by Robbi McCoy
He eased into his oversized leather desk chair and smiled at her with obvious pride and joy, like a father. He felt that much responsibility for his officers. Stef appreciated his paternal attitude, but it made her a little uncomfortable. Her mother and father had divorced when she was five. Once her father had left her mother, he’d left his kids too. He didn’t visit, didn’t write. He’d gone on to start another family and his new kids absorbed his attention. They became his real family. Stef’s mother blamed his new wife, claimed she didn’t want him to have anything to do with his first family. Stef wasn’t sure what the reason was, but she knew there was bitterness between the adults. She didn’t really care. Just as her father had forgotten her, she’d forgotten him. Maybe her older brother had sometimes missed his father, but she had not. She was just fine without a father. So Shoemaker, sitting there with his moist blue eyes exuding parental affection, left her feeling grateful and embarrassed at the same time.
“IA has finished their investigation,” he announced.
“I figured.”
He handed an envelope across his desk. “This is the final report.”
She took it, searching his face for some clue to its contents.
“Go ahead,” he urged. “Read it. No surprises.”
Inside the envelope was a letter addressed to her. She scanned it quickly to assure herself it was the result she expected. Like she had told everyone else, she knew she’d be exonerated. She knew the investigation was just routine. Still, when it came right down to it, you couldn’t be a hundred percent sure of anything. There was still that nagging doubt, spurred on perhaps by her own personal feelings of guilt. Once she got the gist of the letter, that it was good news, she focused on the critical paragraph:
Based on the investigation surrounding your use of deadly force, your actions are exonerated. This finding means that the incident occurred but your actions were lawful and consistent with department policy.
She looked up to meet Shoemaker’s eyes.
“Welcome back, Byers!” he pronounced joyfully.
“Whoa!” She sucked in a deep breath. “So it’s over?”
“Completely over. The DA found no grounds to file charges. You’re cleared. Free to start back on the job tomorrow if you want.”
“It feels good,” she said. “I didn’t realize I was so nervous.”
“I myself was under investigation a couple times,” he said. “It makes you feel guilty of something just being asked all those questions.”
She nodded her agreement.
“So, no hurry, but when do you think you’ll be ready to come back?”
Stef shook her head slowly, her joy rapidly dissipating in the face of what she knew would be disappointing news to Shoemaker. “I’m not coming back.”
“What do you mean?” A scowl of confusion came over his face.
She pulled an envelope out of her bag. “I’ve got my letter of resignation right here.” She put it on the desk and pushed it toward him.”
He glanced at the envelope, then leaned back, his expression serious. “Talk to me.”
She shrugged, uncomfortable in this setting. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Maybe you just need more time. That’s not a problem. And more time with the shrink, on us, if you want. That’s what he’s there for.”
“I don’t think that’ll help. It’s not my thing.”
He frowned. “Look, Byers, things happen. It’s lousy, but that’s just the way it is in this business. You’ll get over it, in time. You decide how much time. Whatever you need.”
She shook her head. “The problem is, I can’t do my job because…”
He waited, watching her gravely.
“I wouldn’t be able to shoot a gun,” she said. “I don’t even think I could touch a gun. I start sweating every time I see one or even think about them. It wouldn’t be fair to the other guys to have me out there. If the time came to use deadly force, I’d choke.”
“Okay, I get it. The shrink can help you with that. You just gotta give him a chance.”
“A chance to do what exactly?”
“To get you over the hump, so you’ll be comfortable using a firearm. It’ll be second nature again.”
“I don’t think I want to be like that again. What’s the point?”
“You know what the point is. If we’re not out there, good, innocent people get hurt. Not everybody can do what we do, Byers. Those people depend on us. They respect us and they’re grateful to us. You’ve got a job to do. You’ve got the training, the right skills and the right attitude. You’re a good cop, and you owe it to me, to them and to yourself to get back on the streets. You can do it. I know you can. You’re tough.”
“Maybe I’m not as tough as you think.” Stef nervously rearranged herself in the chair.
Shoemaker gazed thoughtfully at her for a moment before asking, “How about you ease into it? You can have a non-patrol assignment for now.”
“You mean a desk job?”
“Right.”
“I can’t see myself doing that. I really appreciate what you’re trying to do for me, but I’ve given this a lot of thought and I’ve just gotta do something else now.”
“What kinda something else?”
“Not real sure. I’ve never done anything else. I’ve wanted to be a cop since I was a little kid. But I’ll figure something out. For now, I’ve got a little place out in the Delta. Quiet. Relaxing. Just me and my dog.” She sucked a breath between her teeth. “His dog, I mean.”
Shoemaker gave her a look of sympathy. “Byers, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was an accident. Nobody blames you except you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why do you ask?” He looked concerned.
“That day, at the funeral, all those cops staring at me.” She shook her head, remembering.
“It was compassion, Byers. They were all standing there thinking about how it could happen to any one of them, and feeling for you. They weren’t accusing.”
She nodded uncertainly, thinking he was probably right.
“If you don’t have anything else lined up, you may as well stay on admin leave for a while until you find another job.”
“You’ve already paid me three months for nothing. I don’t feel right doing that when I know I’m not coming back.”
“Stef,” he said in exasperation, “I’m trying to help you.”
She looked away to avoid his eyes, noting his unusual use of her first name.
“I’ve seen this before,” he said. “You’ve suffered a terrible blow. It’s knocked you down and it feels like you’ll never get up. Some guys never do. But you’re not one of those guys. You’re just impatient. You’re not giving yourself a chance. You’re too fucking hard on yourself and you won’t let anybody help you.” He looked seriously upset. “And you’re worrying me.”
“I’ll be okay.” She smiled to reassure him. “I’m not planning on jumping off any bridges.”
“Good!”
“Nothing like that,” she said lightly. “I’m going fishing.”
“Fishing?”
“That’s right. I bought a boat. I’m going to float around the rivers and catch some fish.”
He looked suspicious. “You ever fished before, Byers?”
“No, but it seems a lot of people get something out of it.”
He shook his head, then sighed. “Okay. I can see you’ve made up your mind. I’ll quit giving you a hard time. Go do what you need to do, but when you’re ready to come back, give me a call.”
“Thanks.” She picked up the letter that declared her innocent of any wrongdoing, tucking it into her bag. No matter how many reports said, “your actions are exonerated,” those words faded into a faint, near silence behind the prominent noise of Stef’s own haunting thoughts and memories. Still, this was the official verdict and it felt damn good.
***
“You bought a what?” Stef’s mother lowered herself into a kitchen ch
air, looking stricken, her face full of incomprehension.
Stef had anticipated this reaction, so she’d timed her announcement to follow on the terrific news she had just gotten from Internal Affairs, hoping some of her mother’s relief and joy over that would cushion the blow of her other news, the worst of which she had not yet delivered.
Kate Byers was fifty-three, a solidly built woman who stood five ten without shoes. She was a big woman, proportionately large all over, carrying a healthy weight for her age and frame. She had always considered herself unattractive, or more accurately, scary to most men who seemed to prefer women to be smaller than they are. “Men are afraid of me,” she would say with regularity, whenever some situation didn’t go well with a man, whether it was a date or a job interview or a conflict with a store clerk.
Stef and her brothers had taken their mother’s assessment at face value. As a result, Stef had always admired any man who dated her mother, concluding that he had overcome his fright to see Kate’s inner beauty. As she got older, Stef began to realize her mother was overly self-conscious about her size and wasn’t such a freak of nature after all. She was an attractive woman, becoming more attractive as she aged, as some women do, taking on a regal elegance and stark beauty in a face characterized by a broad chin, wide-open eyes and high cheekbones. There were certainly men who would be intimidated by her height, but she wasn’t quite the misfit of her imagination.
“A houseboat,” Stef repeated.
Her mother looked no more enlightened than before.
“Uh,” Stef began uncomfortably, “when I was in Sacramento a few weeks ago, I took the scenic route home and I saw this sign on the road. Houseboat For Sale. I stopped and took a look. There it was sitting in a…well, a cow pasture, actually.”
Her mother shook her head. “A houseboat in a cow pasture. And you suddenly lost your mind and bought it?”
“I didn’t buy it right then. I thought about it for a while. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea.”
“The idea of a houseboat in a cow pasture?”
“No. The idea of a houseboat on the water. Of living on a houseboat.”
“You mean full time?”
“Right. There are a lot of advantages to living on a houseboat. People do it.”
“People do—” her mother sputtered. “Crazy old hermits who never shower or cut their hair do it.”
“There’s a shower.”
Deuce appeared in the kitchen, a white cone surrounding his head. He banged it against the leg of a chair as he made his way over to Stef and dropped dejectedly to the floor at her feet.
“Stephanie,” her mother persisted, “what were you thinking?”
“It’s not that crazy. As soon as I get it seaworthy, I’ll bring it up the river and take you for a cruise.”
“You mean you can’t take it on the water?”
“Not yet.”
Her mother stared hard at her, a look of grim concern on her face. “Where is this boat?”
“Off of Highway One-Sixty in Stillwater Bay.”
“So you’re going to commute all the way in from there every day until you get it seaworthy? That’s like a two-hour drive? And then you’re going to bring it up here and park it in some marina and pay hundreds of dollars a month for a slip? I just don’t see how that makes sense. Your apartment was nice and affordable and only ten minutes from the police station.”
Her mother was, as usual, boiling everything down to the practical matter of money.
“It wouldn’t make a lot of sense,” Stef agreed, “if I was still going to be working for Oakland PD.”
They’d come to the place in the conversation where Stef had to tell her the real news. As mystified as her mother was about the houseboat, it was nothing compared to how distressed she would be by Stef’s larger plan. They were in for a difficult evening. Stef didn’t know how she would explain what she barely comprehended herself, that she needed to get away, far away, and try to forget, and that she believed the gentle lapping of water against the hull of her boat would somehow allow that to happen. And if it didn’t, at least out there, lost and alone, she wouldn’t be a threat or concern to anyone.
“I won’t be commuting, Mom,” she said, steeling herself. “I resigned from the force today.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tuesdays were Jackie’s late nights, the day of the week they kept the office open until eight so people could come in after work. It was always busy Tuesday nights and she was usually exhausted by the time it was over. This night was no exception. After hanging up her smock in her office, she came out front to find Niko locking the door.
“Let’s get outta here,” she said.
He smiled and nodded. “Just gotta feed Bud.” He opened the parakeet’s cage and took out the plastic feed dish, saying, “A canary walks into a vet’s office and asks for a bag of bird seed. The vet hands it over and says, ‘That’ll be twenty dollars.’ The canary pays and the vet adds, ‘We don’t get many canaries in here buying their own bird seed.’ ‘At those prices,’ said the canary, ‘I’m not surprised.’”
Jackie chuckled. Niko replaced the dish full of seed, and Bud immediately hopped over to it and started eating.
Jackie covered her mouth as she launched into a sizable yawn. Thinking over the hectic day, she realized it was about time for Deuce to come back to have his sutures removed.
“Can you check and see when the follow-up appointment is for Stef Byers and Deuce?” she asked.
“The appointment was for Monday. Yesterday. She canceled.”
“Canceled? Did she reschedule?”
“No. I asked, but she said she’d get back to me.”
“What was the reason?”
“She didn’t say.” He puckered his lips at Bud and made a kissy sound as he closed the cage. Bud’s head bobbed rapidly up and down in response.
“Give me her phone number. I’ll give her a call tomorrow. Those sutures need to come out.”
Niko called up the record on the computer and scanned the screen. “No phone number here. Let me check the form.”
He went to the records room to consult the original form Stef had filled out.
“She didn’t put a phone number,” he reported when he returned. “Left it blank. Sorry. I didn’t notice at the time.”
Jackie sighed. “Okay. Thanks.”
“A guy walks into a vet’s office,” Niko began, so Jackie paused at the door, knowing that all his jokes were mercifully short. “The guy has a parrot on his head. The vet says, ‘What’s the trouble?’ and the parrot says, ‘You gotta get this guy off my ass.’”
She patted his shoulder, as if in sympathy, said good night, then left the clinic, debating her next move with Stef. She knew she’d been brusque that day, so much so that she felt guilty about it almost immediately afterward. She had been looking forward to the follow-up appointment, planning on a friendlier encounter this time. Maybe Stef had gone to another vet. Who could blame her?
Her car was sucking fumes, so she pulled into the gas station on Main Street and hooked the hose into her tank while she went into the Quickie-Mart for a chili dog. This was an indulgence she allowed herself only occasionally, usually on these late Tuesday nights when she could justify it with the claim of raging hunger and no time to cook.
“Hey, Jackie,” called Mona from behind the counter. “Working late?”
“Just got off,” Jackie replied.
Mona was a single mother with difficult challenges. She had never finished high school. She was in her early twenties, thin, with thick black eyebrows starkly contrasting her long butter-yellow hair. She and Jackie had gone to the same high school, but their experiences there and afterward were remarkably dissimilar. Jackie didn’t know why. She thought it was just the way things fell out. You can make plans for yourself, but things happen every day you didn’t count on. Mona had had plans too. She’d wanted to be a nurse. She still did. But one night in her junior year of high school
she went to a football game with a boy and things got hot under the bleachers. Everything changed for Mona in that moment. At eighteen, she became a single mother. Jackie knew it could have been her. Or she could have ended up in an accident like the one that had killed one of her classmates and permanently disabled another. Things happen you don’t expect. All the time. Life changes in an instant. She was acutely aware of that.
Jackie had been lucky. Most of her plans had worked out. She’d gone to veterinary school and eventually opened her own practice, fulfilling her professional dreams. But she had had other plans that didn’t work out. Like the ones about getting married and having a family. When she was nineteen, in college, she was engaged to a nice math major, a guy who wanted to give her everything, make her happy, set out on a fairy tale life with her. She had wanted that so badly, to be normal and safe, to leave behind the part of herself that made her different and kept her running scared.
How she had loved showing off her engagement ring, being his fiancée, announcing to the world that she was like everyone else, a woman about to be a man’s wife. She’d loved being the boy’s fiancée more than she’d loved the boy. At the time, she was in love with a girl and had been for a while. Leslie. Fortunately for both of them, though her fiancé didn’t appreciate it then, she realized in time she was meant for a different kind of life and let him go. She then began the more difficult journey of embracing her true identity. Whenever she thought about her nineteen-year-old self, she was grateful to her, grateful she’d made the right decision and had been brave enough to give up the default path.
Even though Jackie hadn’t yet found someone to spend her life with, she was optimistic that she would, eventually, meet the right woman.
“I put a couple hot dogs on the roller grill just a while ago,” Mona informed her with a smile.
Jackie smiled back. She and Mona were the only people who knew about her dirty little hot dog secret. She went to the back of the store where the wieners were riding on a metal rack inside a warm Plexiglas cube under a fluorescent tube light. Their taut skins sparkled with beads of fat, a testament to their salty, porky goodness. This was wrong in so many ways. Jackie knew, but she didn’t care.