by Dana Corbit
Chapter Twelve
Lindsay’s eyes shot open, and she jerked her head up, looking around and trying to get her bearings in the darkness. Where was she? But the familiar slowly came into view, the long, mirrored bureau from her childhood bedroom, her grandmother’s old rocker in the corner.
It was only a bad dream, like Emma’s from last night.
Dropping her head to the pillow, Lindsay shifted at the feel of her damp hair against her neck. She glanced at the digital clock that provided the room’s only light. The numbers flashed 3:00.
“Lord, please give me comfort,” she whispered and then slowly released her grip on the coverlet.
She took a deep breath and waited. Usually, her dreams disappeared from her memory before she could replay them after she awakened, but this time was different. The images from her nightmare had come with her into consciousness, their lights blinding, their sounds piercing.
Turning on her side, she flipped on the lamp on her bedside table, hoping her thoughts would clear, but she could still hear the screams, Delia’s and her own, and she could still see the car spinning out of control. From there it was like a computer slideshow played on high speed, with flashes of Delia slumped in the seat next to her, rain pelting the cracked windshield, a shocking circle of light from outside the window.
Lindsay squeezed her eyes closed. Strange how she’d thought she wanted to remember, and yet now all she wanted to do was to close off these memories and let them continue to hide beyond the dark barrier of her subconscious. Opening her eyes again, she focused on that rocking chair, its presence a calm surety in a world that otherwise had the unsettled foundation of a fault line.
Pushing that stringy wet hair back from her face, she shook her head. Was she really getting her memory back, or were these just images her mind had manufactured from the information printed in the police report, or even the enhanced details that Joe had given her?
As a test, she closed her eyes and reached back into the recesses of her thoughts, searching for more. Nothing. Her eyes fluttered open, and she couldn’t decide whether to be frustrated or relieved, but she still didn’t know whether or not the memories were real. Whether there would be more or if any of those would be authentic, she couldn’t begin to know.
“Why now?” she whispered into the room, illuminated in the center by the lamp, but still dark and shadowy in the corners. After all of the time she’d been searching for answers, it didn’t make sense that her own mind would choose that night to start putting the puzzle pieces together while she slept.
Then it became clear. Joe had almost kissed her last night. Or at least that was what she thought had been about to happen. She’d always heard that a kiss could change everything, and she’d had no personal experience to know whether or not it was true. She still didn’t, but she couldn’t help wondering if an almost-kiss could have the same impact of upending a person’s equilibrium. It seemed to have done that to hers.
Last night, she’d held her breath and waited and waited as he’d paused, his mouth only inches from hers. But then Emma had cried out, offering Lindsay an escape. Sure, she’d run, mostly because she wanted to be there for the child who was now the center of her life, but a small part of her was also panicking in the intensity of that moment. A novice’s mistake, right?
Hadn’t she wanted him to kiss her? She smiled at that. The question should have been how much. She’d probably wanted him to kiss her since that first time he’d shown up at her condo like the cavalry, ready to save her from that crazy afternoon. Okay, not then. She’d been annoyed with him then. But soon after that and pretty much constantly ever since.
Then why had she sent him away last night when she’d wanted to be near him, when she’d wanted so much for him to comfort her as she’d comforted Emma? Because she had to. She’d needed to prove to herself that she could handle a difficult situation with her niece without calling Joe, without calling anyone for help.
She’d also needed to make it clear in her mind that she wanted to be near Joe, not because she needed a support system to help her with Emma but because he just might be the man God had planned for her. She was determined to find out for sure. She’d done what she needed to do, and now she knew what she wanted.
Did he know now, as well? Was he sure that he wanted to be with her?
It still amazed her that Joe had opened up to her as much as he had last night. She was surprised that he’d told her about the woman who’d hurt him when he hadn’t shared that story with anyone else, but it shocked her more that any woman who’d been blessed enough to have Joe’s heart wouldn’t have recognized the gift it was.
She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d shared that secret with her when he’d opened to her a few times before in a way he probably didn’t with anyone else. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve to be his confidante, but she was honored by his trust.
They hadn’t made any more plans for today, but she had the afternoon off, and she hoped Joe would call her so they could get together later in the day. Maybe he would even try to kiss her again today, and if he did, this time she would let him.
Lindsay sat up and fluffed her pillow and then leaned over to the table and switched off the lamp. Darkness covered the room again, but it was peaceful now, the quiet inviting. Pulling the coverlet up, she settled it just beneath her chin and closed her eyes. She looked forward to her dreams now because she just knew they would be sweet ones, where she could be found safe in Joe’s arms.
Joe’s legs felt as if they were weighted with chains as he climbed from his patrol car, parked down the street from Lindsay’s condo, and started down the sidewalk. That she’d seemed so pleased when he’d asked if he could pop by on his lunch hour, even mentioning that she had news to share, made him dread what he had to say more than he already had. But the incident at the post overnight had convinced him even more that it had to be said.
How was he supposed to explain backing away from her when he’d been so insistent on getting involved in her life, continually justifying his need to spend time with her? Oh, my bad, I’ve just been giving you the wrong message for weeks.
He didn’t know whom he was trying to kid anyway. Even when he’d called her this morning, his heart had tripped incriminatingly. She deserved an explanation for his behavior last night, though, and if he could come up with one, he would give it to her.
A car had been parked in the way, so he hadn’t seen them at first, but as Joe walked down the sidewalk toward her condo, he caught sight of Emma and Lindsay on the postage stamp of a front yard. Emma splashed merrily in a wading pool, and Lindsay sat in a lawn chair next to the pool, with her toes dipping in the water.
The scene was so sweet that Joe’s heart squeezed as he stopped to watch them. Lindsay looked so young and pretty, with her hair tied up in a loose bun with tresses escaping to flutter across her cheek. She’d probably only been planning to cool off by getting her feet wet, but she’d gotten more than she’d bargained for, if her damp, pink T-shirt and tan shorts were any indication.
His throat filled with emotion as he realized he’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted to be a part of the picture that the two of them made, and not for just one day, either. Joe was a man warring between duty and his heart’s desire. He knew which one had to win, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
After a big splash, Lindsay laughed and reached down to tug on one of Emma’s ponytails. They looked so happy together, just the two of them, that Joe wondered whether he should approach at all. If there had been a time when Lindsay wasn’t completely natural with children, that time had long since passed.
He hated to interrupt such a perfect moment when what he had to say could just as easily have been said on the phone. It was the coward’s way out, and he knew it, but a good trooper knew not to go into an uncertain situation without backup. He had none. But just as he started back toward the car, Lindsay looked his way. She smiled when she saw hi
m.
“Oh, Joe. You’re here. Pull up a chair. I left one over there for you. The water’s fine.”
“Thanks. But we send out our uniforms when we want them washed.” He grabbed the extra lawn chair that she’d set next to the front porch steps, but he set it up a few feet back from the swimming pool. He took off his hat and balanced it on his knee.
Lindsay smiled as she dragged her own chair back to his and sat down, brushing at the damp sleeve of her T-shirt. “What? That’s got to be unheard of, a single guy turning down free laundry services.”
“I try to be an original.”
Emma had been crouching down, trying to blow bubbles on the water’s surface, but she popped up as if she only now realized that he was there.
“Trooper Joe. Look at me. I’m swimming.”
“You sure are. You’re getting Aunt Lindsay wet, too.”
The child grinned over at him. “She likes it.”
“I think she would like doing anything, as long as it’s with you.”
Emma grabbed her net bag of toys set outside the rim of the pool and dumped them all in the water. Instead of playing with those toys floating around her, though, she leaned forward and dunked her face in the water.
She shot up and wiped her eyes. “See, Aunt Lindsay, I can go underwater.”
“You sure can. That’s really big.”
Joe couldn’t help grinning at Emma as he remembered the first few times he’d shared with the two of them, and the child had clearly favored him. He was pleased that Emma had learned to value her aunt.
“She’s really adapted well, hasn’t she?”
But when he turned to Lindsay, he found her watching him instead of her niece. The blush he knew so well dotted her cheeks, and she looked away just as she had when he’d first met her. He couldn’t blame her. He’d changed the rules last night, and now she couldn’t know what to expect from him. She would expect what he needed to tell her least of all.
As if she’d taken control of her embarrassment, Lindsay turned back to him. “You said things were crazy at the post today. What happened?”
“What didn’t?”
But she only looked at him, as if she wasn’t buying his attempt to make light of what had happened.
“Well, for one thing, Trooper Garrett Taylor nearly got himself shot on Interstate 96.”
At the ashen look that appeared on Lindsay’s face, he was sorry that he’d phrased the comment that way. She might have been seven months past her own tragedy, but the accident on that same interstate was probably never far from her thoughts.
“How awful,” she said, after a long pause. “But he’s okay, right?”
“Yeah. Because of some quick thinking, he got lucky.”
“Oh. Praise God for that.”
Though he might have a few weeks before, he didn’t argue with her. He didn’t care if it was God or just great reflexes, but his friend was alive, and he was grateful.
“What happened? Can you tell me?”
Joe shrugged. “It’s a matter of public record now that the report is filed, anyway. It might even make the six o’clock news if it’s a slow news day and nothing bloodier or more sensational shows up before then.”
She glanced to see if Emma had been listening and then looked back to him again. “Well, tell me.”
“It’s a risk that troopers take the moment they approach vehicles to check licenses and registrations or to hand out citations.” He waited for her to guess, but when she didn’t, he added, “That the driver will pull a gun.”
Lindsay shivered visibly. “That’s what happened today?”
Joe nodded. “We all like to think we’re prepared for it, but all it takes is one distracted moment.”
Lindsay drew her eyebrows together as she studied him. “Are you saying that Trooper Taylor was distracted, and that’s how he almost got shot?”
“Well, that’s how he says it happened. He said when the suspect pulled a weapon, he was a second too late in drawing his own weapon. In a situation like this one, you’re either on your game or not. Just like that—” Joe snapped his fingers “—and any one of us could be dead.”
“But that’s not what happened this time.”
“No. That’s why I said Garrett was lucky. The suspect couldn’t manage to get a shot off and drive away at the same time. The shot went wide.”
“Was he able to get the shooter?”
“This time that turned out okay, too,” he said with a shrug. “He radioed in the plate number and then joined the chase. The suspect was apprehended near the Howell exit.”
Lindsay seemed to mull over what he’d said as she watched Emma flopping in the water. Finally, she turned back to him.
“Okay, Joe. I get it that you’re trying to give me some deep message with this story, but somehow I’m missing it. Yes, it could have been bad had the suspect’s shot been on target. It could have been devastating. But it wasn’t.”
He sighed, deciding to spell it out for her. “Devastating is exactly how it would have been if I’d been the one on patrol, if I’d been the one to approach that driver. If it had been me, you would be watching my obituary on the six o’clock news.”
Lindsay just stared at him, her eyes wide and too bright. “Why…why would you say something like that?”
“I’m sorry. But I just wanted you to know…I wanted to explain. My judgment is off on the job, and I used to trust it implicitly. My edge…” he paused and plunged forward “…is just gone. I’m a liability every time I’m out on the roadways. I’m afraid every time I’m out there that I’m going to mess up again and someone’s going to get hurt.”
He hadn’t intended to include the word again in that comment, but it came out against his will.
Lindsay balanced her elbow on her leg and held her chin between her thumb and forefinger. “How long have you been feeling this way?”
“Ever since,” he began, and then had to start over. “Ever since—”
“Since the day when you pulled one sister from the wreckage of a car accident and her other sister died,” she completed for him. She didn’t pose it as a question.
“I’ve questioned myself every day on the job since then.” He squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I should have—I don’t know—maybe if I’d…”
He let his words trail away because even now he couldn’t name a single thing he would have done differently if he’d come upon an identical accident today and the victims had presented in the same manner.
“I’m done swimming now.”
Joe startled at the sound of Emma’s voice, and he was surprised to see her standing right in front of them. When had she jumped out of the water? When had Lindsay wrapped her in that fluffy beach towel? At least Lindsay had been paying attention to her while she swam.
“Can I watch a movie now?” Emma asked her aunt.
“Okay, but just for a little while.”
When Lindsay stood, he started to stand as well, but she indicated for him to remain seated. “I’ll get her into some dry clothes and situated, and then I’ll be right back.”
He watched after her as Lindsay let Emma pull her by the hand into the house. It took him a few seconds to realize she wasn’t using her cane. While he waited for Lindsay to return, he sifted through the rest of the things he should tell her—those final details from the accident and why his lost confidence signaled that he shouldn’t have tried to get close to her. She deserved to know all of it.
But when she stepped outside again, closing only the storm door so she could still see into the living room, and he joined her on the steps as she’d indicated, all of those things he should have said flitted away. Instead, he found himself blurting the question that had been plaguing him for weeks.
“How can I ever be sure that a decision I make won’t hurt someone else or get someone else killed?”
For a long time Lindsay didn’t say anything. She must have been waiting for him to look at her becaus
e when he finally did, she was watching him, her face heartbreakingly compassionate.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lindsay’s heart squeezed as Joe leaned forward on the step next to her, bracing his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands. Her throat burned with the words she’d just spoken, the words that must have placed more weight on Joe’s shoulders than he could bear.
Why hadn’t she noticed all of this before? The worry lines that had formed on his forehead, the loss of that strict posture he always carried in uniform. She could have excused herself by saying that she had no history of Joe before the accident for comparison, but even she had to recognize that his feelings about that night went beyond simple guilt. He blamed himself for her sister’s death.
She’d been so selfish to press him for answers about the accident when he felt that way. In all the time he’d spent with Emma and her, through all of the feelings she’d developed for him, she hadn’t been sensitive enough to give him the absolution he craved.
Even today, she’d only been thinking about herself and that almost-kiss from last night. An event she just might have imagined. Well, her selfishness stopped now. He deserved a break, and she was going to give it to him.
“What happened the night of the accident wasn’t your fault,” she told him. “You did the best you could. We both wish you would have been able to pull Delia out, too, but it wasn’t meant to be.”
He shook his head. “But I could have—”
“You did everything you could. Everything,” she insisted. “More than most people would have done. Like at the hospital…after.”
His laugh bore no real humor. “You know we’re not supposed to get involved with victims like that.”
“Maybe not, but I appreciated that you did.”
Though he’d become a lot more involved with her since that first night at the hospital, neither of them mentioned it. Still, the truth of it hung heavily in the silence between them.