“I probably would have asked, eventually. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you with her.”
“Actually, I’m not, but thanks. We both have our histories, Sharon.” He looked at the clock on the wall. “You’re going to be very late getting home. I should have driven out your direction.”
“It’s not a problem. I don’t live far.”
“Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.” He held her coat for her. “Where are your gloves?”
“Umm, probably on my desk at the precinct,” she said, sounding a bit sheepish.
“It was one of the first things I noticed about you at O’Hare—you weren’t wearing any gloves and your hands were chilled.” He walked with her to her car, stood back as she fastened her seat belt.
“I’ll be in touch, John.”
“Drive carefully, Sharon.”
He watched her leave. She would be a good friend to have. If he was rebuilding his life here in Chicago, he’d put her at the top of the list of those he would like in his life. He understood her. And he thought she just might understand him too.
SEVEN
John followed the directions the desk sergeant had given him, went to the second floor, took a left after the elevators. The open room full of desks, the sound of people on the phones, of keyboards clicking, the occasional slam of a metal drawer, all sounded like a police precinct. He spotted Sharon easily enough—her build, the light-brown hair, the hands gesturing to pass on paperwork even as she was on the phone.
He glanced around the area, scanning whiteboards, desks, nodding to detectives he recognized. It had the comfortable feel of a good working group. He waited until Sharon finished the call before he crossed to join her. “So this is where you work.”
She turned, and he was relieved to see the immediate smile. “John. Hi.”
“Mom is having Tuesday Tea with her friends, so I decided to go out. There are too many females hoping to gossip about me for it to be wise to stick around.”
Sharon laughed. “I can see that.”
He loved her smile, the way it lit up her face. “Lieutenant, could I buy you a cup of coffee?”
“Sure.” She rose, picked up her coat. “Guys, I’ll be back.”
John was pleased to see the gloves she pulled out of a pocket. “You’ve caught another case,” he mentioned as they waited for the elevator. The whiteboards had several photos of a smiling teenage girl and long lists of names.
“There’s always another case. We’ve already located this one. She’s on her way to San Francisco at the moment, the plane ticket bought with money she earned waitressing after school.”
“Who’s at the other end?”
“A college boy, we think, and her aunt. Plainclothes cops will be there to answer that for us. She ran because home life here is not good. She needs to talk to us, but she’s of the age that if she wants to stay in California, we’re not going to force her to come back. Seventeen is a lot different from fifteen when it comes to how we handle cases like this.”
“I’m glad you’ve got it in hand. Especially at this time of year. I didn’t notice a lot of festive garland and tree ornaments tucked around your desks.”
“Our group’s Christmas spirit would be captured by the never-ending plate of cookies beside the coffeepot.”
“That works.”
He directed her north toward the coffee shop near a bookstore. They passed a Santa ringing a bell, standing next to a red kettle. Sharon slipped a folded bill inside the kettle. “Have you finished your Christmas shopping?” she asked.
“There are a few items to ship back to Cheyenne for friends there, but I’m mostly done. I made a couple of stops this morning. But if you could help me with something more for Mom, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’d love that—I’ll keep an eye out when she and I shop.”
They ordered coffee and chose a table. Sharon settled across from him, took a first sip and nodded her pleasure.
He had tracked her down at work for a reason and decided it was best to dive right into the subject. “I’ve been looking at real estate listings for a house,” he began, “something I like that also has a bedroom and bath on the main floor, so if Mom should wish to move from her apartment one day the house would work for her as well. I noticed a listing over on Cherry Lane that looks like a possibility.”
“You’re moving fast.”
“I need to be here. And this way Mom won’t have as long to feel guilty about my coming back because of her.”
Sharon shook her head. “She’ll be glad to have you here, John. But I’m guessing she’ll always feel a bit of that guilt.”
“Then I’ll simply have to make sure she sees I’m happy here,” John replied with a smile. “I’ve informed the Cheyenne city council I am resigning,” he continued. “Due to the circumstances, they’re making the transition easy so I won’t need to return. My deputy chief is covering my job, and I think the city council is smart enough to keep him there. He’s qualified, if a bit more cautious than I might be. Selling my house out there may take some of time, but it’s not an immediate problem.”
“What about the roots you had formed there, the friendships?”
“I’ll be back in Cheyenne for a day or two after the New Year to say goodbye to friends, but I won’t look back. I’ll rebuild a life here because it’s necessary.” He nodded to the waitress coming around. “Would you like lunch to go with that coffee?”
“Thanks, but I need to get back. Bryon’s promotion at the end of the year is going to leave a giant-size hole that’s going to take about three people to cover. I’m moving people around today, doing some promotions internally.”
“You like being a lieutenant.”
“I like getting the work done. I like watching a team work together smoothly. Sometimes I even like being the one in charge.”
He laughed. “Sharon, is it going to feel out of bounds if I look for work at Riverside?”
“I don’t think the chief plans to retire anytime soon.”
“I’m thinking deputy chief.”
“Wow. Nothing like burying the lead item in your news.”
“Would it bother you?”
She wrinkled her forehead for a long moment, then shook her head and smiled. “It might look like favoritism if they moved me while we were . . . well, dating,” she said with an easy smile. “So I could stay with missing-persons for as long as we might be seeing each other. That would be an extra benefit.”
He chuckled. “Not the reason I’d hope to have a woman agree to a date, but I can work with it.” He held her coat for her to slip on. “One reason this transition isn’t so hard to make is the fact I’ve met you, Sharon. There’s something good here I’d like to pursue in the coming year.”
She slid her arm through his for the walk back. “I can agree with that, John.”
John liked the routine of fixing breakfast—the oatmeal his mother preferred, bacon and eggs for himself. He set glasses of orange juice on the table. “What time is Sharon coming over for Christmas shopping?”
“Around 9:00 a.m.”
He glanced at the clock. “You’ll need to wrap up this morning, Mom, the temperature is only thirty degrees. And if you happen to see women’s gloves, buy a couple pairs for Sharon. She must lose or misplace multiple pairs. She’s constantly out and about without them.”
“I’ll do that. You should buy her something more personal than gloves, though, John.”
“I’ve already picked something out.”
“Good.”
He ignored the twinkle in his mother’s eyes. He got up to get strawberry jelly for his toast and offered her half. “Mom, talk to Sharon some more today. A quiet conversation over tea after you go shopping. Please.”
She reached over to cover his hand with hers. “I do love you so.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” The doorbell rang.
John pushed back from the table and went to meet Sharon. “Welcome to
the chaos.”
She glanced around the perfectly neat apartment, saw the breakfast items on the table. “Are you two getting on each other’s nerves already?”
Martha just laughed as she got up. “My son is trying to shepherd my life like a good son does.” She opened the closet and took out her coat.
John helped her into it, dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Be good, Mom.”
She hugged him. “We’re off, to spend money and enjoy the crowds. I leave the breakfast dishes to you.”
“Mom’s in a good mood,” John said to Sharon. “Either that or we’ve been living a little too close together the last few days.”
Sharon smiled. “I’ll call before I bring her home, if you want to take off and do some errands of your own.”
“I’ll take you up on that. Have fun, ladies.”
He watched the two walk to the elevator, already chatting about which stores to explore, and had to smile. This was the Mom he remembered. In the last few days her spirit had revived. He had no doubt she would come back with bags of Christmas presents for him to carry upstairs. It meant a lot to him that Sharon was taking the time to make such a personal connection with his mom. He knew part of it was work, but most of it was personal. He liked seeing them together.
Sharon bought the last gift on her list and turned to watch Martha studying a display of costume bracelets, deep in serious consultation with a young girl maybe eight years old. The child made her choice, and Martha selected hers. They both arrived at the cashier’s desk and consulted again about which gift box was the prettiest. The girl went with roses in all colors, while Martha chose an elegant black satin with a painted white bow.
The girl’s mother was watching the two of them, enjoying the moment as much as they were. Sharon suspected the girl was buying a Christmas gift for her mother. Martha might not be a grandmother yet, but she had the heart to be a good one.
Sharon and Martha exchanged smiles as the mother and daughter departed. Words weren’t needed to explain what made Christmas shopping special.
“I’m thinking about tea as our next stop. We can sit and enjoy a cup while I select an assortment for my next Tuesday Tea,” Martha suggested.
“I’d love that,” Sharon agreed.
The tea room was mostly empty. They found a table, and Sharon went to the counter to place their orders, browsed the lovely teapot selections until the waitress arrived with china cups. “They have such elegant style, a teapot. I can see why your gatherings are popular, Martha.”
“It’s a chance for ladies to sit and gossip is what it is, but there’s a time in life where you don’t mind that, just for the pleasure of hearing a friend’s laughter and see a blush when another friend tells a good story about the man in her life. It’s good to have friends.”
“It is.” Sharon sampled the tea and thought it refreshing. She’d never be likely to switch from coffee to tea, but an occasional change would be nice.
“My son has been silently nagging at me,” Martha mentioned. “I can tell it in the care he’s taking not to ask his questions.”
Sharon put down her cup. This was going somewhere beyond a shopping trip.
“I will not hurt my son,” Martha said once again. “If I tell John what happened, I will hurt him. Therefore, I’m not going to say anything more.”
“Martha, you must realize your silence is hurting him,” Sharon said carefully. “For a man who loves the law, has sworn to uphold it, it hurts him that you can’t trust him with what happened. He is failing you, because he can’t get you to trust him enough to talk about it. Further, he feels he’s failed at being a good son.”
Martha stared into her cup without responding, but Sharon could see her indecision, could see the pain she was feeling.
“I think despite what you’ve said,” Sharon continued, “that John believes his past is why this happened to you. That someone from his days working undercover in Chicago located you, abducted you, and caused this.”
His mother looked up from her tea. “I was with Eric and June for the two days.”
“With . . . I don’t understand.” Eric Holland, his mother, June . . . they had looked and it hadn’t fit.
“June had an affair with my husband. It’s what shattered our friendship. It’s why she moved to Florida.” Martha twisted a sugar packet, tore it open. “I forgave my husband. And that wasn’t easy. We had a separation of sorts while John was in college. A lot of marriage counseling.” She sighed and sipped her tea. “June was very lonely after her divorce. Eric had left for college. My Harold had always liked her. He would handle small repair projects around the house for her, and they let it become something more.
“I didn’t tell John at the time because he would have viewed his father differently had he known. I won’t tell him now for the same reason. I won’t destroy his good memory of his father.”
Martha turned her cup round and round on its saucer. Sharon didn’t interrupt the silence. She didn’t know yet what to safely say. But her heart ached at the words Martha had said thus far.
“Eric didn’t know about the affair until June spoke about it recently, in her dementia not realizing what she was saying. June had no peace, was living with the guilt of what she had done. Eric wanted me to let his mom apologize before she was no longer able to do so. And knowing the truth, he realized I wasn’t likely to accept an invitation to see her. He politely asked again if I would come over when I saw him at the grocery store. I just as politely told him no, that I had plans for the evening, and I left to go purchase flowers for the tea. But something—” she paused, gave a deep sigh—“maybe the weight of years, the need to forgive, the fact it was her birthday, and likely her last . . . well, I changed my mind. I drove around for a while, gathering my courage, and then I went over to see June.
“Eric was relieved to see me, but it didn’t go well. June was nodding off when I got there and woke disoriented, which rather set the stage for trouble. She got . . . very agitated. June was going on about Harold and where was he and she needed to see him, that I was keeping him from her, screaming really. I’m afraid I started shouting back—he was my husband, not hers, and I’m crying too, and poor Eric is standing there horrified, trying to calm us both down. And then rather abruptly June switched to the present, that God has cursed her with the dementia because of the affair. I’m not saying it, but I’m thinking, good.” Martha stopped, put her hands to her face, and shook her head. She let out another sigh and collected herself, looked over briefly before turning her attention back to her tea.
“I thought it best to leave, and Eric’s trying to convince me to wait, explaining he just needs another hour of my time, that June will have a coherent moment after the drama settles down, that his mom wants to apologize, needs to apologize, that she’s not going to live much longer, and if I walk out she’s going to lose any hope of dying at peace. But June’s back to shouting about Harold and she needs to see him and . . . and I never loved him like she did.”
Sharon reached across the table and took hold of Martha’s shaking hands.
“I cannot tell you how angry I was,” she said, tears pooling in her eyes as her voice shook. “I gathered my things and keys, but Eric begged me to stay, insisted I stay. That if we would just calm down and talk like rational people . . .” Martha’s voice trailed off, and she looked over to Sharon. “I confess I wanted to strike him at that moment. June did. She hit him upside the head, yelling at him to get out of her way. The next thing I remember I awakened in the guest bedroom about midnight. He’d used some kind of spray medication to calm his mom down and accidentally got me too. I believed him when he said he hadn’t intended to catch me with it. But what a mess.”
Martha finished her tea. “Eric made it impossible for me to leave. He was apologetic, but firm. As long as I had come, he insisted I wait until June was able to do what she really needed—confess and ask forgiveness. I was with Eric and June for the two days. She eventually apologized for the affair.
June and I made our peace. And when she passes away, Eric will do what’s right and come forward, admit to what he did.”
“Martha, do you realize—?”
The woman held up her hand and shook her head. “Let me say my piece, Sharon. Until his mother is gone, Eric will deny any part of what I’ve just said. He can’t leave June and be charged, imprisoned. If you find my fingerprints in his house, I’ll say I went to visit an old friend on her birthday. Let this rest until June is gone—it’s only a matter of time now.”
Martha’s look turned distant. “During those two days I had to relive the most painful part of my personal history. I don’t want to go through it for a third time with John. I don’t want to deal with his questions and why I didn’t tell him when it happened. I don’t want to watch his respect for his father crumble. I had put what happened in the past. I will do the same with these two days. It’s my choice not to speak of it, for the good of my son.
“Eric will do the right thing because he’s a man of conscience. After June dies, he’ll admit to what he did and plead guilty. But what is history regarding his mom is not going to be mentioned by either of us. I can understand his reasons for forcing me to stay. And I forgive him. He loves his mom, just like I love my son.”
Sharon was still holding Martha’s hand. Tears slipped down her cheeks, mirroring those of Martha. She reached for Kleenex from her purse for them both. “I know you love John.”
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