After the Fire: The ‘Shorts’

by Forrester, Nia

  My heart fluttered in my chest like a bird trying to escape, and my temples felt compressed. A ball of dread was stuck in the back of my throat and I tasted a bitterness like bile on my tongue. Gulping down two breaths I tried to control their pace, but they came out in shallow gasps that felt like the beginnings of a panic attack.

  Closing my eyes, I fell on my rump on the couch and concentrated on slowing my breathing.

  I needed to calm down. I needed to get my phone. I needed to get in touch with Gideon. And Viv.

  That’s what I needed to focus on—Gideon, and Viv. Demetrius and the other kids were safe. I had spoken to them. So I just needed to get my phone and find my best friend, find Gideon.

  Although the moment felt urgent, I forced myself to sit still for ten more seconds, counting down and slowing my breathing. It worked, though my heartbeat was still accelerated when I finally stood again and went to the broom closet, coming back with a Swiffer which I used to retrieve my phone.

  Once it was in my hand, I felt calmer.

  “Gideon,” I said aloud to myself. “First, Gideon.”

  Just as I was about to hit the button to call his number, my phone rang. It was Ray.

  “I just got her,” he said, referring to Viv. “She’s on her way back to you.”

  “Oh good,” I said. “But … wait … Did she say she had the kids with her? I asked them to …”

  “I didn’t ask her that,” Ray said, his tone short.

  “But that’s why she’s down there,” I said. “She went to …”

  “Kendra.” Ray’s voice held a note of warning. “I don’t give a fuck about them kids right now, for real. They made their choice when they decided to get in the middle of that mess. But you ain’ have no right to send Vivienne …”

  “Send her?” I cut him off. “She is perfectly capable of …”

  “A’ight. You know what? Tell yourself that,” Ray said. “If it makes you feel better. All I know is, long as you been in her life, Viv’s been tryin’ to live up to all this crap you put in her head about giving back.”

  “So it’s crap that she wants to give back?” I demanded.

  “It’s all well and good to do your part, Kendra. But not when it’s at the expense of her son. Not when it’s at the expense of her man.”

  “You’re not her man anymore,” I said. “Remember? And the reason for that had nothing to do with me. And everything to do with you.”

  It was a low blow, and one that I might not have delivered, except I just wanted to get off the phone.

  Ray gave a short laugh.

  I could tell, even though I couldn’t see his face that the blow had hit its mark.

  “Ray …” I began my apology, but the line had gone silent.

  * * *

  “You’re a good cook,” I said.

  “I know,” Gideon said as he handed me my second beer and sank onto his sofa next to me.

  Against my better judgment, I had accepted his invitation to dinner at his house. But there was that breakup with Adam to rebound from.

  I drove over to his place, which was a brand-new townhome in a revitalized part of the city. It was large, with four bedrooms, two living areas, an eat-in kitchen, two decks and full basement—more space than a bachelor might need. Gideon gave me the tour and when I commented on its size, said he hoped one day more than just he would be living there. I barely listened to be honest. I was thinking about whether, if things went well, I should have sex with him that night.

  Sometimes dating someone new, sleeping with someone new even just one time, is the best way to declare a prior relationship over. Even if the someone new can’t possibly go anywhere. And Gideon, I knew, couldn’t go anywhere. He was a police officer for heaven’s sake. So not my type, despite the handsomeness, and the smile that was disarming me more every second.

  “I wanna kiss you,” he said, unexpectedly.

  I froze, beer bottle midway to my mouth. Turning, I smiled at him and shook my head, sighing.

  “What?” he laughed.

  “You seriously just asked to kiss me?” I teased. “After being all cocky about your cooking, and so confident about asking me here to dinner in the first place, I thought for sure you would be the type to just go for the assertive grab and just, you know, kiss me. Without asking.”

  “Is that what you like?” he asked. He tipped back his own beer, taking a long swig like he was working up to something. “To be assertively … grabbed?”

  I felt a tiny twitch between my thighs.

  “Well … I mean, in the right context, I don’t hate it.”

  “So how ‘bout we start over? Do this again.”

  I laughed. “You’re the king of the do-over, huh?” I said. “Like when we first met. You wanted a do-over then too.”

  “Because you were about to fight with me, and …” His eyes grew lazy then, kind of sultry and heavy-lidded. “I don’t want to fight with you. In fact, until I feel as confident as you think I am, I’ma do my damnedest to make sure we don’t fight. Ever.”

  I blinked lazily back at him. It was like our eyes were speaking to each other, already coupling, though our bodies had yet to catch up.

  “Sometimes it’s unavoidable,” I said.

  “When is it unavoidable?”

  “When two people are …” I shrugged. “Fundamentally incompatible. View the world so differently that …”

  He leaned in and kissed me, cutting off not only the words I had yet to speak, but the thoughts I had yet to think. It was an amazing kiss. The kind that rarely happens on the very first try.

  My lower lip was between his, then his tongue swept across mine and he tasted of beer and pepper and the smooth indescribable essence that helps you recognize a lover, even before he has become your lover. I exhaled and let myself sink into the kiss and relax against him and begin to drift away inside the feeling of it.

  Then Gideon sat back, and running his tongue over his upper lip, grinned at me.

  “Well played, Officer Santana,” I said, trying to reclaim the upper hand, or at least the illusion of having had it. I tipped back my beer and took a long swallow.

  “Sergeant Santana,” he reminded me. “And I’m not playing anything. And by the way, we’re not fucking tonight either.”

  I sprayed beer all over the front of my shirt.

  Chapter Five

  I called Gideon several times more, losing count of how many. Each unanswered call added air to an expanding balloon of dread at the pit of my stomach. Soon it had grown so much that I couldn’t breathe. Rushing to the bathroom, I fell to my knees just in time to retch into the closest toilet bowl.

  I had just rinsed out my mouth for a third time when I heard banging coming from the front.

  Blotting my mouth lips and even my tongue with a paper towel I went to check. There was a kid standing there, mask covering his face, and in his hands, four pizza boxes. It took me a moment to remember that I had ordered the pies, preparing for Viv’s and hopefully the kids’ return to the Center. I took a few more moments to look into the delivery guy’s eyes before opening the door, as if I could read his intentions in them.

  They crinkled as he smiled and handed the food over. He glanced over my shoulder into the Center, clearly empty, except for me.

  “You must be pretty hungry,” he said.

  I was too spooked, too nervous to smile back at him. I signed the credit card slip and locked up, putting the pizza in the kitchen in the back. The aroma of pepperoni, melted cheese, onions and green peppers only made me feel nauseated once again, so I made my way back out front.

  Sinking into a nearby chair, I lifted the phone and hit Gideon’s number once again.

  Part of me knew it was unreasonable to expect him to answer his phone at a time like this. There would be a flurry of activity, and just about every wife, husband, domestic partner or child of a cop in the city would be making calls like mine right now.

  Exhaling a long, deep breath, I let the phone ri
ng to voicemail and this time, left a message.

  “Gideon,” I said, trying to sound calmer than I felt. “I know it’s probably … I can’t imagine what you’re … I know it’s crazy right now. But if you have a second, please, just send me a message. Text me or something, anything to let me know you’re okay.”

  Just as I ended the call, someone else banged on the door, causing me to jump and clutch a hand to my chest. Looking up, fully expecting to see Viv, or Demetrius or one of the other kids, I squinted in confusion. Because outside, standing at the door and trying to get my attention was Ray, and with him, Malik, Viv’s son. I stood, staring for a few moments until Ray lifted his arms as if to say, ‘what’re you waiting for?’

  I hurried over to let him and Malik in, hugging Malik as they crossed the threshold.

  “She not back yet?” Ray asked. His expression and tone were both sour, and I couldn’t say I blamed him.

  “I smell pizza,” Malik said before I could respond to Ray’s question.

  I managed a smile. “Yeah. In the kitchen. Want to go grab a couple slices?”

  “Malik looked at his dad for approval and Ray nodded, so he practically sprinted toward the back.

  “He just ate,” Ray said, shaking his head. “But I bet he’ll down three slices no problem.”

  “Ray,” I began, reaching out to touch his arm. “What I said before …”

  “Nah,” he cut me off. “It’s whatever. I’m just here to make sure Viv comes back safe. Would drive me crazy waitin’ around at home for the phone to ring.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” I said. “Viv knows how to handle herself. She’ll be shocked to see you though. Said you were … occupied earlier this evening when she hit you up about dropping off Malik.”

  “Like she gives a shit,” Ray said.

  “She does,” I said. “Very much. Not that she’d ever let you know it.”

  I figured I owed him that little nugget to compensate for being a bitch earlier.

  Ray looked at me. His dark brown eyes lighting up a little despite himself.

  “Yeah?” he said.

  I shrugged and then sighed. “Ray, you know … or you should know, that as far as Viv’s concerned …”

  Before I could finish my sentence there was yet another knock on the door. Ray and I turned at the same time and his shoulders heaved. Viv was standing there, and behind her, four of the kids. Demetrius, Sasha, Nathan and Lucy.

  I fumbled in my eagerness to unlock the door and let them all in. I quickly scanned everyone, reassuring myself that they were all in one piece, and exhaling an audible sigh. The kids looked a little disheveled, a little sooty, but no one was injured or hurt.

  Viv looked at Ray, her expression a barely convincing scowl.

  “What’re you doin’ here?” she demanded. “And where’s …”

  “Before you get all crazy like you do,” Ray interrupted her. “Malik’s in the back getting some pizza.”

  “Pizza!” Lucy said the word like it was a revelation and she and the others headed toward the kitchen.

  Only Demetrius hung back. He was tall, lanky and dark-skinned, with baby locs he had dyed blue. His fingernails were painted black and all but four of his fingers—pinkies and thumbs—were adorned with sterling silver rings, an ankh, skull, eagle, peace sign … all of them interesting and eye-catching, much like Demetrius himself.

  “Sorry, Miss Kendra,” he said. “Didn’t mean to make you worry about us, but we were cool. We just …”

  “I know, Demetrius,” I said. “But after I saw how bad things were getting, I couldn’t just leave you all down there.”

  Demetrius looked like he wanted to say something else but stopped himself. “I’ma …” He nodded toward the kitchen.

  “Yes,” I said quickly. “Go get something to eat. You must be starving.”

  When he was out of earshot, Ray made a scoffing noise. “Yeah. He must be starving. Burning shit down is hard work.”

  Viv spun in his direction again.

  “At least they’re doing something, Ray. Unlike some people.”

  Ray shook his head, unfazed. “Thing is, Viv, turns out the revolution is televised, so …”

  “So you’d rather watch than participate? Typical. You know what …”

  “Will you two shut up!” I snapped. “I realize play-fighting is your favorite thing but have either of you connected with the fact that the 24th is Gideon’s District? The 24th is where Gideon works, and now they’re saying that two cops have been shot!”

  Ray and Viv turned in unison to look at me, momentarily dumbstruck.

  * * *

  “They’re gonna hate me,” I said. “And honestly, there’s a more than even chance that I’m gonna hate them.”

  Gideon laughed. “I think you’re probably right,” he said.

  I let my mouth fall open in mock-outrage and punched him in the arm.

  We were pulling up to a house about twenty-five miles outside of the city, in one of those semi-rural communities that remind you that Philadelphia only pretends to be a big city. In actuality, many of its suburbs and exurbs are have a distinctly small-town feel, and the mindset to go along with it. This house, a sprawling rancher with no fewer than two pickups and three SUVs currently parked in the driveway, belonged to Gideon’s former partner, a guy named Eamon.

  There was a cookout happening out back and as Gideon and I pulled up, I smelled the smoke and the barbecued meats on the grill. I could also feel my stomach clench a little with nerves. I might have been joking about it, but part of me really was apprehensive about Gideon’s friends not liking me. I wanted them to like me, because I sensed it might be important to him, but I had already resigned myself to the fact that I would probably not like them.

  Truthfully, I didn’t have any specific axes to grind against law enforcement. Not any personal ones, anyway, but in the course of my work at Open Doors, cops rarely emerged as protagonists. They rousted homeless kids, broke up encampments in parts of the city where many of them congregated for safety in temporary squats under bridges or in abandoned houses; and in rare cases, kids reported having been assaulted by officers.

  Every couple of weeks or so, an officer brought a kid to Open Doors rather than arrest them, but I had already developed cynicism about those cases. I was pretty sure they just didn’t want the headache, the extra procedures and the paperwork that came with collaring “juveniles”.

  After three months together, Gideon and I didn’t often talk about our work except in the most general way, because we had already learned that it was fertile ground for conflict. In most other things, he was the first guy I’d been with where there had been remarkably little of that. My mouthiness and strong will, which other men found messy and hard to handle, he greeted with bemusement. Maybe that’s why things between us really early on felt secure, and the urge to nail things down in concrete terms didn’t even come up. We never even had the ‘what-are-we-anyway’ conversation.

  After the first night we spent together—which was about the third time I went to his place for dinner and after he had been twice to mine—we just wordlessly became something of a couple. It was only once it happened that I realized Gideon had been patiently, slowly leading me to that place without me even realizing it. His little quip about us “not fucking” that first time at his place wasn’t just wit, it was wile. He wanted more than that. Even then.

  By the time I gave him a key to my place, neither of us made a federal case out of it. And he only ever used it if he was coming over before midnight, because he said he didn’t want me to become desensitized to hearing sounds of entry while I was in bed. And he gave me a key to his place equally casually, saying something about it being because he couldn’t always be sure he wouldn’t be unexpectedly called away when I was supposed to meet him there, and he wanted me to be able to wait for him inside. We said nothing further about what the key-exchange implied.

  I sometimes talked to his partner on the phone, anoth
er Latin guy named Domingo, and we developed a habit of playful banter though we had never met in person. Today, I would meet Domingo, and all the other guys in Gideon’s squad, and the wives and girlfriends. The squad was all-male, which I thought was obnoxious and suspect, but if there was one thing I’d learned just from observation, it was that policing was still very much a boys’ club.

  When Gideon shut off the engine, having parked his truck behind one of the other trucks, I turned to smile at him.

  “So, here we go,” I said.

  “It’ll be fine,” He put a hand at my cheek and leaned in to kiss me, softly, sweetly, squarely on the lips.

  He got out of his truck and came around to my side to open the door for me, then opened the back to grab the beer and marinated steaks we’d brought along as our contribution to the feast. As he rang the bell, he gave me one last wink and I took a deep breath.

  When he opened the door, I knew I wasn’t going to like Eamon, and for all the wrong reasons.

  He had a close-cropped, military-inspired haircut, and wore a t-shirt about two sizes too small, I guessed all the better to accentuate his brawn. And he had the ruddy-faced, brash overconfidence that you dreaded in a cop when you had been pulled over because you knew he wasn’t going to give up his chance to show you who was boss by letting you off with a mere warning. Oh no, Eamon had one of those faces that said you were definitely going to pull off with an expensive citation sitting on the passenger seat next to you.

  He grinned when he saw Gideon and gave him one of those bro’ hugs that was little more than a brief bumping of chests, then he looked me over.

  “Well, well,” he said. “Who have we here?”

  “You know who this is,” Gideon said. “Kendra.”

  “Kendra,” Eamon repeated, as though it was a rare and exotic name. “The one and only.”

  I was wrong about Eamon, and all the other cops, and cop-wives and cop-girlfriends. They were all perfectly fine. Just a group of folks on a summer afternoon drinking beer, eating barbecue and talking shit.