15
claire
The doorbell rings while I’m cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. I finally squeezed in a shower after I fed the kids and my hair is wet and combed back. I don’t have any makeup on, I’m naked under my old, pink bathrobe, the one I can’t seem to part with, and I’m not crazy about answering the door in my current state of undress. Why can’t anyone drop by my house when I’m presentable? I glance out the back window. Josh and Jordan are playing with Bridget’s boys and they look like they’re having a good time, so I don’t bother calling one of them in to help me out. The bell chimes again. It’s probably a neighborhood child or someone trying to sell something, so I decide to answer it myself and send them on their way. But when I open the door what I’m not expecting is for Daniel Rush to be standing there in his police uniform. Mortified, I pull the sash on my robe tighter and stutter out a greeting. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says, smiling. “I just wanted to let you know that they’ve brought your speed limit sign.”
“Right now?” I guess it’s true what they say: It’s not what you know, but whom. It’s been less than a week since I spoke to him at the Fourth of July parade, and I wonder what kind of effort he had to exert to move us to the top of the list so fast.
There are two squad cars parked on the street. I look beyond Daniel and watch as an officer unhooks a trailer—on which the sign is mounted—and wheels it into position. I’m not sure of the protocol for this kind of service; it seems rude to just say thanks and shut the door, especially after he’s gone to the trouble to help us. But I can’t stand here in my bathrobe another minute. It feels all weird and desperate housewifey. Opening the door wider, I say, “Please, come in.” He steps over the threshold. “Could you excuse me for a second?” I ask.
He nods. “Sure.”
I run upstairs, flinging off the robe as soon as I reach the bedroom. I’d planned on putting on my pajamas after I cleaned up the kitchen, but I rifle through the laundry basket of clean clothes sitting just inside the door until I find a tank top and some shorts. I step into a pair of underwear and once I’m fully dressed, I walk back downstairs where Daniel is waiting patiently in the entryway. I’m suddenly conscious of the fact that I didn’t take the time to put on a bra and I hunch forward a bit. Technically I’m small-breasted enough to go without, and the tank top has a built-in shelf bra that provides a little support, but it’s the air-conditioning running full blast that I’m worried about; I have no idea what it’s doing to my nipples, and I’m afraid to look down and find out. My concern kicks up a notch when Daniel glances at my chest. I turn around, looking for something to cover myself with, but the only item of clothing within reach is Jordan’s Tinker Bell hoodie—size 6X—hanging on the knob of the coat closet near the front door. But when I turn back around I realize that it’s the medical alert dog tag I wear around my neck that has caught his eye, not my nipples. It was probably tucked too far down into my shirt at the parade, but it’s almost impossible to hide it when I wear a tank or swimsuit. I don’t think much of it anymore, and my friends and family are used to seeing it. “I can’t thank you enough for helping us with the sign,” I say. “I really appreciate it, and I know my neighbors will, too.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Would you like something to drink? Iced tea or a Coke?”
“No thanks. I’m good,” he says, smiling at me. He points at my cheeks. “Looks like you got some sun today.”
“Yes,” I say. “A little too much.” I noticed my pink cheeks when I got out of the shower, and I can already feel the sting of the sunburn. I made sure I put sunscreen on the kids but forgot to put enough on myself. I have to stop doing that or my face will look like shoe leather by the time I’m forty. “We spent the day at the community pool.”
“Are you enjoying your summer?”
“Yes. I work from home but my schedule is flexible, so we’ve been able to do some fun things.”
“What do you do?” he asks.
“I’m a graphic designer. Freelance,” I add. “I usually work on a per-project basis.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, very much. It’s nice being able to choose what I work on.”
“We’re talking about redesigning our department logo. The chief has asked for ideas but we’re not a real creative group.” Daniel pulls a business card out of his pocket and hands it to me. “This is our current logo. They want something similar, but updated. The last I heard they were going to set aside budget money to hire someone. Send me your rates; my e-mail address is on the card. I can put in a good word for you if you’re interested in submitting a bid.”
“That would be great,” I say. I walk over to my purse and pull out one of my own business cards, then hand it to him. “I have professional references and testimonials listed on my website.”
He takes the card. “Thanks.”
The sliding glass door off of the kitchen opens, and Josh yells, “Mom?”
I call out to him. “In here, Josh.”
He follows the sound of my voice and he and Griffin stop suddenly when they see Daniel. “We didn’t mean to do it,” Josh yells.
“It was Gage’s idea,” Griffin adds.
“Do what?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Josh hedges, stammering.
“It was an accident,” Griffin adds. He’s gone ghostly white.
I turn to Daniel. “You have a lie detector down at the station, right, Officer Rush?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Daniel says. “Let me know if you’d like me to take these boys off your hands.”
I stare at Josh and Griffin pointedly, watching their expressions change, their shoulders slumping in defeat. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“We were chasing Jordan around with a handful of worms. She said she was gonna have us arrested.” He points at Daniel. “And look!”
Daniel presses his lips together, trying his best not to smile. I seize the opportunity to administer a lesson. “Well, I suggest you go outside and apologize before I turn you over to the authorities.” They hightail it out of the room immediately and the sliding glass door slams.
“Nice work,” Daniel says.
“I try,” I say, laughing. “Those boys torment her constantly. She can hold her own, but they had this one coming.”
Daniel’s radio squawks and he turns up the volume and listens.
“Busy night?” I ask.
He turns it back down. “No. It’s been slow. This is a nice diversion, actually. I should probably get going, though.”
“Okay. Thanks again for the sign. I really appreciate it.”
“Sure.”
Daniel follows me to the front door and we step outside where the temperature is considerably warmer. He pauses on the front porch. “E-mail me,” he says. “About the logo.”
“I will.”
“Have a nice night, Claire,” he says, smiling at me.
For some reason, the smile makes me blush. I feel the heat on my cheeks, deepening the color I already have. Hoping he doesn’t notice, I say, “You, too, Daniel.”
I watch as he walks down my sidewalk, gets into his car, and drives away.