Chapter 3 #3
At the reception she eventually lost count of how many glasses of Pinot Grigio she had.
She had passed Luke on her way back from the restroom and clumsily reached for his hand.
She had never been with an older guy, but Jane looked so happy all night, and whether it was the booze or the forlorn feeling of being left behind, Callie was strangely, liberatingly, not herself.
She was never that brazen with men but she wanted to know, one way or another, how he felt about her.
Was she offensive, repulsive? Was she worthy, wanted?
She had pulled him toward her.
He dropped her hand and walked away without a word.
She figured that moving back here, spending so much time at the house, would mean a run-in sooner or later.
Luke runs a plant nursery twenty minutes south.
He’s still unmarried, no kids, older than Damien by four years.
He must be in his mid-fifties by now. As he turns his head to watch Opal dance to “Baby Shark” she sees that he’s got some threads of gray in his eyebrows, at his temples. It suits him.
After dinner Damien takes Opal up to bed while Callie sits with Luke, Jane, Frank, and Lorraine, poking at the last of the lasagna Lorraine made, draining their cups of Chianti.
“How’s the work compare to up North, Chief Hauser?” Frank asks Callie.
“Already plenty to keep me busy.”
“Yeah, only difference out here is you need to also watch for coyotes, wolves. Bears too.” Frank warns.
“Oh, come on. Haven’t been bears around here for a hundred years.”
Damien has come down for a stuffed rabbit Opal demanded, chimes in from the hall. “They spot one or two a season. Up near Batsto last fall. Ask Janie. She made me get a gun at headquarters. Actually she’s a really good shot.”
“Used to be,” Jane says, gesturing to her legs. “Before.”
“Janie’s got a gun? You got a permit for that?” Callie asks.
“Yes we do, though someone should arrest you on the basis of that pun alone. A Winchester semi-automatic, fully compliant with all legal requirements, thank you.”
Callie looks at Jane, surprised. She hadn’t known anything about Jane learning to shoot. Jane just shrugs.
Callie shifts in her chair, restless for an opportunity to talk to Frank about what she learned about Jenna. He had been chief when Baby Doe was found. “Speaking of legal matters, I had a run-in with my mother yesterday.”
“Oh, no work talk.” Lorraine flaps her napkin.
As though to shoo away a fly. Jenna, a pest, something that could spoil their dinner.
Lorraine, with her smooth French twist and gold jewelry: the diamond studs, the locket with her boys’ school pictures inside, an elegant little watch on one wrist and a charm bracelet on the other, heavy with mementos.
A woman with so much good fortune to commemorate it nearly weighs her down.
“I heard a story about her, something I hadn’t known before. About a baby. Cold case. Is it true?” She tries to keep her voice light, even though she’s brimming with questions for Frank. What were his theories? Why didn’t he push this one more when he was chief?
Frank tents his fingers. “Unfortunately, yes. It was an awful thing.”
“That is a horrible story. Do we have to talk about this?” Lorraine says.
Having crossed Lorraine once already, Callie figures she might as well press on. “No leads ever on this one?” Jane gives her a look from across the table. She knows the expression well. Tell me later.
“No work talk! Do I need to remind you that you’re retired, Frank?”
Retired, Luke mouths at Callie, making air quotes with his fingers.
Callie can’t help but smile. As she was first getting settled it was nice that Frank came by the station so often, or called in to tell Callie about a disabled vehicle or illegal hunting activity.
But lately she wishes he’d give her a chance to find her footing, do things her own way.
Lorraine rises, clears their plates, and waves her hands when Callie tries to help, her jewelry jangling.
Lorraine retreats to the kitchen and Frank leans forward, conspiratorial, his hands knit together. “We didn’t really have the resources or the manpower to go deep on it, the Baby Doe case. We sent it up to Major Crimes, but of course those guys … well, you know how it is. Bigger fish.”
“Enough, I mean it,” Lorraine says, returning from the kitchen, waving a cake knife. Luke widens his eyes as the knife flashes in the candlelight and Callie can’t help but laugh.
“Jesus, Mom. Talk about Major Crimes.”
Lorraine sighs, but reaches out to ruffle Luke’s hair. “Who wants cake? Or tiramisu? Callie?”
“Definitely, Mrs. Caputo.”
A vibration in her pocket. Jane. Luke’s got the hots for you. He keeps looking at you. When she looks up, Luke’s eyes are on her, and he doesn’t look away when he’s caught.
After dessert Callie stands, bids everyone goodnight, citing an early morning.
“That’s right,” Frank says. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. How’d things work out on the tip from last week, by the way?”
“Nothing came of it, but I’m hoping to brief the guys on some new protocols for cultivating informants. I think it will be useful.”
“I’ll come by. I’d like to hear about that.”
“Sure thing.” She squeezes Jane’s shoulder as she passes her chair and tells her to text her tomorrow, that she’ll do their grocery run and come watch Opal after she gets off.
She’s just stepped off the porch when the screen door creaks behind her.
Luke.
“You leaving too?” she asks.
“I’m going to wait around until Damien’s done with bedtime duties. Just came out to smoke.”
“I didn’t know you smoked. Your mom can’t be a fan of that.”
It was a complaint Jane made often. Lorraine Caputo was always on the side of her good, precious boys, who could do no wrong.
“Not cigarettes, not anymore at least, and she doesn’t know.
” He pulls a skinny joint from the front pocket of his jacket, a silver zippo from his jeans.
“I grow a little too. You think planting flowers and bushes pays this well?” He juts his chin toward his truck.
A new Ford with a four-door cab, all the bells and whistles.
Must have cost at least seventy-five grand.
“You’ve got a license to do that?”
“Eh. It sounds like you’ve got bigger problems than a guy like me growing a little grass without paperwork.”
“Your dad know about this enterprise of yours?”
“Nope. Between you and me, please and thank you.”
She shoves her hands in her pockets, looks up at the sky. It’s one thing she likes about it down here. The stars crisp and clear, like something you could reach up and touch, come away with fingers skimmed with glitter.
“It’s nice you’re here, taking care of Jane.”
“She’s family. No-brainer.” A cliché, but true.
He sparks his joint. “You miss North Jersey? Heard you were kind of a big deal up that way.”
“Eh. Most of the time they had me dressed up, pretending to be a sex worker, so the boys could nail someone in a sting.”
“You’re a shit liar, Callie Hauser.”
She laughs. It was true, sometimes she had to dress up, especially earlier in her career.
Stilettos, sequined top, a rush of wind up the back of her miniskirt every time a truck blew by.
One time her team was loaned a red Porsche so they could pretend to be big-time cocaine traders, though her partner got to drive it and she was in shotgun, playing the kingpin’s girlfriend.
But she misses it. She misses it all the time.
She raises her hands in the air. “You got me.”
Luke takes another drag, exhales. “You know what they say about lying. You’ve got to tell a lie that’s as close to the truth as you can get.”
The screen door creaks behind them. Damien, who casts a quick look between them. Luke holds the joint out to him but he shakes his head.
“No thanks. Gotta lead a moonlight hike in an hour.”
“Was that on the schedule, Damien? Your website isn’t up to date, my dude.”
A look crosses Damien’s face, a shadow like a cloud blowing past the moon. “Private party. Don’t put those on the site.”
Luke stares at Damien over the top of Callie’s head and Damien locks in and stares back. They’re telling one another something, some shorthand here that Callie can only feel the edges of.
“What are you two doing out here anyway? You keeping good Chief Hauser here with your stoner ramblings?”
“I told you, knock it off with that Chief Hauser shit,” Callie says.
Luke cuts in. “We’re talking about lying. What’s the last lie you told, Damien?”
The dare hangs in the air a second, then two, three.
Damien glowers at Luke before clearing his throat. “I told Jane she pushed a tennis ball two inches with her foot at physical therapy yesterday. But she probably only moved it a quarter inch.”
The image makes Callie wince. She knows what Jane looks like when she’s throwing all of herself into something, whether that’s an 800-meter race or studying for her Organic Chemistry final, the way she bites down on her right cheek and narrows her eyes.
She can picture Jane in the physical therapist’s office, shaking with the effort it takes her mangled nerves and muscles and bones to coordinate together. Luke looks between his feet, chastened.
Callie can’t decide if it’s cruelty or kindness, lies like that.
Letting someone lie to you. On Jane’s third night in the hospital she left Callie a voicemail, her voice a ragged whisper.
I was going to leave him, Callie. I was saving money.
I had a plan. Now what do I do? When Callie asked her about it Jane said she didn’t remember calling her at all. Blamed the morphine.
“Opal has started to lie. Or not lie, you know. But invent. They say it’s a kid’s way of learning to tell stories.”
“What kinds of stories?” Callie asks.
“Ah, you know. Kid stuff. That she has a secret house in the woods and a barn full of zebras who talk to her. That she has a friend named Olivia who comes over at night when everyone is asleep.”
Callie thinks that they sound like the stories of a kid who is lonely—Opal should be in preschool, but Damien and Jane have kept her home. The nearest preschool is nearly forty minutes away. One more bill.
“Speaking of Opal, thanks for your help tonight, Cal. She adores you.”
“Really, it’s a pleasure. She’s the best part of my day.”
“She’s a sweet kid,” Luke says, and Damien’s face goes stormy.
“Like you’re around enough to know.”
“Been busy.”
“I bet.”
Callie freezes. Had they always been like this, and she just hadn’t noticed?
Luke had been Damien’s best man at the wedding, had clapped him hard on the back before Damien turned to Jane to say his vows.
He gave a toast that night, and it had seemed genuine.
Loyal, will do anything for his family. And now, Jane, you’re family too.
So what’s happened? Another thing she’ll have to ask Jane the next time they’re alone together.
The brothers have gone silent, each staring into different pockets of darkness in the trees. Callie clears her throat. “Well, I’d better get going. But I’ll bring dinner tomorrow, Damien. You or Janie let me know what you need from the store.”
“Yeah, I’m about to shove off too. See you soon, Cal. Thanks again.”
Luke pinches the end of his joint. “Until next time, Chief.”
Before she pulls out of the driveway she texts Jenna. Tries to strike an easygoing tone. Just making sure you got home okay. Let’s talk soon?
Three dots appear on the screen, disappear, then silence.