Captain's Choice

by V. K. Powell

  * * *

  Bennett watched Kerstin until she disappeared down the hallway and then collapsed in the nearest chair. She’d seen Kerstin standing in the chief’s conference room and locked her knees. She didn’t shock easily, but her heart rate trebled, and a heavy sensation settled in her stomach. She’d read the chief’s notes about the meeting, but nowhere did he mention the name of the architect. How had her greatest professional accomplishment and her worst heartbreak collided?

  Kerstin looked good. Damn it, better than good. Her sun-kissed blond hair had darkened a shade and lightly brushed the tops of her shoulders instead of cascading down her back. The steel-blue eyes still deepened when she was upset, and she’d definitely been upset at the sight of Bennett. The most dramatic change—a skinny schoolgirl had morphed into a fully developed woman. She transformed a red, tailored business suit from only clothing into a statement that said powerful, sexy woman, don’t mess with me. Excitement curled through Bennett, followed closely by a sense of regret and dread. The optimistic, adventurous girl from high school had vanished, or was at least buried beneath a veneer of caution.

  Had it really been seventeen years since they’d seen each other? She still ached to know why. She’d rehearsed exactly what she’d say at their reunion, but after her disagreement with the chief and Kerstin’s unexpected appearance, Bennett reverted to humor and charm to offset the tension. Face-to-face with her childhood dream, she completely lost her nerve. Surreal to be thrown together again, but Kerstin was clear the reunion wouldn’t last. Maybe for the best. Important things had been left unsaid far too long.

  No time to reminisce about old emotions. If Kerstin stayed on board, she’d appeal to the chief one final time about withdrawing from the project. Bennett didn’t really want to manage the substation renovation anyway. Her new position required focus and dedication far beyond just showing up every day like her predecessor. Pete Ashton was a reasonable man, and she’d convince him she could better serve the department in the field. She’d save face and make Kerstin happy at the same time, unsure why the latter was even a consideration.

  She had scribbled her talking points on a Post-it, preparing to leave, when her cell rang.

  “Sis, are you at the house yet?” Her brother’s deep James Earl Jones voice, so much like their father’s, boomed over the phone, always making her smile.

  “Hey, Paul Simon.” She loved to kid him about his namesake because he couldn’t sing a note, and it annoyed him. “You mean you’re not there either?”

  “Mama and G-ma are going to be pissed, but I got called to the firehouse on a personnel matter. Guess we’re both in the doghouse.”

  “Are Stephanie and the kids there?”

  “Yeah. I dropped them off on my way in but didn’t have the nerve to face Mama.”

  “All I can say is you better hurry. I’d hate to see my older brother whipped in front of his wife and kids.”

  “Very funny. Stall them if you can. I’ll be quick.”

  * * *

  Bennett rolled down her car window and breathed in the crisp fall air as she drove home for the family’s customary Sunday brunch. Like the mature oak trees in Fisher Park, her family had endured the storms of decades, and she and her siblings had climbed many of them growing up. She parked in front of their sprawling two-story home, grinning when Simon’s twins, Ryan and Riley, called out, “She’s here,” in unison. She raced up the steps of the wraparound porch to grab them, but the eleven-year-olds were quicker than they’d been a few years ago and got away.

  She followed them through the screen door and stopped in the foyer, always humbled by the massive traditional family home and the memories filling every room. She and Jazz had walked down the wide, creaky staircase on graduation day into the arms of their parents. What she’d give to feel her father’s arms around her again. She’d kissed her first girlfriend at the age of fifteen on the old Mission-style sofa in the lounge, while her little sister Dylan spied on them through the stair rails. During her grandfather and father’s wakes, the house overflowed with cops, friends, and distant family. The walls made eerie sounds for months after, mourning the loss of each patriarch, so many good memories interwoven with bad. The shock of seeing Kerstin and the stress of possibly working with her drained away in the familiar surroundings of home and family.

  The layout was perfect for the large family, with two lounges, a half bath, huge kitchen, and combination dining and sunroom occupying the first floor. Five bedrooms and three baths located upstairs provided for the immediate family who still lived here—G-ma, Mama, Jazz, and Dylan. She’d occupied the fourth single bedroom until two years ago. She and her partner had moved to the carriage house behind the garden, but their relationship ended when her partner left her and the country for a job opportunity. Bennett also suspected she found being so close to the family intrusive. Jazz, her adopted sister, would occupy the smaller residence next, if Bennett ever found the right woman. And she wanted that more than almost anything—a partner to build and share a home with, and maybe even start a family.

  Soft piano music drifted from the sitting room on her right, and Bennett peeped in. Surrounded by traditional furnishings and rich colors, her younger sister, Dylan, long hair pulled back in a ponytail and dressed in a white blouse and jeans, undulated with each delicate keystroke, and Bennett marveled at her ability to urge such beautiful sounds from an instrument she’d always found arduous. Dylan’s musical interest would serve as a great stress reliever during her challenging medical career.

  “Look at you getting all Bob Dylan.” Bennett knelt behind Dylan and wrapped her in a bear hug. Bennett loved her little sister, and not just because she was a mirror image of her, but for her intelligence and compassion. She’d stepped out of the family mold and surpassed all their expectations.

  “Hey, sis.” Dylan rested her head back against Bennett’s shoulder for a few seconds, and Bennett traced the patch of freckles across her upturned nose. “You realize Bob Dylan played predominantly guitar and harmonica, right? But somebody has to represent our family of musically-named-but-talentless siblings.”

  “Paul Simon Carlyle and Toni Bennett Carlyle bow to your superiority. Speaking of our big brother, he’s going to be late, so we have to stall G-ma and Mama. You know how he hates to miss a meal.”

  “That won’t be easy. They’re already fired up about having to wait for you and Jazz.”

  Bennett started to ask where Jazz was, but Stephanie, Simon’s petite and perfectly turned-out wife, interrupted. “Have either of you heard from Simon?” Her expression relayed that she was thinking the same thing they were—if Simon didn’t hurry, they’d start brunch without him.

  “Mom, I’m hungry.” Riley and Ryan, smaller versions of their strawberry-blond mother with hazel eyes, flanked Stephanie. The children also vibrated with Stephanie’s seemingly endless energy, always on the move, always doing something. The only features marking them as laid-back Simon’s offspring were cleft chins and their above-average height.

  Stephanie patted their heads. “We’re waiting for your father.”

  “Where the blue blazes is everybody?” G-ma called from the kitchen.

  “Uh-oh, play something, Dylan.” Bennett motioned Stephanie and the kids to her side, and they sang as Dylan played “Itsy Bitsy Spider.” G-ma and Mama couldn’t resist a good sing-along, and soon everyone was belting out the words in discordant joy.

  During the third round, Simon slipped in and added his bass voice to the party, giving Bennett an appreciative wink. When G-ma saw him, she clapped her hands and ushered everybody into the dining area.

  Bennett gave Dylan a quick conspiratorial squeeze and sprinted around back to the cottage to change out of her uniform. When she entered the sunroom, her family stood around the long refectory table her grandparents had rescued from a doomed monastery during one of their first trips as a married couple. She and her siblings had carved their names and dates of birth on the underside when her d
ad determined they were old enough to wield a sharp knife. Chafing dishes rested in hollows worn into the dark walnut wood and kept the food warm.

  “You didn’t have to wait,” Jazz said as she rushed in the back door and washed her hands in the kitchen sink.

  “Yeah, we’ve been waiting hours. I’m starving.” Simon waved an impatient greeting.

  “The day my big brother isn’t hungry, we’ll know for sure you’re sick,” Bennett said.

  Simon shrugged. “You know Mama won’t let anything interfere with Sunday brunch, not even a call from the chief of police.”

  “Bennett and Jazz, cell phones in the basket along with the others. I don’t want any more interruptions.” Her mother kissed them on the cheek and motioned for the family to sit.

  “Hurry up,” G-ma said as she settled at one end of the table with Simon at the other. “We got us some celebrating to do, times two.”

  “What?” Her mind was still on the untimely reunion with Kerstin that overshadowed her promotion to captain. “Two?” She noticed the bottle of champagne chilling in the center of the table. “Is Stephanie pregnant again?”

  Simon shook his head. “Second guess?”

  Bennett scanned the faces around the table until she landed on Jazz. She was normally quiet but wouldn’t even look up, her fingers stroking the streak of white hair near her left ear. She was hiding something. “Jazz?”

  Dylan sighed heavily to Bennett’s left. “I told you Jazz couldn’t keep anything from Ben. They’re like twins separated at birth.”

  Jasmine Perry grinned, and her pearly teeth glistened against olive skin as she stretched her arm across the table and opened her hand. A pair of lieutenant’s bars rested in her palm.

  “No shit?”

  “Language,” Stephanie said, covering an ear of the twin on either side of her.

  “Sorry.” Bennett rushed around the table to Jazz. She almost picked her up, but stopped at the last minute. Jazz shied away from unexpected or long embraces, so Bennett settled for a quick squeeze. “Congrats, sis.”

  “Thanks, you too.”

  “Did you know about this before I got the call?”

  Jazz shook her head. “Got mine after you.”

  “Where are you assigned?”

  “Still in District One. Just moving up a notch.”

  “No shi—kidding? Working together, sweet, but my job won’t be as much fun.” Jazz gave her a questioning look. “We’ll talk later.”

  They fist-bumped and sat back down.

  “Now that’s settled, Riley, say grace, please,” G-ma said.

  Riley put her hands together and looked toward the ceiling. “If anybody’s really up there, thank you for this food, for Mommy and Daddy, G-ma, Mama, Aunties Bennett, Jazz, and Dylan. Oh yeah, and my irritating brother, Ryan. Amen.”

  G-ma patted her on the arm. “Well done. Somebody pass the damn eggs before they get colder than Garrett’s tomb.”

  “G-ma!” Dylan sounded genuinely shocked, but when G-ma and Mama laughed, the rest of the table joined in. Hearing Grandma Carlyle curse wasn’t new, but hearing it at a sacred Sunday brunch was different.

  “You all right, G-ma?” Mama touched her mother-in-law’s forearm.

  “Of course I’m all right, Gayle, but hungry as hell. Now pass the eggs. Only one thing on earth worse than cold eggs.”

  “Don’t leave us hanging.” Stephanie passed the egg platter. “I’m sure it’ll be a doozy.”

  “The empty side of anyone’s bed who has lost or doesn’t have a loving partner.”

  The clatter of utensils and dishes abruptly ended. Bennett’s Grandpa Garrett and her father, Bryce, had been police officers and were both killed in the line of duty. The family didn’t speak of the incidents often because no one wanted to jinx her or Jazz, the only children who’d followed in their footsteps. Though Simon had chosen an equally proud but dangerous profession, nobody ever brought up how many firefighters were killed in fires.

  “Amen, G-ma.” Simon smiled at Stephanie with the kind of love Bennett hoped she’d share with a partner one day.

  “Can I eat now?” Ryan waved a piece of bacon in the air with the impatience of youth.

  “Of course you can, darling,” G-ma spooned grits onto her plate. “Everybody eat up.”

  Mama handed the champagne bottle to Simon. “Do the honors, son?” While he peeled the top and set about popping the cork, she asked, “So, why did Pete Ashton need to promote my two girls on Sunday morning? What’s the urgency?”

  Bennett plucked a couple of pieces of bacon from the platter before moving it to the right. “My predecessor, Arthur Warren, and his architect got drunk and injured some folks in an accident on the way home last night. Warren flunked the Breathalyzer and resigned on the spot.”

  “Lucky break,” Simon said. “You deserved that promotion a long time ago.”

  Simon lived the Carlyle edicts to support and uphold the family name, and serve the community. Bennett probably hadn’t contributed enough. “Thanks, bro.” She’d screwed off for nineteen years, and her father hadn’t lived to see her change. She glanced across the table.

  Jazz gave a faint headshake as if to say, don’t go there. She’d come to the family from foster care when they were both eight, after being passed around a few different homes, and knew all about not feeling good enough. She and Bennett were best friends and confidantes. Bennett was the fire to Jazz’s ice, the storm to her calm. Now they’d be running a district, and Bennett couldn’t wait.

  “Is Ma Rolls ready for business again tomorrow, G-ma?” Simon asked.

  “Ready and rearing to go. The police officers on Fairview Street and the other places we serve would starve without our food truck. And I’d seize up and wither away without my weekly doses of town gossip.”

  Mama glanced over at G-ma and chuckled. “That’s for sure, and we’d be bored senseless.”

  The rest of the meal passed quickly, with each family member talking about whatever he or she wanted, as long as they phrased their comments in a positive manner. G-ma always said there was enough negativity in the world without them contributing. The practice kept the family strong and involved in each other’s lives. Bennett wanted the same for her own family one day. Conversation finally lulled, and G-ma pushed away from the table, ending the meal.

  Simon poured a cup of coffee and headed toward the lounge. “I think Ben and Jazz should do the dishes since they made us wait so long to eat. Do I hear a second?”

  The rest of the family voiced their agreement and ran from the kitchen.

  “Democracy’s alive and well in the Carlyle home,” Bennett said as she transferred dishes from the table to the dishwasher. “Are you okay moving up from sergeant to lieutenant in the same command?”

  Jazz nodded. “Everybody knows me.”

  “And they respect you, but they’ll still test you. Comes with any promotion, especially for a woman. I’ll be there, if you need me.” She wasn’t worried about Jazz’s professional abilities because she’d moved up quickly in the department despite being five years behind Bennett in seniority, but her introversion was sometimes interpreted as aloofness or lack of concern. Jazz didn’t have an arrogant or apathetic cell in her body. If anything, she cared too deeply at times.

  “Thanks.” Jazz’s deep-brown eyes glistened with gratitude she didn’t need to verbalize. She dried her hands and looped the cloth through the oven handle. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Jazz wasn’t the social type, more comfortable with her own company, so she obviously had something on her mind. As they cut through the garden to the cottage, Bennett’s quicker steps caused Jazz to fall behind.

  “What’s the hurry, Ben?”

  “Keep up, slowpoke.” She gave the conversation a nudge. “What’s on your mind, sis?”

  Jazz stopped and faced her. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  They never made each other work too hard for the truth, sensing when the other needed to talk.
“The chief wants me to oversee the renovation of the Cone Building for our new District One substation.”

  “Captain Warren’s assignment before he quit. That’s a good thing, right?”

  “It would be if…” Bennett scuffed her sneaker in the grass, feeling self-conscious.

  “If what?”

  At five-eleven, Bennett towered over Jazz by three inches, but Jazz wasn’t intimidated by the difference. Bennett couldn’t bullshit her either, her dark eyes a better lie detector than any mechanical device.

  “Kerstin Anthony is the architect.” She finally looked at Jazz.

  Her eyes opened wide and she said, “The Kerstin Anthony from high school?”

  Bennett nodded. “And she doesn’t want to work with me. If she refuses, the project is delayed again while a new architect gets up to speed and possibly redraws the whole plan. What if the chief thinks it’s my fault? What if it is?”

  “Did you do something to upset her?”

  “I said I was glad to see her and tried to convince her we could work together. Even offered to buy her coffee.”

  “That sounds harmless enough,” Jazz said.

  “She’s probably still upset about what happened in high school.”

  “You’re both adults now. That’s so in the past.”

  “I didn’t quite measure up to her standards then, so she likely expects the same now.”

  “Don’t go there, Ben. You’ve always been enough. The problem was, and still is sometimes, you don’t really believe it.” Jazz dropped onto a bench by the koi pond and motioned for Bennett to sit. “You’ve both moved on. You’re professionals with a job to do. What happened is in the past. Leave it there.”

  Bennett rubbed her hands over her face and through her hair. Seeing Kerstin again had unearthed old feelings like unfinished sentences with no purpose.

  “Can you do that, Ben?”