“Yep,” the bartender had answered.
Talia had gone back into the bar then and asked one of the waitresses if she knew where she could watch some softball. She gave Talia the name of a park and directions.
Of course, Talia was there early the next morning, before anyone else. She walked around the park, until cars started to pull in. Then she got back in her car and waited until she saw Shay Eliot walking up to a ball field. Wearing jean shorts, a T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a ball cap that allowed some light brown curls to peek out from the back, Talia thought she was even sexier than in her uniform. As she watched, Shay stopped suddenly and walked back in the direction she’d come. Talia was awestruck when Shay called out to see whose dog was in a nearby car. In a blur, she was breaking the window, getting a sluggish dog out, and yelling at a man who’d yelled at her about his car window.
“Do you know how hot it gets in a car? Are you clueless?” Shay asked.
When he threatened to call the police, she offered to do it for him. “Maybe they’ll charge you with animal cruelty. Or maybe there will be multiple officers out on the road who know to watch you very carefully for every time you change lanes without a signal or go even one mile per hour over the speed limit. Yeah, let’s do that.” Talia never did learn what became of the poor dog, but she had a new hero.
Three months later, Talia was no closer to approaching Shay. By her third drink, she knew she wasn’t going to be working up the nerve that night, and that angered her.
Just after eleven o’clock, when Shay started toward the door, Talia felt a boost of courage. She followed Shay out to the parking lot, meaning to catch up to Shay at their vehicles, but Shay was intercepted by a couple of women. Talia stayed back until they left.
Shay was pulling out of her parking spot as Talia approached. She jumped into her car and followed Shay out of the lot, trying to stay an inconspicuous distance from Shay’s truck.
Talia stayed back while Shay pulled into her driveway, then parked and watched. The house was small, with a tidy yard. She could imagine Shay kneeling in the little flower garden, sweat causing her shirt to stick to her, her muscular arms glistening in the bright sunshine.
Around twelve thirty one of Shay’s neighbors came out, walking a yellow Lab. They made a beeline for Shay’s yard where the dog did its business and the woman ignored the concept of picking up after your dog. They walked down the road, returned ten minutes later, and then the woman came out with a golden retriever. This time the dog only urinated in Shay’s yard. The third time the woman appeared she was walking a chow mix. This one crapped in Shay’s yard then kicked its feet up several times, leaving ruts in Shay’s otherwise perfectly manicured lawn.
Talia had to stop her legs from bouncing up and down. She was glad then that she’d only taken one robin egg. Any more than that and she would have been crawling out of her skin just sitting there.
She saw a flash of light and heard a “whoop” sound. She thought she was busted, then saw red and blue flashes of light between the houses, lighting up the night. It was a traffic stop going on one street over. Please, God, don’t let the police notice me over here. She let out a huge breath when the cop and the other car left.
It started drizzling so she put the window up. She hated doing so, since it was a comfortable sixty degrees outside. Her windshield fogged up. Every time she wiped at the condensation she thought, Wow, not very stealthy, Talia.
†
Shay easily breezed through the three lawns she had scheduled for that Saturday. They were all in or near her neighborhood, so she didn’t even have to drive anywhere, she just pushed the lawnmower from house to house with the edger thrown over her shoulder.
She thought again about the job Dee had offered her, working security at the bar. As the bar manager, Dee had been given full rein on hiring and firing, among other things. The idea of lurking in the parking lot as a rent-a-cop was not appealing, so Shay told her that she appreciated the offer, but would have to pass.
Once finished with the last yard of the day, she went home and hosed off the mower. After drinking several large glasses of water, she plopped down on the sofa with her phone. She was both looking forward to and dreading this phone call. Just call, she told herself. She dialed the number.
“Hi, Mom.”
“What’s wrong?” Cynthia Eliot asked.
“What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong?’ I’m just calling to say hello. I call. It’s not like I never call,” Shay said, feeling defensive.
“I know you call. But when you start out with ‘Hi, Mom,’ something is wrong. When you start out with ‘Hey, there!’ I know all is well. A mother knows these things. A mother learns these details.”
“Are you finished?” Shay teased.
“Yes. No. Now tell me what’s wrong,” Cynthia said.
“I quit the police force.”
“Oh, thank God!”
Shay almost choked.
“I hated you working that job. It’s dangerous. Not to mention you meet all the wrong kinds of women doing that work.”
Shay put her feet up on the coffee table. She knew she might be there a while.
“So,” Cynthia said, “what are you going to do now?”
Shay pictured her, hands on hips, gray hair hanging stylishly to her chin. Her mother had turned completely gray by the time she reached forty. Shay figured she shared that gene, considering that since turning twenty-nine several months earlier she’d been noticing more gray mixing in with her brown. “I guess I’ll mow lawns until I figure something else out.”
“You need money? I could send you some money.”
Shay could visualize her mom going through her purse, pulling a stashed twenty- or fifty-dollar bill from this or that pocket, starting a small pile of miscellaneous bills in the middle of the kitchen table. “No Mom, I don’t need any money.”
“You can come back to Richmond now that there’s nothing stopping you from coming home. You are a bright woman and could easily pick things up at your father’s office.”
“I can’t see myself working in Real Estate. Besides, Norfolk is home now. I have my house here. And my friends.”
“There are lesbians in Richmond, you know.” Cynthia made a sound that resembled a stifled chuckle. “They have their own bars and bookstores here too, you know.”
“I know, Mom.” She flashed in her mind to when she’d come out to her parents. Her mom was only worried for her ‘little girl’s’ happiness. Her dad said nothing. Shay still wasn’t sure if he’d heard the proclamation since his hearing was suspect even then, years earlier.
“Do you have a girlfriend yet?”
Shay had made the mistake of confiding in her mom once about how, as long as she was a cop, she didn’t know if she wanted to get into a relationship. She didn’t want to put anyone through all the funky hours or the worrying about her.
“Now you have no excuse,” Cynthia said. “Get yourself a sweetheart. Coupled people live longer— it’s a proven fact.”
“I will make finding a girlfriend my number two priority. I promise.” Poke jumped up on her lap and she petted him.
“Second? Why second?”
“Because my first priority has to be to find satisfying work.”
“With that attitude, you’ll never meet the right girl.”
Shay decided to leave that one alone. She wasn’t about to tell her mom that the only person she’d even thought about being with for years was already in a relationship, and that she considered both her and her girlfriend to be good friends. “Enough about my boring life. Tell me what you and Dad have been up to.”
“Well, your father is still deaf as a doorknob. He refuses to get a hearing aid because he says it’ll make him look like an old man. So I tell him, ‘You are an old man.’”
Shay mouthed along with the last words, knowing them well.
Her mom continued. “As if holding his hand up to his ear and saying, ‘Eh? Eh?’ doesn’t make him
look old.”
Shay smiled at the image that conjured. She spent a few more minutes assuring her mom that she didn’t need any money but would let her know if she did, then she got off the phone. She felt better after talking to her mom, and wasn’t sure why she doubted she would.
She decided she should work on a project. She gave Poke one last rub behind the ears and slid out from under his skinny body.
Shay went into her one-car garage and eyed the cans of paint stacked in the corner of the small space. The area wasn’t big enough to comfortably park her pickup, but it worked well for her tools and some of the yard equipment. She’d bought the paint months ago, back when she was more gainfully employed. She had more money than time then. That was no longer the case.
She took the tape and tarps off the shelf, then gathered the other painting supplies and carried them into the house. She lugged in a can of paint, then hauled in the ladder. Once the ladder was out of the way, she eyed the punching bag in the corner of the garage. Not today, but soon, she told herself. Soon she would get back to what she liked to call her ‘fighting shape.’
Four hours later, she surveyed her work. She allowed herself a beer once she’d finished painting all the ceilings. Her legs were sore from going up and down the ladder. Her neck hurt from the awkward position she’d been in for far too long. It all made her feel surprisingly good.
She removed the tape protecting the walls but left the tarps down. Poke had managed to get under the tarp on the sofa and kept screaming like it was killing him, but every time Shay would go to his rescue, he’d act unimpressed and return to the excitement under the tarp.
After a few more Amstel Lights, Shay knew she wasn’t going anywhere. Besides, it probably wouldn’t be healthy for her to go out every night. Not to mention the financial strain of doing so.
†
It was Saturday night and Talia drove slowly past the parking lot of the bar, looking for Shay’s pickup. An array of vehicles—from sedans and station wagons to pickup trucks and Jeeps—filled the parking lot. When she was sure Shay’s truck wasn’t tucked up by the building or hidden near the bank, she headed toward Shay’s house.
Talia took the same route as the night before, and then pulled to the side of the road three houses away. It was far enough not to be too obvious, but not so far that she wouldn’t see if Shay came out. Shay’s truck was parked in the driveway, the same crooked position it was in the night before. Talia wondered if Shay had stayed in all day, and if so, what she had been doing.
It was another drizzly night, another night of fogging the windows of her car. She loved her Honda. Brian had been so proud of the silver sedan when he’d brought it home. He said it reeked of class. When he knew he was going down for embezzling, he sold the car to Talia drastically cheap. He made her swear to him that she would take really good care of it. He didn’t expect it back when he got out, but he did expect to see it in good shape. She didn’t want to disappoint him.
As she sat watching for Shay, she started to fabricate stories as to why she was sitting a few doors down from Shay Eliot’s house. Once she came up with one, she would have to memorize it. Rehearse it. Because if ever called out, if ever forced to give her story to someone, she’d have to stick to it. That was the biggest lesson she’d learned from her older brother: once you put something to words, you never changed them. No matter what pressure was put on you, you never caved.
Talia’s heart raced at the memory of her first lesson on not changing course once you’ve said something. She was ten years old and had lied to Timmy Hall about riding his bike without his permission. At first she’d held her own against his accusation. But then his brother Tommy said he’d seen her on Timmy’s bike. Faced with an eyewitness, Talia admitted she had. Timmy pushed her. She’d seen her brother watching then. Four years older than Talia, Brian was always her ally against their parents and the authorities at school so she was sure he’d come to her aid. But he hadn’t. He’d stood there, leaning against a tree, and allowed Timmy Hall to shove her around for a good five minutes. It wasn’t until Timmy said, “And piss on you,” and started to undo his pants that Brian had finally said, “Enough.” Talia cried as she followed her brother home. On their front steps he said to her, “If you don’t stick to your story, you pay the price. Don’t ever let me see you back down on your story again.”
And she hadn’t. Which was why she was so shocked when Brian had gone against his own advice, and now was serving a seven-year prison term.
Talia’s attempt at coming up with a story was interrupted when a truck with the Calz’s Pizza and Wings logo painted on its side pulled up in front of Shay’s house around ten thirty. Talia watched as the driver knocked on the wooden front door, and Shay answered almost immediately. She traded money for the pizza and disappeared back inside.
†
At least once a month, usually on Sundays, Shay got together for dinner with Kate and Lana. She glanced around the table, glad to be at dinner with such good friends. It was not lost on Shay that they always invited a friend along to these dinners, their attempt to fix Shay up, she was sure. She stole a glance across the table at Jennifer, tonight’s offering. She was very nice, and quite attractive, but Shay wasn’t interested.
They were at her favorite restaurant, Chi-Chi’s. The waiter handed out menus and asked whether or not it would all be on one check. Shay quickly spoke up, “You can put me on my own.” She wanted to set the tone that this was not a double date before things went any further.
Once everyone was sipping their margaritas, the waiter returned for their food orders. They had to stop midway through while the rest of the staff sang happy birthday to a woman wearing a huge sombrero. Jennifer sang along and clapped when it was over. Shay added a little clap of her own. Why not? They were out to have a good time and Shay intended to do just that.
When the food was served, Shay smiled down at the plate of seafood nachos. For now, she could still afford their dinners out. If she didn’t figure out soon what she wanted to be when she grew up, she would be eating PB&J for lunch every day and macaroni and cheese for most dinners. She picked up a chip smothered in seafood and cheese and took a bite. All her cares disappeared.
Shay looked up when she heard Kate laughing.
“What?” Shay asked.
“You were totally blissing out on that nacho,” Kate said.
“Good food is something to savor.”
“Like good friendships,” Jennifer said, raising her margarita glass.
“Like good friendships,” the other three echoed. They all clanked glasses.
Their attention was drawn to where voices were raised on the other side of the restaurant. Shay and Lana exchanged glances when they realized one of those voices belonged to Paulie.
“Quit staring at me, you fruit!”
“Oh, you know you’re flattered. If your girlfriend wasn’t with you, you’d be all into me and you know it,” Paulie said.
The man turned three shades of red and Shay wondered if Paulie was on to something. But it didn’t matter if he was. Paulie was being rude. Apparently his dinner companion thought so too because he kept trying to shush Paulie.
“And he wonders why he gets beat up all the time,” Jennifer mumbled.
Shay didn’t even know how to respond. Except for self-defense or the defense of others, there was no excuse for violence. Ever. And the violence against Paulie, even if not the reason for her lack of a career in law enforcement, had been a catalyst for it. She opened her mouth to say something, saw the pained look on Kate’s face, and decided against it.
Her attention was drawn back to Paulie’s table. It appeared the manager was asking him to please keep it down. Paulie’s voice got louder and louder. He accused the manager of being a homophobe as he made a big scene of getting up and marching toward the exit. He stopped just as he was passing their table.
“Look, the girls are out,” he said to no one since his dinner companion was still at their tab
le, paying the bill and apologizing to everyone around them. “Oh, and it’s the po-lice,” he said as he gestured toward Shay. “I would like you to arrest that man over there.” He pointed to the guy he’d had the original altercation with. “Arrest him for being in the closet.”
“Ignore him,” Shay muttered.
When he saw he wasn’t going to get a rise out of her, he sauntered away.
“Isn’t he suing the city for police brutality?” Jennifer asked.
“Yep,” Lana answered through clenched teeth. She and Shay had had a long conversation when that news came out. Lana had voiced her opinion that suing was Paulie’s main motivation all along, and Shay’s job was collateral damage.
“Enough about him,” Kate announced. “Jennifer, how is it going with the power company?”
Jennifer talked about her job a little, then asked Lana about bartending, and asked Shay why she wasn’t a cop anymore.
Shay glanced toward the table where Paulie had been.
“Oh, tired of dealing with trash like him, huh?”
“Something like that,” Shay said.
The rest of dinner had gone well. Shay was confident, between the separate check and not lingering while saying goodnight to Jennifer, that she’d gotten it across she wasn’t interested in dating her or anyone else Kate and Lana tried to fix her up with. She was comfortable sitting back and waiting. She didn’t want to date for the sake of dating; she wanted to wait for the one person who really grabbed her attention and didn’t let go.
Back at home, Shay changed into sweats and went into the garage to hit on the punching bag. The last thing she wanted to do was get out of shape.
†
Talia drove down the Colonial Parkway in Yorktown, looking for Fish, who she’d heard, finally, had some decent pot. She’d left the bar early Sunday evening because Shay wasn’t there, driven by Shay’s house, like she had the night before, but Shay’s truck wasn’t there so Talia left. She’d returned once more to the bar, just in case Shay turned up late, but hadn’t stayed too long. Now, Talia’s mind drifted, wondering where Shay was and who she was with. Talia knew her infatuation for Shay was bordering on pathetic, but couldn’t seem to help herself.
23 Miles Page 3