Megan
Brigit and I arrived at the salon where Danielle worked promptly at eight Wednesday morning. Every seat in the foyer was full, the clients patiently thumbing through fashion magazines as they waited to be called back for their appointments. We made our way past them and checked in with the receptionist. “I’m looking for Danielle. She’s expecting me.”
The woman pointed to the back of the room behind her. “Behind that curtain.”
“Thanks.”
I led Brigit through the salon, which was rife with the sounds of friendly chatter and the hum of hair dryers, along with the pleasant floral scents of shampoos, conditioners, and hairsprays. Brigit raised her nose in the air, her nostrils flaring as she took in the smells.
When we reached the back of the room, I gently slid the gauzy curtain aside. Behind it was a small, windowless room with three salon chairs situated in a semicircle. Only one was in use. A middle-aged woman lay in the chair while three other women worked on her as if she was a racecar and they were her pit crew. One of the salon’s employees sat at the client’s bare feet, buffing them with a pumice stone. Another sat near the woman’s waist. She had the woman’s right hand up on a rolling table and was trimming her cuticles. A third salon staff member, whom I recognized from the photo as Danielle, was applying a creamy, pink-hued goop to the woman’s face. Slices of cucumber lay over the woman’s eyes, a plastic shower cap over her hair, which seemed to be in some phase of processing. Highlights, perhaps?
On a small table near the woman’s head sat the bowl of goop. An open container of yogurt sat beside it. The two substances were essentially the same color and consistency.
Danielle set down the spreader she’d been using to smear the mask on the woman’s face and used a plastic spoon to scoop up a bite of yogurt before looking up at me. “Are you the cop I talked to on the phone yesterday?” she asked before sticking the spoon in her mouth. As busy as the salon seemed to be, it was no wonder she had to grab breakfast on the job.
“Yes, that’s me,” I said. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
“There’s really no need.” She gestured to the other women with her spoon. “We all know everything about each other’s business.”
“Yeah,” said the manicurist. “Even if you went off somewhere to talk, Dani would give us all the details after.”
All righty, then. I sat sideways on one of the empty chairs so that I would be at the same level as Danielle, and instructed Brigit to sit at my feet. “We still haven’t determined who went by Ryan’s apartment yesterday with the balloons,” I said, “or what the woman was after. You’re sure it wasn’t you? You know, just wanting to do something nice for him?”
She plunked the spoon back into the yogurt and picked up the spreader. “Nope. Like I said yesterday, it wasn’t me.”
Looked like she wasn’t changing her story. Of course it was possible she was lying, that she was in cahoots with Ryan and was trying to implicate Adriana. But my gut told me she was being honest. She hadn’t been the one with the balloons. And if my gut hadn’t convinced me, the two other women did.
The pedicurist held the pumice stone aloft. “Dani was here at the shop all day yesterday.”
“Yeah,” agreed the other, who’d kicked off her shoe and stretched out her leg to pet Brigit with her bare foot. “We were crazy busy. We didn’t even take a lunch break. We ordered sandwiches in.”
I nodded at them in acknowledgment, and returned my attention to Danielle. “You said on the phone yesterday that Ryan was putting pressure on you. Can you be more specific?”
She shifted on her seat, as if the conversation was again making her uncomfortable. “It’s not a big deal, really. It just that he’s moving a little too fast. Every time we go on a date he shows up with something. Flowers. Candy. Jewelry.”
“Oh, boo-hoo!” called the woman who’d been foot-petting Brigit. “You know what I wouldn’t give to get some attention from a man?”
Danielle sent a frown at her coworker. “It’s nice to get gifts if nothing’s expected in return, but with Ryan it feels like he’s trying to buy me. Like he thinks spending money on me means I owe him something.” She turned back to me. “At first I found it really flattering. It was nice to date a guy who isn’t cheap, you know? He’s always been willing to take me to fancy places to eat and stuff like that. But now he’s constantly calling me or texting or dropping by my apartment unexpectedly. I feel a little smothered.”
When I first met Ryan I’d sensed he had a poor sense of boundaries. Danielle’s words reaffirmed that conclusion.
“He tries to pin me down weeks in advance, too,” she added. “He already asked me to go to a Queen concert with him. They’ve got Adam Lambert singing with them now. It sounds like fun and all, but the concert’s a whole two months away. Who knows if we’ll even still be dating then? He’s a nice enough guy, but I’m only looking to have some fun. I don’t want a serious relationship.”
The manicurist giggled. “Yeah. Dani just wants a fuck buddy.”
“Shut up!” Dani chastised her friend, her face reddening.
Ignoring that last exchange, I asked, “Has Ryan ever mentioned a woman named Adriana to you?”
She gingerly smoothed the mask onto the woman’s forehead. “Adriana?” She looked up in thought. “No. Not that I remember. Who is she?”
“An ex.”
“Some reason why he should have mentioned her?” Once again, she set down the spreader and picked up her spoon, taking a bite of yogurt.
“From what I can tell, it was a bad breakup.”
The woman with the buffer chimed in. “Is there ever a good one?”
The three women laughed, as did the client, who was unidentifiable under the mask and shower cap. Heck, for all I knew, it could be Adriana lying there.
Danielle scooped up another quick bite. I was fairly certain she’d inadvertently scooped from the mask bowl, but before I could say anything she’d put the spoon in her mouth and swallowed the pinkish substance. I hoped it wasn’t toxic. She waved the spoon in the air. “He might have mentioned her, but if he did he didn’t make a big deal about it. It must have been a long time ago.”
“One month,” I clarified.
That seemed to get her attention. She held her spoon aloft. “Well, then she must not have meant that much to him.”
Was she right? Had Adriana been just another girl to Ryan? No one special? Had he meant far more to Adriana than she had meant to him? Did this mean Adriana was the one causing the problems? Or had he misled Danielle? Downplayed his previous relationships so she wouldn’t get a strange vibe from him?
“Ryan had some scratches on his neck a few days ago,” I said. “Did you notice them?”
“Yes, I did,” she said.
“Did he tell you how he got them?”
“He had to go underneath an older house to wire it,” she said. “There was a loose board with some nails in it that scratched him up.”
That wasn’t the story Ryan had told me, the officer who’d responded after Adriana allegedly attacked him, or the judge who’d issued the protective order. He might have lied to us. Then again, he might have told a white lie to Danielle in order to avoid the subject of his crazy ex, if indeed he had a crazy ex. No woman would want to have to worry about a dangerous ex-girlfriend coming around, especially if she wasn’t all that into the guy. Ryan might have realized that telling Danielle about Adriana could put an end to things with the two of them.
Danielle must have sensed my skepticism because she said, “He didn’t tell me the truth about the scratches, did he?”
I wasn’t sure what to say here. If Ryan had fibbed to spare Danielle the anxiety and to avoid an awkward conversation, who could blame him? On the other hand, she had a right to know what she might be getting herself into. I decided to err on the side of caution. “He told the police and a judge that his ex had attacked him.”
“Really?” Danielle’s eyes clouded in concern. “If that’s the truth, why wouldn’t he just tell me?”
The manicurist waved her tool at Danielle. “He didn’t tell you about the ex because he didn’t want to scare you off.”
Danielle grunted. “He’s doing a good enough job scaring me off himself.”
The mask had hardened on the client’s face and she could barely move her lips when she spoke. “You better call him on it. Get some straight answers.”
I’d come here hoping to get some straight answers, too, but again they’d eluded me. Rats.
“For what it’s worth,” I told her, “his ex denies that she attacked him.”
She frowned and eyed me intently. “Who do you believe?”
“Between you and me?” I lifted my shoulders. “I’m on the fence.”
“Well, poop,” she said. “If a cop can’t figure it out, how am I supposed to?”
Good question.
Given that Danielle seemed to have no concrete information, I stood to go. I handed her my card. “If Ryan happens to mention anything about her that could be important, please give me a call. This could be nothing, but I’m concerned that his ex might have been the one trying to get into his apartment yesterday.”
Her face clouded in concern. “Do you think she’s dangerous?”
Again, good question. “Honestly, Danielle? I don’t know what to think. All I can say is that where Ryan is concerned, I’d suggest you be very careful.”
* * *
Brigit and I spent the next hour and a half cruising W1. Driving through the medical district, I kept a sharp eye out for a man in green scrubs enjoying a grape Tootsie Pop. I saw none, though there were several people in green scrubs going to and from the hospital parking garages and medical offices.
As we passed the zoo, I slowed. The zoo was one of Brigit’s favorite places to patrol, though there was little call for us to do so. Not much crime happened on the property. As always, my partner lifted her nose to the window to scent the air, to check out what the various animals were up to. From the distance came the trumpet of an elephant. Though they didn’t speak the same language, Brigit nonetheless replied with a bark. Woof-woof-woof! I could only wonder what their exchange meant.
I supposed I could have waited for the leasing agent to call, but at ten that morning I found myself turning into Ryan’s apartment complex. Patience might be a virtue, but so were hard work and dedication, right? I wanted to get this investigation over and done with, to enforce the law against whoever was breaking it. And I couldn’t enforce the law until I figured out who that person was.
I led Brigit with me as I entered the management office. The ginger-haired woman I’d met the prior evening sat at a large desk at the back of the room. She was speaking to a tenant on the phone, advising the person it was a violation of the rules of the complex to hang towels from a balcony to dry. “I understand you were out of quarters for the dryers,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “But that doesn’t change the rules.”
A woman in her mid-thirties sat at a smaller desk perpendicular to the manager’s. She sported dark hair in a loose style that said she was either carefree or didn’t have much time to style it in the mornings. The photos of the two dark-haired schoolchildren on her desk told me it was likely the latter.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked.
“I hope so.” I stepped over to her desk and explained that I was seeking information about the woman who’d come by the preceding day with a gift bag and a bunch of red balloons. “What can you tell me about her?”
“Not much,” the woman said. “I was in a rush to get some paperwork done and the phone was ringing nonstop. I barely looked up when she came in. She said something about wanting to be let into her brother’s apartment to leave him the birthday present. I told her we couldn’t take her into the unit but that she was welcome to leave the gift and balloons with us and we could put a note on his door to come pick them up during business hours. She declined and left.” She shrugged. “That’s it.”
“Do you remember what unit she wanted to get into?”
The woman cocked her head and sucked her lip in thought. “One of the two hundreds, I believe.”
“Does 206 sound right?”
“Could be,” she said. “But I really don’t remember for sure.”
Was it possible this entire thing was only a mix-up? Had the maintenance guy gotten the apartment number wrong? Maybe the girl had come to deliver the gift and balloons to someone other than Ryan. “Did she mention the tenant by name?”
“I don’t think so,” the woman said. “I’d be more likely to remember a name than an apartment number.”
“Did she have any distinguishing characteristics that you remember?” I asked. “Maybe a mole or tattoo or scar?”
The woman slowly shook her head. “Wish I could tell you. Like I said, I was swamped and hardly gave her a second glance.”
I hated to leave here empty-handed, even if it was only with metaphorical empty hands. I wanted some evidence, a clue. And I wanted it now. “Any chance I can impose on you to check your tenants’ birth dates? I’m investigating the matter and I need to figure out whether the woman was trying to illegally gain access to the apartment or whether this was simply an innocent mistake.”
The woman gave me an incredulous look. “You want me to look up every tenant’s birth date?” She gestured out the window. “You can see how many units we’ve got. Two hundred and forty.” As if I were dense, she repeated herself. “Two hundred and forty.”
“I’d only need you to check the birth dates for the male tenants,” I said, hoping that might appease her. After all, the maintenance man said the woman indicated it was her brother’s birthday. “And I don’t need a list of dates or anything like that. I only need to know if one of them had a birthday yesterday.”
She looked over to the manager, who’d just hung up the phone, and told her about my request. The manager cast me an irritated glance and exhaled sharply, but acquiesced. “Go ahead. I’ll order us a pizza for lunch and help you with those credit checks.”
“Thanks,” I told the two. “I really appreciate your help.” I unbuttoned the breast pocket of my uniform where I kept some petty cash, and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Lunch is on me, ladies.”
At that, their expressions brightened. I handed the leasing agent the cash, as well as one of my business cards. “Call me when you have the information, okay?”
“Okay.”
Brigit and I returned to our cruiser. I drove slowly through the lot until I spotted the maintenance man from yesterday working on a loose railing. I pulled up to the curb a few feet away and rolled my window down. “Sorry to interrupt your work,” I called, “but I have a quick follow-up question.”
He made three rotations with his screwdriver and looked over at me. “Shoot.”
“Did the woman with the balloons who came here yesterday refer to Ryan Downey by name, or did she only give his apartment number?”
“Just the number,” he said.
“All right. That’s all I needed. You have a good day.”
He raised the screwdriver in an improvised salute and set back to work.
As I pulled away from the curb, I eyed Brigit in the mirror. “Any ideas, partner?”
She met my eyes, wagged her tail, and woofed. Too bad I didn’t speak dog. As smart as my K-9 partner was, she’d probably have some good suggestions.
I put in a quick call to Detective Bustamente and gave him an update on the investigation. “What now?” I asked.
“If you notice a party-supply store in the area, check in and see if they can tell you anything. The girl might have bought the balloons there.”
“Good idea.” Of course many grocery stores and dollar stores also sold balloons and gift bags, but it was worth a shot.
I pulled out my phone and searched for party-supply stores in Fort Worth. A map popped up showing a dozen or so spread throughout the city. Only one was close to where we now sat. The Par-T Corral. I vaguely remembered the place. My mother had taken all of us kids there to pick out Halloween costumes years ago. I’d chosen a black cat costume. Ironic for a girl who’d later become a K-9 officer, huh?
I aimed the squad car for the Par-T Corral, which, like many businesses in Fort Worth, was western-themed. The days of cattle drives might be long gone, but the city would forever retain its nickname of Cowtown and the cowboy culture that came along with it.
The store sat at the end of a strip center that contained several mom-and-pop type businesses. A bicycle shop. A florist. A small sushi bar. Bells hanging from the door tinkled as I led Brigit inside with me. She stopped to sniff the back end of a colorful donkey-shaped piñata standing near the door. Maybe I’d spoken too soon about how smart my partner is.
We made our way past a display of greeting cards to the front counter where a woman with spiky orange hair flitted about, snipping strands of curling ribbon. She looked up as we approached. “Why hello, puppy!” she called to Brigit. “Aren’t you a furry girl?”
My partner wagged her tail as if to say, Why yes, I am quite furry, thank you for noticing.
As I said hello to the woman, I noticed both the large tank of helium situated behind the counter and the security camera mounted on the wall. “I’m trying to track down a blond woman who bought a bunch of red helium balloons yesterday. Any chance you might be able to help me?”
The woman set the scissors down. “I’ll do my best. I didn’t work yesterday but I can search the system and see what I can find out.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
The woman punched some buttons on her computerized cash register, opened a notebook on the counter, and used a handheld scanner to scan the bar code assigned to red balloons. When she was done with the notebook, she jabbed a final button on the machine. “Nothing’s coming up,” she said. “Is it possible they were purchased the day before?”
I supposed it was possible, though helium balloons tended to lose their buoyancy fairly quickly. I doubted they were purchased any earlier than two days ago.
The woman jabbed a few more buttons. “Nope. We’ve sold a solid blue bunch and several mixed, but none that were red only.”
Dang.
She closed the notebook. “We sell helium canisters, too,” she said. “Some people fill the balloons themselves to save a little money.”
“Can you see if anyone bought a canister along with red balloons?” I asked. “They probably would have been purchased some time in the last week.” I doubted Adriana would have planned any sooner. I assumed that if she was behind the attempt to access Ryan’s apartment, she’d done so to retaliate against him for breaking her window. But who knows.
The woman jabbed some more buttons. “Looks like we sold a helium canister and some red balloons last Friday.”
“How were they paid for?”
“Cash,” she replied.
Cash. The preferred monetary medium of criminals. Illegal tender. “Did the person buy anything else?”
She glanced back at her screen. “Yep. Looks like they also purchased one of those bracelet tattoos. They’re popular with the teen girls.” She gestured to an aisle nearby. “They’re right down there if you want to take a look.”
“I do.”
She circled around the counter and led me down an aisle of party favors. Plastic beads. Bouncy balls. Party blowers. “Here we go.” She gestured to a display of temporary bracelet tattoos. The selections included skulls, shamrocks, a chain of daisies, and one with red hearts. Bingo! I plucked the package with the red heart tattoo from the display. “Is this the one that was purchased?”
“Mm-hm. The ‘Circle of Hearts.’”
I was so close now. Whoever had been at Ryan’s apartment had to be the same person who’d purchased these items. It was too much to write off as mere coincidence.
I looked back at the register, again noting the security camera mounted over the checkout area. If Adriana appeared in the video like I suspected she might, I’d finally have some solid evidence instead of what I had so far, which was diddly-squat. This case could soon be resolved! Woo-hoo!
Brigit looked up at me as if she could smell my excitement. Heck, she probably could. I briefly wondered what excitement might smell like. Cherries, I decided. Or maybe buttercream frosting.
I turned back to the woman and gestured to the security camera on the wall. “Can you show me the video footage from the time the purchase was made?”
The woman glanced back at the camera, then up and down the aisle before leaning in to whisper to me. “Sorry, but I can’t. The camera’s a fake. We installed it as a preventive measure. The real ones cost too much.”
Ugh! “Are there any cameras outside?”
She shook her head. “We’ve got an alarm system, though.”
While an alarm might do them some good if anyone attempted to break into the store, it did absolutely nothing for my investigation, unfortunately.
The three of us returned to the register where I paid the woman for the bracelet tattoo and thanked her for her time.
“You want a copy of the receipt for the balloons and the helium?” she asked.
“That would be great.”
She printed it out and handed it to me. “Have a nice day, Officer.”
“You, too.” With that, Brigit and I exited the store, the bells on the door tinkling behind us. I glanced around outside only to confirm that the woman was right. There were no cameras mounted on the exterior. The bicycle shop next door was closed, but when I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered through the glass I saw no cameras in the shop that might have been aimed at the window and picked up the license plate of the person who’d bought the helium, balloons, and bracelet. I sighed. Oh, well. It had been a long shot, anyway.
As I climbed back into the cruiser, the leasing agent called. “What did you find out?” I asked.
“We have two male tenants with birthdays this week,” she said. “One is on Thursday and the other was this past Sunday. But nobody had a birthday yesterday.”
This information confirmed that the woman who’d come to the complex yesterday had indeed had suspicious intentions. The only other question was whether that woman was Adriana or someone else Ryan knew. Had the guy left a string of broken hearts like Adriana claimed? Was the blond guise some type of sexual role play? Could the blonde have been someone from his comics convention circles? Or a hooker?
I dialed Ryan’s cell phone. He answered on the fifth ring. “Give me a second,” he said after I identified myself. “I’m doing an install and I’ll need to go out to my truck so we can talk in private.”
I held on for a minute or two, listening to the sounds of the phone being jostled about until finally I heard the slam of a vehicle’s door being closed. Ryan returned to the line. “What did you find out?” he asked.
“The leasing agent didn’t get a good look at the woman, either,” I told him. “But she did tell me that none of the male tenants had a birthday yesterday. I was able to confirm where the balloons were sold, but they were paid for in cash and there’s no security-camera footage to show who made the purchase.”
“Dammit!” His words were followed by a muffled sound, as if he’d pounded a fist on his dash. “So you’re not gonna arrest her, are you?”
It was more an accusation than a question. His kazoo voice had become high and he sounded a little fearful. I felt a twinge of guilt. After all, if this woman had already clawed at his throat and was now trying to get into his apartment, who knew what she might be capable of? Then again, maybe Ryan was trying to frame Adriana. Maybe she’d broken his heart and he’d set this whole thing up as a ploy to get her in trouble. Maybe Danielle wasn’t the only girl he was involved with. Again, I wondered if maybe one of those women from the comic book conventions had agreed to do some nonsexual role play for him. Maybe, maybe, maybe. There were far too many maybes. What I wanted—what I needed—were some certainties.
“Without a positive identification or more evidence, I can’t take Adriana into custody,” I told Ryan. “But I’ve got all the officers in W1 keeping a close watch on both her house and your apartment. We’ll do our best to keep you safe.”
He snorted. “Famous last words.”
I put two fingers to my forehead to keep my head from exploding. “For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry we can’t seem to get this resolved.”
“You and me both.”
We ended the call and I sat back in my seat. What now? I decided to call Bustamente with another update and seek his advice.
“Go see Miss Valdez,” he suggested after I’d gotten him up to speed. “Show her the receipt and see if you can get a confession out of her. Be sure to show some empathy. She’s more likely to spill the beans if she thinks you can understand where she’s coming from.”
“Will do. Thanks.” As soon as I hung up on the detective, I called Adriana’s cell phone. “There’s been a development in the case. Can I swing by the rehab center and speak with you?”
She hesitated a moment. “Could we meet at my house during my lunch break? If you come to the center it’ll only feed the gossip mill.”
I agreed to meet her at her house at twelve-fifteen. That gave me an hour to serve and protect the other residents of W1. Also the opportunity to write one of them a ticket for driving fifty-eight miles per hour in a thirty-mph zone.
The guy tried to talk me out of it. “Can’t you just give me a warning?” He smiled up at me as if he thought he was so charming I’d change my mind. “I promise I’ll be good.”
“Warnings are for minor offenses,” I told him. “You were going nearly double the speed limit. Near the zoo no less. There’s kids and families out here. You could’ve killed or seriously injured someone.”
He snatched the ticket from my hand. “You don’t have to be so melodramatic.”
And you don’t have to be such an ass.
After a quick lunch of kale salad and kibble—I had the salad, Brigit had the kibble—my partner and I drove to Adriana’s house to wait for her. She pulled into her driveway at eight minutes after noon. Can’t beat that commute.
I let Brigit out of our cruiser, not bothering to leash her. Adriana could deal with a police K-9 in her yard. While my partner trotted over to the porch to see if her possum friend was around, I met Adriana on the drive, whipped out the receipt, and held it out to her. “What can you tell me about this?”
She looked down at the receipt but didn’t reach for it. “What is it?”
“A receipt from the Par-T Corral. For helium, red balloons, and a temporary tattoo.”
“I’m totally confused.” She lifted her head and looked at my left temple. “What does that receipt have to do with me? Does this have something to do with the ‘false pretenses’ you mentioned yesterday?”
For better or worse, officers are allowed to mislead witnesses during questioning if doing so could lead to evidence. I decided to go that route. “Come on, Adriana. The store has a video camera over the register that recorded the sale. The management is getting the footage ready to send me. If you’re going to show up in the video, you’re much better off coming clean with me right now. We might be able to work out a deal.” I stared her down, willing her to confess.
Her mouth gaped. “You think I bought balloons? And helium? And that I did something with them? Something bad?”
“I think it’s possible.”
For the first time since I’d met her, I saw real, raw emotion. Tears began to well up in her eyes and her shoulders slumped inward. A fresh twinge of guilt puckered my gut. I hadn’t done a good job of showing empathy, had I? And I might have just accused an innocent woman. Ugh!
“Look, Adriana,” I said softly. “No one could blame you for being upset. Ryan hurt you, didn’t he? It would only be natural to want to get back at him. Or maybe to try to force him into a conversation.”
She slowly shook her head. “Whoever it was, whatever they did, it wasn’t me. And knowing you think I could have … I feel so…” She continued to shake her head, as if waiting for the right word to shake out and fall into place. “Wounded,” she said finally.
On hearing the word, I felt as if I’d been sucker-punched in the belly. It hadn’t been her, had it? I’d been wrong to think so.
She blinked back the tears.
“Look,” I said softly. “I’m sorry this has upset you. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of things. I don’t know you or Ryan personally so all I have to go on is the evidence. I’ll continue to look into things, and we’ll have the patrols keep a close eye on your house, okay?”
“Okay,” she said on a hitched breath. She blinked again and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Can I go inside now? I need to get a tissue.”
“Sure.”
As she turned to go, my heart drooped inside me. I’d victimized a victim, made her feel worse, made her feel unsafe and unprotected. I felt like an absolute shit. That’s why, when I received a text from my mother asking if I wanted to go to Wednesday-night mass with her tonight, I replied with a thumbs-up emoji. Some time with Mom might make me feel better.
* * *
“What did you do?” I asked my mother as she climbed into the passenger seat of my Smart Car at a quarter to seven that evening.
She cast me a glance as she buckled her belt. “Nothing. Why?”
“You normally only go to a midweek mass if you’re feeling guilty about something.”
She scoffed. “That’s not true! Sometimes I go if your father and siblings are driving me nuts and I need to get out of the house.”
Evidently this was one of those nights. “If it’ll help, you can have my sip of the communion wine.”
“You’re on to something,” she said. “Let’s skip the mass and get a glass of wine somewhere instead.”
“Mom!”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll go to confession later to ask forgiveness.”
I shrugged. “It’s your soul.”
I drove to her favorite Italian restaurant, where we took seats at a high-top table in the small bar area. When the waitress arrived, my mother ordered a cabernet, while I opted for a Lambrusco. As I looked at my mother across the table, I realized it was one of the only times she and I had been alone together in months, if not years. Hard to get much one-on-one time with your parents when you came from such a big family, especially if you were one of the older children.
“How’s Seth?” Mom asked.
“Good,” I replied. “He’s been helping Frankie get acclimated at the fire station.”
At least my roommate hadn’t had to get used to working nights. She’d worked the night shift in her former job as a stocker at the grocery store.
“He’s a good guy.” My mom cocked her auburn head and eyed me intently. “You think he’s the one?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.” There was that word again. Maybe. “How’d you know Dad was the one?”
“Easy. The thought of settling down with him didn’t make me want to run off and hide.”
The thought of spending the rest of my life with Seth didn’t make me want to run off, either, though I wasn’t anywhere near ready to tie the knot. I enjoyed Seth’s companionship, but I was enjoying my independence, too, thank you very much.
The waitress brought our wine and we each took a sip. I had to admit, it was nice talking with my mother like this, relating to her woman to woman. Heck, I realized then that I hardly knew who she was as a woman. She’d always just been Mom. Maybe it was time I got to know Maureen O’Keefe Luz, the real woman behind the frenzy and freckles.
“You ready for Gabby to get her license?” I asked.
“Yes and no.” She toyed with her cocktail napkin. “Part of me is sad to see my youngest grow up. Another part of me will be glad that not having to shuttle her around anymore will free up some of my time.”
“What are you going to do with that free time?”
While I’d expected her to say she might catch up on her favorite TV shows, binge-watch a sitcom or two, she surprised me by saying, “I’m thinking about going back to school.”
“School? Really?”
Mom had been attending community college when she’d met my father. After they married, they’d begun to reproduce fairly quickly. When she got pregnant with me, she’d dropped out to become a full-time mother.
“I have no idea what I’ll study. I keep trying to remember what I was interested in before all those years of diapers and dioramas and dentist appointments.” She chuckled softly. “Forty-seven years old and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.”
“Well, it’s never too late to figure it out.” I raised my wineglass for a toast. “Here’s to you, Mom.”
We clinked our glasses and sipped our wine.
“Speaking of careers,” I said, “I’ve got a case I can’t figure out.” I told her about Ryan and Adriana and decided it couldn’t hurt to get her perspective. “What do you think?” I asked. “Is it him or is it her?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea. The only thing I know is that you’ll figure it out.”
“Because I’m smart?”
“No. Because you’re stubborn.”
Ah, mothers. Gotta love ’em.