Chapter Three
Chuck kicked the snow off his boots as he walked up the steps to Carly's porch and knocked on the door of the small, story-and-a-half bungalow on Erie's east side that Sunday.
As a cop he had a feel for most neighborhoods. This one was soundly middle-class. Quiet for the most part. The kind of place where the police were usually called out for nothing more serious than barking dogs or loud parties. It was a great neighborhood for raising a family.
Carly opened the door and frowned. "You found me."
"Wow, lucky thing I have a healthy ego, otherwise that greeting might have done some damage."
"I don't see any chance of any long-term damage to your ego." She opened the door a little wider and let him into a very bright foyer. Not bright because of any out-of-character sunshine. Erie was overcast more often than not this time of year. And today was a more-often day.
No, it was bright because of the cacophony of color. Bright-yellow walls. A coat rack that had the whole array of crayon colors. Red. Blue. Green. Orange. Down one side of the door was a collection of nicely framed prints of impressionist art, and down the other side was a huge mirror that reflected the foyer back on itself.
The small entryway might have been too much in another house, but because it was Carly's, it seemed appropriate. Inviting even—though he doubted she'd meant any invitation for him. Especially given her you've-got-a-big-ego comments.
"Ouch again. This is going to be an interesting night." Hopefully interesting enough to get his mother to forget his single status.
"Do you want to cancel?" There was a tone to her voice that said his wanting to cancel wouldn't be the worst news she'd ever received.
"No," he said. Her face fell, so he asked, "Do you?"
Rather than answer, she countered with, "This plan of yours doesn't sound very—I don't know—coply. I mean, you guys are supposed to be brave and tough. Taking a decoy date because you're scared of your mother smacks of something less than that."
"Listen, I've broken up fights, arrested drug dealers, I've dealt with more domestics than I can count. None of them scare me. I'm cautious, but not frightened. But my mother on a mission? There's no stopping that. It's an act of nature, ready to run over whoever's in its path. Namely, me."
His mom used to divide her attention between him and Julia, his sister. Thinking of his sister's passing robbed him of the fun of needling Carly. He missed Julia, dammit. He forced himself to put the sad thoughts away and pointed out, "And don't forget, you can pick on Andy."
"There is that. And if I call him Andy, it will annoy him?"
"Guaranteed. Everyone and their brother calls him Anderson, or Your Honor. My sister started calling him Andy when they dated. She said it kept him humble."
Carly grinned. "Humbling Andy is a huge draw for this evening. Okay, let me get my coat."
She slid her coat off the hook, put it on without bothering to button it. He thought about telling her she should—it couldn't be more than twenty degrees out—but he didn't imagine that would go over well, so he kept silent.
She grabbed her purse, held the door open for him followed him, out and slammed the door behind her. Carly turned and checked the door handle was locked. For some reason, that gave him comfort.
"Let's go then. Mom and Dad don't live far from here."
Carly was quiet on the ride over. That suited Chuck just fine. He was still trying to figure out why he hadn't let her change her mind about tonight. He probably should have. He'd had second thoughts about his dinner invitation ever since he'd offered it. But when the opportunity came to back out, he'd talked her into coming instead.
It wasn't just that her being there would get his mom off his back. There was something about Carly that spoke to him. She lived life in a big, bold way, just like the colors of her foyer.
Burning the couch to purge her past. He'd laughed with the guys over it, but in private he'd sort of admired the act. There were times in his past he wished he could purge. Unfortunately, the city frowned on its officers torching couches, and he didn't think that particular method would work for him anyway.
He pulled up in front of his parents Glenwood Hills tudor-style home. Anderson's truck was already in the drive. "We're here. And it looks like Andy's here as well."
"Oh, good."
Carly's happiness didn't bode well for his brother-in-law. "Come on. We can talk about the program as well. The first one's Tuesday."
He led her onto the porch.
"I didn't forget, Lieutenant. I'll be there."
"Chuck. This would probably work better if you called me Chuck." He opened the front door. "Hey, Mom, I'm here. You might want to set another plate."
His mom hurried out of the kitchen and spied Carly. "You brought someone. A woman someone."
"You told me to. Mom, this is Carly, Carly, my mother, Linda Jefferson."
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am. And it's apparent Chuck didn't tell you I was coming. Let me apologize for crashing your family dinner." Carly shot Chuck a look that said the ride home might be peppered with recriminations.
"No apologies, dear. I did tell him to bring someone any time, so this is a pleasant surprise. Here, let me take your coat for you. My son obviously has no manners." Linda hung Carly's coat in the closet and said, "There, now you just make yourself at home."
"Can I help you with anything?"
His mother's face lit up. "Oh, that would be lovely. It's been a long time since I had another woman help me in the kitchen. I tried to be a woman's libber and make sure my son could navigate the difficult world of preparing food. But the boy never could master anything, not even a box of macaroni and cheese. I'm such a failure."
It was an old complaint, one that Chuck had long since learned to placate. "Ah, but if I'd learned to cook for myself, I wouldn't drop in nearly as often to bum food off you and you'd miss me."
"He's right," his mom stage-whispered to Carly. "Now, you come along with me. Chuck, your Dad and Anderson are in the family room watching a NASCAR race."
"You sure you don't mind?" he asked Carly.
She smiled. "I'm fine."
Chuck was nervous. The plan had not been to have his mother bond with Carly. This might have been a bad idea.
He found his dad and Anderson cheering on their personal drivers. "Jeff can so take Tony in his Toyota," his dad said loudly.
Chuck knew the Jeff in question was Jeff Burton, number thirty-one. He drove a Chevy, and Timothy August Jefferson had always been a GM guy.
Chuck was pretty sure Anderson had chosen to cheer for someone who was not only not Jeff Burton, but also not on the Chevy team. Tony Stewart, number twenty, fit the bill. And Anderson's devotion to Tony was a continued thorn in Chuck's father's side.
"Hey, Chuck," his dad said without looking up. "Your mom's in the kitchen. Sit down and watch. It's Daytona."
Chuck sat down. "I thought the races started in February."
"It's a repeat," his father said, with that certain, how-can-he-be-a-son-of-mine-and-not-realize-that? inflection in his voice. "They show old races on cable."
"Seriously, I knew about Dad's addiction, but you too, Andy?"
"Not addicted, just enthusiastic. And lay off the Andys, Chuck. Show a little respect."
Today was going to be fun. Even though he knew bringing Carly here might not have been his brightest idea—images of his mom and Carly bonding in the kitchen flashed through his mind—that's why he'd done it anyway.
He grinned at his brother-in-law. "I do respect you and respectfully decline to feed that overinflated ego of yours, so you're Andy."
Anderson sighed. "You Jeffersons have always been an incorrigible lot."
"Hey," his dad complained. "How did I get lumped into that?"
"By virtue of contributing half this one's DNA." Anderson jerked his head in Chuck's direction.
His dad laughed. "Gee, one night of passion and—"
Nothing in Chuck wanted to hear anything about his parents being associated with the word passion. "TMI, Dad, TMI."
"Did I hear a woman's voice?" Anderson asked.
"You did." To warn Anderson, or not to warn Anderson? Chuck hadn't decided when his mother called. "Hit Pause on your race. Tim, and come out to dinner."
"I thought we'd just eat in here,'" his father hollered back, more to goad his wife than for any other reason, Chuck was sure.
She didn't even bother to respond.
"Come on. boys." Tim hit the Pause button on the DVR. "Time for our first traditional weekly Sunday dinner."
"Let's go meet Chuck's new woman. Bet I can scare her off with stories." Anderson said with glee—very unjudge-like glee.
He stopped in the dining-room doorway. Chuck knew Anderson had spotted Carly even before his brother-in-law turned and asked, "Her?"
Chuck nodded, and looping an arm over Anderson's shoulder, led the very reluctant judge into the dining room.
Carly gave a little wave. "Andy," she practically crooned, leaving a very pregnant pause that made the emphasis on his nickname even more pronounced, "it's so good to see you again outside the courtroom. I think the pink polo shirt is way closer to your color than that awful black robe."
Chuck noticed that Anderson looked down on his not-quite pink—it was more salmon—polo shirt and he could swear his brother-in-law, who spent his days working with hardened criminals blushed as he stammered out, "Wh-what are you doing here?" in a definitely less-than-friendly manner.
"Anderson Bradley," Chuck's mother scolded, "I won't have you use that voice with my guests. You save it for the criminals in your court."
Anderson pointed at Carly. "She was one of the criminals in my court just last week." He shot her a got-ya look.
"Now, Andy . . . " Carly started in a hurt tone, then stopped abruptly, as if going on was too hard.
Chuck would have testified in court that the tears pooling in her eyes were real. At least, he would have until she shot him a private wink.
No one said anything. The silence dragged out to an uncomfortable length until Chuck finally said, "There were extenuating circumstances. Let's start dinner and I'm sure Carly will tell you all about it, Mom."
Chuck sat next to Carly who whispered, "Thanks," as the food was passed from person to person.
He could tell she was warming up for a full-blown performance. And though he'd not spent much time with her, he was pretty sure it would be Oscar-worthy.
"So, Carly, dear, what happened?" his mom asked.
"Well, Mrs. Jefferson, it's not a short story by any means." She took a spoonful of potatoes.
"Oh, sweetie, we have time. But I saw you tear up. If it's too difficult—"
"No. Though before I tell you, I need you to understand I'm not a bad person."
Oh, yeah, an Oscar and an Emmy. Maybe even a People's Choice Award . . . at least if he was the person voting and not Anderson.
"You see, Mrs. Jefferson, it all started when I redecorated my then-husband's office. I really worked at it. I mean, everything coordinated and looked so very lawyerly. My ex insisted on presenting the right impression, so the more lawyerly it looked, the better. My only sticking point was finding the right couch. I shopped for months, but I finally found it. Oh, ma'am, it was a thing to behold. That couch didn't just say, it screamed, be confident in me I can win your case."
"That's a very big statement for a couch to be making." Anderson speared a piece of his meatloaf with far more force than necessary.
"As a judge who puts on a robe as a visual clue that he's in charge—and if that fails, threatens people with contempt of court and all manner of not-so-nice things—I'm sure you realize that sometimes a man needs the illusion of power in order to boost his very fragile manly ego."
"Ouch," Chuck muttered.
He could tell that Carly almost lost it then and smiled, but she held her features in their pained expression, then dabbed at her eyes with her napkin to cover her momentary look of enjoyment.
"Anyway," she continued as she set the napkin on her lap. "I went to his office after hours to celebrate the new decor and I found—I found—I found him already celebrating on my couch . . . celebrating with his secretary, if you get my meaning."
"How cliché," Mrs. Jefferson said and shot all three males at the table a dirty look.
Carly nodded, happy to have an ally. "That's what I've been saying. I mean, if a guy's going to cheat, seriously, you'd think he could find someone less ordinary. Although, I guess the fact that I divorced him after I found him with her, is rather cliché as well. I fought for and won that couch in the settlement. But Mrs. Jefferson, I was so angry and bitter."
"I would be, too, dear." And she shot her husband another dirty look.
Chuck watched his father's roll stop halfway to his mouth as he asked, "Hey, why am I in trouble? Innocent bystander here."
"You're male." his mother said.
CARLY WAS PRETTY SURE she was going to like Chuck's mom. Warming up to her story, Carly continued, "I have two wonderful kids, and I will be forced to see my ex until they're grown. After that, too. Weddings, grandbabies and the like. So, I needed to rid myself that bitterness so I could move on and forge a more amicable relationship with the cheating, cliché-secretary-boffing scum of an ex. And I did. When he brought the couch to the house, I had him set it in the backyard, and then I doused it with gas and lit it on fire. I mean, really, I would never have been able to sit on it . . . not after what I saw."
"I don't blame you," Mrs. Jefferson assured her.
"The problem is, my son and my ex, who'd carried the couch into the backyard, had set it very close to my shed—which caught on fire. And my shed is very close to the neighbor's—which also caught on fire."
"Oh, dear." Mrs. Jefferson reached over and patted Carly's hand.
"And that's when Chuck here came to arrest me."
"Charles August Jefferson, you arrested her?" Mrs. Jefferson smacked his hand.
"Hey, I didn't arrest her, I was out doing a neighborhood watch meeting, and I'd just left when I heard the call. I was close, so I checked it out and merely waited until one of the street guys came and took her in."
"The young officer who Chuck handed me over to was very kind. He seemed to feel for my plight, unlike your son who smirked at me while we waited."
Chuck's mom smacked his hand again. "I raised you better than that, Charles."
"Uh-oh, you're in trouble when she calls you Charles, Charles," Anderson said.
"I've forgiven Chuck, ma'am. He's been very sweet." Chuck frowned as she used the word sweet. It wasn't precisely the truth, but this was his mom and a smart woman knows that you don't win a mother over by trash-talking her son. And Carly was smart.
"But Andy there," she said slowly, "he's harder to forgive, though I'm trying. I really wanted to be done with bitter recriminations. That's what the fire was all about. It would be a shame to suffer with them still after everything that happened."
"And Andy was mean to you?"
Carly glanced over and saw the judge grimace as Mrs. Jefferson used his nickname.
"Yes. A.D.A. Kelly and my lawyer had a lovely plea agreement all worked out, but when we got in front of Judge Andy here, he refused to accept it. So now, in addition to restitution—which I made right after the fire, on my own—I have to do community service with Chuck. And Mrs. Jefferson, I'm a single mom, balancing work and studying for my nursing boards, and planning a Valentine's dance for my kids' school—which I thought was just for the kids, but it turns out it's for adults, and you know that's going to take a lot more planning. You can throw a bag of chips at kids and they're happy. But adults are more discriminating in their tastes. So it's going to be work. And now Andy added more onto that. There are days I can't find time to eat, which makes today's meal all that much nicer."
For emphasis, she took a large bite of her potatoes.
"Both of you boys, I'm so ashamed." Mrs. Jefferson scooped another spoonful of potatoes on Carly's plate. "You're such a tiny little thing as it is. You just eat up, dear." Then she scowled at Anderson again.
"I was an accidental arsonist, ma'am. I never meant to burn anything except that couch and all my bitter memories." Carly took a huge bite of potatoes and tried to really relish Anderson's expression. It was somewhere between annoyance and acceptance.
Speaking of annoyance, Mrs. Jefferson's annoyance with the boys was evident as she clucked and sympathized her way through the meal. Andy glowered at Carly, which somehow made the evening even more fun.
After dinner, Mrs. Jefferson took a load of dishes into the kitchen, and Carly started to help clear the table.
"You enjoyed that," Anderson accused. "Both of you."
Chuck shrugged, not the least bit intimidated by his brother-in-law. "Hey, I just brought a guest, like Mom instructed."
"I did enjoy it. And you did deserve it," Carly admitted with a grin, then slowly added, "Andy."
"The appropriate way to address me is Your Honor, Judge Bradley or even Anderson, since we're not in court."
Carly shrugged. "I think I prefer Andy."
"I could hold you in contempt," Anderson grumbled.
"Could he?" she asked Chuck, suddenly nervous.
Sure, taunting a judge was all fun and games until you found yourself in jail on a contempt charge. She watched court television and all those lawyer shows. She knew that judges could keep you in jail indefinitely. The idea of a questionable roommate and even more questionable bathroom accommodations made her wish she'd ignored Chuck's invitation.
"No idea if he can do that outside of court," Chuck not-so-helpfully informed her.
She knew she should apologize. She would have apologized before her divorce. She'd spent years learning how not to rock the boat under Dean's tutelage. And maybe that's why she found herself saying, "Guess I'll just have to live on the wild side, Andy."
"Is everything all right out there?" Mrs. Jefferson called.
"Everything's fine, Mrs. Jefferson. I was just gathering the plates while Andy here threatened me with contempt of court." She sighed her most pathetic sigh.
Mrs. Jefferson poked her head into the room. "Anderson Bradley, I won't have you passing out contempt charges willy-nilly at my Sunday dinner, do you hear me?"
"Yes, ma'am," Anderson said with a meekness Carly had never heard before.
"Fine. You boys help Carly clear the table." Mrs. Anderson stalked back into the kitchen without checking to see if the adults in the room were obeying.
"Does anyone else here feel like they are in grade school?" Anderson asked as he started gathering the serving bowls.
"Yes," Carly assured him. "I mean, I just had the most overwhelming urge to say 'neener, neener, neener,' and stick my tongue out at you."
She wasn't sure, but she thought there was the slightest twitchy upturn of Anderson's lips, as if he might want to smile. "If I was allowed to threaten contempt of courts in this dining room . . . that would probably earn one."
"The threat, or the contempt?"
"Both," he in a tone she couldn't quite interpret.
Chuck carried a stack of plates into the kitchen and Carly started to follow him, but Anderson touched her elbow, stopping her.
"Carly, I just wanted to say, my intent wasn't to make your life more difficult. I really thought that doing some easy service hours with Chuck would be a cakewalk, and would allow me to expunge your record sooner. It will all be cleared by the end of January, rather than a year from now. It's hard to look for a job with a record."
"That's true," she said, not sure she believed his excuse.
"It is, believe me. But in court, I don't generally indulge in warm-fuzzies. I have a reputation as a hard-ass, and I'll confess that it works in my favor. So don't tell anybody, okay?"
She looked at the too-young-to-be-a-judge man, and felt a twinge of guilt. "I won't tell."
Right on cue, Chuck walked into the room. "Hey, Mom's nervous about the two of you being in here alone. And what aren't you telling, Carly?"
"No idea what you're talking about." Carly winked at Anderson, then took her stack of plates into the kitchen.
"She's an interesting one," she heard Anderson say, though she didn't hear Chuck's response.
LATER THAT NIGHT, as Chuck drove her home, she looked across the seat at him. His face was illuminated by the streetlights. Lit one minute, shadowed the next.
It was a nice face.
A very nice face.
Dean's face had an aristocratic air to it. A suave sort of good looks. Handsome.
No one would say Chuck was handsome. He was . . . cute.
The thought made her smile. She was pretty sure Erie's own Lieutenant of Communication and Community Outreach wouldn't enjoy being described as cute. But there it was . . . he wasn't the least bit handsome, but he was very, very cute.
"What are you smiling about?" he asked, after a quick glance in her direction,
Although self-restraint wasn't one of Carly's gifts, she managed to practice a bit of it now. "I was just thinking."
"Carly, we haven't known each other very long, but I'm thinking your thinking is a dangerous thing."
"I've heard that before." She sighed.
He pulled up in front of her house. "I do want to thank you for helping me out tonight with my mother."
"You're welcome. I had fun." She was as surprised as Chuck looked to hear herself say those words. "Listen, I love my kids, but it's nice to have an adult conversation during a meal for a change. And I'll confess, I'm sort of looking forward to Tuesday. We haven't talked about it, but I've got a lot of information for the kids."
"Great."
"Before I get out of the car, I want to say thanks for the invitation. Needling Anderson was fun. I meant to ask where your sister was? I'd really have enjoyed meeting her."
"Sorry. Carly. I thought I'd explained." He paused, then said, very business-like, "My sister Julia died last year."
"Oh." She thought about how she'd taunted Anderson, and felt horrible. "I'm so sorry."
"We all were. She and Andy were talking about starting a family, and they thought she was pregnant. I'd never seen them both so happy. Then they found out it wasn't a pregnancy—she had uterine cancer. By the time they'd caught it, it was systemic."
Carly went from feeling bad to feeling worse. "Oh, Chuck, how awful."
"Anderson, well, he's changed since losing Julia. I don't think he's fully recovered yet."
"And then I come along and spend a family dinner picking at him." She hadn't known about Anderson Bradley's wife. but Chuck had. And Anderson had admitted he'd thrown out the plea in order to help her.
Worse and worse. She turned to Chuck. "You let me do that. You let me go in and spend a meal making his life even more miserable, knowing that he hadn't recovered. How could you?"
"Carly, that was the most I've heard out of Andy in the last year. Maybe he needed a challenge." Then he muttered. "And let me assure you, you're a challenge all right."
"Nice. Use me to torment a man who's obviously tormented enough without my help, then insult me. I'm going in." She opened the door, got out of the car and toward her porch.
Chuck unrolled his window and called, "I'll still see you early Tuesday morning then?"
She turned around. "You wouldn't if I had a choice, but since I don't, yeah I'll be there." She unlocked the front door and bolted inside before he had time to say goodbye. She locked the door and peeked out the window. Chuck's car didn't move for another moment, then slowly pulled away.
Wow, that had been the weirdest night of her life.
For a second in the car, she'd thought Chuck was cute.
A cute cop.
No way was she going down that path. She wasn't ruling out men forever, but she certainly wasn't about to jump back on the man-wagon with Chuck. She wanted someone quiet and sweet.
Neither word described Chuck Jefferson.
CHUCK WATCHED AS Carly Lewis hurried into her house.
She couldn't get away from him fast enough, and he wasn't sure why. She'd studied him intently on the way from his mom's to her house. That little smile . . . he wished he knew what that was all about.
At his house, Chuck couldn't pull in the driveway because Anderson's truck was in the way, so he parked out on the street.
As Chuck got out of his car, Anderson shut off his motor and got out of his truck as well. "So, what the hell was that?"
"Come on in, Andy. It's freezing out here."
Anderson followed him. Chuck's home was right on 38th Street. He considered it a public service that he was sandwiched between college rentals. Knowing a cop lived next door tended to make the kids behave in a bit more civilized manner.
Anderson repeated, "Seriously, what was that? Bringing someone I'd had before me in court to dinner without so much as a warning call."
"Oh, come on. It's not like I brought some hardened criminal." Chuck opened the door, stomped the snow off his feet and hurried in, with Anderson on his heels.
"Still." Anderson took off his coat and tossed it on the stair railing. Chuck threw his coat on top of Anderson's.
The nice thing about being a bachelor was that no one fussed if you didn't hang up your coat.
He led the way into the sparsely furnished living room. Two new recliners, a beat-up couch and a TV. What more did a guy need? He flopped into one of the recliners and said, "Hey, you're the one who set us up, in a work-on-the-Safety-Awareness-Program sort of way."
Anderson took the other recliner and scowled in Chuck's general direction. "Yeah, but I didn't imagine she'd be coming to dinner before your first safety day."
"Mom's on a fix-Chuck-up kick, Andy. I needed camouflage, and Carly fit the bill. Mom was practically swooning." Oh, yeah, his mother would be off his case for a while at least. Maybe he could even talk Carly into coming over another Sunday?
"Yeah, well, after you and Carly left, your mom started on me," Anderson complained. "She told me it had been a year, that I needed to think about dating again. Julia wouldn't want me to be alone."
Chuck didn't know what to say to that. A real guy would just grunt some response, and that was his initial inclination, but he knew that Anderson wasn't the type to open up at all to anyone, so he figured if he didn't say something, no one else would have the opportunity. It looked as if he'd just have to take one for the team.
"Mom and Dad love you," he managed to say, though he felt more than a little emasculated. Still, he forced himself to continue, "At first, it was just that you were Julia's husband, but then it was just for you. We all miss her, but all of us want you to be happy."
Thank goodness none of the guys at the station could hear this conversation. They'd never let him live it down. "Mom and Dad are right, Julia would want you to be happy. And since I'm feeling like some touchy-feely talk show host, let's just forget I said those words."
"Happy to. Because I'm not ready. I don't know if I ever will be ready to move on." As if that was all he could manage in the let's-share-our-emotions department, Anderson changed the subject back to Carly. "So what about you and the pyro?"
"Accidental arsonist is her preferred title, if you don't mind." He chuckled at the memory of her using the phrase.
Working with Carly Lewis throughout January was going to be interesting.