Take the Lead

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  Zara frowned. “That’s it?”

  “Well, there was a little bit more.”

  “I swear, getting you to talk is like pulling teeth. “What else did y’all talk about?”

  “Well, um, first she asked how we were getting along. I told her fine. Then she asked if I was doing okay with the chores. I said yes.” Looking at Zara warily, she said, “Why? Should I have been worried?”

  “No. Not really.” Zara gingerly walked to her dresser in the back corner of the room. “I guess I always worry about stupid stuff.”

  Gwen crossed her legs and watched Zara dig through a drawer full of T-shirts and shorts. She debated pushing further, and decided to go ahead and say more. She was learning that it didn’t pay to be ignorant around the center. People expected you to do your part . . . even when you weren’t sure what that was, exactly.

  “Why? Does Ellen get mad if I say the wrong thing?”

  “No. She only gets upset if you keep things from her.”

  “Sounds like you know that from experience.”

  “I do. When I first got here, I was still drinking a lot on the sly.”

  “How did you get alcohol? Plus, didn’t they they make you sign a contract before they assigned you a room?”

  Zara rolled her eyes. “Come on. You don’t think everyone here actually means what they promise, do you?”

  Gwen actually had. Feeling embarrassed by her naivete, she said, “Well, what happened?”

  “Late one night I snuck out and forgot to lock the front door behind me.” Zara turned from the dresser and pointed to the mattress Gwen was sitting on. “Angel’s ex walked right in.”

  “This was her bed?”

  “Yeah. We were roommates.”

  “What happened to her? Where is she living now?” Wracking her brain, she tried to remember more of the other women’s names. “Did she move rooms? I don’t think we’ve met.”

  Zara turned away again. “You wouldn’t have met, ’cause she’s dead.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” Zara’s voice sounded hollow. “Angel’s ex was as bad a man as they come, and even though she ran away he found her. He searched the whole place, woke her up, and when she fought him, he shot her.”

  “Oh my gosh!”

  Nodding, Zara pulled out one of her shirts and refolded it. “Yep. It was all my fault, too. I cried like a baby when I told Ellen what I’d done. I’m surprised they didn’t kick me out.”

  “Zara, you didn’t kill her.”

  “No, I sure did not. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have taken my spot here more seriously.” She popped a hip out. “The thing, Gwen, is that for whatever reason, you’ve been given a second chance. But it don’t come without consequences, you know? Ellen might be full of rules, but she’s what’s keeping that bun in your oven safe. You’ve got to step up, be honest with yourself and her, and realize that nothing in your life starts changing until you do.”

  “I hear what you’re saying.”

  “I hope so, ’cause I don’t know if I can take another late-night visitor like Angel’s ex.” She stuffed the shirt she’d just folded in her purse. “I’ll see you later. Ellen found me a place to work. I’m going to go interview.”

  “What kind of job is it?”

  “Kitchen help. If I get the job, I’ll be working in the back of a restaurant. I’ll have to wash dishes at first, but Ellen says the people are fair and if they like what they see, they’ll start teaching me other things. I aim to have a good job as a cook one day.”

  “Good luck.” Gwen offered a smile that she hoped was encouraging.

  Zara stopped at the door with a grin. “Thanks.”

  When she was alone again, Gwen thought about Ellen and the social worker and even the cop who seemed like she really cared. Each one of them had given her a chance. No, a second chance. Now it was up to her to try to figure out what to do with that. Did she want to merely survive and stay off drugs, then give up her baby?

  Or, did she maybe want to do something worth thinking about? Worth being proud of?

  Either option was going to be a big step for her, but only one of them would make her feel proud.

  CHAPTER 10

  international latin samba: A bouncy

  dance that is partnered for competitions, but as the

  national dance of Brazil it is performed solo.

  “Thank you for taking me to the doctor today,” Gwen told Traci as she pulled into the parking lot outside Dr. Rossi’s offices. “I was really in a bind when Ellen had an emergency come up.”

  “I was off today, so your timing was perfect.” Looking over Gwen, Traci felt like she was almost a different woman. Already Gwen’s eyes and skin looked better. She’d obviously gained a few pounds, too. She was still extremely thin, but now, at least, she didn’t look like she’d been starved in some prison camp. “I wanted to check to see how you were doing anyway.”

  “I’m doing all right.”

  “Everything going well at the center?”

  “I think so. Most of the other women are nice and easy to get along with.”

  “Only most?”

  “It’s a houseful of women who are going through hard times,” Gwen said with a shrug. “I guess no matter where you’re at, there’s always a couple who like to stir things up.”

  “When I hear statements like that, I’m always glad I work with a lot of men,” she joked. “I can steer clear of their kind of drama.” She laughed.

  Gwen smiled back, but it was tentative. It was obvious that she was waiting for Traci to get to the reason she was looking at her like that.

  Traci figured stalling any longer wasn’t going to make her news easier to bear. “Gwen, I not only wanted to take you to your doctor’s appointment but I also needed to tell you some news.” She glanced at the clock on the dash of her car. “Since we’ve got a little bit of time before your appointment, I thought we could talk about it right now.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Let me back up a sec. The night I brought you to the hospital, my partner and a couple of other officers arrested Hunter, as well as the other men in the house.” Studying Gwen, Traci noticed that none of that was a surprise for her. “To continue on, we ran their fingerprints, locked them up because they were under the influence and in possession of assorted illegal drugs, and set bail. Unfortunately, every one of them made bail before you even got out of the hospital.”

  Not looking surprised, Gwen nodded.

  “Last night, one of our informants hinted that Hunter is not real happy that you’re at the women’s center.” She sighed. “There’s no better way to say it, Gwen. “He wants you back.”

  “I know he does.”

  Everything inside of Traci told her that there was more to these four words than a gut feeling. “Care to explain why you know that?”

  “Because he sent me a note when I was in the hospital, and I’m pretty sure he was waiting for me the day I got out.”

  “And you’re just now telling me this?”

  Gwen’s blue eyes looked even more pained. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  She was beyond furious. “You’re sorry?”

  “But, um, before you get even madder, I should tell you that he sent another note yesterday. He wants me to leave the center and move in with him.” She grimaced. “Like I would ever do that.”

  “No one should have given you that letter, Gwen. They’re supposed to screen your mail.”

  “It was addressed from a woman.” She bit her lip. “And addressed to me in a woman’s handwriting.”

  As Traci processed this news, she had to keep reminding herself that Gwen was just a girl. Just an eighteen-year-old who’d likely been abused and mistreated for months or years. “Why didn’t you tell me this all before? Why didn�
�t you call me last night after you received the letter?”

  “I don’t know. I guess . . . I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.”

  As frustrated as she was with Gwen’s secrets, there was a part of Traci that was also breathing a huge sigh of relief. Gwen wasn’t cowering or crying. She was telling the truth now.

  This girl was getting stronger. That was a good thing. “Gwen, Officer Lange and I tried to find Hunter last night, but we couldn’t find any sign of him. We won’t give up though, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “All right. Let’s go inside.”

  Ten minutes later, a nurse was calling Gwen’s name.

  As Gwen stood up, she looked in Traci’s direction with a sense of panic.

  “I’ll be here waiting for you,” Traci promised.

  Two minutes after Traci disappeared from view, the receptionist called Traci over.

  “Yes?”

  “Dr. Rossi asked if you could step into his office for a moment. We needed to draw some blood from Gwen, so he has a minute while she’s in the other room.”

  “All right.” Traci got to her feet.

  “Come back this way, please.”

  Traci followed the older woman inside, past several examining rooms, to a spacious office.

  “Have a seat. He’ll be right in.” She walked back out, leaving the door opened behind her.

  Traci sat down in one of the gray leather chairs across from his desk, waited a few seconds, and then stood back up. She was curious about Dr. Rossi, and the photographs displayed around his office were impossible to resist. At least twenty photos of families and tiny babies covered a large bulletin board on one wall. Dr. Rossi was dressed in scrubs in at least half of them. But in each one, he was wearing such a look of delight and pride that Traci felt her heart melt.

  She had a feeling that these babies weren’t the only ones he’d delivered. Not by a long shot. Had he put them up for a special reason?

  On another wall was a set of three photos. In each, he was surrounded by a group of men and women about his age. Her favorite was the one where they were all wearing graduation gowns that were unzipped and blowing in the wind. They all had their arms around each other and not a one of them was looking at the camera.

  But the pictures that really stole her heart were the ones behind his desk on his credenza. There were six photographs in all, each encased in a silver frame. The people in the pictures all had olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes—obviously members of Matt’s family.

  She studied them more intently, but only managed to spot him in one. That photo showed a far younger Matt Rossi. He was standing on a dock with a fishing pole in one hand. Next to him was an older man who she guessed was his grandfather. They were both laughing at something in the distance. Right at that minute, she would have given anything to see what they were looking at too.

  “Sorry, Traci . . . ah, what are you doing?”

  Feeling like a nine-year-old caught shoplifting, she turned in a start. “I’m sorry. I have a hard time sitting still, so I was looking at all of your pictures.” She hurried back around his desk. “I guess I got carried away.”

  Instead of sitting right down, he pointed to the framed picture she’d been staring at when he walked in. “That’s my grandfather and me.”

  “What did you two see that made you laugh?”

  “Hmm?” He looked again. “Oh.” He shook his head as his expression softened. “We were laughing at my sisters trying to fish with my dad.”

  “Trying?”

  “You couldn’t even really call it that, to be honest. Dad kept telling them to bait the hook and they’d squeal every time he tried to hand them an earthworm. My father was very annoyed with them.”

  “He got mad? What did he do?”

  “Do? Well, nothing, really. I mean he told them that they would have to eat peanut butter and jelly for dinner instead of fresh fish.” He grinned. “That was their plan, I fear.”

  She smiled back at him, swallowing the fierce sense of longing that had just risen up in her. Biting it off, she said, “I heard you wanted to see me?”

  He blinked. “Oh. Yes. Can I have your phone number? I want to talk to you about something, but I don’t have much time.”

  “You have my card . . .”

  “No, I meant your personal number.” For the first time since she’d met him he looked discomfited. “I . . . it’s nothing bad. I promise.”

  “Doctor?” the nurse prompted from the doorway.

  “Coming.” Walking to the door, he said, “Grab a Post-it from my desk and write your number down, would you please? Thanks,” he threw out over his shoulder before striding down the hall.

  “Gwen shouldn’t be much longer,” the nurse said, letting Traci know that she might be a cop but that gal still didn’t think Traci should be in Dr. Rossi’s office by herself..

  “I’ll be right out,” Traci said. Then, because she didn’t ever want to be thought of as a gal who doubted herself, she pulled off a yellow Postiit Note, carefully wrote down her name and phone number, and then applied it to the top of a leather appointment calendar that was embossed with his initials.

  She hoped he’d call soon, because she had no idea what he could want to talk to her about.

  But when they did talk, she’d be sure to let him know that she didn’t like surprises much. In fact, not at all.

  CHAPTER 11

  “The only way to make sense out of change is to

  plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.”

  —Alan Watts

  After returning Gwen to the women’s center, Traci went back to the station and did some paperwork. Then she went with Dylan to do a talk at a retirement home. They ended their shift by patrolling Bridgeport, which was always her favorite activity. She liked the unexpectedness of it.

  Well, the unexpected ease of these patrols. Back in inner city Cleveland, she and her teammates rarely had time to do more than grab a protein bar before racing to the next emergency. On top of that was a general air of hostility that greeted them around the city. Oh, not every person hated the police. Not by a long shot. But there had been enough people who did that she had needed to constantly put up her guard.

  Her days in Bridgeport had more to do with serving the community than with protecting the population from those intent on doing them harm.

  After the first couple of rocky interactions, she’d begun to get the hang of simply talking to citizens and learning about their needs. For her there was nothing like walking along the bike trail and talking to folks, visiting the local parks and helping redirect teens who looked like they were a little too bored, and the various house calls they often did together.

  She had been in Bridgeport a year now and it was amazing how much she’d gotten used to the slower pace of her job. Oh, there was still stress. And it definitely wasn’t Mayberry. But she also hadn’t pulled her gun in weeks, and she and Dylan had begun to have a friendly banter about where to eat during each shift. Back in Cleveland, she’d just been trying to keep up with all the calls. It was definitely a change of pace that she appreciated.

  After showering, she went to their loft’s spacious kitchen, which had become their go-to place to reconnect. To her surprise, her three roommates were all gathered around the table, glasses of rosé in hand.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’re choosing dresses for the party Shannon’s parents are throwing for her in Spartan,” Kimber said. “If you want a say instead of all of us picking something out for you to wear, go grab a glass a wine and join us.”

  “When is this again?”

  “June,” Jennifer said.

  “Am I the only one who thinks it’s a little crazy to be worrying about what we’re wearing two months in advance?”

  Kimber lifted her chin. “Yes.”
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  “Come on.”

  “It’s actually only about six weeks from now, Traci,” Jennifer said. “The party is the second week in June and it’s already near the end of April.”

  She still thought it was early, but she wasn’t willing to argue that point. “Fine. I’m in, though I thought this was going to be a low-key event,” Traci said as she bypassed the wine and grabbed a beer.

  Shannon’s smile faltered as Traci sat down on the couch next to her. “Well, um, I know I told you that.” She started talking faster, her accent thickening with every third word. “To be fair, this kind of thing is low-key for my mother. But since Dylan and I had such a small wedding here, I’m afraid my mom has gotten it into her head to make it kind of a big deal.”

  “What does her low-key, big deal event mean, exactly?” She held out a hand before Kimber got all testy and told her that she was being selfish. “I promise, I’m not trying to be difficult. I just don’t have any experience with this. We didn’t have fancy parties at the group home and I hang around mostly male cops all day. They talk about sports.”

  “It means the party is at a country club,” Jennifer said.

  “And we’re all going to be wearing cocktail dresses.”

  Warning bells started going off in her head. “Please tell me that we aren’t wearing matching gowns or anything.”

  “No,” Shannon said. “Of course not.” Pushing the fashion catalog they’d all been looking at to one side, she added, “But, um, my mother wanted everyone to know right away how special you girls are to me. She kind of asked if all our dresses to be a little alike. Like all the same color or style.”

  “That sounds like bridesmaids dresses to me.”

  “Oh, who cares if they are?” Kimber asked. “It’s just a dress for one night.”

  Traci put down her beer. “Shannon, I want to go and all, but don’t you think your mom is being pretty pushy? This party is supposed to be about you and Dylan, not her.”

  Looking pained, Shannon added, “For some reason, my mother feels bad that she didn’t adopt all three of us instead of just me.”