Letters to Maxine

CHAPTER 25

Period of Mourning

April 16, 15:13 Hours

Maxine went to the open trunk of the RMP, the thud of her duty bag hitting the bottom resonating in the quiet surroundings. Without hesitation, she went to the passenger side door, yanked it open, and plopped heavily onto the seat.

With one foot still planted on the ground, she twisted her body towards the shotgun brace, her hand gripping the magazine. With a forceful slam, she pushed the object into the brace, exerting pressure with her palm. When she heard the clicks, she secured it and sank back into the seat.

As Kelly performed the pre-vehicle checks, a nagging feeling told him that something was off. He bided his time, knowing that she'd break down within the next eight hours. He couldn't escape from hearing or knowing what was bothering her, whether he wanted to or not.

If it were any other boot he'd trained over the past three years, the mere thought would make him cringe. He would endure their agonizing stories of heartache, family feuds, and wild escapades, silently wishing for a reprieve. But this was Max.

He slid into the driver's seat and closed the door. He looked over at her, who was feverishly texting. Maxine's eyes were red and puffed, and she breathed heavily through her nose.

While in roll call and twice after, she used a tissue to wipe beneath her eyes before retreating to the women's locker room slash lounge.

As he put the RMP into reverse, she slammed her phone down between her legs. As she folded her arms and looked out of the window, Kelly shot her a quick glance.

"Call us in service, boot," he sighed. Max's eyes widened in immediate reaction. She leaned over, her fingers reaching out to grasp the handset from the cradle. When she depressed the PTT, her voice sounded harsh and monotonous, lacking any inflection.

"Six-three David to Central. We're ten-eight. Two hundred on the O2, trauma kit, two-man unit. Good afternoon."

When they pulled into 7-11, Kelly parked in a secluded spot away from the other RMPs. After he shifted the car into park, he opened his door and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"Okay, Max," he said. His question trailed off into uncertainty. "What's the matter? And don't tell me nothing. We have eight hours ahead of us, and if something bothers you, spill it now."

Maxine's silence hung in the air, unbroken by any words. With her arms folded, she remained fixated on the view outside the passenger side window. Just as Kelly was about to leave, Maxine turned and snapped at him.

"Do you remember the other day on that reckless driving motor vehicle stop?" she asked.

"You mean the kid in the Mustang?"

"Yes, the pain in the ass, kid in the Mustang. And do you remember what you said to him? You know, after he asked you if you knew who his father was?"

For the first time since they were in the car, she stole a quick peek at him from the corner of her eye. Kelly couldn't help but be scared when he saw the tension in Maxine's face and the fire in her eyes.

"Heh," laughed Kelly. "Yeah, I said I don't know. Didn't your mother tell you? Why?"

"Because Kelly," she snapped. When she finally cast a full look at him, she saw the faint smile playing on his lips. She twisted at the waist, her jaw opened, and she shook her head at him.

"Are you kidding me?" asked Max.

Kelly's first reaction was to laugh, but he knew that wouldn't bode well, so he lowered his eyes and dropped his head.