The next morning, after staring at the ceiling all night, he picked up his phone. His hand hovered over the keyboard for several minutes. Finally he punched in the numbers and made an appointment with Mary, the department therapist he'd seen after Cilla arrested him.
He didn't like himself very much right now. He needed help to figure out how to fix that.
Chapter 15
Six weeks later
Ryan pulled into a visitor's parking spot at an apartment complex in the Chicago suburb of Bloomingdale. The formerly white paint on the half-timbered buildings was grey and peeling. Several cars rested on blocks in the residents' parking spots. Garbage overflowed a rusting green dumpster.
Cammie lived in this dump.
He'd found his sister through a police report. She'd been arrested in the nearby suburb of Glendale Heights for disturbing the peace and drunk and disorderly. The arresting officer had found a bag of weed in her purse that barely squeaked below the 'intent to deliver' weight.
She'd spent ninety days in jail. According to her parole officer, this depressing, bleak apartment building was her most recent address.
Ryan hadn't been able to find his brother Jesse, and a cold stone had taken up permanent residence in his gut. Scenarios that explained Jesse's absence unspooled constantly in Ryan's brain, each one worse than the last.
After staring at the crooked numbers on the building for too long, working up his courage, he stepped out of the car. Opened the door to the building and walked into the hall.
No inside security door. Decent lighting, but it only highlighted the worn, dirty carpet and the loose railing up to the second floor. His eyes burned at the pungent smell of an industrial strength cleaner that didn't quite cover the stink of vomit.
Cammie's apartment was on the second floor. He stood in front of her door for a long time before he knocked. His heart pounded as he listened for footsteps.
He hadn't seen Cammie since their mother's funeral, five years earlier. Then, Cammie had been a sullen, resentful, eighteen-year-old who had never forgiven him for walking away from their family after his father died when she was eleven.
Five years ago, Ryan had been a newly-minted detective whose partner Anson Bates had drawn him into the cop family. Not blood, but just as close. Finding his place had helped Ryan bury the pain of losing his real family.
Five years ago, his mother's funeral hadn't seemed like the time to tell Cammie and their brother Jesse that his mother had thrown Ryan out of the house after their father died.
The therapist he'd been seeing three times a week had helped Ryan see how he'd made so many bad decisions over the past fourteen years. Chosen the wrong fork in the road more often than not.
She'd also helped him see that he'd made those decisions while floundering in a swamp of family secrets, guilt and loneliness. That he'd been squeezed into a box without the keys to unlock it.
She was helping him dissolve the sticky web of self-reproach and remorse that bound him so tightly to the past. Bonds that he needed to break free of to step into the future.
For the first time in years, he could see daylight through the trees. It shimmered in front of him, still out of reach, but beckoning him closer. Mary was helping him hack through the brambles that blocked his way. She'd shown him that connecting with Cammie and Jesse again was the next step in the process.
Yeah, he was doing better.
But would it make a difference if Cammie refused to see him? Refused to talk to him?
He knocked again, his foot jiggling on the carpet. Finally he heard footsteps on the other side of the door. His heart banging against his chest, his lungs tight, he swallowed hard as the door opened.
He didn't recognize the woman on the other side of the door. If it was Cammie, she'd dyed her blond hair black. Straightened it. Gained some weight.
"Cammie?" he asked cautiously.
"No. I'm her roommate."
"Is she home?" Ryan stood taller beneath the young woman's assessing gaze.
"She's not here," the woman finally said.
"When will she be back?"
The woman's face hardened and her eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know?"
"I want to see her," Ryan answered, wondering why Cammie's roommate was so hostile. So suspicious. Was his sister in trouble?
"If you're a bill collector, I'm not telling you jack shit," she said, closing the door.
Ryan stuck his foot out to keep the door open. "I'm not a bill collector. I'm her…friend." He couldn't say he was her brother. If Cammie refused to see him and disappeared, he'd have to start over from scratch.
The woman studied him. Ryan stared back. "Hold on," she finally said. "I'll take a look at her schedule." She kicked his foot away from the door and slammed it shut.
Ryan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Cammie's roommate wasn't going to look at his sister's schedule. She wouldn't open that door again.
He wasn't about to leave. If Cammie lived here, and apparently she did, she'd come home sooner or later.
Leaning against the wall next to the door, Ryan stared at the crooked letters 'Apt. B' glued to the wood. What had happened to his mother's house? Why wasn't Cammie living there?
Footsteps echoed behind the door. Coming closer. Maybe the roommate was coming back after all.
The door opened and his sister stood in front of him. Her blond hair was cut short and her face was pale and make-up free. Her gray eyes, so similar to his, stared at him, shocked.
"Ryan?" she whispered.
Without waiting for him to answer, she launched herself into his arms. Hugged him tight, her arms a vise around his neck. "Ry," she sobbed into his chest. "My God. You're here."
Ryan closed his eyes and held onto his sister, blinking back his own tears. She felt thin. Fragile in his arms. "Cammie. Oh, God, Cam. I'm so glad I found you."
"How did you find me?" She leaned back to look at his face, wiping away tears on the sleeve of her tee shirt. Its stormy gray was the exact color of her eyes.
He knuckled away a tear she'd missed. "I'm a cop, Cam. It's what I do." She didn't ask the question that hung between them – then why didn't you find me earlier?
"Come in," his sister said, throwing the door wide and catching his hand, as if he might run if she didn't hold on.
Ryan stepped into the apartment, but resisted his sister's effort to pull him farther inside. "Do you want to go somewhere we can talk? A restaurant? Or a coffee shop?"
"We can talk here. Jenny's getting ready for work. She's leaving in a few minutes." Cammie grabbed his hand again and tugged him into a small galley kitchen.
It was immaculate. The counters held only a toaster and a battered toaster oven. The sink was free of dirty dishes, and the drying rack was empty.
"You want something to drink?" Cammie asked, opening the refrigerator. "I have iced tea or that flavored fizzy water. Not the expensive brand. But I think it's just as good."
"Iced tea sounds great," he said, scanning the shelves of the refrigerator and seeing only lunchmeat, bread, fruit, bags of salad, butter and condiments. No beer or wine.
She must have seen him looking. "No booze, if that's what you're looking for. I go to AA four times a week," she said quietly. "So does Jenny."
"Do people in AA…are they supposed to live together?"
"Maybe not, but Jenny and I help each other stay sober." She glanced toward the back of the apartment, where he assumed Jenny was. "We lean on each other. It's working for both of us."
"That's good," Ryan said, exhaling. "And for the record, I wasn't looking for booze. I wanted to make sure you had stuff to eat in there."
Cammie pulled a pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge and closed the door. "I'm twenty-three, Ry. I've made mistakes, but I'm learning. Only good food, fizzy water and iced tea in my fridge." She poured two glasses and handed him one. "Let's sit in the living room."
That room was immaculate, as well. The upholstery on the couch and two chairs was w
orn and faded. The tables looked like they'd been scavenged from someone's curb, but they were clean, too. A few pictures hung on the wall, mostly beach scenes. Cammie had always loved the beach. A small bookcase held a collection of paperbacks.
"You've got a nice place, Cam," Ryan said as he lowered himself onto the couch.
"Thanks." She sat in the chair across from him and set her glass on one of the coasters on the coffee table. "I've learned that if you take care of your place, you're taking care of yourself. Jenny and I have a list of chores and we do them regularly."
He remembered Cammie's room in their family's house. He would have been hard-pressed to name the color of her rug. It had been covered with clothes and papers and books for as long as he could remember.
"How've you been, Cam?"
She studied him for a long moment, then smiled. "I'm doing good, Ry. I have a job. I have friends – the right kind of friends. And I've got a place of my own."
"Where do you work?"
"At the Whole Foods a mile away. I've been there for eight months. I even got a raise."
"That's great, Cam."
"It's not a fancy job," she said. "But I like it, and I'm saving some money. I enrolled in the junior college, and I'm taking an English class. Can't afford more than one a semester, but I'm working my way through the prerequisites."
"For…?"
She rolled her shoulders and avoided his gaze. "I want to be a counselor. In a program for drug addicted teens."
Ryan reached across the table and took his sister's hand. "I'm so proud of you, Cam. You'd be great at that."
"Because I've been there?" she said, raising her chin.
"Yeah, that's part of it." He wasn't going to lie to his sister. "But mostly because you've always been easy to talk to. Beneath the attitude, you were always kind. Caring. Sweet."
He saved all of his overtime pay, and he had a little nest egg. Maybe he could help Cammie take more than one class a semester.
Her lower lip trembled, and she stared down at her lap. "Hearing you say that means a lot to me, Ry."
"It's the truth."
She finally looked up at him. "Looks like you're doing pretty well, too. I saw you on television right after Mom died. You'd solved some case. Everyone seemed pretty happy about it."
He studied his sister. "If you saw me on TV after Mom died, why didn't you come find me?"
She pleated the fabric of her tee shirt, a nervous habit she'd had since she was a kid. "I was an immature jerk, Ry. I blamed you for the way our family disintegrated. The way Jesse took off and never came back, the way Mom was, how screwed up I got."
Ryan swallowed the lump of guilt and sadness swelling in his throat. "I'm sorry, Cam. I let you down. Jesse and Mom, too. I abandoned all of you after Dad died. I wish I could go back and change it, but I can't."
Cammie rolled her eyes. "You didn't abandon us, you idiot. Mom threw you out because she blamed you for getting Dad killed. I might have only been eleven, but I knew what was going on."
Ryan swallowed again, his mouth suddenly dry as dust. "Did she…do you think she ever regretted it?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I heard her in your room once in a while, crying. Not sure if it was because she missed you, though, or missed having someone to help around the house. Doesn't matter. You know how Mom was – she wouldn't ever admit to making a mistake. Wouldn't ever apologize for anything she did."
"I called her a few times," Ryan said, taking a gulp of the unsweetened tea. "She always hung up on me."
"Don't blame yourself, Ry." His sister reached for his hand, and he closed his fingers around hers. "You could have called her every day and she would have hung up on you every time. You called the cops when Dad was knocking her around. The cops threw him in jail. Another inmate shanked him. In her mind, you were the cause of all her problems."
"Yeah. No one could ever tell Mom anything," he said quietly. He'd always wonder if he should have been more persistent. Tried harder. But in his heart, he knew Cammie was right. It wasn't in his mother's nature to forgive.
"I've talked to my therapist about Mom," Cammie said, fingers tight in her shirt. "Teddy said Mom should never have had kids. That she didn't protect any of us. To throw you out of the house…" She shook her head. "She was always about herself. Not her kids. I think Teddy's right. It's not on you. It's on Mom."
"Still, I should have been able to do something for you and Jesse."
Cammie snorted. "I'm guessing you have to deal with a lot of stubborn, screwed-up teenagers." She waited until he nodded once. "Any of them ever listen to you?"
Of course they didn't. He hadn't listened to anyone at that age, either.
"I rest my case. Nothing that happened was on you, Ry. It all started when you called the cops on Dad. And that was the right thing to do," his sister said fiercely.
"Maybe you're right." She was definitely right, but it would take him a while to forgive himself for the way he'd let Cammie and Jesse down.
"I know I'm right," Cammie said. "And speaking of being right…" Cammie leaned forward, smiling.
"I saw you a couple of months ago, too," she said. "About that case with the crooked cop. That woman you rescued from the restaurant? You had your arm around her like you weren't ever gonna let her go." She leaned forward and her hand tightened on his. "I predict I'm getting a sister-in-law sometime soon."
Even now, six weeks later, any mention of Livvy made his chest ache. Cammie's question about Livvy was an arrow straight to the heart. He worked his hand out of his sister's grasp.
"I don't know, Cam. I screwed up. Really badly."
"Didn't seem that way," she said, frowning. "Looked like you were the hero."
"Maybe at the very end. But the whole mess with Bates wasn't my finest hour."
"Your partner was the crook. Not you. So it wasn't your fault."
"So my therapist keeps telling me."
"You're seeing a therapist, too?" his sister said, surprised.
"Yeah." Ryan shrugged, still uncomfortable telling people about Mary. "Is your therapist helping you?"
"Yeah," she said, relaxing back into the chair. "He is. How about you?"
"Mary's great. I'm figuring out a lot of stuff." Whether Livvy would ever be able to forgive him was another story.
Maybe she'd moved on already. Put him out of her head and her life.
Shoving the thought out of his head, he forced a smile. "Hey, Cam, it's almost six. Want to get some dinner?"
She studied him for a long moment, then smiled back. "I'd love that, Ry. We have a lot of catching up to do."
Chapter 16
Two months later
Ryan sat in the big, comfortable armchair across from Mary, watching his therapist scribble something on a pad of paper. Then she looked up at him. Smiled.
"How are you doing today, Ryan?"
"I'm good. Cammie and I chased down a few leads on our brother Jesse, but they were all dead ends. We're not giving up, though."
"So your relationship with your sister is going well?"
"It's great." He relaxed his grip on the arms of the chair. These were the easy questions. "She signed up for three courses at her junior college this semester. She's going to be busy, but we're still getting together once a week."
"Have you asked her about moving closer to you?"
"Yeah, but she doesn't want to do it. She's happy where she is. She and Jenny have friends, jobs, a routine. Jenny's starting classes at the junior college, too."
"How does that make you feel?"
Ryan remembered his sister's face when they'd had dinner the previous week. She'd glowed when she told him about the three classes she was enrolled in. "It makes me feel good. Really good."
"Are you ready to work on other relationships in your life?"
His stomach clenched. Back to the hard questions. He knew what Mary was asking, and he didn't want to think about Livvy. It had been almost four months since he'd walked out of Livvy's life. For all he
knew, she'd moved on. Gotten involved with someone else. A woman like Livvy wouldn't be single for long.
Thinking of Livvy with someone else made him feel as if his heart had been torn out of his chest. As if there was nothing but a void where the organ used to be.
"Other relationships? Yeah, we're still looking for Jesse. Won't stop until we find him."
Mary tapped her pen on her pad of paper as she studied him. "That wasn't who I was asking about."
Ryan didn’t say a word.
"Tell me again why you left Olivia?"
Ryan rolled his shoulders. He tried to avoid talking about Livvy with Mary. Everything time they did, it ripped the scab off his heart, leaving it bleeding all over again. "I didn't know how to be in a real relationship. I knew I'd mess up. Hurt her. Ruin everything."
"Do you think you know how to be in a relationship now?"
He shrugged, staring at a painting of a vase of peonies on the wall behind Mary. Trying not to think of Livvy. "Does anyone really know?"
Mary smiled. "Right answer, Ryan. Do you miss her?"
"Every minute of every day." If that wasn't hard enough, he dreamed about her every night, too.
"So if you tried to have a relationship with Livvy, it would hurt very much if you didn't make it."
"Yeah," he said, squirming in the chair. "It would." It would kill him.
"How do you think you'll feel if you let her go for good? Don't even try to get her back?"
Ryan stared at his shoes. Didn't answer. If he never saw Livvy again, the hole in his soul would deepen into an abyss. So deep and so wide that he'd never crawl out of it.
He tried to keep his face expressionless. But Mary was a great therapist. She'd seen his truth. She cocked her head. "You have two choices, Ryan. Which are you going to take?"
* * *
The garage door rumbled down behind Livvy, cutting off the alley light. The dim bulb in the garage ceiling illuminated her car just enough that Livvy was able to grab her briefcase and the brown paper bag holding her Chinese takeout.
Save Me Page 14