Once Upon a Life - Short Listed on ONC2023

Chapter 11

"Why did you come over anyway?"

 Kristen's question barely registered, as I shifted slightly on the bed. I was staring at her ceiling, tracing the stipple with vacant eyes. Everything that happened was like déjà vu, except this time I had an inkling of why. Was I taking advantage? She initiated the act. I tried to rationalize the event. Look at it as I might a crime scene. Jesus, Standing! A crime scene? Groaning, I turned my head toward her.

"What did you say?"

"I asked why you came over today?" She sounded calm and relaxed. I wish I could have said the same. I could have said, just for this, but a wise ass comment was not a good move.

"Actually, I uh- I was going to ask you if you would concede to another meeting."

"It seems I did." Her voice purred.

"Huh? No! I mean with Tom." I sucked my teeth. "He says he has a plan, or an idea at least, about what we should be doing with this Crawford business." Her remark seemed so offhanded. Was she really thinking that? God, I hope not. "If there is a move we can make, it could go a long way to easing your mind - make you feel a little better about things."

She gazed at me, her eyes travelling over my face. "I feel a little better now."

Tongue knotted. Not the conversation I could handle at the moment.

"Uh, well, good. Good." I hurried out of bed and began dressing so as not to embarrass her by continuing to stare. "I don't know what he has in mind," I lied. I wasn't going to repeat what he said without backup. "But he seemed to have something definite . . . in mind. Can I call him and tell him, tonight? Would that be okay?"

"Sure." She tossed back the sheet and got out of bed, grabbing her clothes and pulling them on.

I got the feeling I'd made another misstep, and if I wasn't careful I could be stepping on possible landmines.

"You're not feeling sorry for yourself again are you?" So much for being careful.

"Pardon?"

"I mean, you just seem suddenly kind of depressed again."

"Was this supposed to wipe away years of rotten memories?" She waved a hand at the bed.

"No! Of course not. I didn't intend-" I held up my hands in surrender, shutting my big mouth.

"I thought you were being honest with me in the kitchen."

"Kris, I have never been more honest with you, at the station, in your kitchen or particularly, right here - now. I want you to know we will get out of this, and we'll do it together - all of us, but you need to shake loose of those old memories and concentrate on what you have today - what you've accomplished."

I watched her slow her moves, and she hung her head, hands dangling.

"That was my mouth running ahead of my brain. I didn't say that to hurt you. I would never hurt you, Kris."

She nodded her head and sniffled. "I believe you. But I just can't shut it all out at once." Her eyes were pleading,

"I know, I know. Look, let's hear what Tom has to say, and we can take it from there."

"I think Tom is just angling for another meal." She brightened a little. The weak smile was made with an effort.

"Maybe that's his plan," I said, "I don't imagine he gets much in the way of home cooking."

"The smile grew and she shook her head. "We had take-out!" She said.

"And salad, and homemade bread, and wine, sandwiches, and cookies . . ." I added, embracing the moment. I was relieved to see her a little happy again, and shutting out our tiff. Looking at her, helpless, standing in just her shirt and panties, something tugged at my heart.

With plans for the evening settled, we stood side by side quietly next to the bed, only the soft hiss of breathing joined the silence. After a few seconds I broke it. I know - two left feet.

"Kris, about--"

"I can't answer you, Ralph."

"But something needs to be said. I need something to be said."

"We've been over the why's--"She began to argue.

"No, I got all that. I mean this - us. Now." I shifted to her side and found her hand, holding it gently. "Kris, I can't say I understand my own why's or how's for that matter, but I know that I have developed strong feelings for you. Serious feelings."

"We just shared some of those feelings."

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking of feelings here," I said, tapping my chest. You talked about your life and how you felt, well mine hasn't been all roses and rainbows. I'm forty-two years old, still single, and no significant others. Parents living in a retirement community down south. No siblings. TV, a lot of take-out, and work, have comprised the hours of my life - until now."

She squeezed my fingers and her face turned sad. "Ralph, I- the timing - I don't know if I can take that step now."

"Timing? What, you mean - it's a time of life thing . . . or something?"

Her face turned toward me, an expression of surprise. "Are you suggesting it's menopause, Detective?"

"Hey, I don't know - could it be?" My face was blank.

"Thanks so much, that just ices my depression cake perfectly."

"I'm sor--"

"How old do you think I am?"

"Oh, geez, I didn't mean- forget I said anything."

"Oh, yeah, that's easy to do. Well for your information, I'm thirty-seven."

Silence returned, but I noticed she never pulled her hand away, and her blush said she realized she could be on the cusp.

******

Martin sat gloomily in the corner of the bar, working with Horvat was the last thing he needed. The man was good, but he was too quick to act. He didn't have the patience required for learning about a target, the subtleties, the careful dance one engaged in when--

"Here's your pork pie and ale. You'd think you were in bloody England." Horvat dumped the food on the table, breaking into Martin's thoughts, and sat down, unwrapping his tuna sandwich.

"Thank you. So happens the pies here are exceptional."

"Yeah, yeah. You been eating here every day, I bet. Next time, I choose."

Martin ignored the jab and cut into the pie. "We'll need to see if the directional microphone can work for us. The FBI guy swept the woman's house, and the cop's apartment, so not much point planting bugs."

"Forget the mic, I say we just do the woman. She's alone and it's a house. We can go after the cop when he's out in his car or some place. His apartment has too many neighbours."

"That's not what Phil had in mind, he wants to know what they are up to - what they know."

"Phil's an ass. What the hell difference does it make. If they're gone, who cares?"

Martin ate his pork pie and wished he could take Horvat out. No class at all. No respect for the agency. "We'll see what happens tonight, if anything. They keep in pretty close touch." he decided.

"This tuna is crap." Horvat stewed.

Word count to this point - 12,324