WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 8, PRESENT DAY
“Clare. They’ve got the results.”
Clare roused herself, wincing as she straightened. She had dozed off in some uncomfortable places before, but a plastic chair in the town hall meeting room was definitely in the top ten least pleasant. She scrubbed her face and focused on Hadley Knox. “What time is it?”
“A little after one.”
Clare groaned. “Don’t you have to be at work tomorrow? Today?”
Hadley’s mouth set in a line. “Depends on what the election clerks have to tell us, doesn’t it?”
The jogging stroller next to Clare was empty. “The chief has Ethan.” Hadley thumbed toward the windowed end of the room. Russ was in close conference with Lyle MacAuley, the baby balanced against his shoulder. He’d been arguing most of the past week with his deputy chief, who wanted to quit in solidarity. “Has he talked Lyle off the ledge, yet?”
“The dep’s agreed to stay through the transition. After that … I guess we’ll see.”
The town had treated Russ’s resignation as conditional, while the mayor and board of aldermen did their best to update every voter in the three-town system. There had been meetings, a mailing, e-mails, handouts at the library and the schools, all leading up to today. Yesterday, now. “Where are Hudson and Genny?”
“I sent them home with Granddad. Who knew it took this long to count votes?” The television set on a stand near the aldermen’s platform had long ago called the election for the senate and the house, and given strong odds on their New York state assemblyman. As usual, it wasn’t the person Clare had voted for.
The meeting room held what Clare thought of as the cop contingent, less Margy and Jack Liddle, who had excused themselves early in the evening. “It’s a lose-lose proposition,” Margy had told Clare out of earshot of her son. “I can’t stand to watch.” The two aldermen running for reelection and their opponents were still around, along with a handful of family members. For some reason, the probate judge candidate was still here, despite running unopposed. Maybe he thought the write-ins would beat him?
The election clerk came in, flanked by two volunteers who looked as tired as Clare felt. The clerk looked at the motley gathering. “I’ll skip the state- and district-wide results, shall I?” She consulted the paper in her hand. “For the board of aldermen: Garry Greuling and Ronald Tucker. For judge of probate, Peter Eliot. For question one, dissolution of the police department: yes, one thousand two hundred forty-five; no, three thousand eight hundred twenty-nine.”
Hadley let out a huff of air that might have been relief or sorrow. Clare turned toward Russ. Behind her she could hear sounds of happiness and disappointment, all muffled with the fatigue that layered itself over the room. She crossed the floor, keeping her eyes on her husband. He looked … tired, in a way that had nothing to do with the hour.
“I still think we should sue,” Lyle was saying. “We never got a good answer on whether this is legal or not.”
Russ held up his hand. “We’ve got enough going on the lawsuit front. Let it be.”
Clare tilted her head back. “How are you doing?”
“This was the outcome I wanted. The department is still here. And fully funded.”
She nodded. When he figured out how he felt, he would tell her. In the meanwhile … “You want me to take him?”
“No.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Ethan’s face. “He’s my emotional support baby.”
Lyle snorted.
Hadley joined them. “Chief.” She worried her lower lip. Took a breath. “I’d like to submit my resignation—”
“Denied,” he said.
“But, Chief! If it wasn’t for that damn lawsuit—”
“Knox. Hadley.” Russ shook his head. “Asking for my resignation had nothing to do with you, your ex, your reputation, or anything else you’re worried might be a failing.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “You’re a good cop. I want you to stay on the job and keep being a good cop.”
She nodded. Her chin quivered. “Yes, Chief. Thank you—” Her voice broke. “—for giving me the chance.” She spun around and quick-walked toward the door, wiping at her face.
“Keep an eye out for her, Lyle.”
“I will.”
Russ’s mouth turned up in a half-smile. “And take good care of my department. Okay?”
“Goddammit.” Lyle fished a tissue out of his pocket and blew his nose. “You’re not going to get me to cry, you sonuvabitch.”
They had left their car at home. They walked along the cracked and whole sidewalks, past the dark windows of the Main Street shops, Russ pushing Ethan’s stroller. The temperature outside AllBanc read thirty-two degrees. Another winter on the way.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Russ gave her a look. “Save it. We’ll need it.”
She rolled her eyes. “We’ve got my salary and your army pension. We’ll be fine.” She didn’t add until you get another job. Russ had avoided every conversation on that subject.
They turned onto Church Street. A burst of red and white caused them both to stop. An MKPD car flashed passed them, light bar whirling. “Huh.” Russ pushed the stroller forward. Clare fell into step beside him. “Must be an accident. Yeah, there he goes toward Route 57. Maybe the Algonquin Waters has burned down.”
Clare pursed her lips. Tried out and rejected the first responses that came to mind. Finally she said, “Who was it?”
“Eric. If it was Paul, he would have been blaring the sirens despite the empty streets.” He shook his head. “Well. He’s not my problem anymore.” He stopped again. Stood still beneath the old Rexall sign.
Clare put her hand on his arm. “Russ?” She loosened his grip on Ethan’s stroller and took his hand in hers. His skin was cold. “Love?”
He tilted his head back. “I just wanted to take care of my town. When I took this job, I knew it wasn’t going to be, I don’t know, glamorous and exciting.” He looked down at her. “It did turn out to be more exciting than I planned.”
She smiled a little.
“Did I do the right thing, Clare? I wanted to take care of my people and do right by the town. Should I have waited? Seen how the vote went?”
“I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Maybe it’s like jumping in front of a gun. Is it the best choice? Maybe not. But at least you’re the only one who gets hurt.”
He rubbed over the spot where, beneath his coat and shirt, he carried a scar from the bullet that nearly ended his life. “Every day since I was twenty-one I’ve gotten up in the morning and I’ve been a cop. Who am I going to be when I get up tomorrow morning?”
She stepped back. Took his hand and set it on the stroller handle. “I don’t know that, either. Let’s go home. Get up in the morning. And start figuring out the rest of our lives.”