Everyone was silent for several seconds.
“What about me jumping after the flower?”
Pastor Jonathan was silent a moment longer. Brent could almost see the gears turning in his mind.
“Remember, Brent. Everything I’ve said is conjecture. It’s only what might be true about your dreams.”
“I understand. Even so….”
“Okay. You said something about the flower, something that you might be missing.”
“What? I think it was a daisy.”
“Not what I mean. It’s a potted flower. Doesn’t that mean something to you?”
Silence again.
This time, Tara spoke up. “Potted plants are not permanently planted. At least not yet.”
“That’s what I was thinking, Tara.”
Brent looked from one to the other.
“Brent, in Scripture, everything means something. We, who are stuck with the English language, are missing so much from the original written languages. But even those who understood the Hebrew, the Greek, and the Aramaic were unable to grasp all of the meanings of what was recorded—the when, the how, and the why. It’s truly remarkable.
“In your case, if this is truly from the Lord, everything needs to be scrutinized for meaning, including a simple burnt-orange flowerpot.”
Brent nodded again. “Makes sense. I just had no idea.”
“See?” said Tara. “That’s why another set of ears is important.”
Brent smirked. “Yeah, yeah.”
Pastor Jonathan smiled and looked down briefly. Looking up again, he said, “The pot and the flower together may hold some significance, not just the flower alone. Why is the flower not growing up out of the wood? Why wasn’t the wood framing a small garden that collapsed and disappeared. Why a pot?”
Brent was blown away. Never could he have come to such conclusions about the different aspects of his dreams. An extreme gratefulness grew within him.
The pastor continued. “I’m afraid that I don’t really have much insight into what the flower represents. It could represent a lifelong dream that you’ve held onto—some sort of goal or aspiration—or maybe it’s something that you own—an important belonging. Maybe even a person. I just don’t know.”
While the pastor went through his short list of “maybes,” Brent couldn’t pinpoint an answer.
“As for you diving after the plant and catching it before it hit the bottom … that’s anybody’s guess. But God knows. And at least you’ve got some specific things you can pray about.
“I know I may have created more questions than answers, but hopefully you’ve at least got a fresh way to look at your dreams—some new perspective.”
To say the least.
Brent could tell that they had reached the end of Pastor Jonathan’s available time, so he stood up. Tara on the other hand….
“Wait,” she said, obviously confused about the quick cutoff. “That’s it?”
“As I said, Tara,” Pastor Jonathan responded, “I don’t have all the answers. I’ve given what I can.”
He looked to Brent and said, “Brent, based on our long history together, and knowing you’re not a crackpot…” The man grinned at him. “…I’m going to keep this in prayer. Personally, I think this is a God thing. And, if so, then all of us need to be very prayerful, especially if this dream is in some way prophetic.”
Brent offered his hand as Tara finally stood up. “Understood. Thank you so much for your time.”
IT WAS CLOSE to midnight by the time Elizabeth returned home from work. She hoped that Jamie wasn’t sitting in the living room waiting for her. She was a little scared.
She knew that he’d seen her flirting. Part of her wanted to say to him, “Just mind your own business. I’m just doing what I need to do to make a decent income.” Another part of her, though, wanted him to object. Needed him to object. Needed him to see her as he always had … a good girl.
In the core of who she was as a girl, it mattered. It mattered a lot.
She stood outside the front door and sighed before opening it. Upon entering, she saw that the living room was occupied by Brent and Tara. She paused, immediately looking into their eyes. Would their expressions betray that they’d been told what Jamie had seen?
Instead, they both smiled.
“How was work?” asked Brent.
Is this a trap question? She decided to play things out as routine.
“It was work.”
“Nothing to brag about, huh?” asked Tara.
Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat. They do know, don’t they?
“Nope. Nothing worth bragging about.”
“All right. Just checking,” said Brent. “Sometimes your work stories are worthy of a good laugh.”
“Nothing like that tonight, unfortunately.” She paused, then, “Well, I think I’m going to get a quick shower and hit the hay.”
“Goodnight, hon,” he said.
“Sleep well, sweetheart,” she said.
“Goodnight,” Mom and Dad, she wanted to say.
Elizabeth walked up the stairs and to her room.
TUESDAY, AUGUST 5
Chapter 22
T
he morning papers were all over the event. Not exactly front-page news, but certainly worthy of page two. The Cleveland Plain Dealer’s headline read: Pittston Police Officer Arrested for Indecent Exposure, Disorderly Conduct.
Brent sat down as his young officer watched.
“Have you seen it?”
“No, sir.”
Brent tossed the paper onto his desk. It slid directly in front of her, already open to the headline.
She dropped her eyes to her lap.
Kim Townsend sat before her chief’s desk looking ashamed and not a little fearful of what was to come. She was wearing civilian clothes, a pair of jeans, a P.P.D. T-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. Her dark brown-almost black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The whole of her lean frame—five foot, five inches of height—appeared tense. Her right heel began nervously tapping the floor, and she wouldn’t even look to the surface of Brent’s desk, let alone his eyes.
“Well, Officer, you know why you’re sitting here.”
The young officer nodded her head and dared to look up for a moment.
“Yesterday, when you arrived at work, I had Sergeant Eldredge drive you right back home and put you on house arrest. Do you know why?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, barely above a whisper.
“You do?”
She was quiet for a moment, then, “No, sir. I mean … I think so, sir.”
“I had him do that because I wanted you to wallow in it. I wanted you scared as to what the consequences might be.”
Her head hung a little lower. “Yes, sir.”
“Officer Townsend, I’d like for you to look at me while we address each other. You’re not a little girl; you’re a police officer.”
Immediately, she raised her head and focused her eyes on his. Hers were bloodshot.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Brent knew that this twenty-two-year-old woman was nervous, and she ought to be. She’d risked her career over something stupid. Risked being the operative word. The investigation would determine how far he would have to go with discipline. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to fire her. She’d never had any sort of behavioral issues prior to the dark hours of Sunday morning.
“I’ve heard what Bedford P.D. had to say about your actions. It’s now time for you to tell me your side of the story.”
“Yes, sir.” She shifted in her seat and sat up a little straighter. “Sir, do you know the Osprey Club near Union Street and Northfield Road?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“Well, it’s a pretty popular place. They’ve got a patio on the backside of the club. Sometimes they pipe music out there, and other times they have live bands on a small stage. Live music is
always reserved for the weekends, but for some reason they didn’t have a band that night.
“So, Saturday night, I’m there with a couple of girlfriends and one of their boyfriends.… Sir, I’ve been there lots of times, and nothing like this has happened before.”
“Keep going, officer.”
“Yes, sir.” She swallowed hard, then continued. “Well, we had a few drinks. And, you know that I wasn’t on duty….”
Brent nodded.
“So, there was a festive mood that night for no real reason. Everyone was happy and playful. The music was good. People were dancing between the tables and in a small area in front of the stage.” She paused, as if trying to find the courage to continue. “I just….”
Brent could see the slightest hint of tears forming.
“Well, I had a few drinks. Nothing major. And I didn’t think I was getting out of hand. We even had a designated driver.”
“Let’s keep the account moving forward, Officer Townsend.”
“Yes, sir.” Again, she paused. She took a deep breath and plowed ahead. “I climbed up on the stage and started dancing up there. At first, it was just fun. I was just dancing like everyone else, then another girl got up on the stage too. Some of the crowd started shouting and cat calling.”
She hung her head again.
Brent decided not to call her out. He’d let her finish the account at her own comfort level.
Still looking down, she said, “Well, I’m sure it was the alcohol and the fact that it felt good being recognized as…” She could hardly say the next word with any volume at all. “…attractive. Anyway, I turned around toward the back of the stage, and I guess I got a little excessive with my … movement. There really wasn’t much after that.”
“Officer Townsend,” Brent said, less harshly than he’d begun the conversation, “seductive movements aren’t going to get you arrested by the Bedford Police Department. What happened that caused them to bring charges?”
Her eyes darted up to her boss. “That’s just it, Chief. I didn’t do anything.”
“Now don’t—”
“I’m being honest, sir! They told me that someone saw me exposing my chest. But I didn’t. All I did was start hiking my blouse up while dancing up there. I exposed my waist and maybe halfway up my back, but I didn’t pull it up any farther.”
Brent couldn’t help but feel a little incredulous. “Let me get this straight. You were dancing with your back to the crowd, beside another girl on the stage, and you did nothing that the authorities there should have considered as indecent?”
“Nothing at all.”
And that’s when the tears began to cascade.
Brent hated when women cried. It almost always cut at his professional bearing. This case was no different. One of his own was either telling the truth or lying. If she was lying, the crying routine would just cause things to get worse for her. But … if she was telling the truth … then this young woman had every reason to feel what she was portraying.
“Sir,” she began with ragged breaths, “I love being a cop. It’s all I wanted to be coming out of high school. I want to do what’s right by people, and I want to be a good example.” She looked him straight in the eyes again. “I promise you that I didn’t do anything to discredit myself or bring shame on the P.P.D.”
Brent considered everything she had said. Time would tell. The investigation would bear out what had truly happened, but there was still the other charge.
“What about the drunk and disorderly charge?”
At this, Brent saw an emotional switch flip. Instead of pleading eyes, they went a little bit hard—indignant. “Over the past two days, I’ve sat home either crying or getting angry over the whole incident. The drunk and disorderly charge is a crock, sir. When Bedford P.D. showed up, I was again sitting at a table with my friends. I just happened to look up when they entered that patio area. A woman pointed me out.
“The officers asked me to follow them through the club and out onto the sidewalk in front. I complied. They told me that someone had issued a complaint against me, saying that I had shown my chest off, which I knew was ridiculous! Two guys exited the club just then, and one of them, who was apparently…” She made finger quotes in the air. “…‘trying to help,’ said, ‘Dude, don’t arrest her. She’s…’” Officer Townsend broke eye contact and sighed. “‘She’s got a hot body.’”
Brent was barely able to resist a smile at that comment. Not because she did, but because drunk men around attractive women can say some of the dumbest things.
“Go on.”
“I think that was proof positive to the two officers that I had done something wrong. Anyway, they told me that I was going to be charged with public indecency, as there was apparently more than one witness who had seen it. When I objected, they told me to calm down. When I told them I was a cop, I was asked to produce my badge. Which … was still on the patio. So, I had to go through the humiliation of being escorted back out there.
“I should have waited until we were back out front, but I was so angry at feeling railroaded, that I pulled my badge out right there. That’s when the peanut gallery got a little out of hand with its comments. Things like, ‘the strip-teasing cop,’ and other stuff like that. My heart sank.”
Brent could see the scenario play out in his mind. Sounded legit.
“But that’s still not a case for drunk and disorderly.”
“Yeah, well … when they got me back out front again, one of the officers said something like, ‘Sounds like there’s enough evidence to put you in the tank for the night,’ and that’s when I called him an idiot and a pretty crummy cop.”
Brent shook his head. “Yep. That could pull the trigger on drunk and disorderly, right there.”
“Yeah. Sorry, sir.”
Now that the whole story was out, Brent looked at his officer. He could see all of the fear gone, and so were the tears. What sat before him now was a woman who had made her case and appeared resolved to stick by it.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Officer Townsend. Because these charges are real—valid or not—the department’s code of ethics and responsibility dictate that you be placed on administrative leave. In this case, you’ll continue to receive your pay.
“Sergeants Larkin and Eldredge informed me that there were videos taken of your stage dance. If you’re telling the truth about all of this, they will clear you. If not, then further disciplinary actions will be taken, which could mean termination from your position with the department. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir.”
Before Brent could continue, she asked, “What about the D&D charge?”
“If the first charge is dropped due to lack of evidence, I think it’ll just be a matter of this department smoothing things over with Bedford P.D. We’ll owe them a favor.”
She nodded.
Brent got up from his chair, prompting Officer Townsend to do the same. She stood at attention.
“Officer Townsend, my sincere hope is that what you’ve told me is the truth. If you did, you’ll have nothing to worry about and you’ll be returned to regular duty. Your responsibility, until this is all sorted out, is to remain very conscious of your actions. You are still an employee of this department. No statements to the press. You do have the right to an attorney appointed by the union. See Sergeant Eldredge about that information on your way out. Any questions?”
“No, sir. Thank you for listening completely to my side of the story.”
“Dismissed.”
Chapter 23
J
amie was conflicted. deeply.
Sitting at the table on the back deck of the house, he tried to sort out his thoughts and emotions.
Is it wrong for me to have feelings for her?
It was a tough question. Was his relationship with Elizabeth supposed to be a Greg-and-Marsha-Brady kind of relationship? He wondered if, on
that old TV show, Greg ever struggled with having a beautiful sister who wasn’t at all related to him.
He sighed. Of course not. It wasn’t in the script. Well, unless, of course, one watched The Brady Bunch Movie.
Self-check: Do I really like her, or do I just have mad desires for her?
Maybe it was mostly hormones, but through the past couple of years, he really had grown to care for her. The whole family had.
What about a mixture of desire and caring? Couldn’t that turn into something more?
But there was another issue, something that required a more immediate answer: Should he ask her if she saw him only as … brother-ish? If that was the way that she viewed him, then, really, what would be the point? His feelings … his desires … whatever they were, just wouldn’t matter.
And what about what he had seen at the diner? Do I ask her about the body movement she made for those men? Does she do that all the time at work?
Jamie shook his head and leaned it back against his chair. He stared momentarily at a thick, towering white cloud as it moved slowly across the sky. He lifted his head and sighed yet again.
Would I even care about any of this if she weren’t so good looking?
He sat pondering all these things for another few minutes before deciding to go back inside. But before he could put action to his decision, he heard the screen door open behind him.
He turned and saw Jenna coming out.
“Hey,” she said, walking to the chair on the opposite side of the table. She set down a bottle of water and took a seat.
“Hey,” he said.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Nothing much. Just thinking.”
“Ahh, yes. Thinking. Hurt much?”
“Cute.”
Jamie started to get up, but Jenna interrupted by asking, “Got a few minutes?”
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