“It’s fine. I get it. Believe me, I do.”
“Do you want any? Are you hungry?”
“Mason and I ran through fast food an hour ago. I’m good but thank you.”
That seems to satisfy her. I watch as she pours the noodles into boiling water, movements automatic.
“Normally I’d make a protein with this, but I just don’t want to take the time tonight.”
Her tone tells me she’s tired.
“You said you’ve been working extra,” I say after a moment.
Her shoulders shift just lightly while she stirs the contents of the pot. “Yeah.”
“Because of the call the other day?” I press.
“No, my coworker, Alice, Jett’s partner, she’s been out of town visiting family. So, I’ve been picking up extra shifts to help fill in.”
But that’s not all, I’m sure of it. Not by the way her shoulders sag, not in a tiredness that has her eating just boxed mac and cheese.
“And what else?”
She stiffens, the spoon stilling in the pot for a moment. Her shoulders shift again as she takes a deep breath. “Had a bad call today. DV. But she wouldn’t say it, just that she ‘fell down the stairs.’ I think he pushed her, but I can’t prove it and she wouldn’t say it.”
She isn’t blaming me, or the police in general, for not helping this woman. No, her tone shifts when she uses “he.” She’s putting the blame on the man.
I make a mental note to see if I can figure out what that call was and learn more when I get to the precinct tomorrow.
For now, I focus on how she’s dealing with it… by not dealing with it. Avoidance is temporary but she’s taking that route. “You’re trying not to think about it. Keep moving so that the thoughts don’t catch up with you.”
“Stopping doesn’t help,” she replies.
No, it doesn’t always. But not stopping catches up with you and leads to burnout.
“I’ve seen that before,” I state quietly.
“In suspects?” she asks, her tone light but edged.
“In people who survive things they shouldn’t have had to.” It’s a test to see if she’ll react, though I’m sure she will.
That pulls her attention back to me. Really back, this time. There’s a second where her eyes are on mine, showing me the way her emotions are swirling with memories and thoughts.
I was right. I didn’t want to be right.
“You always talk like that?” she asks.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re dissecting people.”
“Only when I’m trying to understand them.” And I’m definitely getting there with her.
“And do you understand me?” she challenges.
Probably more than you’d like. “Not yet,” I say.
She holds my gaze for a second longer then looks away.
