Minka
MINKA
F rank is the perfect companion. Quiet while we drive, forward-thinking, smart enough to know where I wish to go without me having to say the words out loud, and a pleasure to deal with as he opens my door at our destination and still maintains his silence.
But he dips his chin and offers a small smile as I say my thanks.
I should consider calling Felix and leaving a positive review.
I stride through the door of Fletch’s apartment building, the sounds of some kiddy cartoon show echoing through thin walls and coming from a nearby television set. The racket of pots and pans hitting one another as I move onto the second floor and someone is, evidently, preparing for an early dinner. Or a fancy lunch. I move in kitten heels and hate how my feet ache. Because I haven’t been sleeping enough lately, and not all the blame lies with Jada’s last day alive.
I was hardly sleeping before that, too.
And worse, Archer knows. That’s why he constantly worries about me.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and draws a tired sigh from the very middle of my chest, but I continue up the stairs while taking the device out and spying the mayor’s office flashing on the screen. Curious, I swipe to answer and hesitantly bring the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” Fifi grumbles. “And it seems my days acting as your underling aren’t entirely over. Detective Clive from the Midtown PD has been trying to call you today regarding some pended case from a while back.”
“Uh…” I circle at the third-floor landing and continue up. “Okay?”
“Well, you weren’t taking his calls, and so I guess he thought it would be cute to contact me directly. It’s almost as though he thinks I’m your assistant.”
“You were not so long ago.”
“I wasn’t! I am in public relations, Mayet. Not personal assistance. I explained to the detective you were not in the office today, but that you would get back to him just as soon as you could.”
“Look at you, still working for the George Stanley.” I come to Fletch’s floor, but stop at the top of the stairs so he’s not alerted to my presence by the sound of my laughter. “If one of us was male, we’d consider this flirting, Ms. Lewis. You don’t want to leave me, but you’re too shy to say so out loud. So you manufacture reasons to call me instead.”
“If one of us were male,” she growls, “I would consider your anecdote sexual harassment in the workplace and have you written up by HR. Write the detective’s name down so you remember to call him back.”
“I probably won’t.”
I know she wants to explode. I know she wants to strangle me, but all I give her is the sound of my giggles rolling along my throat.
“You won’t call? Or you won’t remember?”
“I won’t remember. I have staff who do that for me. And since he knows he gave you the message, and then he’ll contact me again in a few days when I obviously forgot to get back to him, I’ll tell him you never passed the message on.”
“That’s a lie!”
“Yeah, but I’m not above telling small tales, and you’re way too uptight to let me ding your reputation like that. So this means you’ll call me again tomorrow to remind me. And the next day. And the next, until I’ve done my job. Sounds like a good way for me to ensure communication with my friend who wishes she still worked for me.”
“If I could hurt you and not be arrested for it, I would do it.”
“Luckily for me, the law exists, and my cop husband has a fondness for my body the way it is. Have you changed your mind about coming to Fletch’s yet? I’m about to walk in, but if you’re coming, I could wait. That way, you’re not arriving alone.”
“I’m working, and you’re so eagerly playing with fire. Your enthusiasm for mine and Charlie’s drama reeks of mean girl vibes.”
“It’s not your drama I want to see. It’s your happiness. Even better if that happiness just so happens to be at the same time, in the same room. I’m gonna walk in and see Mia in a sec.” I stop and swallow the lump in my throat. “Want me to slip my phone into my pocket but leave the call live, so you can hear her?”
“What?” She gasps like my suggestion is oh-so-ridiculous. “That would be entirely inappropriate! If I was that child’s parent, and someone was trying to spy on my child without my permission or knowledge, I’d be pissed.”
“It’s not spying,” I roll my eyes. “It’s getting to be an audience to her existence for just a second. Your vow to stay away remains intact, since she won’t know you’re there, and you still get to hear her for a moment. Sounds like a win-win situation to me. But if you’d prefer I didn’t?—”
“I mean…” She gulps. I’ve won this round . “As long as you don’t tell her. And it’ll just be for a minute. But then I have to get back to work.”
“That’s what I thought. Hang on.” I bring the phone from my ear and check the duration of the call: three minutes and fifty-seven seconds. Then I take care not to hang up as I slide the device into my pocket and start toward the door. I rap my knuckles carefully against the wood just once, so softly that if Mia is sleeping, I won’t wake her. But then I test the door handle and find it unlocked anyway, so I twist it until the catch comes free and push it open to find Aubree first, fussing in the kitchen while behind her, Fletch and Mia are on the couch.
Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood is on the television while Mia is perched on her father’s lap.
They stare at the screen with disinterest. No smiles. No expressions at all except for boredom and vacancy.
Quietly, I close the door again and wait for the snick, then I turn and pass a silently watchful Aubree on my way toward the living room. Daniel Tiger was my constant companion when I was a child. He taught me about fairness. About empathy. Friendship. Sharing. The cartoon tiger and his cohort of friends taught me a lot about society. Or at least, a utopian version of it, anyway.
Certainly not the society we currently experience, where mothers become drug addicts and sick men hurt little girls for fun.
“Hey.” I keep my voice gentle as I approach, so I don’t scare the pair who intently stare at the screen. But when neither looks up, I come around to stand by the coffee table. Then I lower to perch on the wood and try again. “Hey, Mia. How are you, cutie?”
Slowly, consciousness comes back to her eyes. Like she was dreaming while sitting up. Sleeping with her eyes open. Then she looks my way and smiles. It’s small and shaky, but she tries her best. And for that, she deserves the world. “Hey, Aunty . Did you just get here?”
“I did.” I straighten when she climbs off her father’s lap and moves across to mine, instead. Her legs circle my hips and her arms wrap around my neck. Finally, she places her cheek on my shoulder and exhales a breathy sigh so loud, there’s no way Fifi couldn’t hear. “It kinda looks like Aubree’s making lunch, huh?” I stay where I am, if only because Fletch is yet to break his trance with the television, and I wouldn’t feel right getting up and walking away with the girl. “Are you hungry, sweetpea?”
“I guess. A little bit.” She releases me from her choke hold and plays with my hair instead, staring down at the ends and twisting the locks around her fingers. “Today feels weird, huh? Feels like nighttime, maybe. But it’s still light outside.”
“Time moves weird for me sometimes, too.” I study her sweet face and her cheeks, still with the baby fat leftover from infancy. She can’t weigh more than forty pounds and still wears pants her peers might’ve already grown out of. But her arms and cheeks maintain just a little of what she might’ve looked like when she was smaller. “Some days are just strange. And that’s okay.” I lean back and wait for her eyes to come up to mine, still puffy and red, so unbelievably tired. “Have you been watching Daniel Tiger all day, Moo?”
“I watched Bluey at breakfast time.” She flicks my hair. Folding it. Twisting it. “Do you fink they have TVs in Heaven?”
Fuck. Me. Sideways.
“Um—”
“Because if they do, maybe Mommy is watching Daniel Tiger, too. And now that she’s not sick anymore, she can probably stay awake for the whole episode, don’t you fink ?”
Do I think?
Well?
“Sure.” I reach up and tap the end of her perky nose. “I think Heaven has all the things we, the people who are living, want it to have. Because we love the people who went there, and we know the things that might make them happy. I know your mommy loved you very much, even when she was sick, so she likes the things you do. Like Daniel Tiger and pink crayons. You like craft paint and Care Bears. So I bet Heaven is filled with all that sort of stuff.”
“Do you fink Heaven has speakers, so all the people who died can still hear us? Because it’s a bit far away, all the way up in the sky. But maybe they have like what we have at school. Ya know, where the principal talks over the speakers to say hello to everyone in the morning?”
“Yeah.” I sniffle, because this little girl’s unending hope for a better world is more powerful than even Daniel Tiger’s. “I think every person up there has their own personal speaker. So all the people they loved can say hello and they’ll hear us. I don’t know if you know.” I push off the table, carefully holding her weight and helping her wrap her legs around my hips so she doesn’t fall. But then I take her to the window that looks out to the street, and glance up to the cloudy, dreary sky that’ll dump snow on us again soon.
Any minute now, to be honest.
“But my mom and my dad are both in Heaven. They died at different times, but both times were still a long time ago. I was sad the first time, but not as sad the second, because I knew they would be together in Heaven again. But then I wondered if they could talk to us. Ya know, like how they have speakers to hear us?”
Her eyes dance with soft, devastating tears that sit on the brim but don’t spill over.
“So I knew I could tell them I loved them at any time. But I wondered if they could say it back.”
“Could they?” She grows a little lighter. Not her weight. But her grief. Her hope. “Did they say it back?”
“Yeah.” I breathe in her exhale of delight. And relief. “Yeah, they can. And they do.”
“A lot?” Trembling, she looks out at the sky. “They can say it anytime?”
“Most of the time. But it’s not with words. I don’t know if it’s the same for everyone, but when my mom and dad want to say hello to me, usually they make a rainbow jump across the sky.”
Stunned, she gasps and swings back around to face me. “A whole rainbow, just for you? You’re so lucky!”
“Yep. But that’s not all. In the summer, they send a beautiful little butterfly to flitter by. Or they make a pretty flower grow on the sidewalk, and I know it’s them, because a flower really shouldn’t be able to grow in a place like that.”
“They send you so many fings ! That’s so special.”
“Uh-huh. But best of all,” like the universe truly wants to make her a believer, the clouds open up and soft new snow drifts past the window. “In the winter,” I whisper, “when flowers aren’t growing, and butterflies are tucked away from the cold, my mom and dad would make it snow. Because when I was little and growing up in New York, the snow would come after everyone was done with school and work, and we used to love playing in it together.”
“Snow?” A single tear dribbles over and tracks along her cheek. “They’re saying hello right now?”
“Well, actually, I think maybe my mom and dad know that you’re my favorite four-year-old in the whole world since I tell them so, and they have their special little speaker. I also told them about your mommy being sick and how she went to Heaven. So I think they found her, since she was new and probably didn’t know her way around yet, and now they’re sending snow to let us know that they’re together, and your mommy wanted to say hello.”
Mia’s chest heaves, but her cries come in silence as she places her hand on the glass pane. “Hello, Mommy.” She sniffles and stares out at the gift she thinks has been sent just for her. “I hope you feel better now.”
“That’s the best part about Heaven.” I turn my head and swipe my cheek on my shoulder. But while I do, I catch Aubree’s tearful stare from the kitchen, and then Fletch’s, his attention on us and not the TV anymore. He’s a broken man. Devastated and desperate for something good in his life. He watches us with eyes glistening and red. But then his lips curl into a shaky, appreciative grin. “Being in Heaven,” I bring my focus back to Mia, “means no one gets sick anymore. It’s the best part.”
“Do you fink Miss Fifi is gonna come visit me soon?” She drops her hand and turns to search my eyes. Her lips sink into a chubby pout, and her chin doubles because of her posture. But her stare is fierce, holding me captive. “She must be really busy wif work, huh? She doesn’t come around anymore.”
“I know, baby. But I think?—”
“Can you tell her to come visit when you see her?” She cups my face, like she thinks she needs to, to keep my undivided focus. “Tell her about my mommy, so she knows I’m a little bit sad.”
“Mia—”
“If she knows I’m sad, then I bet she’ll come.”
Choking on his grief, Fletch tumbles back against the couch and presses the pads of his thumbs to his eyes. Because he lost more than Jada this week. He lost Seraphina, too.
“I’ll tell her.” I swallow and hold Mia’s honeycomb stare. “I promise to let her know that you miss her and want to see her. And you, especially right now, while you’re sad, want a squishy hug that wraps you up nice and tight. I heard she’s pretty good at those.”
“ I appreciate everything you do for my baby, Delicious.” Fletch steps up behind me while Aubree and I tidy up. Lunch has been served and picked at. The dishwasher has been stacked. And now Mia has conked out on the couch despite it only being three in the afternoon.
Four-year-olds need naps on a normal day, right?
Four-year-olds who’ve spent twenty-four hours in hell are especially allowed to take time to rest.
“You’re welcome.” I glance over my shoulder and offer him a gentle smile. “I’ll do anything for you guys, you know that.”
“ Anything is to send a meal and a generic you have my condolences card from the florist. What you’re doing is next level. Both of you.” His eyes shift across to Aubree. “You didn’t even like Jada, but you’re here anyway and?—”
“We don’t have to speak of the things we didn’t like anymore.” I set the hand towel on the counter and hold his arm instead. “We can bitch about people who are alive. That’s fair game. But once someone passes, we typically let the shit go and choose positivity.”
“Making a martyr out of dead people is how history blurs.” He searches my eyes. “We need to remember to keep the facts straight, so in the future, my daughter can learn from the past instead of repeating it.”
“We can speak of addiction,” Aubree murmurs, setting her towel down too and resting her hip against the counter. “It’s a disease, Fletch, just like cancer is. Just like Alzheimers. If she were the child of a cancer sufferer, especially the types of cancers that are hereditary, we’d inform her of what could come in the future and how to minimize that risk. Similarly, drug and alcohol addiction—or the addictive components of them—can also be hereditary. So we’ll teach Mia about the markers that may be in her DNA, and we’ll provide the information in a way that is educational without turning it into a bitch-fest about her mother.”
“Besides,” I offer, hopeful. “While addiction has an inherited component, genetic factors only form approximately fifty percent of her likelihood of following in those same steps. At four-years-old, Mia is already exhibiting a tighter control on impulsivity than her mother ever did.”
He stares in silence, waiting for my point. So I squeeze his arm before releasing him. “This is a good sign. Her likelihood of also becoming an addict just fell another twenty-five percent.”
“You and your science-speak.” His cheeks warm as he shakes his head side to side. “Always turned me on a little.”
“Oh, please.” I push away from the counter and start toward the door. Because I hear familiar footsteps in the hall and don’t want them to waltz in with a clatter that’ll wake Mia from her much-needed sleep. “You already asked me to marry you once.” I grab the door handle and slowly bring it open. But I look back at my husband’s best friend and grin. “Hold the line and wait for things to heal between you and Miss Fifi. I think you might be missing an opportunity if you limit your love purely to me.” I bring my eyes around and beam at the cop and his baby brother waiting at the door.
But if I were to be particularly specific, my focus is on just one of the Malones. “Hey.” I step into Archer’s arms and rest my cheek on his chest, right where I fit so perfectly. It’s like the universe was crafting people three decades ago, and pulled him and me from the same mold. “I’ve needed this so much.”
“You okay?” Cato lets himself into the apartment, but Archer gently slides his hands along my back in soothing strokes. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing new. I just needed a hug, though I didn’t realize how badly until it was already happening.” I listen to his heartbeat. The solid thud, thud, thud that allows mine to calm, too. The way we sync and how his aftershave fills my lungs. He’s my rockhopper penguin, and the stark reality of seeing a friend lose his—or at least, the person he thought was his rockhopper penguin—is like a knife in my throat.
Over and over and over again.
“Did you tie up the Masters thing?”
“Yeah.” He leans back and looks down into my eyes. “Let’s go in so I can brief Fletch, too.”
Talk business, he means. Normalcy within a world of chaos.
“Okay.” I push up to my toes and wait for him to close the distance between us, pressing his lips to mine. Home. Where everything feels safe and pain doesn’t hurt quite as much.
He’s my home.
“Come on.” He takes my hand and carefully steps around me to lead the way, so I study his broad shoulders as he moves, then down to the guns he keeps strapped to his body. I’ve never been intimidated by those. Such powerful weapons, so close to the person I love more than I love life itself. But he’s a powerful man, and he knows how to use them to protect himself.
If nothing else, the abusive Timothy Malone the Second taught his boys how to survive the very worst life can toss at them.
“Hey.” He meanders into the apartment and heads toward the kitchen when he spots Fletch that way. He squeezes my hand in his to make damn sure I come along for the ride. “Signed off on the Masters thing.”
“Yeah?” Fletch pulls the fridge door open and takes out a soda. Perhaps a crutch, to keep his hands busy and his eyes somewhere other than on his friend. His brother. Then he shuts the door and moves to lean against the counter, right where I was just a few moments ago. “Fabian approved the paperwork?”
“Yep. Masters is already talking with the D.A. and crying about how he didn’t mean to do what he did. He’s showing remorse and yada yada yada . He’s a dick.” Archer brings me around to stand in front, dragging me closer until my back touches his chest and his chin perches atop my head. “He wanted out of a bad marriage, but he was too scared to do it the right way, for fear of losing a few dollars to the wife and lawyers. Now he’s lost it all and is going away. D.A. seems to think he isn’t a huge threat to society, so they’ll go relatively easy on him, depending on whatever comes of their meetings over the next few days.” He looks across the room—I feel the movement of his head—and discovers Mia asleep on the couch and, when I look, Cato sitting on the coffee table, his eyes on the little girl and his expression far softer than it ever is when he’s speaking to an adult. “How’s Moo doing?”
“Exhausted. She’s crying on and off, but a lot of it is fatigue and dysregulation. Her routine has been tossed on its head, and her sleep is suffering, which leads to a meltdown every now and then.”
“But once things calm down and routine is back, she’ll be fine, right?”
“Yeah.” He lifts his soda and shrugs. “Objectively speaking, Jada wasn’t a part of her everyday life. Makes me feel like an asshole to say it like that, but it’s fact. Mia is crying for the idea of her mother. Not for the actual woman she lost.”
“Objectivity doesn’t make you an asshole,” I murmur. “Ultimately, our job is to help her find peace again. Being realistic about our circumstances, even if it’s not entirely socially acceptable, is how we’ll manage that peace in the long run.”
“Right.” He lowers his hand and looks anywhere but at us. “Detective Elen called a few hours ago.”
“Yeah?” Archer’s body buzzes with adrenaline behind me. I feel it just as surely as I would feel electricity in my veins. “What’d he say? Did they nab Booth yet?”
“Nah. They swept that kid, Lorenzo Lombardo up, though. No arrests yet, because Booth is hiding, and Lorenzo’s claiming innocence. He was there earlier that day, Elen says, but Lombardo says he didn’t see Jada’s attack, didn’t condone it, and won’t cover it up. He doesn’t know where Booth is and doesn’t know anything else.”
“So he’s caught the code on the street,” Archer rumbles. “You shut your mouth, or you die.”
“Basically.” Setting the can of soda down, Fletch twists and presses his hands to the edge of the counter, bending his back and stretching his shoulders. “Booth has been an STD on this city for a while now, but he really stepped in it with Jada. First attack was bad, but the cops were either too incompetent to do anything about it, or the evidence wasn’t there. This time, Balladae and Elen have concrete proof and seem to actually care enough to put him away. Booth knows he’s in the shit now, so he’s gone underground.”
“And how do you feel about that?” I know this discussion is between cops, but I insert myself anyway. I always do. “I’m certain you’re angry, Fletch. This isn’t the first time Booth has hurt her. So I wanna know?—”
“If I’m gonna hit the streets and take care of him myself?” He stares at the counter and smiles. “Maybe. Not today. My focus is on Mia right now. She’s the only innocent amongst us all, so I’m gonna be whatever she needs me to be until she feels good enough again to face the real world. But if Booth is still in the wind in a month… two months…” He shakes his head, but I swear, I hear a soft laugh feather over his lips. “I might do something about it.”
“That’s illegal.” Aubree growls, her eyes narrowing to slits. “What will you do if you find him, huh? Hurt him? Maybe even kill him. And then you go to jail, too. The good news is you might get to share a cell with Masters, but the bad news is Mia will be left out here to raise herself. That’s stupid.”
“There’s an art in not getting caught,” Cato inserts smugly. “The point is to leave no trail, Hippie. It’s to get in, get out, and serve up justice the way justice is meant to be served.”
Of course, her eyes swing to mine.
The Vigilante, a word tickling the end of her tongue. Though she has good sense not to say so out loud.
“Most people get caught. That’s literally your job.” She stares at Archer, then Fletch. “Your entire careers are built around catching people who kill others. The statistics are not in favor of those who get away with the things they do. They’re in favor of the law. Even knowing certain people in high places?—”
“Like us?” Cato suggests. “We get away with shit all the fuckin’ time.”
She means me. She might even mean Sophia.
She’s not even touching on the mafia’s involvement in what we could do. Or what has already been done.
“You wanted to be able to look your daughter in the eye and tell her you did everything you could to help her mom, Fletch.” She reaches out and touches his shoulder, forcing his eyes back to hers. “You did that. For the rest of your lives, you can tell her, with all of your heart and soul, you did the right thing. But it all comes tumbling down if your only relationship is through three-inch plexiglass during your fifteen-minute visitation allocation in prison.”
“No one is going to prison.” Archer’s breath bathes the top of my scalp. “No one is hurting anyone because Balladae and Elen are gonna scoop Booth up and put him where he belongs.”
“Exactly.” Grinning, Fletch pushes off the counter and straightens his back. Then he pats his hands, like job well done . “I’ll never place myself in a situation that could end with plexiglass separating me from my baby girl.”
Aubree’s eyes fire with the kind of rage that indicates he’s lying. And she knows it. But hell, who am I to tell him he can’t take care of business?
I’ve done it.
He knows I’ve done it, and he’s never told the cops after the fact. Him wrapping his bare hands around Nathan Booth’s neck and wringing the life from his eyes until there’s nothing left is the absolute least he deserves.
So I smile and say nothing when he looks my way.
“I don’t mean to be a downer,” Archer mumbles. “But it’s probably time we consider funeral arrangements, right?” He pauses, waiting for Fletch’s eyes to come up. “I know it’s not a fun thing to think about, but at some point soon, Jada will need to be buried. It’s important we do this right for Mia. So she has a chance to say her final goodbyes.”
“Jada has parents, right?” I look from Fletch to Aubree, like she might know. “I remember someone mentioning them in the past.”
“Yeah.” Finally, Fletch brings a hand up and scrubs his fingers through his hair. “They’re around, but they wrote her off a long time ago. They never approved of her marrying me or taking time away from the stage to have Mia. They’d invested countless time and dollars into her dance career, and they’re quite wealthy, so when she married me,” he scoffs, shaking his head side to side, “the broke ass loser who would be nothing more than a civil servant and a bum, they said she had to choose.”
“She chose you,” Aubree murmurs. “She chose love over money.”
“Ironic, considering we divorced anyway, and her downfall into the world that eventually killed her started with another civil servant bum.”
“You didn’t put those drugs in her hands, Fletch. And you kept a comfortable roof over your heads and a home filled with love and safety.”
“Until it ended,” he bites out. “And instead of running back to her trust fund and the cushy life behind a security gate, she sunk lower and completely fucked up.” He flexes his fists and groans with frustration. But then he comes around and meets my stare. “I called earlier to tell them the news. Instead of being sad about their daughter, they reiterated that I was the reason she ended up the way she did, and assured me they would not contribute financially toward her end-of-life services. They have no interest in getting to know Moo. So…” He drops his shoulders back and sighs. “That’s that. Their daughter is dead, and they don’t care about anything else.”
“Fuckin’ assholes.” Archer’s hand grows painfully tight against my hip. “We don’t want their trashy attitudes around Mia, anyway. And that behavior is exactly the reason Jada picked you. Money and glitter don’t mean shit when you’re trapped in a house and a life you hate. If they’d insisted on fighting for time with Mia now that Jada’s gone, I’d have gently suggested they stay the fuck away, anyway. They’re toxic, and there’s a reason their daughter chose substance abuse over the million other opportunities she could have had.”
“You’re not the reason she’s gone.” Carefully, Aubree wanders to Fletch’s right and wraps her arms around his until she can rest her cheek on the ball of his shoulder. “This goes so much deeper than her making a bad choice with Detective Fox. Her childhood formed who she was first. Her parents created the neural pathways that led her to impulsivity. They created her, and then they project their guilt onto you. Her parents didn’t love her the way parents are supposed to love a child. They loved the opportunities she presented with her dancing and the glamor she attracted when she was on the stage. They wanted a doll to dress up and parade around, but you provided love and comfort unlike anything she’d known before. That’s why she chose you, Charlie. And for that, she was immeasurably lucky. She got the real love she deserved when she was with you, and doubled it when you created Mia together. The best years of her life were spent with you .”
“For fuck’s sake.” He swipes a hand beneath his nose. “Can you stop with the sappy stuff? I’m trying to be a man about all this.”
“I’m just saying.” She snickers. “They’re defensive and cruel, and they’re wildly uncomfortable knowing their little doll wasn’t perfect. But instead of accepting responsibility for the role they played throughout her life, they’d rather toss that guilt at you and hope it sticks. It’s easier to tell their friends a bum cop seduced and ruined her than it is to say we’re toxic assholes who were never equipped to raise a child in the first place.”
“That’s why she cheated, huh?” Sniffling, he looks down and waits for her eyes. “If we break it down to a scientific level, leaving emotion at the door, she probably felt needy for love that day, right? Maybe I was busy with work, or with Mia, or whatever, but she was never truly taught that proper love is unconditional. Instead of talking to me about it, she sought the type of love her parents showed her—shallow and ego-driven—from someone else.”
“Beau Fox was the perfect candidate,” I insert. “Arrogant, confident, good-looking, and free with his flattery. He didn’t realize he was playing with a fuse so close to explosion, but she felt good in those moments. And so, she did things she shouldn’t have.”
“And when I left her, she went searching for more. She spiraled from my rejection.”
“We could have an entire therapy session about this,” Aubree adds. “A whole thesis could be written on why she did the things she did, and how those actions were a direct result of how she was raised. That doesn’t mean she got to skip accountability for what she did, but it certainly explains the science behind it and how she ended up where she did. Beneath the beautiful, grown woman was a little girl whose heart never healed. It’s not surprising that she spiraled after you left.” She swallows and offers him a small, sad smile. “That makes none of this your fault. But the day she chose Beau Fox was the day she lost the one and only person who ever truly loved her the way she needed.”
“It’s a tragedy,” Archer concludes. “The whole thing is a tragedy that will forever be with you. Because the potential for greatness was right there. But her shitty origin story doesn’t mean you were wrong for stepping away. You had to protect Mia and yourself, and no one but Jada forced those drugs and choices into her life.”
“If I stayed, we could have been happy.”
“No,” I argue firmly. “If you stayed, she would have been happy. Not you. It is never your job to sacrifice your happiness for someone else’s. And we all know she could have still had an amazing life raising Mia alongside you. She didn’t need to be your wife to benefit from your friendship. Everyone has some kind of trauma they’re healing from. Most of us had parents who landed us with emotional scars.”
“Yeah,” Cato quips. “Like how my dad kept trying to kill me and my brothers.”
I choke out a soft laugh and shake my head. “I mean… yeah. I guess. That’s more on the extreme end of the spectrum. But he proves my point. As adults, it’s up to us to make positive, healthy choices. We can be sad for the little girl whose beginnings sucked while also holding the woman she grew into accountable. We can also choose to give her the benefit of the doubt and remember the good, instead of the bad.”
“Because there’s a scientific reason for all the bad?” he questions. It’s almost childlike in the way he clings to what I’m offering. In how he searches for hope in my words. “We’re still holding her accountable. But I can apply reasons to the adult choices she made. Like how she messed around with Fox.”
“Exactly. Instead of remembering it as cheating, consider it a little girl who was begging for a hug.”
In response to my words, Archer wraps his arms securely around me, pulling me back until we touch from head to toe. Because I, too, was a woman begging for a hug just minutes ago.
“The fact she was looking doesn’t mean you did anything wrong,” I add. “Because relationships ebb and flow. Some days are simply too busy for reading someone else’s mind. It was her responsibility, as an adult, to go to you and voice what she needed. Instead, Beau Fox wandered her way and created a chain reaction that led us here. To this kitchen.”
“To discussing a funeral,” Archer circles us back. “I talked to Captain Bower while I was with Fabian earlier and gave them the general details of what’s going on. I didn’t give them anything too specific, though it wasn’t all that difficult for them to connect a few dots. Regardless, they reminded me of the Commissioner’s Fund and told me to assure you it would all be taken care of.”
Lie, lie, lie.
“The Commissioner’s Fund?” Fletch is a detective by trade. His job is to know when someone isn’t being truthful, and even beneath the weight of grief and guilt, I know his sensors are pinging somewhere in the back of his mind.
But I also know he’s tired, and more importantly, he trusts his best friend. “What’s that?”
“A fund set up for the spouses of officers,” Archer shrugs. “Obviously, there’s the one for fallen officers, which is when the city picks up the bill for services. But the Commissioner’s Fund is less known, and it’s there for the spouses. Since they obviously served time too, when they allowed their husband or wife to defend the city. That’s bravery, and it’s acknowledged with the fund. Fabian said we just have to make the arrangements, however we want with whichever providers we need, and to give them a certain serial number. That number is how the bills are paid from the city pot. It’s easy enough, and I can do most of it for you. You just need to tell me what arrangements you want.”
“I mean…” His intuition says he smells a lie. Somewhere. Tickling his brain, something wants to be set free. But he’s too tired to find it and too broke not to accept it. So he nods and releases an exhale that shrinks his chest. “Okay. Good to know.”
“Let’s start with funeral homes,” Aubree proposes. “They’ll come and collect Jada’s body, and from there, things will roll out.”
“Do you have suggestions?” Desperately, he looks my way. “This is kind of your job, adjacent, right? Surely you know people.”
“Yeah.” I place my hand over Archer’s and twine our fingers together. But I smile at Fletch and plan to contact Fifi, since she’s the ‘people’ I would consult for this stuff. “I’ll make some calls and get things into place. Then you can begin thinking about the smaller details.”
“Like what she should wear,” Aubree adds. “And if there’s anything special you’d like to bury with her.”
“Like jewelry and stuff?”
“Exactly.” She gives his arm a gentle tug and leads him out of the kitchen. “Like that. Or maybe Mia wants to draw a picture for her. Or maybe a photograph of the three of you, from before, when things were better.” She walks him into the hall and toward the bedroom. “I know things have been rough, and your marriage was over a long time ago, but I bet you kept a box of memories. You’re a romantic, Charlie, so I know you’ve got special notes and pictures and baubles you might like to consider leaving with her.”
“A commissioner’s fund?” I turn in Archer’s arms and wrap myself around him until his eyes are for me only. The sparkling emeralds and his sly side smile, shifting the stubble on his jaw. “Cute backstory.”
“I said what I had to say.” He folds me back and presses a nuzzling, scratchy kiss to my neck. “Fuck, I missed you while I was gone today. Working alone sucks.”
“You missed Fletch,” I snicker. But I extend my neck and allow him room to nibble. “But he’ll be back soon.”
“I miss normalcy. I miss hunting a killer and flirting with you in your office. I miss walking through the George Stanley and knowing your staff are secretly scared of me because I’m married to you.”
I snort.
“Makes me feel powerful. But it’s subtle, so I don’t let anyone know I know.”
“Ego-driven maniac. Your need for affirmation is gross.”
He chuckles. “Only from you. I’m gonna be here for my friend, and I’m not gonna rush him back to work. But inside, I’m counting down the seconds until I can talk to him again without worrying that he’ll fall apart.”
“It’ll come.” I lick my lips and grin when he nips right where my tongue was a moment before. “People always bounce back after they’ve had time to process. He’s already able to discuss details, even when they make his eyes misty. His greatest concern isn’t his grief at all. It’s Mia’s. As long as she’s doing okay, he’ll be okay.”
“Yeah?” He searches my eyes. “And how is she doing? Okay?”
“She’s desperately hopeful that Heaven exists and snow is made of magic. That hope is what will get her through the rest of her life, and better yet, she’ll be able to look up and think about her mom, instead of down while she cries. Hope is what helps us all get through another day.”
“Exceptionally philosophical of you.” He drops another kiss on my lips. “Tragically, people can only speak on the subject when they have personal experience on the matter.”
“Not a topic I wish to discuss.” I pat his chest and slip out of his hold so I can finish the job Aubree and I started almost an hour ago. “ My hope lies in my ability to compartmentalize and dissociate.” I pick up the hand towel but glance over my shoulder. “It’s a superpower, to be honest. You could try it sometime.”
He rolls his eyes and wanders out of the kitchen to lean over the back of the couch and stare down at his sweet little pseudo-niece. She can be wherever she wants while she dreams. Spending time with whoever she chooses. Which means she’ll seek solace there where, perhaps, she’ll be with her mom. Or, as another thought hits me and I set the towel down again, perhaps she’ll be with Seraphina.
Dipping my hand into my pocket and taking out the phone I left live with a call hours ago, I unlock the screen and swipe across to my log. Last I checked, our discussion spanned approximately four minutes. So I expect it to say six, or maybe even seven minutes before she hung up. Long enough to listen in and get her fix of Mia’s voice. Enough to soothe the lashes on her heart and equip herself with the willpower to stay the course she’s currently on.
But that’s not the number I find.
Forty-seven minutes, she stayed on the line. Forty-seven minutes, she probably left us on speaker and locked herself away in private, so she could visit with the little girl who holds her heart. That same little girl who cried for her mommy and discussed the logistics of speaker systems, rainbows, and an afterlife.
“Forty-seven minutes,” I mumble aloud. “Jesus, Fifi.”
Archer looks up from the couch. “What’s up?”
I lock the screen again and slide the phone into my pocket. Then I glance up and meet the eyes of the man who loves me exactly how I’m meant to be loved. Exactly how I need to be loved. “Nothing.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I snag the towel and get back to work. “Everything is fine.”