Then, we stood there, staring at one another, awash in fluorescent overhead lighting and the same uncomfortable silence as earlier. I expected Kobe to bow out, make excuses about getting to the office, or tell me he was heading home for the night since it was after nine, but he didn’t.
When the pause went on for too long, I thumbed at the door. “I should run. I have a babysitter on the clock, and she’s not afraid to charge me an arm and a leg, especially on a school night.”
“Oh.” His face fell, and I recognized the moment thewefrom our earlier conversation came back to him. “I, um… A babysitter. I didn’t expect that,” he muttered to himself. “That’s cool. Um… Can I walk you out?”
Walk me out. The man was not easily swayed.
Thirty-two, he’d said. He was thirty-two, not twenty-whatever. I had six years on him, but I felt decades older. Ancient. Depleted. Grief did that to a person. It brought you closer to the grave. It made you yearn for it.
What I wanted to say was,Walk away, Kobe. You don’t want to do this. Not with me. I have nothing left to give. Angelique left me empty. Drained. Broken. I can’t be saved. I’m not sure I want to be. I’m at peace with the path I’ve chosen. You will only be in the way.
What I actually said was, “Sure. I have to grab my stuff.”
My coat and keys were in my office down the hall. Kobe followed a few steps behind, his presence no less cumbersome than the shadows of misery chained to my ankles. The barren hallways echoed with our footsteps that late on a Sunday night. As we crossed the short distance from the theaters to the administrative wing, I rehearsed excuses in case Kobe Haven got brave enough to move beyond subtle flirtations.
I still wanted to believe I was paranoid and seeing things, but the longer he remained in my presence, the more convinced I was that the cop who had clung to my side all afternoon and evening was working up the courage to… What? Make an advance? I didn’t know anymore.
I flicked on the overhead lights, illuminating my cramped office space. A steel-framed desk and filing cabinets took up most of the room. Rows of disorganized reference texts filled numerous bookshelves along the western wall. They came with the job and had been left behind by the last person who held my position—Dr. Gregory Patch, who had retired at the ripe age of sixty-three.
I had yet to go through the books, but I suspected many of them were out of date. The boxes I’d brought remained unpacked and stacked underneath the far window, waiting for a rainy day when my schedule cleared enough that I had time to go through them.
The only personal effect in the entire room was a framed picture of Cosette I kept on my desk. She was my anchor. My reason for living. The day I buried Angelique, I fell to my kneesat her grave and swore that I would do right by Cosette. That I would love her and care for her and be there always. That I would not fail. I would not give up.
My brown leather jacket hung on the back of the chair. As I rounded the desk to retrieve it, Kobe waited in the doorway. It took the observant detective all of ten seconds to notice the photograph. It shouldn’t have surprised me, considering the austerity of the space. Cosette was the only splash of color. Her smile shone like the midsummer sun and radiated through the room.
Innocent.
Pure.
A fragile reminder of the woman I’d loved and buried.
“Your daughter is adorable. How old is she?”
A lump formed in my throat, and my eyes burned as I followed his gaze. In the picture, Cosette sat on a grassy hill surrounded by brilliant yellow dandelions. Cotton candy clouds dotted a pristine blue sky. She wore a sundress with daisies, strappy white sandals, and a beaded necklace I’d modified to fit her that had once belonged to her mother—she’d made it in an art class. Cosette was entirely focused on the plump ladybug crawling over her finger. I could still hear her laughter as she told me it tickled.
She laughed like her mother.
“Two and a half.” The words choked me.
Kobe stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked instantly awkward. The shyness I’d witnessed a handful of times returned as he sputtered, “And… her mother? Is she…”
In the picture, I assumed he wanted to say.Aroundwas another possibility. It alone confirmed his interest, didn’t it? Why else ask?
It took a second to find the strength to answer. “She… She died just after Cosette was born.”
“Oh.” Kobe’s eyes widened before pain touched their corners, and he looked away.
Silence. I hated that god-awful silence when anyone found out.
I felt the weight of his pity from across the room, and I wanted to scream.
“I’m so, so sorry. I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Unsure how to respond, I grabbed my jacket and searched the pockets to ensure my keys were inside before aiming for the door once again, gaze fixed on the ground.
Kobe moved aside so I could pass. As I locked the door, I sensed he wanted to say more.
He didn’t.
