Ed's Blind Date Dilemma

by Katie O'Sullivan

  Maybe it’s time to get a haircut. Or get it all chopped off.

  The thought cheered her.

  “I heard from your ex-husband’s lawyer. Apparently, something urgent came up and they want to postpone the closing again, until after the New Year. The buyers’ are amenable, but I wasn’t sure about your plans.”

  Annoyance simmered through Claire. “Postpone? Again?”

  The other woman smoothed her hands down the lapels of her Talbots plaid blazer. Claire used to own the same one. Designer fashion for the terminally suburban. Claire dropped most of her old wardrobe at the consignment store months ago, needing the money to pay her share of the mortgage while the house languished on the market. Stalling the sale by refusing to drop the price was just one more way Dennis tried to exert his will over hers. He knew she couldn’t afford to stay in this house any longer. The Stamford suburbs were too damn expensive for a single schoolteacher.

  Did he think she’d change her mind and come crawling back to him?

  The realtor chuckled, as if something about the situation was funny. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind not having to work on Christmas Eve. January second is soon enough. Mr. Masters said he’d be happy to take a day off from work to accommodate your schedule.”

  “I thought the buyers wanted to be in the house for the holidays?” Claire turned her back on the realtor to hide the anger she knew would be evident on her face. It wasn’t the realtor’s fault. Dennis was the one to blame. She finished taping the box, wondering what game her ex was playing this time. Did he think he could nix the sale entirely by pushing it back a week? Or did he simply want to ruin one last Christmas for her, manipulating the situation to suit his petty whims.

  Devastatingly handsome and selfish to the core, Dennis always figured out how to get his way in every situation, and the truth was no obstacle. Yanking her around about the sale of the house was a last ditch effort, punishing her for leaving him. She should have left him years before, but after she found out about the others warming his bed on all those business trips, she could no longer make excuses.

  When confronted with the evidence, Dennis went on the offensive. “It’s not like I look for women,” he argued. “They find me. If you kept me satisfied, I wouldn’t even give them a second glance.” As a middle school teacher, she’d heard more creative lies from her students about missing homework assignments. She kicked him out of the house the same day, and filed for divorce the following week.

  The house ended up a sticking point. A beautiful colonial in a respectable neighborhood, she couldn’t afford the mortgage payments on her own, and he refused to buy her out. Insisting on a listing price well above the market rate, Dennis didn’t seem ready to let go of the house – or her. The property languished on the market, keeping them tied together in a limbo of co-ownership. Dennis kept his condo in New York City, the one in his name only since before their marriage. She’d been forced to stay in the house, unable to afford an apartment until it sold, and unwilling to ask her family for help. They’d never liked Dennis to begin with, and every conversation since the divorce was filled with pity and a generous heaping of I-told-you-so. They’d help if she asked. If she wanted an extra side dish of pity for the rest of her life.

  She wanted to do this on her own.

  Claire suspected the current sale only went through because Dennis spent the month of November in Europe working on some huge deal. Anger sparked at the familiar thought that he didn’t actually need the money from the house sale. He could have bought her half any time over the last two years, but always had an excuse…

  “Mrs. Masters?”

  Claire turned to face the realtor, straightening her back. She tugged her shirt down and threw back her shoulders. “Actually, I’m starting a new job in January and won’t be able to be here for the closing.”

  “Oh.” The woman looked taken aback. “Like I said, we can schedule the closing for after school. Normal working hours last until at least five, you know.”

  Gritting her teeth, Claire reminded herself she liked this realtor. Lots of people thought teachers had it “easy” because school got out at three, not realizing a teacher’s work started before the bell rang and continued long after. She counted slowly to ten before answering. “I’m afraid it’s not possible. I’m moving to a different school district in January. Didn’t I read somewhere how my attorney can sign the paperwork on my behalf?” Claire had already been contemplating whether to skip the closing. The change of date made her decision obvious. And necessary.

  Knowing the house sale was finally going through, she’d searched for a new teaching position in a more affordable area than Stamford, Connecticut. Actually, anywhere but Stamford would be better. While mid-year job openings in her state were few and far between, there were several in Massachusetts which sounded interesting. She accepted a job starting after the holidays, replacing a teacher on maternity leave. With reciprocal licensing agreements between the two states, she wouldn’t have to wait on Massachusetts certification as long as she didn’t change her last name, since her certification was in her married name. Once she figured out if she liked the new job and the new town, she could get recertified and get rid of the last vestige of her failed marriage.

  And as a bonus, her grandmother owned a summer cottage in the area which Claire could use on a temporary basis. Whether a ready-made place to stay played a subliminal role in her final decision, she couldn’t say. All she knew was she was ready to start over somewhere fresh, with new people and new opportunities.

  The realtor explained the extra paperwork involved should she choose not to attend the closing. Claire tuned her out, decision already made.

  She was moving to Cape Cod.

  2

  Four months later

  Chatham Police Station, George Ryder Road, Chatham

  “Have you always been such a miserable son of a bitch, MacDonald? Or is this some kind of midlife crisis?”

  Ed glared across the desk at the older detective as the other guy ran both hands through his salt and pepper hair, sending it every which way. “You got a problem, O’Toole?”

  “Maybe I do,” the guy huffed, the extra skin around his neck jiggling. “The way I see it, I’m the senior detective around here but you keep stealing the plum assignments. I deserve some respect. So why do I gotta be the emergency program liaison for the schools while you get to hob nob at the Inn and the fancy golf courses over on the ocean?”

  “We go through this every year, O’Toole. We essentially live on an island with one main road leading to safety. Updating the emergency plans and hurricane evacuation routes is important.” State emergency planning forms had to be filled out and signed each year by the major stakeholders in town, and representatives from the police and fire departments needed to attend those meetings. As a beat cop, Ed hadn’t attended any sit-down sessions before, but he’d earned his detective shield the prior spring. This would be his first year as part of the Evac Planning Team.

  “Yeah, but you’ll enjoy a gourmet lunch tomorrow, maybe a round of golf if the weather stays good. I get what? Cafeteria food? Stale donuts?” The look of indignation on the guy’s face would’ve been funny if it wasn’t such a ridiculous complaint.

  Ed rolled his eyes. “Like Captain Nickerson explained to you, it’s a conflict of interest for me to work with the schools since, you know, my mother is the principal.”

  “My wife teaches at the middle school. Isn’t that enough of a conflict?”

  Realization dawned. “Oh, I get it. You were the liaison for the Inn last year.”

  “For the past three years, actually. Last April the Inn served us coq au vin for lunch, with bite-sized eclairs for dessert.” O’Toole closed his eyes and sighed, patting his generous middle. “Food like that is wasted on a skinny health nut like you.”

  Ed resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. “One of my best friends from high school is the head chef at the Inn. Maybe Abbie can send me back with a doggie
bag for you. And just so you know, I won’t be staying for any rounds of golf. My daughter and I have a martial arts tournament tomorrow night, so I’ll need to cut out as soon as the session ends.”

  “I thought you played football, MacDonald. Didn’t realize you liked fancy ju-jitsu crap in your spare time,” O’Toole teased, pushing his hands around in the air as if he were Chuck Norris. Ed rolled his eyes and didn’t bother to correct him. Yeah, he’d been the star receiver on his high school team, but that was a long time ago. He still ran to keep in shape, but started joining his daughter for tai-kwon-do classes a few years ago, something they could do together.

  “Did I hear you making promises for my girlfriend?” Jake Campbell rested a hip against Ed’s desk. His suit and tie bore witness to the fact he’d spent the day at the Barnstable courthouse, following up on several pending cases.

  Built like a brick wall, the six-foot-something blond arrived from Boston the prior year, working undercover to bust up a drug ring. After saving Abbie’s life, he’d decided to stick around Chatham. “You know she’s not cooking at the Inn today, right? She and Bella drove out to Provincetown, something about Bella’s grandmother teaching them to make a traditional Polvo à la lagareiro.”

  Bella Costa was another friend in Ed’s circle from high school, and was currently dating his older brother Dylan. “Bella’s sisters gave her the day off from the shop?”

  “And?”

  Ed shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. Just that she’s going with Dylan and Kayleigh to New York City next week to catch some Broadway shows.” It was an Easter tradition his brother started with Laura and Kayleigh years ago. A flash of the two ladies in his life singing along to the cast album from Les Mis filled his mind. He was glad Kayleigh had those happy memories of her mother.

  O’Toole shuddered. “Hey, you know polvo means octopus, right?”

  “You’ve got a one track mind today, O’Toole.” Ed shook his head in disgust. “Always focused on food. No wonder you’ve gone soft in the middle.” Literally.

  Jake cocked an eyebrow. “And? So what if it’s octopus?”

  “That’s not food, man. It’s fishing bait.”

  “Are you insinuating my wife is a lousy chef?”

  Ed laughed, punching Jake’s shoulder and immediately regretting it. The guy really was built like a brick wall. “Abbie’s not your wife, Campbell.”

  One side of Jake’s mouth lifted. “Not yet she’s not. But one of these days she’s bound to say yes. She moved in with me when I bought the house last summer, didn’t she?”

  “Jeez, Campbell, no wonder you’re still single.” O’Toole slapped him on the back, then winced as he shook out his hand. “Women like romance and surprises. They want to be wooed, and treated like they’re special.”

  “Not my Abbie. She likes to have a plan for everything.” Jake’s mouth dipped into a frown. “After what went down last May with her coworkers and Chief Collins, she says she never wants to be surprised again.”

  Ed could totally sympathize with her feelings. The police chief’s involvement with Chatham’s drug trade had shocked the entire town, not to mention shaken up their whole department. And yet… “O’Toole has a point, Jake. Abbie may not like surprises, but she still wants the fairy tale. The happily ever after. Haven’t you heard the girls still talking about the magic of my cousin Quinn’s wedding? And that was back at Christmas!” He made air quotes around the word magic, making O’Toole laugh out loud.

  “I guess so,” Jake admitted, sounding skeptical.

  “What about all those fancy plans they’re making with Carolyn for her big day in June? Abbie might be the most practical woman I know, but she also wants the romance. Trust me on this. They all want the romance.”

  Comprehension dawned on Jake’s face. “You might be on to something.”

  O’Toole laughed at Jake while he walked away. “The guy was married for almost eight years, I’d hope he knows a thing or two about women.”

  Ed waited for the mention of his marriage to stir the familiar churning of despair in his gut. Nothing. Huh. That was a first.

  Usually, any mention of Laura was enough to ruin his mood, if not his entire day. But here he was first smiling at the memory of her singing with Kayleigh, and then thinking about the day he proposed, down on one knee at the top of the Provincetown Monument. The look on her face when he pulled the diamond from his pocket, her squeal of excitement while she said yes. The timing might not have been ideal, but in a perfect world he wouldn’t have gotten those eight years of married happiness. And he wouldn’t have Kayleigh.

  Ed realized Jake was still leaning against his desk, staring at him with a guilty look on his face. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be? Crimes to solve or something?”

  He shrugged. “I know I never met your wife, but I’m sorry for your loss. She must’ve been pretty special. It’s gotta be even harder with your friends and cousins all getting married.”

  “I’m not gonna lie to you and say it’s easy. But I know Laura would be happy to see her friends finally falling in love. She’d be especially happy to see my big brother finally getting his head out of his ass where Bella is concerned.”

  Jake laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think I made a great first impression on the guy. Not when the rumor mill had me paired up with his woman last spring.” His expression sobered quickly. “But seriously. How are you doing? Are you okay with…” He twirled a finger in the air, making a wide circle. “All of the romance swirling around you?”

  “It was different for us. Laura and I were friends for a long time. I knew everything about her long before we got married.”

  “I’m sorry you lost her. Cancer sucks.”

  Ed nodded in agreement, clearing the sudden thickness from his throat. “The thing is, you and Abbie have all the excitement of discovery ahead of you. I’m a little envious of that part, where you get to start fresh and learn all there is to know.”

  Jake cocked his head to one side. “You could have the same thing, you know. Damn, you’re only what, twenty eight? No one expects you to live the rest of your life like a monk.”

  The heavy sigh escaped before Ed could stop it. “Let’s be real. I’m a widowed cop with a middle schooler who lives in a very small town. The other single parents at school are divorced and jaded. The tourists are only looking for fast fun. One and done. Tinder wasn’t even a thing when I was in high school, so I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Well, obviously you can’t go by my example,” Jake said with a wide grin. “If you recall, I ended up falling in love with my number one suspect.” They shared a laugh at the memory. “But seriously, if you think you’re ready to date again, there are tons of dating apps people swear by. Or I can put out the word with Abbie and her circle. I’m sure they know someone…”

  Ed quickly shook his head. “No, I’m good. Like I said, it’s too small a town. As much as I might want to meet someone new, I can’t take the chance of Kayleigh getting hurt in the process.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind.” Jake stood and stretched his arms toward the ceiling, biceps bulging. “There’s no reason you need to be lonely forever.”

  3

  April 15, 3:15 p.m.

  Monomoy Middle School, Chatham

  Claire sat back in her chair and looked around her empty classroom, enjoying the rare feeling of satisfaction that came after a great day of teaching. A day where her students had been totally engaged and enthusiastic, raising hands and asking good questions. Even the gaggle of girls who sat in the back corner – wearing way too much makeup and acting too cool for middle school – managed to participate and ask a question or two.

  Monomoy Middle School didn’t track their students by ability, so she had the full range of learners in each class she taught. The school did, however, try to introduce the concept of switching rooms for different subjects as early as fifth grade. The teacher Claire replaced mid-year had been a literature and reading specialist, s
o Claire got to see almost every fifth grader in the school when they trickled through for literature class, and half of them again for reading, although she shared the duty with another teacher down the hallway.

  A total of sixty-eight fifth grade students from both Chatham and the neighboring town of Harwich were relegated to four classrooms in one hallway of the building. “Switching classes” meant getting up and walking to the room next door, or two doors away. Claire figured it gave the kids enough of the idea of changing rooms without the incentive to get lost in the process. At this point in the school year, the teachers didn’t even bother going into the hallways to supervise the process, trusting the kids with those few precious moments on their own. The switching also meant she didn’t get to teach math units, although she did have a core group of “homeroom” kids she also taught for science and history. Almost four months into her time in Chatham, she knew this was a school she’d like to stay with for a while. This was a place where she felt she could make a difference.

  And with the sale of her house in Connecticut finally – finally – complete after several more of Dennis’s delaying tactics, she could afford to start enjoying her new surroundings. So far, she’d done little but come to work and teach, then go home to the cottage and work on fixing the place. The only people she’d met thus far were her coworkers, who seemed like a nice enough bunch but she hadn’t had much of a chance – or any chance, really – to socialize outside of school.

  A knock on the doorframe preceded a blonde head poking sidewise through the open door. Her fellow teacher had dark sunglasses pushed back into her thick hair like a headband. “Is the coast clear?”