December 26th

One year later …

 

THE WORDS ON the computer screen blended into the next. I sipped hot coffee for some reprieve, but the acid made my whiskey battered stomach turn even more. Every morning felt like this. I had promised myself last night wouldn’t be like the one before, but every night was the same. Some nights would be spent at Dixie’s, trying to find some woman to help me forget everything for a few hours. Some nights would be spent alone. Those were the worse nights.

I stared at the empty metal desk facing mine. For years, I had sometimes hated seeing his precise military cut blonde hair. I had often ribbed him about the grey mixed in at such a young age, and he had thrown that shit right back at me when my brown hair began showing traces of salt and pepper. I hated the pressed uniform he wore daily when I could barely manage to show up on time with my shirt half unbuttoned. I hated the happiness he had found, the life everyone secretly envied. I hated his thoroughness. I hated his commitment to the force. Above everything, I hated his chair being empty.

There was nothing left. No picture of Chloe and Mike at the middle school father-daughter dance. No seven-year-old photo of Mike and Grace smiling at the beach. Even the mousepad with the Marine insignia was gone. They had wiped my partner away without a trace.

Four times he’d been to war, but it was a small-town raid that killed him. He was my partner and my friend. I should have done something to prevent him from getting killed. It should have been me opening the pantry door instead of him. I should have kept him alive. For his family. For Grace.

I closed my eyes and shook the depression away as best I could. Some days I felt okay, and some days were harder. Today was the worst. But I had to continue on. I had a job to do. I glanced at the screen again and read the news coming in from the surrounding counties. Taking another sip of coffee, I winced at the fire scorching my stomach. I yanked open my drawer and felt around for a roll of antacids. I closed the drawer, popped two antacids into my mouth, and crunched the chalky tablets.

“I pride myself in that coffee. It can’t taste that bad.”

I stared up at the man leaning on the doorframe of my office. “Trust me, Caleb. The coffee is a lot better than it used to be.”

“It’s Sheriff Harris now.” He cocked his eyebrow.

“You might deserve that position, but I’m not calling you sheriff. You’re still just Caleb to me.”

He stepped into the office and sat down in Mike’s chair, watching for my reaction. I looked down. We had all taken Mike’s death hard, but it was obvious I was taking it harder than anyone else on the force.

“We’re going to have to fill this chair, Wyatt. The past few months have been quiet, but we’ve been understaffed since Parker and Devon moved to Asheville. We need another detective.”

“I think the five of us can handle it.”

Caleb rested his elbows on the desk and leaned closer. “We didn’t have it handled last time, did we? If we’d done things right, this chair would still be filled and we all know it. You and I will have to live with that for the rest of our lives. I’ll be damned if I let something like that happen again because we’re understaffed.”

I exhaled, meeting his stare. He was harsh, but he was right. I nodded my concession. He pushed up from the chair and walked to my office door.

“I’m not looking to train anyone,” he continued. “I need someone with experience who can help strengthen this force.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help find a good candidate.”

Footsteps jogged down the hall moments before Charley from dispatch appeared at the office window, her blonde hair swept over her shoulder.

“Sheriff, we just got a call about an accident on Highway 321.”

I hopped up, grabbed my jacket, and followed Caleb into the lobby.

“Any casualties?” he asked while zipping up his jacket.

“None.” She answered. “They pulled off the side of the highway. A lady spun on black ice and swerved her Cadillac into the next lane, clipping a pickup truck on the way. I already have a tow truck dispatched to the scene.”

I pushed open the door and stepped into the cold winter. Caleb and I walked together to his patrol car.

“At least she calls me Sheriff.”

My laughter hung in the frozen air as I approached passenger side of the car. It felt nice to laugh once in a while, even if it was at Caleb’s expense. The sirens roared as we pulled onto Main Street, speeding through the red light at the intersection.

“So, was it a Dixie’s night?” Caleb liked to pry as much as Mike did. Maybe it was married life that made these men stick their nose in places it didn’t need to be.

“Yep.” I nodded, keeping my stare forward.

“End up with Megan again?”

I sighed. I didn’t want to have this conversation again.

“Why don’t you just date the girl?”

“Well, first, I have no desire to. Second, she has no desire to.”

“You know how some girls are, though. They just go with the flow so maybe they end up having a shot.”

“Megan’s a hard ass. It’s just sex. She’s made that clear on more than one occasion. It’s not like I haven’t tried, but we all know she has the hots for Landry. Why are Megan and I always the topic of discussion?”

“Tanner won’t date a white girl. And I’m just trying to help.”

“And I appreciate it, but I don’t want Megan. I’m going to stop anyway. It’s not helping anyone’s situation.”

“And miss out on the free drinks?”

I groaned.

Silence filled the car for about a mile, but Caleb just couldn’t stop himself from being nosy.

“So, is it a Dixie’s night tonight?”

“It’s Thursday, Caleb.”

“Yeah. So?”

“I have dinner with Grace.”

“Y’all still do that?”

“Of course, we still do that. Why wouldn’t we still do that?”

“Even today?” His question lingered for a second. It wasn’t just another Thursday but the anniversary of Mike’s death.

“If she wants to.”

The car went silent for another moment.

“So … why don’t you want to date Megan again?”

I glared at him. Only he would say something like that. He knew I was staring at him, but his smug expression remained attentive to the road before us. I wanted to punch that smirk right off his face. It was unspoken knowledge that I liked Grace, but she was a good friend and I intended to keep it that way, even if it meant having to remind myself of that fact whenever I saw her, which was every Thursday since Mike’s death.

Caleb didn’t say another word about it. We reached the accident, took statements, and filled out paperwork. Twenty minutes later we were back in the car and headed for the station. Caleb retained his unusually silent mood, which was probably for the best. Just because he had a great life and a great family, it didn’t mean he could meddle in everyone else’s lives. I was as happy as I could be given the circumstances. 

I sat down at my desk and stared blankly at the empty space across from me. I doubted Grace even remembered today was Thursday. There was no way she was thinking about our usual friendly dinner. I exhaled and forced myself to look at the screen. Maybe progressing with Megan would be a good thing. She shouldn’t be my back-up, and I shouldn’t be hers. It was time to either make it official with Megan or to break it off. Maybe I could settle after all.

My phone dinged in my pocket, followed by a slight clenching in my heart. Everything inside of me wanted something my brain had long denied. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and saw a message from Grace. I exhaled and my eyes landed on the vacant desk across from me. A ghostly guilt weighed down my shoulders.

Grace: Still on for tonight?

Me: Are you sure you want to?

Grace: Well, it’s Thursday, isn’t it?

Me: Yes, but today? Seriously, we can skip. It’s okay.

Grace: I think it’s best if I’m around friends and doing normal things. Unless you don’t want to.

I rolled my eyes. How could she not know? I shook my head. Don’t be stupid, Wyatt.

Me: Of course, I do. I think I need to be around my friends too.

Grace: I heard of this new restaurant in Conover.

Me: What kind of food is it?

Grace: BBQ … what else?

Me: I’m so glad you’re not a vegetarian.

Grace: Meat … all the meat. 

I smiled in the solitude of my office. My relationship with Grace was something I didn’t want to share with anyone. I liked how things were and I didn’t want to fuck up our friendship in any way.

Me: Just scrub the hospital stank off before I pick you up.

Grace: Everyone loves the smell of antiseptic. You’re weird.

Me: It will ruin the smell of the meat.

Grace: You’re a loser.

Me: Pick you up at 7 then?

Grace: 7:30 since you don’t like my stank. Haha.

Me: See you then, stanky skank.

Grace: Did you just call me a skank?

Me: Yes. Because it was funny.

Grace: It was funny … for a LOSER.

Air compressed in my lungs as a laugh came from somewhere inside of me. Why was she so calm today out of all days? I tossed my phone on my desk and rested on my elbows, wiping my hands down my face. My eyes focused on the chair, scarcely used anymore. If there was one thing I knew about Mike, it was how much he would want his wife to be okay. If I could help her get through the day unscathed, then I would. Our friendship was bonded, and Mike was that bond.

We’re just friends, I told myself. We’re just friends.

—

I pulled up in front of Grace’s house, and as I opened the door to my truck, she came outside. Her blonde hair was slightly damp and wrapped up in a bun on top of her head. She locked her door and pulled her heavy coat around her. When she opened the door of my truck, I plugged my nose with my finger and my thumb. She narrowed her eyes at me as she shut the door, killing the interior light.

“What the hell are you doing, Peterman?” Her mouth pursed with a playful glare.

“Well.” I breathed through my mouth, continuing in a nasal voice, “Not all people love the smell of antiseptic.”

“Ugh!” She grabbed my arm, yanking my pitched fingers away from my nose. “I smell like soap now.”

I pinched my nose again. “Hospital soap or Irish Spring?”

“Like freakin’ rose petals.”

She yanked my hand down and glared, a hint of a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. She didn’t smell like rose petals, though. She carried with her a far more enticing scent. She smelled like Grace, a smell able to soothe the aching in my chest. It was a smell I despised, yet could never imagine living without.

I slowly cranked down the window, allowing the winter chill to blend with her smell.

“Oh, come off it,” she laughed. “Let’s go to Conover.”

I drove away from her house and pulled onto the highway, heading away from Olde Town. Grace and I had started doing these dinners the week after Mike died. Grace and Mike’s daughter Chloe always spent Thursday nights with her grandparents, so that first Thursday after Mike’s death left Grace alone. She called me asking if we could meet at the local diner. She asked again the following Thursday, and then the one after that. I started texting her after a month, usually to ask where we were going. A few months later, this small nosy town began to stare and whisper. We started going to different towns after that. We didn’t personally know everybody in Olde Town, but we knew of people and people knew of us. Gotta love small towns.

Grace directed me off the highway. We pulled up in front of what looked like a shack, but judging from the smell in the air, there was some good meat to be had. I got out of the truck and stood in front of it, waiting for her to get out. Normally, I liked to be a gentleman in every respect, but I dialed it back as much as possible with Grace. I felt like I had to. In an unspoken way, she preferred it.

“You know how to pick them, Shuler,” I said as she shut her door.

“I know … loser.” She walked ahead of me, yanking open the door to the joint.

“Quit calling me a loser!” I followed her in, trying to wipe the stupid grin from my face.

A sign told us to sit anywhere we pleased, so I followed Grace to a booth in the corner. The waitress came as I took off my cowboy hat. She placed our menus on the table, asked for our drink orders, and hurried away. I glanced over the menu as we waited for our beer. Grace reclined back and looked over at me. Like me, she had good days and bad days. Staring back into her eyes, I knew she was doing her best to hold it together. I just hoped she knew I was there for her. The waitress reappeared with a pitcher and two mugs. She then stood with her pencil in hand, waiting to take our order.

“Can you give us a few minutes? We’d like to drink a beer first,” I said, reaching for the pitcher. 

She nodded and left us to our drinks. I filled a mug for Grace and then one for me. She took a sip and rested her hands in her lap, hunching over in a sulk. My smile fell at the sight of her. I wanted to make things better, but the best I could do was to offer her a shoulder to cry on. I wanted to be here for her, but I didn’t know what she needed.

“Tell me something funny, Wyatt.”

I took a sip of my beer and paused for thought. After placing my beer down, I pointed at her.

“Your face.”

She closed her eyes and chuckled silently. Her shoulders quaked as she tilted her head back and her face split into the largest smile. She let out the biggest laugh at the stupidest thing I had ever said in my life. I couldn’t help but to laugh along with her.

And then it happened. My brain lost the war, a complete surrender. My head was my one barrier, the only thing keeping me at a distance. Any sense of control I had over the whole situation vanished. With every ounce of my being I knew all hope was gone.

I was in love with my dead partner’s wife.