's Millie?" I ask, when Newt carries in the last heavy bags of dog food. I try not to get too distracted with the bead of sweat rolling down his neck into the collar of the T-shirt he's wearing.

  "Movies with Jordan."

  "Alone?"

  "Fuck no, Jim's going."

  "Wow, that's a new one," I observe.

  For a notorious absentee father, Jim finally seems to make an attempt to step up to the plate.
High time, if you ask me, but I guess it's never too late for redemption. I'm glad for Jordan. He deserves so much more than the borderline neglect he's lived with most of his young life.

  "I don't think he's a bad guy," Newt suggests. "I'm not saying he hasn't done right by Jordan, but I know the kind of stress that can build up on the job. Add to that a home front that is not just unsupportive, but downright toxic, and you can see how someone might distance himself."

  "I know he's not a bad guy, I'm just happy he dislodged his head from his ass."

  If I were a lesser person, and there weren't kids in the mix, it's possible I might have found a hint of justification in Jim's current plight. As it is, being a decent person, and a therapist to boot, I quickly tamp down any thoughts in that direction.

  Newt leans his hands on the counter behind him and tilts his head.

  "One of these days you're going to have to tell me what he did to you."

  "Mmmm. So...what brings you here?" I immediately change the subject, into a marginally safer direction. "Hoping to trap me into another date?" He rewards me with a grin.

  "Sounds appealing, but no, that's not why I stopped by."

  Shit. From the frying pan into the fire.

  "Well, have you eaten? I can whip us up an omelette."

  "That sounds good too. You have beer?"

  "Check the fridge."

  "So," he says, twisting the top off his bottle, "have you told Alex you're going to be in Sudbury at the hospital tomorrow?"

  I almost drop the carton of eggs I'm pulling out of the fridge. Not sure what I was expecting, but the direct approach catches me off guard. My instinct is to deny, deny, deny, but I have a feeling he won't let me get away with that. Instead, I opt for as much of the truth I'm willing to part with.

  "It's nothing. A routine check-up, that's all."

  "That's all? That why you're tossing the shells in with the eggs?"

  I look down at the bowl I was blindly cracking eggs into and see the shells floating on top. "Dammit." I carefully fish them out, toss them in the sink, and wash the goop off my fingers, before turning to face him.

  "All right. I'm having a minor procedure done tomorrow to remove a cyst. It's going to be a quick in and out, and I don't want to worry Alex for nothing."

  "Why would he worry, if it's just a cyst?" Fuck. He's got me contradicting myself. "Look, Freddy, you don't owe me a thing. We haven't known each other that long, and you really don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. But..." He leaves a significant pause. "...It took me only a few minutes to trust you enough with details of my life no one else knows." He takes a step toward me and takes both my hands in his. "All I'm saying is; you can trust me and I'm a pretty good listener too."

  For all my earlier firmly cemented resolve, his offer to share some of the weight is fast crumbling the wall.

  "Alex would worry, because he was there the first time."

  Newt

  Even though I had my suspicions, her simple statement implies enough to land as a punch to my gut.

  "Explain," I urge her gently.

  "I didn't want to do this, you know?" Her eyes look up at me, pleading. "Saddling everyone up with things they can't control anyway? Truth is, I don't know anything yet. Not until pathology gets back." She shakes her head and lowers her gaze. "Explain? I wouldn't even know where to start."

  "Start from the top."

  "It's a long sordid story. You're gonna wish you'd never asked."

  "I've got nowhere to be, and there's only one way to find out."

  "I may have to sit down for this." She sighs, looking a little lost, so I pull her by the hand into her living room, where I need to shove Boulder and two cats off the couch. "Pushy," she accuses.

  "Patient," I counter.

  Freddy scoots away from me and curls up on the far end of the couch. She clearly needs her space for this, and I'm happy to give it to her, for now.

  "I was diagnosed with cervical cancer almost fourteen years ago—clear cell carcinoma. It's a more aggressive type of tumour, so they threw the book at me." She talks in a flat voice, her eyes focused on some obscure point on the wall, distancing herself as much from me as from her words. "Radical hysterectomy, two weeks later, then radiation and chemo."

  She pauses and I watch as a lone tear tracks down her cheek. Fuck. I almost tell her it's enough, I know as much as I need to, but she starts talking again before I can stop her.

  "My mother cared for me after surgery and through treatment. I had my own small apartment in town at the time, but it was easier just to move back home. I had my last round of chemo six months later and found Mom lifeless in bed less than a week after that. She'd had a massive heart attack during the night."

  "Christ, honey." This time I actually slide closer but she puts her hands up, warning me not to touch her, her eyes still on the wall.

  "It was not a good time in my life," she scoffs at herself and mutters under her breath, "understatement of the century,” as she finally turns her eyes on me. "I put my brother through hell, but I got through. I built a good life. Lived frugally, carefully, avoided taking risks, and I stayed cancer-free all these years."

  She falls quiet after that, and I gently fill in what she's not saying.

  "And now it might be back."

  The small nod is the only encouragement I need before I reach out and pull her in my arms. She doesn't resist.

  "I'm so scared," she whispers, and I palm the back of her head, pressing her to my chest.

  "I can only imagine."

  Déjà vu.

  That's what it feels like. I've been here before, albeit a different time and place, but I remember clearly holding Millie's mother in my arms, feeling her fear of what might be ahead seep under my skin.

  Just as Freddy's fear is doing now.

  -

  "I think you should tell your brother."

  Freddy's eyes slowly come up to meet mine, her hand with a forkful of the scrambled eggs I finally ended up throwing together, halfway to her mouth. She's pissed.

  "No."

  "He finds out you kept this from him, he won't like it."

  "Then we'll just have to make sure he doesn't find out."

  The words are a challenge: a test to see if I am as trustworthy as I promised to be. I am, but I'm a guy; I can put myself in Alex's shoes, and I know I would be livid. Besides, she can only keep it from him if the outcome is positive, but I'm not about to remind her of that.

  "Fair enough. I'll leave that be, but what about tomorrow? I don't like the idea of you behind the wheel after surgery. Maybe I can—" Her hand lands on my arm, cutting me off.

  "I'll be fine. I'm told I should be okay driving home. And who would look after my dogs?" She shrugs, throwing me a smile. "Besides, this is not my first parade."

  "I know. Not mine either," I remind her. "Will you promise to let me know before you get on the road?"

  "I can do that." I catch her grinning, even though she drops her head to hide it.

  "What's that for?" I ask, lifting her chin with my finger. "The smile."

  "Been a long time since someone fussed over me, and you don't really seem the fussing type...it's cute."

  "Well..." I round the counter, swing her around on her stool, and step between her legs, looping my arms around her back. "I can definitely say it's been a long time since someone called me cute. Not sure anyone would've dared. But I'll take it from you."

  I lift a hand to brush the stray hair from her face, and stroke my fingers slowly down her face, before tilting her head back and lowering my mouth to hers. Her lips are soft and pliant, easily molding themselves to mine. If I expected resistance, I'm not getting any. Instead her arms slide around me, her fingers clenching the shirt at my back.

  The kiss starts gentle and slow, but intensity builds as heat and hunger grow. When I finally release her mouth and drop my forehead to hers, both of us are breathing hard.

  "Why'd you stop?" Her voice is breathy—so fucking
sexy—and only serves as encouragement for my cock, already uncomfortably hard against my zipper.

  "'Cause I'm not sure this is the right time for where that kiss was heading."

  "I think you're wrong," she says with a tilt of her head. "I think maybe this is the perfect time for me to feel alive in a way I haven't allowed myself to feel for much too long."

  I don't need much convincing—my dick is already on board—and take her mouth, this time holding nothing back.

  Freddy

  "Oh my God."

  I can't help myself; the heat of his mouth between my legs is overwhelming.

  Somehow we ended up on my bed.

  At least I am. Newt is on his knees, still fully dressed and completely focused on my pussy. Any insecurity I might have felt when he stripped me naked and positioned me with my heels on the edge of the mattress, long forgotten.

  Already hypersensitized from the way his lips and fingers examined every inch of me he bared, I lift my hips off the bed at the rasp of his tongue over my clit. One large hand comes up to keep me in place, splayed out over my middle-aged, pudgy midsection, but I don't even care that his fingers press into the soft rolls; I'm too busy flying off the edge of a cliff.

  "Mmmm." His mouth vibrates against the tender skin on the inside of my thigh. A delicious sensation, almost too much for my system. His fingers and lips lazily trail over my skin as I slowly come down from my rare and exquisite high.

  The light brush of fabric against my ankle alerts me to the fact he is yet to take off his clothes.

  "Newt?" I run my hand through his hair, getting his attention.

  "Hmmm," he hums again, this time lifting his head.

  I blush a little when I see his lips, glistening with the evidence of my memorable climax, pull into a satisfied grin. The blue eyes staring back in mine are warm.

  "I...that was..." I stutter, suddenly not quite sure what the proper etiquette is in this situation. "Thank you."

  His eyes sparkle with amusement. "My pleasure." The deep rumble of his voice sends a little shiver through me. Something that does not go unnoticed. "And I mean that quite literally."