“Marriage: A word which should be pronounced ‘mirage’.”
- Herbert Spencer
Someone was at the door. Meryl wrapped her bathrobe tightly, preparing for Ethan’s anger before she answered. I don’t know and I don’t care who set your stupid car on fire.
Or maybe she should just pretend she didn’t see it. That would be a hard sell given the sirens and flashing lights.
Revved up, she threw open the door. It was the same tall, rangy uniformed Kirkland police officer who’d been here two days ago. Officer Richer. “Sorry to bother you Mrs. Howe. I know you’re going through a lot but it seems that your husband’s vehicle spontaneously combusted. I glossed over the incident the other night but this one...” He cocked his head, raising an eyebrow.
Meryl’s hand went to the neck of her bathrobe. She couldn’t see his eyes under his hat but his voice was rather bemused. “Do you really think I set Ethan’s car on fire?”
He smiled, which was charming and supremely irritating. “You know, in detective school, they teach us if it looks like a rat and smells like a rat, then it probably is a rat.”
“Are you calling me a rat?”
“No ma’am, I’m calling you an arsonist.”
“Don’t you yes ma’am me. We’re the same age.”
“It’s called being polite.”
“You think it’s polite knocking on someone’s door and accusing them of arson? I call that rude.”
This was not the same woman he met the other night. Same face, same body but good lord almighty, when her back was against the wall, this woman fought. “I’m just doing my job.”
“So was Hitler.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t really get the connection there so I’m just going to ignore it.” He stepped back, nodding toward the street. “I just interviewed eight people who told me about the confrontation in front of Ms. Keller’s house. In case you’ve forgotten, in some grim twist of fate, I also saw your little signature on your husband’s left arm. So I am here, Ms. Howe, wondering what you’re going to say about all this.”
Half way through, he took off his hat, tiredly running his hand through his thick reddish hair.
Meryl felt like slamming the door in his face. “My signature? Are you crazy? I might be mad at him and yes, in the heat of the moment, I did throw a bottle but that ridiculously expensive car is half mine. Why would I set it on fire?”
Sam cocked his head. “He’s living next door, isn’t he?”
Meryl rolled his eyes. “This is insane!”
He cocked his head. “I do have to have a statement here. And the word insane isn’t going into the report so come up with something else, alright?”
Meryl looked him directly in the eyes. “Don’t boss me around.”
He had to laugh. “I’m a police officer.”
“Well, bully for you. I bet your mother is so proud.”
He put his hands up in defeat. “I’ll tell you what. I’m leaving now. If you weren’t…” he was going to say, “So pretty,” which would have been nearly the stupidest thing he’d ever uttered on duty.
“If I wasn’t what?”
He spoke through gritted teeth. “If you weren’t obviously under a great deal of stress I’d cite you for impeding an investigation.” He turned, talking over his shoulder as he left. “We’ll talk later. At the station where it’s safe.”
She ran outside, tiptoeing gingerly on the bitterly cold pavement. She dashed in front, blocking his way.
“I didn’t do it. Honestly. That’s my statement. I saw the car burning and did not call 9-1-1, which is probably wrong. I should have. But seriously, put yourself in my shoes. The car was a ball of flames.”
Sam couldn’t help but grin as she danced around in the bathrobe, trying to keep warm. “I didn’t hear that last part. You didn’t do it. That’s what goes in the record. By the way, I left out the part about the seventeen stitches in his arm. You can thank me later.”
This time there was no hesitation. “I did do that. And I’m glad.”
Sam shook his head. “You’re really hell bent on incriminating yourself, aren’t you? Why don’t we talk about that one tomorrow?” He fished out a card. “That’s my number at the precinct. You can come on in or I can come back here.”
Meryl felt a sudden urge to explain herself. Before her tired brain had time to catch up, she blurted, “Do you want some coffee?”
Sam eyed her robe, shaking his head. “No, I’ve got to finish things up outside.”
Meryl made a quick calculation about how fast she could get dressed, clean up the living room and make coffee. “I know this all looks really bad but this actually is the best time for me. The kids are asleep. Tomorrow I have to start looking for a job and figure out if I can keep this house.” She wrapped the bathrobe even tighter. “I even have a couple of brownies left over.”
Sam scratched his neck. “You do realize that it’s nearly midnight?”
She hopped from foot to foot to keep warm, her breath fogging. “I do. But my life just got very complicated and I’m trying to keep my head above water.” She pulled the robe tighter. “I need a cup of coffee too.”
She was appealing, no doubt about it. She had a sort of a steel magnolia kind of thing going on. Keeping his head above water was exactly how it felt after his wife died. But he’d been warned, after the budget cuts hit and he lost his partner to the recession, never to put himself into precarious situations with lonely, vulnerable women. And this one was beautiful. Oh what the hell. It’ll save me a trip tomorrow.
“Alright, gimme twenty minutes. I might bring someone with me.”
“Thank you.” Meryl dashed inside.
Sam approached the last two neighbors. They were watching the firemen clean up. As he walked, he came up with five solid reasons why he should get into his car and call it a night. After questioning Diane and Sandy, he could list five more.
***
It was fun. That’s what struck Sam about sitting in Meryl’s living room, listening to her, eating brownies and forgetting, for a little while, his own problems. She spoke eloquently and with insight, about things she had just realized in the last few days. While she’d been furiously raising money for Children’s Hospital, her husband’s company was dying. Deals failed, partnerships ended. Nothing he tried worked. Exhausted, he’d stopped talking. She’d quit listening.
Meryl stared at Sam, her pupils glowing black velvet in their green orb. “You don’t need to hear this. I’m sorry.”
He took another brownie, thinking he should steer this back onto professional ground but he was losing himself in something other than fishing or football. He was enjoying a conversation with an intelligent, attractive woman. This happened – never.
“No, I want to hear it.” This conversation was wrong on so many levels but he was tired of being the anchor. Sometimes it felt good just to float.
Now she was talking about her daughter, who was in an expensive private school, Forest Ridge or something. She didn’t know how she’d pay tuition.
It was funny, Sam thought. Over twenty years working the night shift, sad stories had never been interesting, not really. It was work. He always kept a close eye on his watch, aware of being back in his car, available for the next call, the next possibility. Sure, he felt compassion and sometimes even moved but it wasn’t personal. This living room, with its stone fireplace, white-curtained windows, felt like an island. The flickering fire, the heavy carpeted silence, Meryl balancing a coffee cup on her knee; they could be in a snowstorm, sharing something private.
He didn’t want to talk but something in his mind melted, as he ate one brownie after another. Watching his wife die of cancer had left him angry at first but now he saw life differently. He could afford to be philosophical, he was a cop. He wasn’t the one in trouble anymore.
“You sound like you almost knew this was coming.” His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“Yes, well, sadly, I come from a long line of divorcees. I just thought,” her voice caught, “it wouldn’t be me.” She didn’t mention that the long line of divorces were all one person.
“Maybe it won’t.” The words came out like peanut butter, extra chunky.
She avoided his eyes. “Do you want some water?”
He laughed although he didn’t know why. His mouth was parched, stuck. “Please. Yes. I’m sorry. I sort of drifted off a little bit back there.”
She shook her head, giggling. “I know. This is such a pathetic drama. I feel like the oldest, ugliest Kardashian.” She returned from the kitchen with two glasses.
He drank the water at once, wondering what to do with the empty glass. This wasn’t the kind of place you could just plop your glass anywhere. “What is a Kardashian?”
She laughed. “Never mind.”
“Cut yourself some slack. You didn’t do anything.”
“I threw my husband a hell of a curve.” She mimicked throwing the champagne bottle with a hard right. “Who knew Pilates would lead to seventeen stitches?” He thought maybe Pilates had something to do with Kardashians. They both giggled, relaxing into the deep cushions.
“Okay, okay. Too much information. Despite appearances to the contrary, I am on duty.” He stood up, straightened his uniform. “I should go.” They hadn’t discussed the car fire but he was in no shape to talk now.
She handed him another brownie. He swallowed it in two bites, laughing so hard he had to brace himself on a chair.
“You should go!” Her scream was hysterically high. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she whispered. “Shhhhhh. The kids. We’ll wake up the kids.”
“The kids.” He leaned over her, whispering. “Do you know I run an anti-drug program at Juanita High School? It’s true. It’s very good. I show these horrible after meth pictures. Get it? It’s like aftermath but-”
“Got it.” Her nod was that of a Bobble Head.
His face grew serious for a moment before another wide smile appeared. “Those poor meth heads. One bad night and poof, there goes your brain.” He pointed to his straight white teeth. “You should see what it does your teeth. They turn black.” He couldn’t stop laughing. “And your skin. Wait, not your skin. Their skin.” He tried for a straight face. “This is a serious, tragic subject. I’m sorry. Why am I laughing? Drug addiction is sad.” He attempted to arrange his face into something sober but sputtered into gales of laughter.
Meryl laughed until she fell off the couch. They both managed to keep it together until she repeated, “One bad night and poof, there goes your brain!” with wide eyes and a staged, hoarse whisper. “You sound like a bad documentary.” She made her voice sound theatrical. “This is your brain. This is your brain on drugs. Remember that? The fried egg?”
They both laughed so hard, leaning on one another, shoulders touching. When the laughter trailed off, they’d wipe their eyes and look at one another, setting off another bout of laughter.
“This is soooo not politically correct!” Meryl wailed.
“I know!” Sam wiped a tear from his eye. “It’s terrible! I’m a police officer.”
When they both managed to stop, Meryl was holding Sam’s arm for support. He looked down, suddenly aware of the pressure. She was staring at him, intently. Her eyes were so pretty.
She removed the arm, picked brownie crumb from her knee. “When did you know that you wanted to be a cop?”
He snorted with laughter. “I was seven. Can you imagine? What kind of kid decides on a career when they still believe in the tooth fairy?”
“Little tiny cops?”
He showed her his size. His pot-addled brain reckoned that he was about two inches. “Tiny ones. Yeah. I got caught shoplifting a candy bar and the Korean guy who owned the store ran outside screaming in Korean and brought back this cop. I can still remember what the guy looked like. Big black guy, Officer Wayne. Officer Wayne said ‘son, there’s two kinds of people in the world, those that take for themselves and those that give. What kind of man are you gonna be?’”
“That’s all it took?”
“No. Get this: someone tried to rob the place. Can you imagine? A thief so dumb he doesn’t notice a six foot tall 250 pound uniformed cop?”
“And you saw the whole thing?”
“Like it was in slow motion. It was just like TV. Or at least that’s what I told all my friends. Seeing Officer Wayne take down the bad guy with one hand on his gun, cool as an ice cube, saying he’d do what he could for him if he put his gun on the counter by the time he was done counting to three. The guy listened and that was that.”
“So you became a cop.” Her eyes were glassy.
“So I became a cop.”
“That’s a good story,” she said, barely aware of what she was saying.
“I think so.” He leaned into her, mesmerized.
Their heads were a few inches apart. He lowered his head and without thinking, kissed her. She tasted like brownies and wine. He had no idea how long the kiss lasted but something in his brain fought for control. She was kissing him back. He put his arm around her. Somewhere in the back of his brain his training asserted itself. He was at work. She was married. He pulled back, heart thudding.
Sam tried organizing his thoughts but they flitted around like barn swallows. “I’m sorry.” He stumbled toward bathroom where he drank several cups of water, washed his face.
After a few minutes, he stepped into the foyers warm yellow light. “I think I’m coming down with something, which would explain-”
Meryl stood alongside a slight teen whose hair glistened with raindrops. The girl wore a fancy jacket and ripped jeans. No piercings or weird jewelry.
“Nathalie this is Office Richer. He’s just leaving.” Ethan called this her teacher lady voice. “You and I are going upstairs to have a chat. You were grounded and you left without asking young lady.”
Nathalie rolled her eyes. “Okay…” She drew out the word with sarcastic flippancy.
The cop, Nathalie noticed, was blinking a lot. Under his hat brim, his eyes were red; he wiped them with the back of his hand. Her mom was going on about her dad’s car but Nathalie wasn’t paying attention. She moved slightly to the left, until she could see into the living room. On the table was a plate with a single remaining brownie. A green plate. Her face paled, cockiness evaporating.
“Nice to meet you,” she muttered to Sam before bolting up the stairs two at a time.
“Nice kid,” Sam lied.
“Thank you.” Did she really kiss him? Or was her unreliable brain telescoping into the future? And Nathalie, dragging herself in from God knows where with God knows who. What a mess.
Sam fidgeted awkwardly with his radio buttons. “I’m doing the arson investigation for your, um, your husband’s car, so I guess I’ll be around.”
She coughed, unsure of what to say. “I hope you find out who did it.”
Cross-legged on her bed, Nathalie sent a text to Denny: Mom & random cop 8 Berkley Bum Brownies. Fried. 2 funny. She thought about forwarding it to Zoe before realizing she was holding Zoe’s Iphone. Just for laughs, she sent it to Zoe’s old Disney phone. She knew the number which was crazy. Three years ago was ancient history.