Before I head to the stands, I move up beside Valerie, who’s still guarding, and tell her you’re missing and I have to talk to the cop in the stands.
“What?” She looks at me like I robbed a bank. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. After you talk to him, take the rest of the day off. We can find a replacement. For goodness sake.”
The way she says for goodness sake repeats itself in my brain as I walk toward the cop. For goodness sake, what’s wrong with you? I don’t know why I care. She’s the one who works at the pool when she’s forty and has three kids.
I stare down at my orange toenail polish. My bare feet press into the spotty blue cement deck. This is embarrassing. I spent my whole childhood hanging out here, and I never once saw a lifeguard talking to a cop.
At the stands, I force a smile onto my face and push on the gate. The cop takes large, gangly steps down the stands toward me. He’s over six feet, for sure, almost as tall as you. His uniform looks small on him—the pants are too short. He has uneven blue eyes and large, bushy black eyebrows that hover over his face, like black caterpillars.
“Nice rescue.” He smiles. “I’m Detective McFerson.”
Oh! He’s the detective, not just a cop. He reaches out to shake my hand, which makes me feel better. If I were in trouble, he wouldn’t shake my hand, right? I know you’re wondering why I’d be in trouble. It’s an old habit.
“That was impressive,” he says, tilting his head toward the pool.
“I reacted too slowly.”
“Looked fast to me.” He gives me a quick smile. “I have to ask you a few questions, Jessie. You want to come in to the station or do it here?”
“Here’s fine.” I shrug like it doesn’t matter, but the last thing I want to do is get into a police car and sit in the back like a criminal. For goodness sake.
Not too many people are up in the stands, only a group of moms farther down. The back row is empty and that’s where I lead him.
He sits beside me, his knees bent up awkwardly in his short cop pants. He has old gray socks that fall down his legs and it’s kind of sweet, but I wonder why he’s wearing a police uniform. Aren’t detectives supposed to wear suits and ties?
“Tell me about Chris,” he says.
“We’re on a break, just for a week.” I have to clear that up right from the start. “We aren’t broken up. We’re getting back together.”
“Can you tell me about his personality, what he’s like? Is he happy or—”
“Yeah, he’s a happy guy, in a quiet guy kind of way. I mean, he’s not laughing all the time, but he laughs, for sure.” The words stream out of me. “He’s got a great laugh.” Your laughter is the most rewarding laughter of anyone I’ve ever met—it’s like taking a gulp of cold water on a hot day.
The detective holds his pencil and pad up, waiting.
“He’s real thoughtful, too, you know? If someone’s having a bad day, he’ll do something to cheer them up. Even people he doesn’t know that well. And he gets me flowers all the time, writes these notes that he folds into airplanes, even for his mom and his sister. It’s the kind of thing he does. Sometimes he prints out photos—nobody does that, right? He’s a real good listener. And he never tells people’s secrets, not even to me.” I glance at the detective. He’s staring at me. Yes, I miss you. I guess that’s clear. I stop talking. If I’m going to be a babbling idiot, this is not going to go well.
He gives me a kind smile. “Sounds like a real solid guy,” he says. “I’ve been talking to lots of his friends and they’re all saying the same thing. Can you tell me about the last time you saw Chris?”
“I was with my friend Michael at the mall. He did the rescue with me? He’s a guard friend.” I’m repeating friend like I have friend-in-mouth disease. “I mean we don’t usually do things outside of work.”
“And?” He nods, urging me to go on.
“There was a goofy song playing, like disco? So we started dancing. And that’s when Chris saw us.”
He stares at me like that’s a bad reason to dance. “What did he do?”
I sigh. “Lately, he’s been getting jealous real easy. Even though Michael is gay. I mean, Chris took off running. I called out his name. He wouldn’t stop.” I sniff, weirdly, and wonder if he’s trained in lie detection.
Why the hell did I say that? I didn’t call out your name. You know that. I know that. Michael knows that. The salespeople at Foot Locker know that. It’s an easy lie to figure out. But it just flew out of my mouth like a little blue bird, flipping and spinning and flapping its way into his ears.
“What time was this?” He scribbles away on a pad.
“Around four thirty?”
He raises those caterpillar eyebrows. “After that, you went to work?”
I’m nervous now that he’s tracking my every move. “We don’t work until seven on Fridays. We went to the food court and got some dinner. I had a burger.” I don’t know why I add that, but it seems like the kind of detail you should add if you don’t want to look like a liar.
“Why’d you go on this break?” he asks.
Why isn’t he asking me about the Heights guys? “He wants me to live with him while he goes to university. He knows I’m taking a year off before college to save, but I don’t want to follow him around. I’d be this small town loser girlfriend from high school.” That word surprises me. I don’t usually think of myself as a loser. “He wants to get married.”
He winces. Yep, everyone thinks that’s a dumb idea, not just me.
“I don’t want him to mess up his life over me.” I wrap my arms around my body. “But it was a stupid fight.”