degree or any experience. After I finished she tilted her head at me and said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why—”
She stopped talking when Denise emerged from her bedroom carrying two heavy bags. She trudged through the living room toward the front door and I got up to open it for her.
“Bye,” Emily said.
Denise did not respond.
“Do you need some help?” I asked, getting the storm door for her as well.
“No.”
“Okay,” I said. “Bye,” and she nodded at me because her hands were too full to give me her usual little wave.
I stepped back inside, closing the door behind me. “She’s really odd,” I said. “You know that?”
“She’s harmless though,” Emily assured me.
“Okay.” I was unconvinced. “As long as you’re sure you’re not going to wake up one night to find her standing over you with a pitchfork or something.”
Emily laughed.
“Once you’ve worked in law enforcement,” I said, “you kind of get a feel for people. My feeling is that she’s weird.”
Emily laughed again but then turned serious.
“That’s actually what I was going to ask you about,” she said.
“What?”
She hesitated. “Why aren’t you a policeman anymore?”
“Actually the last two years I was a detective.”
“Okay, well why aren’t you a detective anymore?”
I looked at her.
“I mean, I know you got arrested and everything,” she explained, “but then they found out you didn’t do it, so why couldn’t you go back to work for them?”
Fair question.
“I probably could,” I admitted, shrugging slightly.
“So why don’t you?”
I didn’t answer for a moment, but then I tried to explain.
“One of the main reasons is that I haven’t really felt like doing much of anything ever since Noah died.”
She nodded understandingly at this.
“But why not now?” she asked. “If you’re to the point where you think you’re ready to go back to work . . .”
I looked away. This was another fair question. I took a deep breath as she waited for me to answer.
“The guys I worked with,” I finally said, “they were my friends. You know?”
I looked up at her and she nodded.
“I mean, really when you’re in a situation like that, they’re your family. You see them every day and you laugh and joke with them and you eat with them and you cry with them and you trust them with your life . . .”
She seemed to understand.
“But when I got arrested,” I said, “most of them were ready to throw me under the bus.”
She looked at me sympathetically.
“I don’t blame them,” I said. “I mean, Tori was smart. She was very smart. And she did a really good job setting me up and everything, but . . .”
I shook my head.
“Some of them have called me and stuff since the charges were dropped,” I admitted, “and a lot of them came to Noah’s funeral and have told me that I should come back and everything . . . I don’t know,” I finished. “I guess what it boils down to is the level of trust I need isn’t going to be there. I think I’d have a pretty hard time going back.”
“There’s lots of other places you could go,” she pointed out.
“I know,” I admitted. “But everybody’s pretty much heard about me. No matter where I go, people are always going to be questioning whether or not I’m guilty. That’s not a big deal if I’m shampooing carpets for a living or something, but as a cop—”
She thought about this for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“When do you think you’ll hear back from most of the places you applied to?”
“I hope by next week.”
“Well, good.” Then she smiled and asked, “What kind of salad dressing do you like?”
Emily’s calzones were very, very good.
“That was fantastic,” I said when I finally finished, leaning back from the counter. I hoped that she was pleased and not too freaked out by how much I ate.
“I hope you saved room,” she
“Sure.”
“Why—”
She stopped talking when Denise emerged from her bedroom carrying two heavy bags. She trudged through the living room toward the front door and I got up to open it for her.
“Bye,” Emily said.
Denise did not respond.
“Do you need some help?” I asked, getting the storm door for her as well.
“No.”
“Okay,” I said. “Bye,” and she nodded at me because her hands were too full to give me her usual little wave.
I stepped back inside, closing the door behind me. “She’s really odd,” I said. “You know that?”
“She’s harmless though,” Emily assured me.
“Okay.” I was unconvinced. “As long as you’re sure you’re not going to wake up one night to find her standing over you with a pitchfork or something.”
Emily laughed.
“Once you’ve worked in law enforcement,” I said, “you kind of get a feel for people. My feeling is that she’s weird.”
Emily laughed again but then turned serious.
“That’s actually what I was going to ask you about,” she said.
“What?”
She hesitated. “Why aren’t you a policeman anymore?”
“Actually the last two years I was a detective.”
“Okay, well why aren’t you a detective anymore?”
I looked at her.
“I mean, I know you got arrested and everything,” she explained, “but then they found out you didn’t do it, so why couldn’t you go back to work for them?”
Fair question.
“I probably could,” I admitted, shrugging slightly.
“So why don’t you?”
I didn’t answer for a moment, but then I tried to explain.
“One of the main reasons is that I haven’t really felt like doing much of anything ever since Noah died.”
She nodded understandingly at this.
“But why not now?” she asked. “If you’re to the point where you think you’re ready to go back to work . . .”
I looked away. This was another fair question. I took a deep breath as she waited for me to answer.
“The guys I worked with,” I finally said, “they were my friends. You know?”
I looked up at her and she nodded.
“I mean, really when you’re in a situation like that, they’re your family. You see them every day and you laugh and joke with them and you eat with them and you cry with them and you trust them with your life . . .”
She seemed to understand.
“But when I got arrested,” I said, “most of them were ready to throw me under the bus.”
She looked at me sympathetically.
“I don’t blame them,” I said. “I mean, Tori was smart. She was very smart. And she did a really good job setting me up and everything, but . . .”
I shook my head.
“Some of them have called me and stuff since the charges were dropped,” I admitted, “and a lot of them came to Noah’s funeral and have told me that I should come back and everything . . . I don’t know,” I finished. “I guess what it boils down to is the level of trust I need isn’t going to be there. I think I’d have a pretty hard time going back.”
“There’s lots of other places you could go,” she pointed out.
“I know,” I admitted. “But everybody’s pretty much heard about me. No matter where I go, people are always going to be questioning whether or not I’m guilty. That’s not a big deal if I’m shampooing carpets for a living or something, but as a cop—”
She thought about this for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“When do you think you’ll hear back from most of the places you applied to?”
“I hope by next week.”
“Well, good.” Then she smiled and asked, “What kind of salad dressing do you like?”
Emily’s calzones were very, very good.
“That was fantastic,” I said when I finally finished, leaning back from the counter. I hoped that she was pleased and not too freaked out by how much I ate.
“I hope you saved room,” she
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