wine he held up. Jake had his suit jacket folded on the seat beside him and was sipping something that looked like scotch.
“You came,” he said, smiling with a confused half-grin that meant he probably didn’t remember exactly why he’d called her.
“Are we celebrating something?” she asked, sliding into the booth across from him. “Like you coming home,” she added barely above a whisper.
“Are you happy?” he asked, after a long silence, ignoring or missing her sarcasm.
“Mostly, how about you?”
“I don’t think so.”
He said it so casually Josie didn’t know how to respond. She suddenly had a strong desire to go home. Something bad was about to happen.
The bartender brought Jake another drink and put a large goblet of red wine in front of her. She didn’t ask what it was, took a big swallow and then sat back and waited. He stared at his fresh drink but didn’t touch it. His hair needed combing, and he hadn’t shaved. There were a few tiny red spots on his right sleeve. Spaghetti sauce, she thought. So, he hadn’t changed his clothes since yesterday.
“What’s going on with you?” she asked. “If you wanna work with Bob Steiner then quit the D.A. and do it,” and just stop pissing and moaning about it, she thought.
He glanced up at her. “You don’t care?”
“Of course I care, Jake, but you made the decision, so what’s the problem?”
“I’m not happy.”
Josie exhaled and leaned on the table. She loved her husband. Usually, he made her happy, at times angry, but at this particular moment he was really annoying her.
“Why?” she asked, attempting to control that touch of sarcasm she’d been told slipped into her voice when they argued.
“Maybe I need a change,” he said, not looking at her.
“Because?” she asked, in a tone she usually reserved for one of her denser police probationers.
“I don’t know how to explain . . . it’s a feeling, a big empty space in my gut. You know I really care for you and David, but something’s not right with my life. I don’t want to hurt you . . . it’s not your fault. It’s me, my problem.”
He was slurring his words a little and trying to organize his unruly thoughts, but she immediately picked up on the phrase “care for you” instead of love you.
Finally, when she couldn’t listen to the illogical rambling anymore, she interrupted and said, “It’s not that difficult; just tell me what’s bothering you.”
“I’m not happy,” he repeated as if she didn’t get it the first time.
“With me,” she said, firmly. One of them had to say it.
“No, no,” he protested. “You’re a great wife and mother. . . .”
“Bullshit,” she interrupted. “I’m never home. I hardly ever cook or clean. We can’t enjoy a movie or dinner without my lieutenant calling me about a dead body or officer-involved shooting. David’s a mess. He’s practically raised himself . . . badly.” She stopped. He wasn’t disagreeing with her. “This is my job. We’ve lived this way for twenty-two years. I haven’t changed. I still love you.” She knew she should shut up now, but couldn’t stop herself from saying it. “Be man enough to tell me if you don’t feel the same way.”
He straightened his back just slightly, and she knew she’d hit the testosterone target dead center. Working around mostly men for so many years, she’d discovered the one certain way to get a guy’s attention was to question his manhood.
“I need some time by myself.”
Josie finished the glass of wine. “I’m tired,” she said. She wasn’t, but wanted to go home. If they were going to have a real conversation, she needed him sober enough to figure out what he wanted to say and then remember he said it. Also, it was important to look in his eyes, but he was carefully avoiding that. Jake wasn’t a good liar. They both knew it. She figured that’s why he wasn’t telling her anything. A lie wouldn’t work, and the truth might hurt. In
“You came,” he said, smiling with a confused half-grin that meant he probably didn’t remember exactly why he’d called her.
“Are we celebrating something?” she asked, sliding into the booth across from him. “Like you coming home,” she added barely above a whisper.
“Are you happy?” he asked, after a long silence, ignoring or missing her sarcasm.
“Mostly, how about you?”
“I don’t think so.”
He said it so casually Josie didn’t know how to respond. She suddenly had a strong desire to go home. Something bad was about to happen.
The bartender brought Jake another drink and put a large goblet of red wine in front of her. She didn’t ask what it was, took a big swallow and then sat back and waited. He stared at his fresh drink but didn’t touch it. His hair needed combing, and he hadn’t shaved. There were a few tiny red spots on his right sleeve. Spaghetti sauce, she thought. So, he hadn’t changed his clothes since yesterday.
“What’s going on with you?” she asked. “If you wanna work with Bob Steiner then quit the D.A. and do it,” and just stop pissing and moaning about it, she thought.
He glanced up at her. “You don’t care?”
“Of course I care, Jake, but you made the decision, so what’s the problem?”
“I’m not happy.”
Josie exhaled and leaned on the table. She loved her husband. Usually, he made her happy, at times angry, but at this particular moment he was really annoying her.
“Why?” she asked, attempting to control that touch of sarcasm she’d been told slipped into her voice when they argued.
“Maybe I need a change,” he said, not looking at her.
“Because?” she asked, in a tone she usually reserved for one of her denser police probationers.
“I don’t know how to explain . . . it’s a feeling, a big empty space in my gut. You know I really care for you and David, but something’s not right with my life. I don’t want to hurt you . . . it’s not your fault. It’s me, my problem.”
He was slurring his words a little and trying to organize his unruly thoughts, but she immediately picked up on the phrase “care for you” instead of love you.
Finally, when she couldn’t listen to the illogical rambling anymore, she interrupted and said, “It’s not that difficult; just tell me what’s bothering you.”
“I’m not happy,” he repeated as if she didn’t get it the first time.
“With me,” she said, firmly. One of them had to say it.
“No, no,” he protested. “You’re a great wife and mother. . . .”
“Bullshit,” she interrupted. “I’m never home. I hardly ever cook or clean. We can’t enjoy a movie or dinner without my lieutenant calling me about a dead body or officer-involved shooting. David’s a mess. He’s practically raised himself . . . badly.” She stopped. He wasn’t disagreeing with her. “This is my job. We’ve lived this way for twenty-two years. I haven’t changed. I still love you.” She knew she should shut up now, but couldn’t stop herself from saying it. “Be man enough to tell me if you don’t feel the same way.”
He straightened his back just slightly, and she knew she’d hit the testosterone target dead center. Working around mostly men for so many years, she’d discovered the one certain way to get a guy’s attention was to question his manhood.
“I need some time by myself.”
Josie finished the glass of wine. “I’m tired,” she said. She wasn’t, but wanted to go home. If they were going to have a real conversation, she needed him sober enough to figure out what he wanted to say and then remember he said it. Also, it was important to look in his eyes, but he was carefully avoiding that. Jake wasn’t a good liar. They both knew it. She figured that’s why he wasn’t telling her anything. A lie wouldn’t work, and the truth might hurt. In
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