A block before he reached Yolanda’s address in the town’s older section, Derek spotted a middle-aged couple on the sidewalk carrying a covered dish. They, too, it appeared, were heading for Yolanda’s, and judging by the number of cars parked beneath the palms and jacarandas, most of the other guests had already arrived.
Many of the people gathered in front of Yolanda’s white-stucco fourplex looked familiar. Through the windshield, he picked out several coworkers from the PD, a couple of center volunteers and young Ben Lyons. No sign of Vince Borrego, who’d probably chosen to spend the occasion with his daughter’s family.
Makeshift tables covered with holiday-themed cloths dotted the yard, flanked by an assortment of folding chairs. The weather was sunny and crisp, and while many guests wore sweaters or jackets, others sported the shorts and tank tops that typified Southern California attire year-round.
As he cruised past, Derek caught sight of Marta talking to Tracy Johnson. He wished Yolanda hadn’t invited the reporter, since her presence meant he needed to guard his tongue. Of course, he’d have to do that anyway.
His annoyance disappeared when he heard Marta laughing at the antics of some children. To Derek, her delight lit up the yard. Inviting her to Christmas had been a terrific idea, he reflected as he hunted for a free spot along the curb. He loathed trying to pretend he felt comfortable with his family as they shared jokes he didn’t get and referred to outings in which he hadn’t participated.
He’d taken a stab at understanding them when, after his diagnosis, the chief had insisted on a couple of sessions with a psychologist. As the wife of a retired firefighter, Dr. Eugenia Wrigley appreciated the stresses on rescue personnel, and with her help, he’d grasped how young and immature his parents must have been when he was born. Also that compliant children like his brother and sister had been a lot easier to raise than their defiant older brother.
Those perceptions had diluted Derek’s anger, although they’d failed to bridge the gap between him and his family. Besides, the sessions had focused primarily on adjusting to Parkinson’s and to his reassignment. While Dr. Wrigley had smoothed his transition, she couldn’t work miracles.
Derek found a free space around the corner. As he walked, he inhaled delicious scents and heard voices drifting from windows. Other families in the neighborhood must be celebrating as well.
Usually, witnessing the close connections of others left him with a hollow, irritable feeling. Not today. He simply looked forward to sharing the event with Marta.
In a corner yard, a kitten poked its nose out of a bush. Derek broke stride. Ginger-striped and tiny, the animal looked too young to be out on its own. Suddenly, in one sinuous movement, a large gray cat swooped down on the kitten and plucked it up by the neck. Mom to the rescue. No outside assistance required.
He continued around the corner and was almost at the fourplex when he nearly got clobbered in the shins. The perpetrator was a boy of about three, zooming on a tricycle.
“Whoa!” Derek sidestepped barely in time to avoid a collision. He glanced around for a parent or sitter, but no one at the fourplex appeared to be paying heed.
The kid wheeled to the corner, reversed course and began pedaling back at full speed. Someone might get hurt, either the kid or whoever he slammed into, particularly if it was an elderly person. Derek’s illness had increased his awareness of the dangers posed by rambunctious youngsters.
“Slow down!” A couple of fast strides and he caught the boy’s handlebars, pacing by the side as the trike eased to a halt. “Where’s your mom?”
“At work.” The little boy regarded him boldly.
“Who’s watching you?”
A girl of about six ran by on the lawn, chasing another girl. “Our brother. Good luck finding him!” Off she went.
“Who’re you?” The little boy stared up from the seat.
“Officer Reed.” Best to identify himself as an authority figure. This kid didn’t seem easily abashed.
“You gonna bust me?” That seemed rather precocious for a preschooler.
“No. Just trying to prevent you from knocking people over,” Derek said.
The boy wasn’t in danger with so many adults around, although he certainly needed better supervision. About to go in search of Yolanda, Derek saw a skinny, half-grown boy lope toward them.
He and Tom Bernardi recognized each other from the tutoring center at almost the same moment. “Oh, hi,” the ten-year-old said.
Their mother had left this youngster in charge of a tot? Struggling single mom, oldest son in jail, kids raising kids. He wondered where the father was.
“Hi.” Deciding that a lecture was a poor way to start a relationship, Derek stuck to the facts. “This little ruffian nearly bowled me over.”
“That’s Boris.”
“Boris? Unusual name,” he observed.
“Yeah, his dad’s Russian or something. His and Kaylie’s.” Tom eyed Derek warily, as if anticipating a snide remark about their different fathers.
Best not to comment. Instead, he asked, “What’s to eat?”
“There are chips and dips over there.” Tom indicated a side table.
“Great.” Derek strode over with the two boys trailing him.
En route, he exchanged greetings with other guests. Marta, however, must have gone inside, and he didn’t see Yolanda.
Derek piled chips, cut vegetables and ranch-style dip onto a paper plate. “This is perfect. Thanks for steering me.”
Tom passed a couple of chips to his brother. “Mrs. Rios says you’re gonna tutor me.”
“Okay with you?”
A nod. “So you’re a cop?”
Derek conceded the point. “Right now I work in community relations. Visit schools, coordinate programs and try to keep people safe.”
Boris peered through a fringe of blond hair. “You got a gun?”
“Yes.” Despite the peaceful nature of his position, Derek was required to carry a firearm.
“Can I see it?” Tom asked eagerly.
Derek didn’t consider a weapon to be a curiosity piece. “Not right now. If your mom approves, one day I’ll take you to a shooting range.” Knowledge of gun safety encouraged respect for arms, in his opinion.
“Cool!” Tom declared.
Much as he appreciated getting acquainted with his student, Derek had run out of topics. He wished Marta would come outside. Judging by the aroma wafting through the window, someone had removed corn bread from the oven. “Is your mom missing dinner?”
“She should be here soon.” Tom frowned. “She promised.”
On tiptoe, Boris groped into the chip bowl. Then, clutching a handful of chips, the smaller boy trotted toward Ben Lyons, who’d been pressed into service to set up folding chairs. “See you later,” Tom called, and followed.
The two boys seemed drawn to any older male in the vicinity, Derek reflected. He understood Yolanda’s eagerness to assign Tom a male tutor.
A voice nearby deflected his attention to Frank Ferguson, who was helping himself to cheese puffs. “Good to see you here, Derek.”
“Thanks. You too.”
The detective captain’s single status probably explained his participating in a potluck Thanksgiving meal. “Congratulations on joining the center,” he said. “That should be good for the department’s image.”
“I hope so.” Although he’d worked closely with Frank in the past, Derek hesitated to reveal his plan to spy on Vince. He didn’t anticipate trouble about exceeding his job description, but if his plan bore no results, he preferred to get as little egg on his face as possible.
“You should meet lots of single gals there.” Obviously, the captain put his own interpretation on Derek’s motives. “Guess you’ve run through the nurses by now.”
Although Derek used to enjoy his playboy image, it had begun to grate. Since the evening with Marta, Derek felt embarrassed about that pleasure-seeking, insensitive persona—especially since his reputation had discouraged her from continuing their affair.
Still, he’d rather not discuss such a personal topic. “Exactly,” he responded.
The last thing he wanted was to let anyone at work suspect that he’d changed. He preferred for whatever was developing between him and Marta to remain out of the spotlight.
At last she emerged from the fourplex, carrying a plate piled with corn bread squares. The sun picked out red highlights in the soft brown hair floating around her shoulders.
In an embroidered peasant blouse and a ruffled turquoise skirt, she projected a cheerful freshness. Several guys were watching her with interest, Derek noticed with an unfamiliar spurt of possessiveness.
Marta stopped to speak to Ben. As Derek approached, she was explaining that Tom’s mother had suffered car trouble at the hospital. “Would you mind picking her up, Ben?”
“I’d go, except my car’s been acting up, too,” the young man said apologetically. “I’m not sure how I’m going to get to classes this week, let alone deliver pizzas.”
Frank beat Derek to the punch in offering his services. “I’ll fetch the lady if you’ll come along to point her out.” When Ben hesitated, he added, “And we can talk about borrowing some wheels for you. Your dad drives a staff car most days. I could speak to him about lending you his personal vehicle.”
“He’d never do that,” Ben scoffed.
“You should give your father more credit.”
Ben frowned. “Well, I sure could use a car.” As Frank shepherded the young man away, Derek appreciated the captain’s effort to smooth over the rift between the chief and his son.
“Vince’s teaching me how to tune cars,” announced Tom, who’d stayed behind. “Maybe he’ll fix my mom’s for her.”
“Think you might be a mechanic someday?” Derek inquired
“Maybe.” The boy considered. “Does that involve math?”
“What do you think?”
Tom shrugged. “I guess so.”
“You bet it does.” Fortunately, the lad didn’t request details. Auto repair wasn’t one of Derek’s skills, although he could have invented a problem involving miles per gallon.
The tinkle of a china bell silenced the chattering in the yard. “Dinner’s served!” Yolanda called. “Please form two lines, one on each side of the serving table. No shoving, kids! There’s plenty to eat.”
Tom scooted off with his little brother. Marta accompanied Derek toward one of the lines snaking through the yard.
“You have a knack for connecting with that boy. You’re mellowing, Sarge.” When she brushed his arm, Derek had an impulse to touch her in return. Then, catching Connie’s speculative gaze on them, he reluctantly put a little space between himself and Marta.
“If I’m less of an ogre, that’s your influence.” True enough.
Tracy Johnson fell into place behind them in line. Derek addressed the reporter. “Searching for news or simply enjoying the holiday?”
“Like you, I’m never entirely off duty, but I try not to let that cramp my style,” she replied. “Say, I missed the details of your auction date. How did it go, you two?”
“We survived,” he said dryly.
“And we’re still on speaking terms,” Marta added.
“Who’d have imagined a bachelor auction could have such romantic results? I hear Andie O’Reilly’s gone out three times with her lawyer.” Tracy obviously kept her ear to the ground. “Maybe I should write a follow-up article.”
Derek hoped not. “Planning to include yourself?”
The reporter responded with an uncharacteristic blush. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Peering past them, she uttered a startled, “Speaking of bachelors!”
Joel marched into the yard, one hand shading his eyes as he scanned the crowd. He must have just finished watch-commander duty.
“His family lives around here. Why isn’t he with them?” Marta mused aloud.
Tracy vibrated in place and finally, as if unable to contain herself, waved. With a grin, Joel loped toward her.
Well, well, Derek thought. For all his protestations, the guy must have forgiven Tracy for that article. The basketball tickets hadn’t hurt, but they didn’t account for the fondness on the guy’s face.
Joel slowed as he acknowledged Derek and Marta’s presence. “Oh, hey. I was driving by and smelled food. Mind if I join you?”
“If the people behind us don’t object.” Marta soon received good-natured permission.
“What brings you here?” Joel asked Tracy, although Derek strongly suspected this meeting had been prearranged.
Her features relaxed into a smile. “Gee, I’m not sure.”
“Nowhere else to go?” he teased.
“Too many enemies.” She pretended to agree.
“You haven’t ticked off anybody here?” He folded his arms.
“I’ve ticked off practically everyone here. Maybe I should hire a bodyguard.” She widened her eyes. “Know anyone with that kind of training?”
“You mean a Rambo who hunts helpless little animals?”
“Precisely.”
Derek and Marta exchanged amused glances at the discovery that this pair had turned their earlier conflict into a source of humor. Amazing that they’d rebounded from a falling-out that would have doomed most relationships.
Around the yard, good spirits prevailed as the guests piled their plates or waited patiently. Connie and Hale were serving Skip, a teenage boy and girl stole kisses whenever their parents didn’t appear to be watching, and Yolanda observed the whole setting with an air of satisfaction.
The strangest feeling crept over Derek as he listened to the banter between his pal and the reporter and as the breeze persuaded Marta to shift into the shelter of his larger body. A sense that he belonged here with these people. He suspended all worries about his illness, about the future and about his ability to strike a balance between his moodiness and his desire to be with Marta.
For one day, Derek simply allowed himself to be happy.
*
If Marta had her way, a fairy godmother would whisk her and Derek to a desert island. Although she cherished her friends and acquaintances, did they have to keep interrupting?
No sooner were the two of them seated at a table with Joel and Tracy than Connie’s mother arrived. She cooed over Marta’s Mexican peasant skirt and blouse while sizing up Derek.
Looking much younger than her fifty-seven years, the wealthy divorcée exuded glamour. Marta thanked her aunt again for the makeover and new dress, and introduced the man who’d been the object.
“Money well spent, obviously,” Anna responded. “So, are you young folks an item now?”
Marta nearly choked on a bite of sweet potato. Thank goodness Skip chose that moment to accost his grandmother. “Gramma Anna! Mom says I can have pie if you help me cut it.”
Silently, Marta blessed her cousin, whom she was certain had engineered Skip’s interruption. “Sorry about that,” she told Derek when Skip had tugged Anna out of earshot.
“Hey, I’m flattered.” Usually he tensed when anyone fussed over him, but the food must have tempered his spirits.
Marta took another bite of her food, the portions smaller than usual. Ironically, a full stomach seemed to soothe the indigestion that had bothered her for the past few weeks, as a result of which she’d overindulged in her favorite comfort foods and put on a couple of extra pounds.
She’d finished her turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and green beans by the time Ben and Frank arrived with Nina Bernardi. The nurse, whose deeply lined skin reflected her heavy smoking, hugged her younger children and thanked Tom for watching them.
The boy drew himself up straight and glanced at Derek as if hoping he’d heard. Derek smiled in approval, and, eager to show how helpful he could be, Tom hurried to fix iced tea for his mother.
“Like I said, you’ve sure gotten through to Tom.” Marta smiled. “Having you as a mentor could make a huge difference to him.”
She’d never met Tom’s dad or the subsequent boyfriend who’d fathered Kaylie and Boris. In fact, she’d first met the boy a mere six weeks ago, after his mother rented the remodeled apartment. The first day Yolanda brought him to the tutoring center, his hunched shoulders and averted gaze had testified to his low self-esteem.
“Still see parallels to yourself?” Marta asked.
“He’s more open about his needs than I used to be,” Derek admitted. “I never let anyone see my vulnerabilities.”
“Even now?”
“Confessions aren’t my style.” He regarded his nearly empty plate. “I’m ready for seconds. Can I fetch you anything?”
Marta’s stomach had resumed churning. She decided to withdraw and take an antacid. “No, thanks. I’d better pop into the kitchen. I’m not sure if I remembered to switch off the oven.”
“You’d better not start cleaning up, not after all the work you’ve done already,” Tracy objected.
“There’s a designated crew, and I’m pleased to say I’m not on it. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” She hurried off, unsure why she didn’t simply tell them about her indigestion.
Perhaps because that didn’t seem polite. And because Derek wasn’t the only person who preferred not to wear his weaknesses on his sleeve.
Marta navigated between crowded tables. While children had resumed playing on the sidewalk, the adults lingered over their meals. Double and triple helpings of dessert paid tribute to the bountiful offerings of pies, cakes, brownies and cookies.
In the kitchen, turkey carcasses lay on cutting boards, flanked by other remnants of meal preparation: a bowl rimmed with bits of stuffing, beaters encrusted with mashed potato and a pot in which leftover gravy congealed. Marta’s innards rebelled.
The sight of Yolanda entering with an almost empty bowl of Brussels sprouts proved to be the last straw. Unable to stammer an excuse, she plunged through an inner doorway and beelined for the bathroom.
How humiliating. She hadn’t lost a meal since a bout with flu years earlier.
After throwing up, Marta rinsed her mouth. She scrabbled inside her purse for the roll of antacids she’d begun carrying.
A slice of pumpkin pie ought to settle the sourness, she reflected as she emerged. To her surprise, Yolanda stood waiting in the hall.
“We’d better talk.” The older woman watched her worriedly.
Marta’s throat constricted. “What’s wrong?”
“Let’s go find some privacy.”
Marta trailed the older woman into a bedroom-turned-den. Yolanda gestured her to a love seat. “I’m aware that this qualifies as none of my business, but since you don’t have a mother and your two closest friends are busy with their new marriages, I’m appointing myself your confidante.”
“About what?” Subliminally, though, Marta already suspected the answer. And dreaded it.
“I’m not sitting in judgment on whatever happened between you and Sergeant Reed last month.” Yolanda brushed a shock of white-laced black hair from her forehead. “By the way, if you two behaved like a pair of saints, I’m completely off track and I apologize.”
Marta laced her fingers in her lap. She couldn’t be pregnant. Not when she was finally getting her education on track after a decade-long interruption. And not by Derek who, despite his recent affability, remained the most unlikely husband prospect she knew.
“We used precautions,” she mumbled, although aware that wasn’t entirely true.
“The only one hundred percent precaution is abstinence.” Yolanda sounded like a sex-education video. “Let’s get practical. How late is your period?”
“My periods aren’t regular.” The accident, surgeries and medications had wreaked havoc with Marta’s hormones. “I was afraid I might not be fertile.”
Yolanda leaned forward from her chair. “Would giving birth put you in danger? Because of your injuries, I mean.”
“No. Thank goodness.” Marta’s voice broke. She hated the hot surge of tears that slid down her cheeks.
“Have you taken a pregnancy test?” Yolanda asked gently.
“No.”
“That’s your first step.” A sigh. “If it’s positive, what will you do?”
“I couldn’t…” Couldn’t tell Derek? The pregnancy would begin to show soon enough. And even if it were possible, Marta refused to deceive him about such an important matter. “I don’t know.”
“We’ll get through this.” Yolanda’s reassuring voice reminded her of her mother. If only her mom were alive—a thought that spurred more tears. “Lots of families are desperate to adopt, if you choose that route.”
“I—” Marta broke off. No sense putting the cart before the horse, as Mom used to say. “Do you suppose there’s a drugstore open on Thanksgiving?”
“I’m sure there is.” The older woman waited sympathetically.
“I’ll say goodbye to my friends.” Yet Marta didn’t dare go outside with tearstains on her cheeks. Even if she managed to scrub away the worst of the evidence, her distress would be obvious. “No. I can’t face them. I parked in back. Will you forgive me if I sneak out?”
“Of course. I’ll make some excuse. There’s the ever-popular crashing headache,” her hostess suggested. “For credibility, it beats an abduction by space aliens.”
“Thanks.” Marta smiled wanly and collected her purse. “I’ve always been able to talk to my friends, but right now I don’t feel like confiding in anyone except you.”
“I’m honored.” Yolanda accompanied her to the rear door. Her final advice was: “Don’t wait too long to level with the guy. I suspect your sergeant has more depth than you give him credit for.”
Maybe too much depth, Marta thought as she fled to her car. Too many layers of repressed emotion.
If this proved to be a false alarm, she’d learned her lesson, she resolved. No more tempting fate. Despite her craving for Derek’s arms, she would summon the strength to control herself in future.
She drove to an open drugstore and bought a kit. Took it home and shakily followed the directions. The stick emerged bright pink.
Pregnant. The test was more than ninety-nine percent accurate, according to the box.
Marta strained to accept that a tiny person, part her and part Derek, had begun to grow. That had to be a miracle. If only the circumstances weren’t so overwhelming.
She huddled on the couch, hugging a well-worn bear, and tried to sort out her feelings. Even her most optimistic visions didn’t present Derek as a doting dad. Furthermore, the situation risked humiliating him publicly. There’d be jokes about Sergeant Can’t-Keep-His-Pants-On and, in view of his position, embarrassment for the department.
He would probably offer child support and promise to stand by her. But emotionally, just when she’d hoped he might risk caring, this was likely to drive him back behind his protective mask.
Thanks to poor judgment and worse timing, Marta was going to lose the man she loved before she ever really had him.