It was 7:30, an hour and a half after the shift ended. Brandon was on a laptop in the duty room, writing the report. He was down to the daughter and her mother, the bitter old woman. He wondered what they did for fun, the two of them. Watch TV? Play cards? Go on and on about the way the neighborhood had gone down—
His phone buzzed. He flipped it open.
“Hey,” Brandon said.
“Hi there. You coming home?”
“Just about out of here. Had a missing kid, right at the end of the shift. Reports to do.”
“What, the kid wander off?” Mia said.
“No. It’s a little baby.”
“That’s weird.”
“Very.”
“One of those custody things?” Mia said.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if anyone else wanted him.”
“Sad.”
“Yes.”
Brandon typed.
“I had a thought,” Mia said.
“Yeah?”
He heard gulls, the slosh of a wake, the floats rattling.
“I just thought maybe when you got home, we could rock the boat a little,” Mia said.
“That would be nice,” Brandon said, picturing her sitting on the foredeck, wrapped in a blanket, cup of coffee in two hands.
“But now it’s too late. I have to go to work.”
“I’m sorry,” Brandon said. “I tried to get out of here.”
“It’s okay,” Mia said. “I understand. A baby.”
Kat walked into the room, caught his eye. Brandon got up from the table.
“Be right there,” he called. Then to the phone, “Sorry, I just have to catch her.”
“It’s okay,” Mia said.
“Home in twenty minutes.”
“Right,” she said, and she flipped off the phone, put it down on the deck. Gulls swooped low, checking to see if maybe there was a muffin with that coffee. Mia wrapped the blanket tighter around her. There was a big sailboat motoring out from the marina next door, a pretty wooden yawl, forty-five feet of gleaming varnish. She sipped, wished Brandon were here to see it. Wished Brandon were just here.
Kat was waiting in the garage, where the cruisers were lined up.
“Let’s take a walk,” Kat said.
They crossed the garage, the German shepherd in the K-9 car pitching a fit as they walked by. On the far side Kat stopped, waited for the dog to settle down.
“Today,” she said.
“What about it?” Brandon said.
“You lost it a little.”
“With Chantelle? She needed to hear it.”
“Right then? From you?”
“It’s true. She’s an irresponsible mother.”
“Yeah, but there’s a time and place.”
“We needed her to focus. That got her attention,” Brandon said.
Kat waited.
“Okay. My turn then. You’ve got issues, Brandon.”
“I don’t think—”
“We all do. Something. But you can’t bring ’em to the job.”
“But she lost her baby.”
“And you came on too strong.”
“What was I supposed to say? ‘It’s only a baby. Let’s do some more drugs.’ ”
“Brandon.”
She grabbed him by the shoulder, turned him toward her.
“I’m trying to help you. I like you. I want you to succeed.”
He didn’t answer.
“Your mom.”
“It was twenty years ago. I’m over it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You a shrink or you my partner?” Brandon said.
“I’m your field training officer. Training, as in teaching. I teach, you learn.”
Brandon looked away.
“Being a parent isn’t a game,” he said.
“Like your mom treated it?”
He swallowed.
“Yeah, maybe. If she’d stayed home with her kid, she’d be alive right now. Instead she goes off on her South Sea pot-smuggling adventure.”
“I understand that,” Kat said. “But here’s what worries me: What if I hadn’t been there today? What if you went to that call alone? Would you have chewed that girl out? Worse?”
“She needed to hear it.”
“She needed help. The baby needs our help.”
Brandon didn’t answer.
“Okay, here’s another thing that worries me, and this isn’t your FTO talking. This is somebody who’s trying to be your friend. Why do you find it so hard to let people in?”
Brandon shrugged. “How I roll.”
“Don’t let anybody close, you don’t get burned, right?”
“Jeez, Kat. You really oughta apply for the shrink’s job at the academy. Big raise, nobody shoots at you.”
“Because it’s true. The keeping people out.”
“I’ve got Mia. I’m not keeping people out.”
“She slipped in and the door slammed shut behind her,” Kat said.
“I thought we were talking about a crackhead on Granite Street.”
“We are. And about how your personal experience affects the way you do your job as a police officer.”
They both paused. A detective walked past the dog and it started up again. The detective nodded, kept walking.
“So what’s yours?” Brandon said.
“My what?” Kat said.
“Your issue. The one you carry around. You said everybody has one.”
“You really want to know?”
“Sure.”
Kat looked away, scowled.
“Okay. Fair enough. My brother . . . he’s three years older.”
“The rich guy.”
“Right.”
“I thought you liked him.”
“He’s fine. We don’t have a lot in common or anything. I mean, he thinks I’m nuts, doing this job.”
“Maybe you are.”
“Well, anyway, growing up, he was smarter than me, better looking, more popular. Harvard on a scholarship, Wall Street; wife is pretty, MBA from Duke. They’ve got two gorgeous little kids. Two-million-dollar house in Connecticut.”
“But can he do a leg hold?”
“Me, I’ve got a one-bedroom apartment, an ex with a gambling addiction who still comes by and cadges money. My cat has three legs and diabetes, meds cost two-fifty a month. And I’m gay.”
“I don’t see how those things are in the same category.”
“They are for my parents,” Kat said. “They’ve written me off as a total loser.”
“Who can run triathlons, wrestle with crackheads, rescue babies from burning houses, and break down a Glock. And your partner is a college professor.”
“Literature. Another waste of time to them.”
“But you’re a good person.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because they don’t love me,” Kat said.
A pause.
“Huh,” Brandon said. “Why’s that? Because you’re a lesbian?”
“No. They didn’t love me before. Me being gay, that’s just a good excuse.”
“Whoa,” Brandon said.
She was looking away, staring at nothing. Her eyes were moist and she blinked, wiped them with a finger. Wiped the finger on her uniform trousers.
She mustered a grin. “How’s that for baggage, Blake?”
He smiled back. “Not bad.”
“Go home to your honey,” she said.
“I’m trying. I got waylaid.”
“I got waylaid, but it’s been a while,” Kat said.
Brandon looked at her. She smacked his arm.
“It’s a joke, Blake,” Kat said. “Lighten up.”