He was lucky to have found this spot behind the church. It couldn’t be seen easily from the street. Every cop had a spot like this—a place to drink a coffee, catch up on paperwork, or simply take a breath. It had taken him a year to find.
The public expected him to be on call 24-7. If he parked in the open, cars pulled up alongside him to complain about potholes, and people crossed the street to tell him about a party three nights prior. Parking lots were the worst for a litany of dented doors and scratched fenders. Nobody ever approached just to say hi. If they did he would wonder what they were hiding.
When he saw the Grumblers coming towards him, he’d stare them down with his most unapproachable look and make them wait before he rolled down his window. He never spoke first. He’d cut them off: Is this an emergency? When they said no, he’d recommend they call the non-emerg line and file a complaint report. He wasn’t outfitted with a 4.6 L 250-horsepower car, weapon, and bulletproof vest for annoyance complaints and dinged cars. They’d insist that he come see the scratched paint and ask him to check surveillance cameras.
Upgrading. Two-vehicle MVA rollover with injuries. Entrapment. Fatalities. Three ambulances and medevac en route…
He would like to tell the Grumblers what happens to paint jobs when two vehicles collide head-on at 100 km/h. And what first responders would find on the scene and how it would keep them awake at night and haunt them in the days ahead. He’d tell them how far bodies are found from their shoes, their legs, their heads, and guts, and how unbelievably long intestines are when they spill outside their soft belly. Then he’d like to ask them if they still wanted to file a report for their dented door. Inevitably, they would say yes. And he would do what he always did: take down their name, make, and model; verify the scratch; and wish them a good day.
He shifted in his seat. His back seized, and pain ratcheted up his spine, exploding behind his eyes, momentarily blinding him in its blackness. He leaned to his left and the pain ebbed. He breathed out.
At ER he had been checked over. Minor bruising, but the doc’s probing fingers almost buckled his knees. Likely a muscle pull, maybe a repetitive strain injury. He suggested age was a factor, which pissed Mike off. He filled in the necessary forms documenting the latest workplace scuffle, adding to his long medical record for insurance protection. He had never filed a claim.
The doc recommended better shoes, more exercise, Epsom salts, massage, physio, and an over-the-counter relaxant and anti-inflammatory. Mike had tried them all at maximum strength and dosage. The doc suggested rest. When he said he had two more shifts this week and didn’t want to use his sick leave, the doc gave him six codeine pills and reiterated several times, “One tablet at bedtime.”
He reached in his shirt pocket and retrieved the pill bottle. Across the street, the black dog was running away from the woman. She whipped the orange handle and a yellow tennis ball arced through the sky. The dog charged ahead of the soaring ball. Power rippled every muscle. Its hindquarters drove in tandem, an accordion of legs exploding into each elongated stride. It was beautiful in its pure physicality. His body had felt like that once. The dog’s gait slowed a fraction of a beat, its head swung up and twisting it leapt, plucking the yellow orb from blue sky.
Mike leaned forward and flinched. He opened the nearly empty four-litre jug of tepid water at his side and swallowed a pill. By the time he got home the med would just be kicking in. He picked up his handset. “Ten-seven. Car 322 out of service.”
Ten-four. Copy that.
The radio went silent, and then, Have a good night. Thanks for the day.
He could barely keep his voice in check and the tears from his eyes. It was ridiculous that he was so grateful for those words. Pain was stripping him bare.
“You, too.”
The alarm fired again.
Engine 15, Medic 17 responding. MVA rollover with injuries. Entrapment. Fatalities. Medivac ETA 1 minute.
A taxi rounded the corner. Bluebird. The driver hit the brakes hard, surprised to find him there. Mike glared at the man. Middle Eastern. Late forties, early fifties. He looked familiar. Another minute and Mike would have been on his way home.
The cabbie bowed his head. His hands clenched the steering wheel. Mike wondered what he was waiting for. The driver kept his head low and timidly backed up. That’s right, Mike thought. This is my spot. The steering belt squealed. The cabbie raised his hand, an open-palmed apology. Mike watched the taxi, its signal light needlessly flashing, retreat around the church. Shift was over.
He flipped his notebook to the top of the day and drew a long diagonal slash down the page through all the entries, locking them up in the past. The line cut through names, addresses, phone numbers, and incidents, confining them behind a single, impenetrable bar until he reached the end of the page.
Soon he would need a new notebook.
* * *
—
“Again!”
Mike hoisted Caleb above his head and spun. Cradling his son’s waist in perfect equilibrium in the palms of his hands, he was amazed by his lightness. The boy’s sneakered feet helicoptered and sun flickered through his outstretched arms. Tethered by his tail, Snappy whipped around.
Caleb screeched when Mike draped him over his shoulder, dangling him upside down by one ankle. He wrapped his leg around his father’s arm as he slid down his back, shrieking with sheer joy at the possibility of falling. Snappy’s head touched the ground.
“What’s that on my back? Is that a fly? Should I swat it?”
“No!”
Mike hoisted Caleb over his head and flipped him, allowing a moment of freefall before catching him in his arms. Squealing, the boy was somersaulted to the ground and immediately tried to shimmy back up Mike’s leg. “Again!”
“Do you have to play so rough?” Lori was smiling, but she had assumed her best serious-mom pose. “And what about your back? Do you think you should be doing that?”
Mike winked to Caleb. “Uh-oh, we’re in trouble.”
Lori crossed her arms. “My mom’s here. What time are we supposed to be there?”
Playtime was over. “Daddy has to go—the fun police are here.”
“Don’t tell him that.” This time, she wasn’t smiling.
Caleb grabbed his legs in a monkey hold. “Daddy stays with me.”
“No, Mama’s right. Mommy’s always right.” Mike looked at Lori, hoping to make extra points. “Look at your mommy. Doesn’t she look pretty?”
“She looks like a girl.” Caleb burrowed his head between his father’s knees. Snappy flopped against his calves.
“Okay, that’s it, let’s go in.” Lori was taking charge, though Mike could tell she was pleased by her son’s unintended compliment. “Nana brought you a homemade pie. Apple, your favourite.” She rolled her eyes at Mike. “Who makes pie in this heat?”
Lori really did look beautiful in the evening light. She was wearing the blue dress, the one that silhouetted her legs when backlit. Nestled between the soft roundness of her cleavage was the turquoise pendant he’d given her at Christmas. He marvelled that a mere dress and stone could bring out all that beauty.
“What are you smiling at?”
“I just feel good, babe.” And he did. He felt great. Pain-free.
Lori was already at the screen door. “Don’t wind him up any more.”
“All right, climb on up.” He crouched for Caleb to hop on his back. Small arms wrapped around his neck. Mike was amazed at the effortless rise straightening his back. He should have had these pills months ago.
“I not letting go.” Caleb had a solid grip.
“Oh no? You’re stuck to me? You’re coming with us?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Who’s going to look after Nana and Connor while Mama and Daddy are away?”
“Nana.”
“And what about Snappy? Nana can’t look after Snappy and crocodiles aren’t allowed in restaurants. Are you going to leave Snappy here alone?”
“No!” Caleb pressed the stuffed toy tight against Mike’s throat. It smelled sour and sticky.
“Duck your head.” He nodded to his mother-in-law as he stepped through the patio doors and into the kitchen. She had the baby in her arms. Connor was trying to grab her glasses. She was patting his diapered bottom and yanking her head away—“No, no, no. Those are Nana’s”—which only made Connor stretch farther to reach the forbidden rims. He slapped his grandmother’s cheeks.
Betty was getting old. He hadn’t noticed how much she had aged. She must be in her late seventies by now. Lori’s dad had been dead for six years. Her mom was alone all the time, except when she visited their house, which was often. Betty did a lot for their family. Without question she came whenever they called. And yes, it was true that Caleb sometimes had a scratch on his knee, or she let him eat too much junk food or watch inappropriate shows, and Connor’s diaper wasn’t changed as often as they liked, and she didn’t always rinse his soother when it dropped on the floor before popping it back in his mouth…but she loved the boys. She had raised Lori and look at the woman she’d become, an amazing mother. His wife. His friend. She was everything that was good in his life. His mother-in-law did her very best.
“Hi, Mom.”
Betty and Lori looked at him. It was the first time he had called her Mom in seven years of marriage and five years of dating.
“I have to get my wallet and I’m ready.”
“You stay!” Caleb tightened his chokehold.
Betty shifted the baby onto her shoulder. Connor grunted, trying to wriggle free, kicking her in the belly. “Caleb, you and I are going to have such a nice time together. We’re going to play and I brought stories—”
“You go away!”
“Caleb, you do not speak to your Nana like that.”
Caleb responded with sniffles and ragged breaths. Soon there would be real tears. Lori breathed in deep, her warning sign for Enough. Mike was distracted by the soft rise of her breasts, but he knew if he didn’t intervene the situation would escalate. He kissed her on the cheek. I’ve got this. She smelled of sun and talcum.
She pulled back and looked him in the eyes, a question still formulating in the crease of her forehead.
“Caleb’s going to help me get ready. I’ll be right back.”
He galloped down the hall to their bedroom and reversed up to the bed doing his best version of a big truck’s beep, beep, beep, until Caleb’s toes touched the mattress. “Okay, ride’s over.” But the boy held on.
“Caleb.” He used his soft but non-negotiable voice.
The boy’s slim arms loosened and he slid down his father’s back. He was still so small. His cheeks were flushed and his lower lip quivered. Mike had never been more afraid than the first time he held his firstborn son.
“Mommy and Daddy are going out tonight for a grown-up dinner. Daddy needs to do something nice for Mommy because she does so many nice things for us. I need you to help Nana and be a good boy for her. Can you do that for me?”
He got a reluctant nod. It was a good start. “Because what do deputies do?”
“Serve and protect.”
“That’s right.” He picked up his wallet from the dresser. They had plenty of time before their reservation. He double-checked the locked gun box and scanned the top of the dresser to confirm everything was in its proper place. He had checked the gun three times to ensure it was empty and counted the bullets twice.
He glanced at himself in the mirror. Good enough for a date. Maybe even good enough to get lucky. One of the benefits of shifting to nights was a free evening and morning to turn around his schedule. He checked his five o’clock shadow. Lori had liked his scruff when they were dating. She’d liked the scratch of it against her neck when they nuzzled on the couch, in the car, in bed, on the beach, in the street. When she leaned into him, her head rested perfectly in the hollow of his shoulder, and when they spooned, their bodies fit together as though moulded for each other. He sucked in his gut.
He could still be that twenty-six-year-old who picked up his girl in his ’72 red Camaro with bucket seats. Sure, the seats were duct-taped and the wipers didn’t work, or the heater, and the last two months he’d driven without reverse gear, but it was a Camaro. And she liked it. He flexed his bicep. He was still in good shape for thirty-eight. Screw the doctor. He might not be able to run a 3:06 PARE test anymore. But he could hold his own.
Dinner and a movie. Maybe she would neck with him in the back seat for old times’ sake. He could take her down to the waterfront for a walk. No, not on a Saturday night, it would be swarming with drunken university kids. Better to avoid the area than have to look the other way. She was choosing the movie, so no car chases or blow-’em-ups, but he didn’t care. He was going to put his arm around her, eat popcorn, and be a regular guy out with his girl.
“Don’t go, Daddy.” Caleb was standing on the bed with Snappy hugged to his chest. God, he was a good kid. Such an easy child. All heart. A little soft, but he’d grow out of it.
“We won’t be gone long. Do you want one last ride to the door? Then you’re going to be a big boy and take care of Nana, right? I’ll be in to kiss you goodnight when we get home.”
Caleb snuffled. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Promise the bad guys won’t shoot you?”
“Caleb, we’re just going out for dinner and then I’m taking Mommy to a movie. There won’t be any bad guys there.”
“What if they come here?”
Mike assessed whether or not he was being played by the stall tactics of a four-year-old, but his son’s eyes were welling.
“The bad guys know not to ever come here. But if one made a mistake and forgot whose house it was, what would you do?”
“Get the phone and lock me in the bathroom.”
“And?”
“Call 911.”
“That’s right. And then what would happen?”
“Police cars would come whoowhoowhoo.”
“And would you hang up the phone?”
“No, not till the bad guys is gone.”
Mike knelt down to his son’s height. He squeezed the crocodile’s mouth and its soft teeth flopped up and down. “And you’d have Snappy with you, so you wouldn’t be afraid. Snappy and his big teeth.”
“And he’d grow bigger than the room and his teeth would be big as my head and he’d bite the bad guy.”
Mike needed to hurry this along. “And you wouldn’t open the door for anyone, no matter what you heard, not until the person on the phone said it was safe. Even if someone was knocking on the door and said they were a policeman.”
“I don’t open the door, till phone people say oh-kay.”
“That’s right. But you don’t have to worry about any of this because Nana’s here and she would never let bad people in the door.” Mike ruffled his hair. “Okay?”
Caleb’s gaze didn’t waver as he scrutinized his father’s face for lies. Maybe his son was going to be a cop someday.
“Daddy…”
“Yeah…?”
“There’s bad guys everywhere. You can’t see them all.”
“You know what, buddy? Daddy has to go. Hop on.” He scooped the boy up, slung him onto his back, and headed down the hall.
“Check under my bed, Daddy.”
“Nope, gotta go.”
“You have to look in the closet!”
“I already checked. Everything is safe.”
Lori was waiting at the door. “We’re going to be late, as always.” As always was directed at him. He lowered Caleb to the floor. “Say bye to Mommy.”
She bent down and kissed Caleb three times on the top of his head, reciting, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Caleb wrapped his arms around her legs and pressed his eyes tight. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Mike kissed Connor’s belly. “Bye, little man.”
“Three times!”
Mike looked up
at Lori. It would be the simplest solution, but they were going to have to deal with this soon. He kissed Connor two more times. His chubby hand opened and closed in his version of a wave. “Ba, ba, ba.”
“Bye, bye, baby boy.”
“We have to go.” Lori was breathing in again.
“Okay, kiddo, where’s my kisses?”
Caleb slung his arms around his neck and kissed him hard on his cheek three times. Mike reciprocated, already thinking about the steak he was going to order. He stood and smiled generously at his mother-in-law. “If you need anything, call. We won’t be late.”
He waited for Caleb to complete his round of love yous before disengaging his arms from his legs. “See you soon, big boy.”
He followed Lori out the door. He was planning to open the passenger door like a real gentleman.
“It didn’t work! Do again!”
Caleb was on the front step. His grandmother had him by the shoulder. “Come back inside.”
Caleb screamed, “I love you, I love you, I love you!”
Lori had already opened the van door by herself. “Just keep walking.”
“You have to say it!”
Mike went to the driver’s side and took out his keys.
“Daddy!” Caleb was wailing. “Daddy! You have to say it! I love you, I love you, I love you!”
The van was hot and smelled of sour milk and wet sneakers.
“IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou! Daddy!” He slipped from Betty’s grip, and stood on the bottom step screaming, red faced, tears wetting his cheeks.
“We can’t leave him with your mother like this.” Mike got out of the van and walked slowly to the stairs. “Get back in the house, Caleb.” He used his quiet this-is-the-end-of-the-line voice.
Caleb retreated to the top step. Betty held the screen door open for him. Snot hung from his nose. His eyes were rimmed with tears. Mike looked down on his son using his full height. He waited. Without his work boots, he felt shorter.
Caleb’s heaving breaths slowed to short gasps, then sniffles, and the tears stopped spilling.
The Waiting Hours Page 16
