The Fifth Reflection

by Ellen Kirschman

  “He deserves the attention.”

  “You’re the one who likes attention, not Manny. In my opinion this investigation has been as much about your love of the spotlight as it has been about solving Chrissy’s murder.”

  “Out.” He points to the door. “Now.”

  “I beg your pardon. This is my office.”

  “Not for long,” he says and stomps down the hall.

  I think for a minute about following him upstairs. Doing damage control. We’re all exhausted and on edge. Not the best time to have a serious conversation or make important decisions. What I really want to do is go home, take a shower, and change my clothes. Frank is coming over with dinner and a bottle of champagne to celebrate. Last night, when we finally got to the truth about Chrissy’s death, celebrating seemed like a good idea. Tonight everything looks different. Manny’s marriage is in shambles and his career is on the edge. Bucky’s a broken man with no child, a wife who’s bound to spend the remainder of her life in prison, and a domestic violence charge hanging over his head. Buzz and Brenda are facing years in jail. A tough way to cure their dependence on drugs and on Kathryn, who, I suspect, has been grooming them for months to do her bidding by supporting their habits. JJ’s heart is shattered. Chrissy is still dead. And I may be out of a job.

  Frank pours. I watch as the champagne bubbles fizz to the rim of my flute and then retreat. It’s my second glass. “Better eat something,” he says pushing a dish of salmon mousse and crackers in my direction. I take a half-hearted nibble.

  “Pence is not going to fire you. You’re like an old married couple, always grousing at each other. He’d be lost without you.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Who else would put up with him? The guy’s a chameleon. Acts one way one day and totally different on another. He threatens to fire you every other month. Doesn’t pay you benefits because you’re a consultant. I treat my subs better than he treats you.”

  “I’m worried about Manny.”

  “You should be because he’s just like you. Can’t let go of the job when he’s at home.”

  “What if Lupe won’t take him back, no matter what?”

  Frank shrugs. “Not my circus, not my monkeys.” He spreads a cracker with salmon mousse and wolfs it down. “I dropped by to see JJ this afternoon.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “I’m not a psychologist but I’d say she’s consumed with guilt. Why didn’t she see how tormented Kathryn was? Why didn’t she and Chrissy move away? Could she have saved Chrissy if she hadn’t been so caught up in her work? On and on. She’s second-guessing herself to death.”

  “And the tapestry?”

  “Still hanging. Still in shreds. I offered to help her take it down, but she wants it where it is, the way it is. On the positive side, she is willing to cooperate fully with the cops and the DA. Eager even. She thanked us again for our help. Wants to show her appreciation by offering us the gallery at the commune for our wedding. Might be a nice venue. Certainly the right price.” He finishes his glass of champagne and pours another, waiting for me to respond.

  “What do you think?”

  “I can’t talk about this now, Frank. I may not have a job.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Everything. I’m not going to let you support me when I’m perfectly capable of supporting myself.”

  “So what you’re saying is I can’t respond to JJ’s offer until you and Pence decide if you’re going to get divorced.”

  “I’m under a lot of stress and I’m sleep deprived. This is not a good time to have this conversation.”

  “Seems to me there’s never a good time to have this conversation.”

  “A few days, that’s all I need.”

  “What about your psychoanalysis? You told me last night we can’t get married until you figure yourself out.”

  “Now you’re mocking me.”

  “Call it what you want. You’re the psychologist. I think I’ll go home.”

  As soon as Frank leaves, I take another swig of champagne and burst into tears. I’m tired. I’m confused. I may be out of a job, one of my favorite clients is in serious trouble, Frank hates me, and I may be drunk. I think about calling my mother. But if I tell her about our fight, she’ll launch into a tirade about taking supplements to improve my attitude because whatever problems we’re having can’t be Frank’s fault. Ditto for my girlfriends who are perpetually worried that I’m going to chase Frank away if I don’t get over my cold feet. I stare at the wall wondering what therapist to call when the phone rings.

  “Were you ever going to call me? It’s all over the newspapers.” Dr. Randall sounds hoarse. “That face-to-face thing work for you?”

  “It did.”

  “Then how come my name wasn’t in the paper?” He laughs himself into a coughing fit and drops the phone. Bette picks it up. I can hear her shouting at him to drink some water.

  “Sorry, Dot. Laughter apparently isn’t the best medicine, at least not for Charles.”

  “How is he doing?”

  “About the same—no worse, no better. He’s been following the case, wants me to get all the newspapers. It’s been a great distraction. Hold on a minute.” She muffles the phone. “Charles wants me to tell you two things. First he wants you to bring that young man of yours over for dinner so he can check him out. He doesn’t want you making another mistake.”

  “Frank’s hardly young. He’s in his fifties.”

  “When you’re our age, dear, fifty seems young.”

  “We’ve just had a fight.”

  “You and your young man?”

  I muster a mumble.

  “Are you crying?”

  I nod my head yes and somehow she hears me.

  “Fighting is nothing to be afraid of. All couples fight. If they don’t fight, that means they don’t trust each other. God knows Charles and I fight. It’s unavoidable. Think about it. Marriage is a cosmic joke. How could two people who have different ways of living on earth be expected to get along without fighting? I don’t like to eat what Charles eats and I don’t want to sleep when he sleeps. He thinks I talk in riddles. I think he talks like a textbook. The trick about fighting is not to avoid it, but to know how to make up afterwards. You can do that, can’t you? After you sober up a bit?”

  There’s noise in the background.

  “Hold on a minute, Charles wants something. He can’t stand to be ignored.” She muffles the phone again.

  “Still there?” she says after a minute. “Charles wants you to investigate another murder. He hasn’t had this much fun consulting with anyone in a long time. Which only goes to show you how dull our lives are these days.”

  “Remind Charles that I counsel cops. I don’t investigate murders. It was only by accident, because Frank knows Chrissy’s mother, that I got mixed up in this.” She deadens the phone again, apparently repeating what I just said to Charles.

  “Well then, Charles says you’ll just have to find someone to murder yourself. But don’t let it be your young man.”

  I can hear Charles coughing.

  “One more unsolicited piece of advice before I rescue Charles from himself. Don’t let things fester. Fish or get off the pot.”

  Saturday passes, then Sunday afternoon with no word from Frank, Manny, or Pence. I do the laundry. Clean the house. Water the plants. Pull a few weeds in the yard. My withered winter garden looks as bad as I feel. My mother calls to see what I’m doing over the weekend and I lie. I tell her Frank and I are going to the movies and out to dinner. She instructs me to tell him hello and hopes we’ll both come to visit soon. She’s certain Frank would enjoy the activities at her senior living complex. Maybe even come for the Valentine’s Day Dance. She wants to know if he likes Golden Oldies. He must, I say. He likes me.

  I call a few girlfriends. No one’s home although they all hope I’ll leave a message so they can call me back as soon as possible.

  By Sunday ni
ght I’ve convinced myself that Frank is over at JJ’s proposing to her, Pence has just about finished the wording on an ad for a new psychologist, and Manny is teetering on the edge of the Golden Gate Bridge. I sit on the couch watching the setting sun take the light and leave behind a gloomy wet sky. Bette’s words do hot laps in my brain.

  Manny has to repair the damage he’s done to Lupe. Pence has to repair the damage he’s done to Manny. And I have to repair the damage I’ve done to Frank. In a perfect world, Lupe would make up with Manny, Pence would apologize to me, and I would apologize to Frank for treating him as though he has nothing else to do with his life but wait around for me. I dial his number. Now I know for sure he’s at JJ’s because all I get is voice mail.

  Monday morning, I get up extra early and dress for success in a pantsuit and silk shirt. I stop by the local bakery for almond croissants and cappuccinos, Pence’s favorite morning snack. It’s blatant pandering, but I don’t care. I don’t want to look for another job. I like the job I have and I’m willing to kiss up to Pence to keep it. He looks up from his desk as I juggle my purse, my briefcase, and try not to spill the coffee.

  “I wondered if you’d be coming in today.”

  I open the box of croissants and offer him one.

  “It’s my usual day. I’m just a little early.”

  I hand him a cappuccino. He accepts it without a word as though I do this every day.

  “I thought maybe you thought I had fired you on Friday.”

  “I wondered, but before we talk about that, we need to talk about Manny.” I’m willing to bribe Pence with pastry, but I’m not willing to give up advocating for my clients if that’s what it takes to keep my job.

  “What do you mean, talk about Manny?”

  “Are you going to let him transfer to patrol?”

  “Is my answer contingent on your decision to continue working here?”

  “Maybe.”

  He takes a bite of his croissant followed by a slow sip of coffee.

  “It costs me over a hundred thousand dollars to hire and train a new recruit. Why would I do that when I already have a perfectly capable officer on staff.” He takes another bite of croissant. “I spoke to him over the weekend and approved his transfer.” He sits up in his chair. “So what about you? Do you want to continue to work for me?”

  I want to tell him I work for KPD, not for him. But this is not the right moment to point that out.

  “Absolutely.”

  He sets his coffee down and leans forward, both hands flat on the top of his desk.

  “Let me be perfectly clear. I don’t give second chances. I’m going to put a letter in your file. I won’t tolerate another act of insubordination.”

  I want to ask—what file? What insubordination? But once again, this is not the time.

  “So you’re not firing me?”

  “I need a psychologist on staff. As my wife pointed out, ‘Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.’” He looks at his watch and stuffs the last morsel of pastry in his mouth. “Are we both clear now?”

  I nod. He thanks me for breakfast and starts walking to the staff meeting. The front of his suit is dusty with flakes of powdered sugar and almonds. I start to tell him but change my mind.

  I head to Fran’s for lunch after the staff meeting. Eddie’s slinging hash behind the counter. He sees me and orders a customer to stand up and give me his seat.

  “Nice customer service. I’m surprised Fran has any customers left.”

  “That guy finished his burger ten minutes ago. Plus, he’s a lousy tipper. Coffee?”

  My stomach is still roiling from the cappuccino I had this morning. And from tension.

  “A cup of the soup de jour and a glass of water.”

  “What’s with Manny? He’s been sleeping at my place all weekend. Wife throw him out?”

  “A married man stays at your house all weekend and you don’t ask what’s wrong?”

  He shrugs. “Not my problem.”

  “He might need a friend. Someone to talk to.”

  “Am I paying you to provide entertainment to the customers?” Fran comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, her cheeks red and glossy with sweat. She whacks Eddie on the rear with a long wooden spoon and bends over the counter to kiss my cheek. “Long time no see. How’s that man of yours?”

  “I’m doing fine. Thanks for asking.”

  She slaps my hand and turns to Eddie. “What are you waiting around for? Bus some tables. Stir the soup. Do something besides

  talk.”

  “Hear that?” Eddie says to the customers at the counter. “That’s workplace harassment. I’m gonna sue.” He stomps off.

  I love the way they joust with each other. If Pence ever offers Eddie his job back, and I doubt that will happen, Eddie could do way worse for himself than staying here.

  “So?” Fran leans over, elbows on the counter. “Set the date yet?”

  On Tuesday, I call Lupe. I don’t want to change her mind, I just want to see how she’s doing.

  “He’s back on patrol starting next shift,” she says. “And he’s willing to go to therapy. I guess I have you to thank for that.”

  “He did this on his own. He was willing to quit if the chief wouldn’t let him rotate out.” I can hear her gasp. “Didn’t he tell you?”

  “Is he going to hate me for forcing him to quit? Someone on his team called him a candy-ass.”

  “I doubt it. I think that the fact that you had a bottom line and held to it will give Manny the courage to resist peer pressure. It certainly gave him the courage to face off with the chief. Give yourselves some time. Somebody once said that police work is a greedy mistress. It’s going to take both of you to figure out how to balance work and family.”

  There’s a soft knock on the door to my office. I’ve kept my next client waiting. I tell Lupe I have to go.

  “One more question,” she says. “When it comes to balancing home life and work, how do you do it?”

  As soon as my next client leaves, I call Frank and ask him to meet me for dinner.

  “What’s up?”

  “What do you mean what’s up? I want to talk to you. I haven’t seen you since Friday.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Wedding plans.”

  No response. My heart does some jiggly thing. My head goes into catastrophic mode. I’m too late. He hates me. I’ve let him down too many times.

  “Are you there, Frank?”

  “I’m listening.” His voice is flat.

  “JJ’s offer of her place was very sweet. I’ve thought about it a lot and decided it’s not a good idea. Too many bad memories.”

  “And?”

  “If we can get my mother on a plane, what do you think about getting married in Pick City, Iowa?”