The Kiss That Counted

by Karin Kallmaker

  The arrival of the first crib was an acceptable reason to look up. "The crib sheets are in—"

  "The closet. I remember. I'll get two sets and the second crib."

  A light, bright blue blanket finished her bed-making tasks and Karita took a moment to tack down the loose corner of the Finding Nemo poster. She could hear CJ on her way with the second crib. "Did you remember—"

  "Mattress protectors, they're right here. Show me how to set these up?"

  "You must have done some babysitting along the way. Most non-moms don't know about the protectors."

  "Lots of little cousins when I was growing up."

  "No siblings?" The online profile of CJ on her firm's Web site didn't make any mention of family. Karita fought down a blush and was glad CJ couldn't read her guilty mind. It was just a kiss, just a kiss, just a kiss. "The outer shell is the base once we get the legs all popped out. You just snap up the rails, push down on the center…like that."

  "Very clever. Then the shell goes on the bottom…" CJ quickly assembled the baby's linens, looking so absorbed in the task that she must have forgotten the question.

  Karita repeated, "So, no siblings?"

  "Nope. How about you?"

  "Just me. My folks died in a car accident when I was two."

  "I'm sorry. That's rough." CJ started on the second crib.

  The perfunctory sympathy stung a little bit. "I was raised by my grandmother, who was an unusual woman, but very loving. If I'd ended up in foster care—now that would have been rough." Karita reached for one of the folding crib rails at the same time as CJ and their hands brushed. The sizzle that ran up her arm was very unsettling. She left the rails to CJ while she finished up with the base.

  "That's for sure. What's next?"

  Karita wondered if CJ had spent time in foster care. She consistently skittered away from details of her childhood. She'd been battered, that was almost a certainty, but she didn't give off that wounded-child-within aura that Karita found so heartbreaking in many of their clients. "Sheets or dishes, your choice."

  The doorbell was faintly audible from downstairs.

  "I hope Emily can get that." She hurried toward the stairs so she could tell if Emily was going to answer the door.

  CJ wasn't far behind. "It's extra busy tonight, isn't it?"

  "We've only got the Tarzan room left at this point. Hopefully another of the shelters still has space. The Rockiest are in a championship race, apparently."

  "Yeah, they eliminate two other teams from playoff spots if they win tonight, and there's not quite four weeks left of the season. Labor Day weekend is often the big weeding out point for the playoffs."

  "So a big deal."

  "Depends what you've bet on."

  "Exactly. Men who can't afford to bet and do anyway, hanging out with buddies, a bunch of beer—and we're full." Karita paused to listen. "Emily's got it. I'll go see how many and make up the last room."

  Emily was taking a report copy from a La tina police officer that Karita vaguely recognized. The new arrival had obviously been to an ER and was stitched up, and she carried an infant— two or three months old, Karita thought—just as gorgeously cocoa brown as she was.

  "May I hold the baby for a bit? You look about done in." Karita waited for a nod before reaching for the child. "Who's this, then, sleeping so well?"

  "Janeeka. Her daddy doesn't want to be her daddy."

  "Then she will need a lot of mommy, and tonight, maybe someone else to get her settled to sleep." Karita nudged the tiny fist with her little finger and the hand opened to grasp it. The reflex usually worked and the substantial squeeze she received was just what her aching heart needed. She smiled at the mother, ignoring the bandage that probably hid six or seven stitches across her forehead. "She's beautiful."

  She turned toward the dining room and it was a moment before she realized that Emily and the cop were still chatting. A glance over her shoulder revealed a rare shy smile on Emily's face and the cop was absolutely rapt. Emily was flirting. Well, if you were Emily, that was flirting. Ninety-nine out of one hundred lesbians would miss it, but it did look as if the tall deputy with dark lustrous eyes was having no trouble picking up the signs.

  Emily broke off the conversation and sped toward the dining room, all business. Karita made a mental note to tease Emily later. That's what friends did, wasn't it? Friends and possibly soon-to-be ex-lovers? Was she already an ex-lover? After all, they always ended their intimate encounters with a promise that it would be the last. She knew they were both sincere but the need that had first brought them together still existed. Why would it be the last? Well, the attractive cop was one possible reason, she guessed.

  She saw to it that the mother was comfortably seated before giving the baby back. She'd find CJ and they'd make up the last room. She was already out of the room before she realized how much she was looking forward to more work by CJ's side and try as she might, she couldn't scold herself out of the feeling. It was another reason why she might just be Emily's ex, for real, at this point. Well that would be silly, wouldn't it? She pressed her lips together as she went up the stairs. Why would she give up something she enjoyed on the hope of nothing in its place? She reminded herself again that she wasn't going to get involved with CJ. She was a Mandy clone, another road to a broken heart. She wasn't going to be someone's pretty bauble. A kiss was just a kiss, and CJ had made it quite clear she wasn't interested in anything more.

  Life was supposed to be simple. So why were her feelings for CJ so complicated? Why did she make up her mind one minute and have to decide all over again the next? Where was a magic mirror on the wall or a fairy godmother when a girl needed one?

  The bedroom window framed the rising moon. In late summer it shimmered with pure white and cast enough light to read by. By the time she left for the night, the moon would be in the west, and she would follow its beguiling path all the way home. Karita sighed and closed the drapes. There were no answers for her there either.

  Chapter 7

  CJ put the kettle on to boil, assuming Karita would soon want the cup of tea she'd mentioned needing over an hour ago. She could use something heavy with caffeine herself. The active night with Abby hadn't left her with a lot of energy. She was seriously starting to fag, and it wasn't even eleven. The undeniable jolts of adrenaline that flooded her whenever she saw Karita were starting to leave her jittery instead of jazzed.

  Someone entered through the back door with a jingle of keys and scuff of boots. Startled, CJ turned from the stove.

  "Hi. Who are you?" The newcomer, in crisp blue jeans and a rugby shirt, had jock dyke written all over her, but her gaze wasn't confrontational as she studied CJ.

  "CJ—community service refugee I believe is the correct term for me." She was willing to bet that Lucy's flexing of her impressive biceps was completely unconscious.

  "Oh, right. I'm Lucy."

  "Oh." Quickly, before the silence became awkward, CJ said, "Karita told me tonight about your mother's passing. I'm sorry."

  "Thank you." Lucy shook back her shaggy blond hair as she headed for the lockers. "It was time and it was how she wanted to go—no long illness in the hospital. And I got there before her final stroke, so…" She busied herself with the locker key.

  CJ wouldn't mistake the nonchalant tone for lack of feeling. She'd already heard from Karita how Lucy had cared for her partially paralyzed mother for the last fewyears. How complicated Lucy's feelings must be.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Karita's reappearance. She embraced Lucy heartily and they chatted until Karita broke off at the sound of the kettle whistling.

  "Did you put that on for me?"

  "For myself, too." CJ glanced at her watch. "It's past my bed time."

  Lucy fetched mugs from the cupboard. "Are you the early to bed, early to rise type?"

  "Usually. I was up a bit later than usual last night, though."

  Karita gave her a funny look and might have even blushed slightly befo
re she turned abruptly to the tea selection. "CJ's one of those rare women who actually has a girlfriend, unlike the rest of us poor sods."

  How had Karita figured out she had been with Abby last night? CJ knew she hadn't mentioned it, which made Karita quite the observant detective. She wasn't exactly proud of the spur of the moment phone call, and she was thinking when she got home she might well have a message from Abby breaking things off. The more she thought about their urgency and high heat the more it seemed like they both had been getting something out of their systems, for good.

  Regardless, if Karita had the impression that she and Abby were hot and heavy there wouldn't be any repeats of the kiss. The sleepless nights and nameless yearning would end. She would rededicate herself to the list and crossing off names, without women in her life complicating things. She needed things to be simple for a while.

  Stirring her tea and making small talk, she reminded herself that she was close to freedom, close to having no ties to her past. She couldn't mess it up now.

  "Are you okay?"

  Karita's voice broke into her thoughts and she realized she'd not been listening. "Oh—sorry. I'm fine. Just tired, and thinking about business."

  "Commercial real estate," Karita said to Lucy's inquiring look. "She's also a girl with a career that pays well, like you."

  CJ said to Lucy, "What do you do with the rest of your life?"

  "Don't get weird on me when I tell you, okay?"

  "Okay," CJ promised.

  "I see dead people."

  For just a moment she thought about the girl in the Gathering who had claimed to converse with apparitions, but there was nothing fey about solid, confident Lucy. She hazarded, "Mortician?"

  "Oo, you're good, though I prefer funeral director. I come here because I need to be around living people."

  Karita, her voice going soft, added, "And after you did an open casket for a woman who'd been beaten to death you thought you'd see if you could avoid having to do that ever again."

  "Yeah, well, that too. Damn, there's the dryer. I can handle it. You two take a load off while I take a load out." Lucy headed toward the laundry room.

  Karita sipped her tea before volunteering, "She's a good woman."

  "Incredibly buff, too."

  "She works out religiously and I'm told plays an awesome outfield—whatever that means. She's not had much of a private life the last few years, though."

  A silence fell, heavy because of the light and frothy conversation that neither of them seemed able to find whenever they were alone. The ticking of the kettle cooling faded and even the creaking of the settling house ceased. It's so quiet near her, CJ thought, except for the pounding of my heart, damn it.

  "Are there more records to sort? I don't mind doing it," CJ said.

  Karita set her mug down on the far side of the table. "There are always more records. Let me get you this week's stack."

  "I can do computer entry, if you need it."

  Karita emerged from Emily's office with a pile of papers. "Sorry, I can't give you the passwords. But if you sort them, that'll give one of the regulars a chance to do some of it for Em. That'll be a big help to her."

  "Why did she start this place?"

  Karita shrugged. "She got involved in Stand Tall, but I don't know how." At CJ's puzzled glance, she explained, "Stand Tall is an umbrella group that keeps everybody involved in crisis care for battered women talking to each other. There are larger shelters that do longer, transitional stays, and halfway houses, group homes, but there are also a lot of one-night only emergency houses, like this one. And just because a woman is beaten up in Jefferson County versus Denver doesn't mean she should get different response, treatment and resources. Stand Tall solves a lot of jurisdictional issues, and it allows us, for example, to bill the correct governmental agency for the pittance they'll give us for a night's shelter for the clients who fall below poverty level."

  "I noticed on the intake forms that you get a lot of low-income women—that's because higher income women have other choices, isn't it?" CJ was grateful for any topic that kept filled the quiet with memories of that kiss.

  "Yep, because domestic violence knows no demographic income brackets. The only difference is the safety net a woman might have available to her. Thankfully, the digital era also allows for the law enforcement agencies to talk to each other like never before. A batterer who beats a girlfriend in Wheat Ridge isn't going to be unknown when he beats up his wife or kids in Aurora."

  "The information era has made it harder for lots of bad guys." CJ hoped her tone was level.

  Karita didn't look up from pouring more hot water into her mug. "You know what I wish every woman knew? That for seven bucks she can find out if the guy she's dating has a record in Colorado. Most women say they didn't know he was violent until they were already terrified of what he might do."

  "That only works if the S.O.B. gives her his real name." CJ bent over the papers, rapidly pulling out the Jane Does before alphabetizing the rest.

  "The majority do. They're good boys, with mothers who swear their darling son wouldn't ever hurt anyone and besides, she's a tramp who asked for it. You only give a false name if you think what you're doing might be wrong. Most repeat batterers think it's okay."

  "Not quite true," Emily said from the doorway. She wore her signature sweatsuit—in navy blue today, but CJ noticed the addition of small gold earrings. "Far too many know it's wrong because they beg forgiveness the next day, and bring gifts and promise it'll never happen again. Could you take our new arrival up to her room?"

  Karita set down her mug. "Does the baby need formula?"

  "I'll make it in a minute," Emily answered, "and send it on up."

  She slumped heavily into a chair at the table after Karita left. "I forgot to tell you not to come back after I heard Lucy would be with us again."

  Glad the subject was off false names, CJ tried for some charm. "Very true, so here I am. I'd be grateful if you'd sign some paperwork for me. It's in my locker."

  "Okay, fair enough. How are you feeling tonight?"

  CJ lifted one eyebrow as an answer.

  "Oh yeah, I forgot. No psych one-oh-one for you."

  Women like Emily had come in and out of CJ's life as a child. She wasn't going to start trusting one of them now, but the urge to hide behind a superior you-can't-break-me smirk wasn't going to be her reaction either. "I admire what you do here. How many women do you get to break the cycle?"

  "Enough to keep me here, hoping. A lot of women," she added, heaving herself to her feet, "do manage to get their batterer into counseling, with our help. That's a big deal, because the cycle of violence really breaks when the batterers stop before passing it onto their kids."

  CJ kept sorting, wondering what kinds of cycles were still circulating through the Gathering. She hadn't thought about the children still in the life, with more born every year. She could hear the echo of some cop from long ago, calling CJ and her cousins nothing more than vermin, an infestation.

  When Emily finished making the baby's bottle, CJ offered to take it up. "I'm not sure what to do with the Jane Does, so if you could take a look, that would help."

  "Oh, they get a number added. I'll let you know where to start when you get back."

  The house was falling quiet, and the change, from a few hours earlier, was palpable. There was no one crying, not even a baby.

  She tapped quietly on the door of the last room on the upper floor and was let in by the mother. The light was very low, soft and golden.

  Karita was in an old rocking chair, cooing softly to the infant. Her almost white hair surrounded both of them and it reflected the golden light, like a halo. The image seared in CJ's mind and she couldn't shake it—Madonna and child, right there, where she could touch them.

  "Just in time," Karita said.

  Trying to be quiet, CJ crossed the room to hand over the bottle. The baby looked to be on the verge of fussing.

  Karita took the bo
ttle, but never lost eye contact with the child. "You're warm and dry, and here's some food. Just that powdered stuff, not so good, but Mom will have the good stuff for you later, when you wake up again." Her tone was pleasantly sing-song and in just moments, the child was gulping lustily, tiny eyelids drooping.

  CJ was about to leave when she realized the mother was struggling with the nightshirt CJ recognized from laundry she'd done earlier.

  "Let me help you—do you want me to unhook your bra?"

  After a short silence when the woman's pride clearly warred with her common sense, she said, "Yes. Thank you. I can't twist that far right now."

  CJ quickly did the necessary steps, and helped maneuver the pajama top into place. "There you go. I think there are nursing lap pads and plain cloth diapers for clean up in the top drawer. We really appreciate it if you put anything that gets soiled outside the door. Someone will gather it all in the morning."

  She let herself out of the room again, after one last, greedy look at the platinum head, so fair and light, bent over the wrapped bundle of baby. Again she thought of Madonna and child, but this time she couldn't push away Aunt Bitty's voice of reality. That light was for innocents, not the likes of her. She would never earn that kind of grace.

  To hell with you, Aunt Bitty. I make my own choices, and I'll check myself into hell itself before I do anything to darken Karita's life. Not because you beat into me that I was worthless, but because it's the right thing to do, for both of us.

  Maybe she didn't believe that happiness was in the cards for her, but that didn't mean she should court being unhappy. She tried at least to control that much of her life.

  An hour later she'd completely sorted the intake forms and folded the rest of the laundry. Lucy had settled at Emily's desk to do data entry while Karita and Emily talked in low tones in the utility room. Their conversation occasionally included words like insulation and plumber, with the occasional reference to a picnic earlier in the summer that made them both laugh.

  Far as CJ could see, from her tired place at the table, there was nothing more she could do that night. She put her head down on her arms. If she stayed that way for long, she'd fall asleep.