“Of course we can, but we’re running out of room. You make so many pictures.”
“I make a hundred.”
“A thousand.” I kissed her nose and earned one back. “J’ai faim. Et toi?”
“Moi aussi. Can we have ‘psgetti and meatbulbs?”
“Oui, ma belle. Pour toi, n’importe quoi.”
“Anglais, Papa.”
“Anything for you.”
“Show Papa how you can dress yourself.” Miss Heather collected Cosette’s jacket and winter boots from a closet. She laid them on the floor, hat, mitts, and scarf set off to the side.
“No way. You can’t do that by yourself. Can you?” I feigned shock as Cosette wiggled from my arms, determined to prove herself.
Miss Heather, a slight woman in her early fifties, ran private childcare from her home. Her hours were more flexible than regular daycare and suited my constantly shifting schedule since she opened as early as five and would stay open until eight, depending on her clientele’s needs. Outside of those hours, I relied on high school students to babysit, all of them recommended to me by Heather when I moved to the city.
Cosette skillfully donned her jacket with a “Flippy-do” and stepped into her boots, left foot into the right and right foot into the left. She didn’t complain about how they felt, so I didn’t correct her. I had yet to know a teenager who went to school withtheir shoes on the wrong feet.Choose your battles, my mother had once told me on a rare occasion she felt inclined to offer parenting advice.
After a messy dinner of spaghetti, a bubble bath, and three stories, I finally got Cosette tucked into bed. Shortly thereafter, I found myself staring at Kobe’s email, reading and rereading his clumsy words and debating his invitation.
Eight o’clock had come and gone, so too had any chance of drinks that evening. Subconsciously, I had wanted to delay. I had wanted more time to think about the consequences and possibilities.
Cosette’s tuneless voice traveled from the bedroom down the hall as she sang herself to sleep. “Un éléphant went out to play, sur une toile, toile, toile… toile d’araignée.”
I chuckled. The poor girl might never untangle her languages. She had two years until she entered kindergarten. Hopefully, by then, she would sort herself out. Like the shoes, I suspected it would happen naturally.
Three times, I started to reply to Kobe’s email, and three times, I pounded the backspace button when a clenched gut brought bile up my gorge.
I paced, sat back down, tried again, and failed.
When I closed my eyes, his innocent, boyish smile stared back at me. Less a cop and more a guy not long out of university.
Thirty-two.
I replayed his hope-filled request over and over.
Would it be so bad?
Would it utterly destroy me?
From behind the glass doors of a curio cabinet, I located the twelve-year-old scotch I’d been savoring far too frequently and poured myself two fingers into a crystal tumbler—neat like my father used to drink it—before returning to my desk to puzzle the headache-inducing quandary.
I didn’t need more stress. I should gracefully decline and move on.
Or…
Sipping, I savored the subtly smoky flavor of the liquor. Laced with notes of vanilla and oak, it danced pleasantly on my tongue and rolled smoothly down my throat to coat my insides with warmth. The acrid taste of guilt vanished, and the incessant spasming in my stomach calmed.
If I went, I could keep the encounter friendly and see how I felt about the situation. We could talk about the case. I could recount my findings, and Kobe might share about the investigation.
Delving into the past wouldn’t be necessary. He had asked the important question earlier, and I’d managed to dodge details. Discussing Cosette was one thing. Bringing up Angelique… No. Kobe wouldn’t pick that scab twice. He’d recognized my pain. If he poked at the topic, I would leave, chalk it up to a lost opportunity. Angelique was mine. She was sacred. I wouldn’t share her memory with anyone.
I sipped the drink and bounced my knee. “I shouldn’t do this.”
Kobe’s face remained at the forefront of my mind. His dimpled smile and hopeful gaze. A contradiction, if I’d ever seen one. Rumpled and shy and skittish like a puppy, yet flip a switch, and his perceptiveness and authority shone. Who was Kobe without the badge?
