Straight from the Heart

by Layce Gardner

  Parker’s fingers slipped between Amy’s thighs, seeking, probing.

  Amy gasped.

  Parker’s fingers expertly moved inside her. Amy’s mind went blank. Gone was the tragedy of the day, all she could do was feel and react.

  Parker brought her to a climax that made her feel like she was bursting. Relief flooded her body. She luxuriously turned on her stomach and stretched like a lazy cat after a long afternoon nap.

  Parker slid on top of Amy’s back. She moved her hips against Amy’s bottom. Amy rose to meet each of Parker’s thrusts. Parker’s own orgasm happened moments later.

  Amy turned to her lover and said, “Feel better?”

  Parker mumbled, “Much. Much better.”

  This time they spooned with Amy curled around Parker and they fell asleep.

  ***

  Parker showed up at Steph’s the next morning. She made a pot of coffee and gave Steph two aspirin. They both went outside to sit on the deck to breathe the fresh air while they caffeinated. Steph didn’t look very good. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.

  “I’m going to check out Rosa’s car this morning,” Parker said. “Fix it if I can.”

  “Why? She won’t be driving it anytime soon,” Steph said. She bit her lip in an effort to keep from crying.

  Parker touched Steph’s shoulder, went inside, and brought out a box of Kleenex. She put the box of tissues in Steph’s lap.

  “Thanks,” Steph said. She blew her nose. “Sorry about that. I don’t mean to keep crying. It just sneaks up on me.”

  Parker studied her friend and said, “I’ve got your back. I’ll be there for you. I’ll start with getting her car running. That will be an incentive. If we sit by doing nothing, Rosa will think we’ve given up on her. We need to see this as a temporary condition. I’m also going to put wheelchair ramps up to the front porch. Temporary ones so she can come and go easier. Eric is going to help. He’s still got three days of his rotation left. He has time and he needs to keep busy. Losing Gary punched a giant hole in his world.” She sipped her coffee. It tasted like crap. She winced.

  Steph noticed. “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.” She went toward the house then turned, “You called Eric?”

  “No, he called me. He wanted to know if he could do anything. I said yes.”

  “He’s like you. He’d rather do something than mope like I am,” Steph said. She went inside.

  Parker walked around the side of the house to the driveway. She opened the hood of the old Sentra and stared into its bowels. The battery was corroded. She’d start by replacing it. She took a few tools out of her van and began to unbolt the battery. After she did that, she unhooked the alternator. It wouldn’t hurt to have it tested, too.

  While she worked, she thought about Rosa. The doctor had said that Rosa would never be the active woman she once was. They all knew what that meant. She couldn’t be a beat cop anymore. Rosa’s whole identity was wrapped up in being a police officer. Parker wondered how long it would take Rosa to figure that out, once she was conscious long enough to think about what had happened to her.

  Steph opened the front door and called, “Coffee’s ready. Come inside and take a break.”

  “Be right there.” Parker opened her van and set the battery and alternator in the back. She grabbed a rag, wiped her hands off, and went inside.

  Steph was staring out the sliding glass doors into the backyard. “The garden needs to be taken down and prepped for winter.”

  Parker ignored her comment. She knew it was an avoidance technique. As long as Steph was thinking about the garden, she didn’t have to think about Rosa.

  “I was thinking,” Parker began, “you need a better attitude. You need to be the strong one. You don’t get to have the Kleenex box anymore.” She took the coffee Steph offered.

  “So that’s all I get? One good cry?”

  “Yep. You should go see Carol and give her the lasagna and cookies. Then you’re needed at the hospital.”

  “You’re right,” Steph said.

  “I usually am.”

  “Yeah, but you make shitty coffee.”

  ***

  After Steph left, Parker went back to Rosa’s car. She pulled off the distributor cap, took a look, and then checked the oil. Both were in working order. She dug Rosa’s owner’s manual out of the glove box. Rosa kept meticulous records of what had been replaced or repaired on the Sentra—looked like almost everything at one point or another.

  Parker understood that the Sentra was a fond reminder of Rosa’s move to self-sufficiency. After leaving the state home, Rosa had walked everywhere or taken the bus. When she got the cop job, she’d bought the Sentra. Parker studied the records jotted down neatly in the owner’s manual. The battery had been replaced two years ago. It mostly likely wasn’t that, but she’d take it in anyway just to be sure. The starter had been replaced once, but the alternator was original. She put the manual back, certain her diagnostics were on target.

  Parker put the hood down and walked a slow circle around the car, inspecting it. The maroon paint was faded, there were several small cracks in the windshield, the rubber seals around the windows and inside the doors were bone dry and needed to be replaced. Parker was sure water leaked in when it rained. Rosa most definitely needed a new car.

  Parker was about to leave when she glanced in her rear-view mirror and saw Millie pull up in her GTO that she had named The Judge. It was an orange muscle car that was the envy of all the teenaged boys in town. Millie got out of the car and strode up to the van window. She wore a hot pink activewear shirt and black yoga pants. Millie was somewhere in her eighth decade, but you wouldn’t know that from looking at her body. She looked better than most forty-year-olds. She rapped her knuckles on Parker’s window.

  Parker rolled down the window, saying, “Hey, Millie. How are you?”

  “I was on my way to yoga class. I wanted to see what I could do for Steph and Rosa.”

  “Steph just left for the hospital.”

  “I was heartbroken to hear about this. I knew Fenton was getting bad, but…” Millie shook her head. “I’m organizing a neighborhood watch group. Me and Clara and Mabel. We’re going to get all the old ladies in town together. We make good spies. Nobody pays attention to women over the age of fifty. We might as well be invisible. We can infiltrate the drug rings.”

  “You all need to be careful,” Parker said. She envisioned Millie and her friends as armed vigilantes shooting up Fenton drug lords. It would be a comic picture if it weren’t so scary.

  “Oh, we will. You’ve got to remember, people think we’re harmless. Underestimating old people is folly, history proves that. And cop killers always get caught. People selling drugs know that and it scares the stuffing out of them. Did you hear they’ve brought in Johnny Miller? They’re interrogating him about where he got his stash.”

  “Damn, you’re a fountain of information,” Parker said. Millie had a grape vine that rivaled the FBI, she thought.

  “Word gets around,” Millie said with a shrug. “So, does Steph need anything? What can I do to help out?”

  “I don’t know yet. But when I do, I’ll let you know,” Parker said.

  “I suppose casseroles are out of the question. I imagine she’s cooking already.”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t really know Gary’s wife, but I do know she’s got a young one. I can offer babysitting services,” Millie said.

  “Good idea. I’m meeting up with Eric this afternoon. You know, Gary…” Parker stopped. She didn’t want to use the past tense, not yet, but there was no avoiding it. “Gary was his best friend. I’ll ask him what Carol, that’s Gary’s wife, needs.”

  “Keep me in the loop,” Millie said. She patted the side of the van and turned to go back to The Judge.

  Parker said, “And Millie?”

  Millie turned back around. “Hmm?”

  “Stay safe, okay? No teasing the drug dealers.”

  “Aw, you
’re no fun!” Millie chuckled all the way back to her car.

  ***

  Rosa’s hospital room was filled with so many flowers it looked like a florist shop. It seemed the entire police department had sent flowers, along with half the town.

  Steph sat by the bed, holding Rosa’s limp, cold hand. The smell of so many flowers was overwhelming. And the smell was interlaced with a medicinal tone. No, tone wasn’t the right word, Steph thought. Tone was for hearing. Hue? No, that was for colors. What did you call it when you smelled something?

  Steph cradled Rosa’s hand to her chest, rubbing gently, hoping to warm it. Rosa’s eyes fluttered. Then she blinked twice as if to straighten out her vision. “I hope you went home at some point,” she said. Her voice didn’t sound the same. It was hoarse. Almost robotic.

  “I had to. They threw me out,” Steph said, forcing a smile. “Did you sleep?”

  Rosa nodded slightly. “They kept waking me up, though. Seemed like every time I fell asleep a nurse would come in and poke me. I think they were checking to see if I was dead.”

  Well, at least Rosa’s sense of humor hadn’t disappeared, Steph thought. “Yep, that’s why they get paid the big bucks. You’ve got to go home to actually get a decent night’s sleep.”

  “Do I get to leave today?” Rosa asked, smoothing the wrinkles out of the front of her hospital gown.

  “No, babe. Not today.”

  “You’re still in intensive care,” Susan said. She’d entered the room without them knowing. “And these should not be here.” She pointed to the flowers.

  “If you get me out of here, they could come with me,” Rosa said to Susan. “I’d get more sleep and rest at home.” She looked as hopeful as a little kid asking for a second cookie.

  Susan picked up Rosa’s wrist and took her pulse. “How’s the pain?”

  “What pain?” Rosa retorted. She tried to sit up straighter. Suddenly, she moaned sharply.

  “Uh huh, that’s what I thought,” Susan said.

  Susan still hadn’t acknowledged Steph’s presence. That was a pretty good indicator that there was still tension between the two.

  “Stressing your body out when it’s in pain does not help the healing process.” Susan gave the morphine drip a squeeze.

  “Hey, that’s not fair,” Rosa said, her eyes glassing over. “You can’t win an argument by putting me back to…sleep.”

  “I’m your doctor. I can do whatever I see fit,” Susan said affectionately.

  “Well then, Dr. Everett, when are we going to talk about my legs? I can’t seem to move them…” Rosa closed her eyes and was asleep within seconds.

  Susan and Steph looked at each other for the first time.

  “When are you going to tell her? She needs to know,” Steph said.

  “When the time is right,” Susan said. She took a deep breath and said, “Look, Steph… I know you have Rosa’s best interests at heart.”

  “Is that an apology?”

  “No. It’s not,” Susan said. “I stand by what I said. You need to put your self-interest away and concentrate on what’s best for Rosa.”

  “Self-interest? Really, that’s what you think of me?”

  “I don’t want to argue,” Susan said.

  “Then don’t start an argument.”

  They were both silent for a long moment.

  “I want what’s best for Rosa,” Susan finally said.

  “So do I. Rosa needs to know what she’s up against. I know her better than you do.”

  “You’re wrong,” Susan said. “I’ve known her longer. I was there through all her… past. You weren’t. Just because you sleep with her doesn’t mean you know more about her.”

  “Wow. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” Steph said through gritted teeth.

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing.” Susan walked to the door and stopped. Without turning around, she said, “I’ll have her transferred to a private room this afternoon.” She left without waiting for a reply.

  ***

  Parker and Eric unloaded the three-quarter-inch 4 x 8 foot sheets of plywood from the van. Parker had already fixed Rosa’s car. She’d been right; it was the alternator. She’d set up her tablesaw and sawhorses before Eric had shown up. He had spent the morning with Gary’s wife, Carol, and her daughter Delia.

  “How are they holding up?” Parker asked.

  “As well as can be expected,” Eric said as they maneuvered the plywood onto the sawhorses. “Putting in ramps is a good idea.”

  He didn’t seem to want to talk about Gary, which was fine by Parker. There wasn’t much to say. He was gone and Rosa was in the hospital. Those were the realities that had to be dealt with. Parker dealt better with realities. Black and white she could understand. It was the gray areas that threw her. When there was a problem, you could always count on Parker to work on a solution. For example, it was much easier for her to build ramps than it was to mourn.

  “I’ve got it figured out so that the ramps will be sturdy, but self-contained. Removal will be easier that way.”

  “You don’t want Rosa to think she’ll be in a wheelchair forever,” Eric said.

  “Correctamundo.”

  “You know she’ll have a desk job when she finally goes back.”

  Parker tossed Eric a pair of safety glasses. He put them on.

  “We don’t know that yet,” Parker said, putting her glasses on.

  “Yes, we do,” Eric said morosely.

  She turned on the table saw and ripped the plywood, pushing it through while Eric helped guide it onto the sawhorse. They didn’t talk as they worked. After all, there really weren’t words to express their feelings.

  ***

  Amy sat at her desk, worrying over writing Gary’s obit. She wanted to make sure it was perfect, that it paid homage to the police officer who died in the line of duty, but also honored the man who was a husband and father. Amy knew that most newspapers had a morgue file. All celebrities—whether entertainers, politicians, or infamous people— had a pre-written obit. That way when they died, you just pulled out a file and updated it a bit.

  The Fenton Sentinel didn’t have such morgue files. And Amy was really the only reporter. That meant she would have to write Gary’s obit. She hadn’t realized before how hard it was. She didn’t really know Gary, but she knew people who did.

  She really needed to go see Gary’s wife, Carol, to gather more insight into the man. But how long should she wait? Would it be considered crass or unseemly to go by today? And what would she say? “Hi, I’m writing your dead husband’s obituary and I need to know what you want in it?”

  God, there was really no easy way to do this, Amy thought.

  At that moment, Jeb and Carol walked into the office together.

  Carol walked right to Amy and said, “Hi, you must be Amy. I brought you a photo and some particulars about Gary’s life.” She handed a manila file folder to Amy. Carol was a petite brunette, more cute than pretty, with old soul eyes. They were swollen from crying and the end of her nose looked chapped.

  “Thank you…” Amy stuttered.

  “Jeb stopped by to check on me and I decided to come down. I knew coming to see me would be hard on you since we don’t know each other yet. Your friends Millie and Clara came by and offered to babysit. They brought ice cream and now they’re playing Chutes and Ladders with my daughter, Delia. Though, knowing those two, they might be teaching her how to play poker by now.”

  Amy was moved by this woman, thinking of how difficult she thought it would be for her to come by and talk about Gary. Carol touched Amy’s shoulder. “And, truthfully, I needed to get out of the house. Gary would want me to be strong.”

  “That he would,” Jeb said. He wasn’t looking much better than Carol. He was pale and seemed tired again this morning. He hadn’t been crying, but Jeb wasn’t the crying type of guy. It didn’t mean he wasn’t sensitive.

  “Can I get you a coffee?” he asked Carol.

&n
bsp; “I’ll make a fresh pot,” Amy said, after Jeb shook the empty decanter as if deciding whether there was a cup remaining. “I could use a dose of caffeine. I’ve never written one of these,” Amy said. She hoped they knew she meant the obituary. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

  “I understand. Between the two of us, we’ll figure it out,” Carol said.

  “No, I’ll make the coffee,” Jeb said. “You two talk.”

  “This is what I have so far,” Amy said, handing Carol a piece of paper off the printer.

  Carol perused the page. “Yes, this is him. He was a good man, a good father, and a good police officer,” she said, her eyes unfocusing and looking away as if she were remembering their time together. Then she said, “His funeral will be on Friday. No flowers. Instead donations can be made to The Humane Society.”

  She wasn’t crying now, but Amy knew it was coming—just like Amy when she lost her mother, some grief was so large it pooled behind the flood gates and would burst open each time they couldn’t hold anymore sadness.

  “He loved dogs,” Carol finished.

  “I’ll put that in,” Amy said.

  Carol pulled out the picture of Gary and looked at it. Her bottom lip began to tremble. “He wanted to make a difference, you know. He could’ve been anything, but he wanted to be a police officer. He thought he could make a difference, a real difference.”

  And that was enough to open the flood gates. Without thinking, Amy pulled the sobbing woman into an embrace. Carol held on as if Amy were a life raft in a turbulent sea.

  Chapter Four

  “Are you ready?” Susan asked.

  Susan and Steph stood outside Rosa’s private room. Steph had helped move all the flowers while Rosa slept… she hadn’t even woken when they wheeled her to her new room.

  Steph looked at Susan and noticed that she seemed to have aged ten years in the past few days. There were wrinkles in her forehead that weren’t there last week. Steph wondered if it were a good idea for Susan to be Rosa’s doctor. She was so close to Rosa; would she be able to be more doctor than friend?