In This Together

by Patti Berg

  Chapter Two

  WHAT’S FOR DINNER?” CESAR CAME IN, DUMPED HIS briefcase on the kitchen counter, removed his gun, and put it in the small locked safe hidden in the cabinet over the fridge.

  Dinner? Eating had been the last thing on Elena’s mind since she came home from work. But Cesar didn’t have a clue how she felt, and she wasn’t going to tell him that she’d spent the entire afternoon feeling as if she’d swallowed two bean and carnitas burritos whole, followed by a jar of pickled jalapeños. Except for those few hours that morning when she’d been whistling a happy tune, swiping roses from the hospital gardens, and giving CPR, she’d felt lousy. But Cesar would worry if she told him about the pains.

  It had to be the flu; and if she just took it easy, she was bound to feel great tomorrow for the big game.

  “Think you could fend for yourself tonight?” she asked.

  Frowning, Cesar crossed the room to give her a kiss. “Something wrong?”

  She should have expected him to ask that question. They’d been married for nearly thirty years. He had to know something was troubling her. She couldn’t tell him she was perfectly fine; he’d know that wasn’t the truth, and she wasn’t going to fib.

  “I had to give a patient CPR this morning.” She threaded her fingers through her just-below-shoulder-length dark brown hair that was finally showing some traces of gray. “Normally I would have climbed onto the bed and knelt down next to him, but he was a big guy and I had to straddle him, and it took every ounce of strength I had to do compressions.”

  Elena flexed her shoulders, rolled them a bit to hopefully get rid of a kink or two. “I might have strained the muscles in my back and”—she blew out a sigh—“I’m exhausted.”

  “I’ll fix dinner then. But first …” Cesar took hold of Elena’s hands and pulled her gently out of the chrome kitchen chair—just one piece of her I Love Lucy–era kitchen. For one moment she thought her handsome husband—who, even though his short black hair was heavily sprinkled with white, was still quite strong and almost as fit and muscular as he’d been in his twenties—was going to sweep her off her feet. But instead, he led her to the family room—which was really just a big extension of the kitchen—and lowered her gently onto the ottoman. An instant later he was behind her, massaging her shoulders first, then the muscles along either side of her spine.

  Elena sighed. Her husband had the touch, and she was already on the verge of feeling so much better.

  “Your muscles are tight,” Cesar said. “It’s not just giving CPR that’s done this to you, it’s stress too. But don’t worry, I’m not going to chew you out for doing too much.”

  Elena smiled. She and Cesar both volunteered a lot of their time, for all sorts of causes. It had caused some strain between them in the past, but not any longer. They both loved doing things for others and knew they couldn’t stop, so they simply accepted it. And that made their lives so much better.

  Cesar continued the massage, his touch light in all the right places, stronger and deeper where her muscles were bound up with stress. “Is everything ready for the game tomorrow?”

  Elena nodded, lowering her head so Cesar’s magical fingers could work the muscles in her neck. “The only thing left is setting up the gym, and I already have volunteers to help with that, plus you and Rafael. I’ve got ticket sellers and a lot of food promised for the bake sale, and—”

  The kitchen door burst open, and Elena and Cesar’s seven-year-old granddaughter Isabel bounded into the room, followed by Rafael and Sarah Fulton, Izzy’s mother.

  “Buela! Tito!” Izzy shouted out the Spanish terms of endearment for her grandmother and grandfather. Her old and scuffed black patent leather Mary Janes—the ones that were only good for playtime—clicked on the kitchen floor when she ran across the room. With her nearly waist-length, curly black hair bouncing up and down, she flung herself into her grandfather’s open arms, glitter from the sparkly, long-sleeved T-shirt Elena had decorated flying onto Cesar’s shirt. “Guess what? Daddy’s going to be a policeman, just like you.”

  Elena’s heart went into double time as she looked from her granddaughter to her son to Sarah, then back to Rafael again, unable to miss the smiles on all of their faces. “You’ve been offered a job?”

  Rafael ruffled his daughter’s curly black hair as he went to the fridge, pulled out two cans of root beer, and popped the tops, taking his merry sweet time responding to Elena’s question. Did he think what she’d asked was no big deal?

  Why on earth did men think it was necessary to tease? About everything. She just wanted him to get to the details.

  At long last, Rafael handed the second root beer to Sarah, and his smile turned to a wide grin. “It’s a tentative offer right now. I’ve got to take a lie-detector test next week and go through a complete background investigation, plus a physical, before a firm offer is made.”

  Cesar threw an arm around his son, nearly squeezing the air out of Izzy, who was smushed between them. Elena suddenly felt better than she had in years. Her aches and pains flew out the kitchen window, and she too wanted to jump up and hug her son. But she sat back, letting Cesar and Rafael share one of those special father-and-son moments that didn’t come often enough anymore.

  Rafael’s becoming a cop had been Cesar’s dream for years; and ever since Cesar had been assaulted by a felon and Rafael took off on foot after the bad guy and caught him, it had been their son’s dream too. He’d loved the thrill of the chase, the excitement of putting bad guys behind bars, and the satisfaction that came from protecting others. Once he knew he could hold down a job as a cop and still play the music he loved and join his band on occasion, he was gung ho.

  It had been a long year of finishing his degree in criminal justice and several months of sending out application after application, but it had finally happened.

  Rafael was going to be a cop; an answer to one of her prayers.

  Thank You, Lord.

  Sarah, who’d passed her striking light gray eyes on to her daughter, crossed the room when Elena stood up. Her smile was immense, and even though she was nearly a half foot shorter than Elena, wrapped her in a hug.

  “I’m thrilled,” Sarah whispered. “I know you’ve been praying for this and so have I, and now I’m so happy for him that I could almost cry.”

  Elena felt exactly the same, and it was good to hear those words from Sarah Fulton. The twenty-six-year-old seemed so much a part of the family; yet even though she was Izzy’s mom, she was still Rafael’s ex-girlfriend—emphasis on the ex—the woman who’d walked out of Rafael’s life seven years ago, leaving him and their newborn baby girl.

  She wasn’t hooked on drugs any longer, thank heaven. She wasn’t living in flophouses or on the streets. Sarah had a good job now, supervising a shift in Hope Haven’s cafeteria. She had her own apartment. She went to church every Sunday with Elena and Izzy—and Rafael, whenever he decided to join them. Best of all, she’d become a good mom, her love for Izzy apparent in everything she did.

  And she and Rafael were growing close again. Not close enough yet; but Elena had witnessed the flash of their smiles when they looked at each other and had seen them share a tender touch. The good Lord willing, that ex before the word girlfriend might soon become a thing of the past.

  Elena finally had the chance to hold her son—her only child and the pride of her life. She kissed his forehead and cheeks, and at last pushed him back and held him at arm’s length. “I was under the impression that none of the police departments around here were hiring.”

  “I thought the sheriff’s department had a freeze on hiring too,” Cesar said, heading into the kitchen, which had always been the heart of their home. He grabbed a few chocolate-chip cookies out of the Daffy Duck cookie jar Izzy had talked Elena into buying at her favorite thrift store a week ago. “I’ve been putting a good word in for you with every police department I come in contact with, but most agencies are still laying off, not bringing on additional staff.”
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  “I seem to have been at the right place at the right time,” Rafael said, hopping up on the kitchen counter, where he’d often sat as a kid, when he, his mom, and dad were in the midst of a big discussion. “Or…I must have done well enough on the oral interview to end up near the top of the sheriff’s hiring list.”

  “Which sheriff? It’s probably too much to hope that you’re getting picked up by Bureau County, but any nearby department would be good.” Cesar handed one of the cookies to Izzy and bit into a second.

  “I know it doesn’t seem possible,” Rafael said, “but Bureau County managed to get a budget approval for five new deputies. It was either that or continue to watch the crime statistics climb.”

  “We definitely don’t want or need that,” Elena said, crossing the room, linking her arm through Cesar’s. “What we do need is a celebration. Why don’t we go to Baldomero’s?”

  “A part of me thinks we should wait until I pass the polygraph and background tests, but I’m not remotely afraid of not passing…so the part of me that’s always up for a party says let’s go.”

  “You’ll take your guitar, won’t you?” Sarah asked, her eyes and smile radiant.

  “Yeah, Daddy. Take your guitar and sing to us.”

  The celebration had already begun, one of many, Elena imagined.

  Rafael grabbed his guitar, and Cesar helped Elena into her coat, telling his son that he’d talk to the chief about Rafael riding around with him and possibly helping out in the office, so he could get a better feel for the job before going to the academy.

  Another twinge hit Elena’s pelvis. But she was much too happy to let a little discomfort ruin the moment.

  Life was so very, very good.

  And she was more than ready to make merry.

  “I’m worried about Elena,” Candace said, as she and Heath wrapped the peanut butter cookies—two per package—that she, her thirteen-year-old daughter Brooke, and her mother Janet had made that morning, getting them ready for the bake sale at the Cops and Docs game.

  “Why?” Heath asked, their conversation almost drowned out by Janet and Brooke—who were in the living room playing a not-quite-perfect duet of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue on Janet’s baby grand piano—and seven-year-old Howie, who was playing his favorite video game in the family room, shouting, “Go! Hurry! Faster!”

  Candace wiped her hands on a pink gingham apron Elena had made her for Christmas a couple of years ago. “Didn’t you notice how pale she was at lunch yesterday? And she was completely distracted, which is totally unlike Elena. She’s usually the center of every conversation.”

  Heath—wearing one of the flowery shirts they’d bought for him while on their cruise and probably the last time he’d be able to wear one before cold weather hit—leaned against the kitchen counter. He took a big bite out of one of the cookies as he looked at his wife. “She sounded fine when she called an hour ago.”

  “That’s because she was talking about Rafael’s good news, but when I asked her if she was feeling okay, that I was concerned when she ran off during lunch, she said she thought she might have had a touch of the flu. Just a little bug.”

  The last of the cookie found its way into Heath’s mouth an instant before he wrapped his arms around Candace’s waist and pulled her against him. “You could try to believe her, you know.”

  “I could”—Candace sighed—“but I’ve known Elena a long time. She’s rarely sick.”

  “If you’re that worried, we can skip watching the game and help out with the bake sale. That’ll take a little something off her shoulders and give her a chance to sit in the bleachers and cheer.”

  Candace slipped her arms around her husband, the very thought of that word—husband—making her heart swell with happiness. So did his offer to sell cookies and cake rather than watch a basketball game, one of his favorite sports. “You’re a good man, Heath.”

  Heath nodded, and he might have responded with a kiss, but the doorbell rang, interrupting everyone but Howie, who was oblivious to any noise but his own.

  “I’ll get it.” Heath sprinted for the entryway when the bell rang again, and a few moments later Mrs. Kowalski, their next-door neighbor, bustled into the kitchen with Heath right behind, carrying a box covered with a red-and-white checked dishtowel. There had to be a lot of Mrs. K.’s delectable goodies inside. They could always count on the lovable plump widow to help out when charity called.

  “Brooke told me she was helping out at a bake sale this afternoon,” Mrs. Kowalski said, “and I got to thinking that it was highly doubtful that anyone else would be bringing Polish pastries, which are the absolute best, so I made an assortment.”

  “Did you make pączki?” Brooke asked, peeking around one side of Heath, while Janet peeked around the other. “Raspberry, I hope?”

  “Of course, sweetie, I know that’s your favorite and Heath’s too.” Mrs. Kowalski pinched Brooke’s cheek and then turned her gaze on Heath. She’d had a mild crush on him from the moment they’d met; and he could easily gain weight eating the goodies she delivered once or twice a week, mostly just for him. “I’ve also made krusczyki, that’s fried cookies with powdered sugar sprinkled on them.”

  “The ones that look like angel wings?” Brooke asked.

  Mrs. Kowalski nodded. “I also tried one of my old recipes for ptasie mleczko, which is a soft meringue covered with chocolate.” Mrs. Kowalski had to be at least eighty-five, but she still winked at Heath. “You’re going to love it.”

  “You bet I will,” Heath said, giving their neighbor a friendly, arm-around-the-shoulder squeeze.

  “Thank you so much,” Candace said. “You know that all the money is going to the American Cancer Society, don’t you?”

  “Brooke told me that when she dropped by the other day to help me harvest the last of the squash in my garden. She told me she’s going to run in”—Mrs. K. frowned—“what did she call it? Oh yes, the Walk for a Cure too, and I told her I’d be one of her sponsors. At a dollar a lap, I hope she doesn’t break my bank, but it is for a good cause, after all.”

  “That’s so nice of you,” Candace said and then asked, “Would you like to go with us to the Cops and Docs basketball game this afternoon?”

  “Brooke already asked me, bless her heart. But the Lawrence Welk Show is on television then, and I couldn’t possibly miss it. Myron Floren’s my favorite. Always has been; always will be.”

  “Who’s Myron Floren?” Brooke asked.

  “Oh my! He’s just the most wonderful accordion player who ever lived.” Mrs. Kowalski tweaked Brooke’s cheek. “I’ll tell you all about him someday, but right now, I have to go home to watch Antiques Roadshow.”

  Brooke followed Mrs. Kowalski to the door, waved good-bye and, knowing Brooke, watched to make sure the elderly woman made it home okay. A moment later Brooke dashed for the computer. “I’ve got to Google Myron Floren and Lawrence Welk. I’ve never heard of them. Sometimes I can’t think of anything to talk to Mrs. Kowalski about, and she really likes to talk.”

  “Make sure you look up the Lennon Sisters and Bobby Burgess too,” Janet added. “And Joanne Castle. Oh my, can that woman play the piano!”

  “Great,” Brooke said with a smile. “Next time Mrs. K. corners me in her kitchen, I’ll have something to talk about.”

  The oven timer went off, and Candace took out a tray of cookies and slid another batch in. “That’s the last of them,” she said, once again moving the goodies they’d made to a cooling rack.

  Heath, however, was distracted. “So…” His blue eyes sparkled as he lifted the towel covering the box of Mrs. K.’s pastries. “Should we give some of this a try? I haven’t had pączki in at least a week and a half.”

  “I’ll split a krusczyki with you,” Janet said to Candace, plucking a few napkins from their ceramic holder on the kitchen counter. “And we really should try the ptasie mleczko before selling it, don’t you think?”

  “I so agree,” Candace stated, helping her
mom and husband dig into the pastries.

  A moment or two after she took a bite of the angel-wing krusczyki, Heath kissed away the powdered sugar that had drifted from the cookie to the corner of her mouth.

  Her smile widened before she took another bite of the delicate concoction.

  Life, Candace knew, didn’t get much sweeter than this.

  Chapter Three

  SHOOT IT, DR. KELSEY. SHOOT!”

  The good-looking pulmonologist did just what the crowd asked, trying for a three-pointer and getting nothing but an air ball. The Cops’ fans cheered; the Docs’ fans booed. Three minutes into the Cops and Docs game, the score was nothing to nothing, but that didn’t seem to matter to the fans. They were simply having fun.

  When Cesar rebounded the ball and dribbled to the other end of the court, Elena called out, “Go, Cesar. Go!” He pranced around, showing off his fancy moves, looking toward the stands and grinning at Elena.

  She sat in the fourth row of the bleachers, a thick, red, hand-knitted sweater her mother had made for her wrapped tightly about her body. It was just a little after four, and the afternoon had turned chilly. She hadn’t been able to warm up, even though she’d drunk a cup of hot apple cider that was being sold by James’s son’s Boy Scout troop. Considering the long lines, they were bound to make a hefty amount of money.

  Dr. Kelsey stole the ball out of Cesar’s hands; Rafael stole it back. James accidentally—or so he tried to explain to the ref—tripped Rafael, who threw the ball into the air before he fell to the floor; and the ball miraculously dropped through the hoop.

  The crowd roared when Rafael aced his free throw, the shot he got to take because James had been a bully.

  All of it made Elena laugh. Oh, she was so glad Candace and Heath had told her to watch the game and that they’d monitor the bake sale. Brooke, Howie, and Janet were helping out too; and from where Elena sat in the stands, she could see Sarah and Izzy assisting customers and taking money.