by L. A. Witt
And oh by the way, now that you know I’m bisexual, let me introduce you to my boyfriend?
“Look.” I forced myself to meet her eyes. “I’ve told almost nobody. I—”
“But we’re your kids, Dad! How can you not see how fucked up that is?” Before I could respond, she put up her hands. “I need to go. Mark’s got work for me to do.” And with that, she stepped out of the booth and stalked out of the pub.
I released my breath and sagged against the back of the bench.
This week was just getting better and better, wasn’t it?
“You said we’re going to a hotel, right?”
“Yeah.” I rummaged through the bottom drawer of my brother’s dresser, the only one with anything left in it at this point. It was the clothing equivalent of a junk drawer, full of all the things that didn’t quite fit anywhere else. Here was a pair of padded biking shorts, there was an old, tatty sweatshirt from his law school days, and at the back was a—
“What the hell?” I held up the red satin bustier and waved it at him. “Does this actually fit you?”
Asher rolled his eyes. “It’s Melissa’s, obviously.”
He was probably right—it didn’t really look big enough to fit him even in his marathon days, much less now. But why he’d decided to hold on to his ex-wife’s lingerie for almost half a decade was a mystery I didn’t care to contemplate.
“You’re being careful with her clothes, right? She hates wrinkles.”
“Mom already took care of her stuff,” I lied. One look at my mother’s face when I’d arrived this morning had assured me that discretion was the better part of valor today. Asher was focusing on a particular set of memories lately, and trying to persuade him that things had changed was as futile as arguing with a toddler.
It made me sick to think of my older brother this way, but that was the fact of the disease. The days when I could count on him to remember that I’d finally made detective, or that Vic had retired, or that Melissa didn’t deserve his attention because she’d divorced him over four years ago, were gone. And they probably weren’t coming back.
He was getting more and more combative, running away and refusing his medications, and after Vic had found my mom crying one too many times, he’d put his foot down; they couldn’t give Asher everything he needed, not anymore. He had to go into a home with a memory care ward, the kind that you needed a code to get into and out of.
That was gonna be a fun one to explain tomorrow. A hotel, yeah. Right.
My shoulder spasmed, and I straightened up with a grimace and decided that finishing this drawer could wait. I was happy to be cleared for work, but my body was more than happy to remind me after I stayed in one position for too long. The only time I could really get comfortable was when I slept, and that was probably more due to Andreas letting me use him as a body pillow than my eight-year-old mattress.
I really wished I could tell Asher about Andreas. More than anything, I wanted to be able to share that I’d found someone who was actually worth a damn, not like all the boyfriends I’d run through in college. Mom was “happy if you’re happy, honey, but isn’t he a little bit old for you?” Vic, who knew Andreas better, limited his commentary to “don’t let fucking him fuck up your partnership. You’re gonna have to work with him whether you like him or not.” It was sage advice, but not really inspiring, as words of wisdom went.
Asher would have gotten it. He would have listened to me and understood what a huge thing for me it was, to find someone who actually respected me, who I liked and respected right back.
Plus, I was ridiculously attracted to Andreas and wanted my brother to have the opportunity to thoroughly mock me, like I’d made fun of him when he’d gotten together with Melissa. She was a lawyer like him, cool and professional and sharp as a tack, and I thought she’d been perfect for Asher. I’d loved her, loved who they were together.
That hadn’t lasted for long.
Fuck this, it had to be lunchtime by now. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”
Asher was staring at the blank wall behind his desk. “I’m not hungry.”
“But there’s leftover meatloaf in the fridge,” I said brightly. “It’s your favorite.”
“Where are my diplomas?”
“They’re already packed.” Mom had taken care of the delicate stuff.
“Why are we going to a hotel, again?”
“It’s just for a little while,” I evaded.
“Will Melissa meet us there?”
“Of course she will.” We weren’t actually moving him anywhere until tomorrow, but he wouldn’t remember that if I told him. “You know how she is. You can never get her to take a day off.”
Asher smiled. “That’s true. She brought her work cell on our honeymoon, did you know that? Just in case they needed something while we were in Spain. Her firm is really lucky to have her.”
“They sure are.” Melissa still worked at Stirling and Associates, as far as I knew. At least she was loyal to something.
Asher stroked his face. “She isn’t going to like me scruffy.” He headed into the bathroom. “Where’s my razor?”
“It’s already packed.”
“But Melissa doesn’t like me prickly.” Asher frowned at himself in the mirror, running his hands over his cheeks. “She says I give her beard burn when I kiss her like this. And she always has to wear stockings after I go down on her because her thighs are—”
“Jesus, TMI!” I exclaimed, coming up behind him in the mirror and making a yuck face. “I don’t need to hear about your wife’s thighs, man. Or what you do to them. That’s between the two of you.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” He met my reflection’s eyes. “I miss her. I feel like I haven’t seen her in years.”
Oh, Ash. I kept my face impassive through sheer willpower.
“When is she coming home?”
“Later,” I managed. “As soon as she’s done at work.”
“Good.” He stroked his chin again. “I need to shave.”
“I’ll go get you Vic’s electric one.” It had to be electric, these days; even the safety razors could cause too much damage under the wrong circumstances. “Hang out for a second, I’ll be back.”
“Sure.”
I headed out into the hall and was almost immediately ambushed by Mom. “Honey!” She laid a thin, cold hand on my forearm. “Come and get something to eat, you must be starving.”
“I am, but I told Asher I’d help him with a shave first.”
“It’s almost three, and you’re probably behind on your pain pills. You need to take them with food, don’t you? Vic can help Asher shave. Vic!”
My stepfather’s gruff voice sounded from the living room. “What do you need, Jessica?”
“Can you help Asher shave while I get Darren some food?”
I heard his recliner squeak as he got to his feet, and a moment later Vic joined us in the hall. Half a head shorter than me, broad as a barn and wearing a football jersey and cargo shorts, he was the exact opposite of my tiny, elegant mother, but he’d stuck with us for over twenty years now. He was a fixture in our family at this point. “What’s he want a shave for?”
“Melissa doesn’t like scruff.” I said it with an eye roll, but my mother winced and let go of my arm. “What?”
“Come and eat,” my mom said, and left us standing there in the hall. I turned to Vic.
“Really, what?”
“Eh, it’s a bunch of nostalgic crap,” Vic said, but he looked uncomfortable too. “I’ll take care of Asher, you go eat something before your mother goes crazy.”
I wanted to argue, but I was hungry, and my upper back was starting to get a low, throbbing ache that could only be conquered by the magic of Percocet or lying down, and if I lay down now, I’d fall asleep. “Sure.”
My mom was already plating up a slice of meatloaf for me in the kitchen, along with mashed potatoes. “There’s some salad too,” she said, putting the plate on the table
and motioning for me to sit down. “Do you want salad? You look like you could use the vitamins. You’re so pale these days, honey. Is that partner of yours taking good enough care of you?”
Not that I needed taking care of, but Andreas was weirdly good at it. He didn’t hover, but somehow, I never had to look far to find anything I might want. Maybe it was because he was a parent, or maybe he just had psychic powers that only extended to me. Either way, I liked it. “He does a good job, Mom, I’m fine. Why are you—”
“Salad!” She plunked the Tupperware down next to the meatloaf. “I’ve got some ranch dressing in here somewhere. Hang on, honey.”
“Mom—”
“Darren, eat something!”
Ooo-kay, this was more than a little concern-tantrum. I nodded slowly. “Sure.” I spent five minutes eating while my mother bustled around the kitchen, not making eye contact. I heard the buzz of Vic’s electric razor and smiled grimly. At least one of us was getting what we wanted.
I finished half the plate and then pushed it back. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?”
“There’s nothing wrong, exactly,” my mom said, wringing a dishtowel between her hands. “It’s just—I had a thought, the other day. You know how Asher’s been asking about Melissa a lot lately.”
“Yeah.” Why did it suddenly feel like my stomach was sinking faster than the Titanic?
“He’s really been fixating on her. She’s all he talks about. With all the changes coming, I thought that maybe it might be nice if he had a—if he could—maybe . . .”
“Maybe what, Mom?”
“If he could spend some time with her,” she said quickly. “I thought it would be a nice—a nice distraction, and she agreed. She’s coming to visit him tomorrow.”
Boom. We’d just hit rock bottom. “Melissa is coming here?”
“Yes.”
“To see Asher?”
My mom smiled, but it was gone almost as fast as it had come. “Well, she’s certainly not coming to see me.”
“She hasn’t seen him since the divorce was finalized.”
“I know, honey.”
“She hasn’t wanted to see him.” There was anger building in me now, boiling up behind the walls of my protective instincts. “He asked her to visit what, five times? Ten? More? Melissa couldn’t be bothered to drive twenty miles then, so what changed?”
“Well, things are different now. Your brother is getting worse, Darren.”
“I know that.” The shift in Asher from before I went into the hospital compared to now, just a month later, seemed like a decade’s worth of difference. I hadn’t been there for those changes, but I’d been there for everything else. Melissa had cut and run at her earliest opportunity. “Why does that make a difference to her?”
“She wants to make things right, honey.” My mom sat down across from me and took my hand with both of hers. “She regrets how things ended between them, and when I told her Asher was declining, she decided that it was now or never to straighten them out.”
“There can’t be any straightening, though.” Was it Melissa or my mother who didn’t get this? “He won’t remember any apology she’d care to give, and he thinks they’re still married! How is she going to react when he tries to give her a hug, or to kiss her? You think he’s gonna be upset when the woman he thinks is his wife pulls away from him? How is this supposed to be good for him?”
Mom looked at me helplessly. “He wants to see her. She wants to see him. It might be the last time he ever recognizes her. Shouldn’t we give them that?”
“No, because it’s not going to mean anything to him, and Melissa doesn’t deserve to feel better!”
“Darren!” Vic appeared in the doorway, looming as only he could. “Don’t yell at your mother.”
“Melissa?” Asher poked his head over Vic’s shoulder. He was only half-shaved. “Is she here?”
He sounded so fucking eager. I pushed my chair back and stood up. “I have to go.”
“But you haven’t finished your lunch . . .”
“I’m done eating.” My appetite had vanished under the weight of thinking about my former sister-in-law. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Melissa’s coming at noon.”
“Then I’ll be here early and leave just before then.”
“Darren.” Vic sighed wearily. “Don’t make this into an issue.”
“Right, I’m the one making this an issue. I’m not the one who invited the woman who left my brother less than a month after his diagnosis and could only be bothered to talk to him in court—”
“Darren!” my mother exclaimed.
“She what?” Asher seemed to sink into the doorjamb a little bit, his happy expectation turning into hurt. “Are you talking about Melissa?”
“Asher . . .”
“Why are you talking about her like that?”
Because she’s a flaming bitch. “Because it’s true,” I said evenly.
Asher’s face twisted into a disappointed grimace. “Goddamn it, Darren, don’t lie to me. I know you’ve never been Mel’s biggest fan, but that doesn’t mean you get to say whatever you want about her.”
“I liked her when you were married.” I had, too. We’d been perfect frenemies.
“We are married.”
“You’re not, and—”
“And I like her a hell of a lot better than you,” Asher declared.
Oh. Shit. So that was what it felt like to have your heart ripped through your sternum. “I’m leaving,” I said quietly.
“Honey, please.”
“Thanks for lunch, Mom.” I nodded to her, then to Vic. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
His eyes were sympathetic, but his voice wasn’t. “Maybe you should wait a little longer, son. We can handle the rest of the packing.”
“Sure.” Great idea. No, my eyes weren’t watering. “Later, then. Bye, Asher.” My brother didn’t say a word, just looked at me like he had no clue who I was.
Fucking perfect.
I left my childhood home at as brisk a pace as I could manage. My back was aching fiercely now, but I couldn’t take the pills until I got home—they weren’t safe to drive on. I checked the time. Andreas was probably still at the precinct, which was good, because the last thing I needed right now was any hint of compassion. Gentleness would wreck me. I needed to get home and distract myself before I broke down.
At least I had work to focus on. After all, Trent’s files couldn’t break my heart.
Darren was a little groggy when I showed up after work, so I assumed he’d spent the afternoon in a Percocet stupor. After some food, he was coming around, and insisted he wanted to spend the evening working through Trent’s files. And I was the workaholic in this relationship.
He didn’t say a word about how things had gone with his family. I didn’t push. When those doors slammed shut, there was no point in trying to pry them open. Besides, in his shoes, I fucking hated when people tried to dig at something. My ex-wife could attest to that.
So we had a bite to eat, then settled in with that stack of files. How he could concentrate was beyond me. Between the drugs, his family crisis, and the ache—I assumed—he kept rubbing out of his shoulder, he shouldn’t have been able to think, but as near as I could tell, he was laser-focused on the diagrams, interviews, statements, crime scene photos, time lines, and notes stuffed into those thick folders.
I, meanwhile, couldn’t think. My daughter had given me the cold shoulder all day. I’d been worried about Darren. And of course, the rest of the precinct was making sure I knew how loved I was these days. Someone had dumped dog shit on the windshield of my car. Conveniently, the camera in the parking garage had malfunctioned. Because of course it had.
I didn’t tell Darren that another officer from our precinct had been found guilty this morning. Nineteen years on the force and he was on his way to prison. The other families within the precinct were trying to rally around his wife and two kids, but everyone was alrea
dy being spread thin. With so many cops going to jail right now, there were a lot of people who’d suddenly lost paychecks and pensions. A lot of kids wouldn’t be going to college anytime soon, and a lot of spouses were scrambling to find jobs in an already depressed economy. Sometimes second and third jobs.
It didn’t matter that these had been dirty cops. Everyone knew cops didn’t rat out cops. They sure as shit didn’t work with IA to take down cops. As far as anyone with a badge was concerned, these families were in shambles because of me. To a lesser degree, Darren. At least there was that—most people seemed to accept that I’d either manipulated or intimidated him into working with me, and that the blame was almost entirely on my shoulders. If my reputation as an asshole and a snitch kept him from getting harassed as much as I was, fine.
But I still had a job to do, so I sat with Darren on his couch, folders and files spread out in front of us, and tried like hell to concentrate.
By nine thirty, I was seeing double.
Darren, however, wasn’t stopping anytime soon. And I got it. I did the same thing. If he was anything like me—which he was and wouldn’t admit—he’d go full-on workaholic just to get his mind off his brother, and would still be poring over these files when the sun came up. With a stack of unsolved murders, time was of the essence. Every day was another day the killer or killers could vanish into the wind. Or worse, kill again.
But, for fuck’s sake, Darren needed a break, and so did I. Now that the worst of his injuries had healed, maybe we could steal an hour or two and pick up where we’d left off before the world had exploded all around us. God knew it would do us both some good.
I’d slipped a bottle of wine into his apartment when I got here, and pulled it out now. I also found a couple of stemmed glasses in his cabinet. Glasses in one hand, bottle in the other, I walked into the living room where he was still obsessively scrutinizing Trent Newberry’s files.
Without looking up, he said, “Hey, I think I’ve found something here. And it’s big.”
I froze. “What?”
“These cases. They’re—” His gaze landed on the bottle of wine in my hand. Then flicked up to my eyes. “Oh. Um.”