Our ability to premeditate and then reflect on the consequences is what differentiates us from animals. I'm not sure where I heard that before . . . but it stuck with me. I've spent the entire night wondering of the consequences of the choreographed, well-rehearsed flirtation that lead to a kiss that might otherwise have been innocent . . . had she not been watching.
I've spent three years dangling . . . that's where she's kept me . . . and it's not like I have made an effort to redefine the boundaries to move from the relationship purgatory that we are stuck in. The context of the relationship is dependent on the day of the week . . . one day she will push me away . . . the next, she will be at my doorstep with coffee and bagels . . . spending her day off going over cases with me.
I have few if any doubts in my mind about our friendship. I know that she would fight until the end to make sure that her friends are safe. I've watched the way that she has fought for me . . . proving that I didn't kill that rich girl while she was in custody . . . the way she moved mountains to get Susan to finger Halfred in the rape/murder investigation that earned me a substantial pay raise. She did all these things without being asked . . . she only expected me to be there for her when she needed me. I've been there . . . I've killed a man for her . . . let her father run . . . arrested her in an attempt to keep her safe. I'm not sure if she realizes . . . that I have done all this out of friendship . . . at sometimes out of misguided feelings of love . . . affection . . . I don't even know what to call it. At the end of all this . . . I felt tired . . . emotionally exhausted . . . confused . . . left with desires that I am pretty sure will never be fulfilled.
Devon . . . she complicates things. She's so much like Jordan . . . just a little tamer . . . a little less angry. Devon's burden is different . . . her demons are purely of her own making . . . not inflicted upon her by some cruel twist of fate occurring at the tender age of ten. Devon expects more out of herself then anyone else . . . it makes her competitive . . . devoted . . . tenacious. It doesn't make her self-destructive.
I didn't plan on liking Devon . . . the first few times I had to interact with her, she drove me crazy . . . pushy . . . bossy . . . nearing the fine line between annoying and dedicated. Something about her and that case . . . the body of a baby . . . her desire to help these bones reconnect with their name . . . to give closure to someone's memory. It was a sweetness that I hadn't seen in a long time . . . an innocence that had long been lost in her colleagues.
Devon . . . she grew on me . . . Jordan saw this . . . she pushed me away . . . I worked with her less . . . she stopped coming by my apartment to go over cases . . . Jordan became more reserved, more professional. I watched her latch on to Dr. Macy . . . she went to him if she wanted to play her twisted role-playing . . . I remember trying to 'accidentally' run into her after work . . . she was on the telephone asking Garrett to come home from Mexico . . . she said to be careful. She seemingly had matured over night . . . Jordan was becoming someone so foreign.
After Max was gone, I stopped going to the Pogue. Part of me didn't feel like I deserved to be there . . . I did play a big role in the separation of Jordan's family . . . her and her father. It felt uncomfortable . . . I felt guilty . . . ashamed. I avoided it . . . I knew Jordan spent the majority of her time there . . . it was her bar . . . the final act of her father. If she wasn't at the morgue . . . Garrett told me that she was bartending . . . or clearing her mother's things out of her father's house. Garrett said it best . . . it was simply time for her to move on with her life . . . get out of the rut she had been stuck in for twenty some years.
Devon invited me out to dinner . . . to celebrate. She was able to give the baby a name and a proper burial. It was a huge accomplishment considering the odds against it ever happening. I was genuinely happy for her . . . she glowed with pride . . . she still was able to feel like she was on the top of the world . . . I hoped that her glow didn't dim with time . . . I knew that mine had. I was becoming someone that I barely recognized . . . cold, angry, hard . . . my mother had commented on this several times, but it took me considerably longer to figure it out for myself.
I did have the distinct desire to latch on to Devon's aura of innocence . . . I readily agreed to dinner . . . she said that she would choose the restaurant . . . I just had to show up. I spent days thinking about it . . . do I bring flowers, how much do I dress up, should I go get a haircut. In the end, those things didn't matter . . . I just wanted to feel something I hadn't in a long time . . . innocent.
She was sweet . . . blushing as I opened the door for her . . . she said that no one has ever done that for her . . . I said sometimes she should try the passenger's seat instead of the driver's seat . . . sometimes it is nice not to have to be in control. We conversed so easily . . . she had an extraordinary life . . . a mother in Paris . . . studying at the finest schools . . . traveling to places that I couldn't even imagine. She smiled when I told her about Wisconsin . . . Devon had been to China, Japan, Belize, and South Africa but she said she had never been to Wisconsin.
She let me open doors for her . . . after much convincing, she agreed to let me pay for supper. Devon glowed . . . something about her was so light . . . untouched. She insisted that we go to the Pogue . . . she had promised Nigel and Lily drinks . . . it was hard to resist.
We walked through the door hand in hand . . . she held my hand as we crossed the street . . . hers so small in mine. Nigel and Lily looked shocked . . . Devon quickly explained that she owed me dinner for the hell she put me through . . . if this was my reward, I wanted her to put me through hell much more often. Nigel said that Jordan and Garrett were in back . . . unloading the hooch from the truck. It was a warning signal . . . telling me to run . . . to take Devon and run as far away as we could. Nigel knew that this would hurt her . . . hurt her more than he cared to imagine. So many latent feelings . . . just waiting for the opportune time to come to the surface. I ignored his request . . . I asked Devon to dance with me . . . something Jordan and I used to do . . . it was our 'thing' . . . something ritualistic . . . Jordan and I.
Just having Devon next to me . . . it made something melt . . . something that was so cold . . . something that had clung to me since I arrived in Boston. I was able to lose a little of me in her enthusiasm . . . her grace. The smell of her perfume . . . it smelt like roses and baby powder. The softness of her blonde hair on my cheek . . . the warmth of her breath on my cheek as she softly sang to the song . . . I don't even remember what song it was.
Without thinking I kissed her . . . thankful that she kissed me back. It wasn't a product of the moment . . . it was premeditated . . . it just happened at the perfect time. She whispered that maybe we should go somewhere else . . . her eyes glued to Jordan the entire time . . . she had heard rumors . . . but the look on Jordan's face must have been the tell-tale sign. We left quickly . . . Devon telling me to get the car . . . she ran to pay the tab . . . this probably made the entire situation look even worse. I caught a glimpse of Jordan's face . . . before I hung my head in shame . . . she looked stunned . . . her surprise quickly turned to sadness . . . it was a look on her face that I had only seen a few times before . . . the day that James was brought to the morgue . . . his body broken and destroyed by the river.
My chest ached . . . I wasn't sure if I should embrace how Devon made me feel . . . or if I should go back into the purgatory that had become so comfortable and reliable. Devon asked me if I was okay . . . I told her that I wasn't sure. I dropped her off at home . . . drove to Jordan's apartment . . . waited there until bar time. I wasn't surprised to see Garrett drop her off . . . I was surprised to see him walk her to the door . . . then through the door . . . up the stairs . . . he must have been there when her lights turned on. Any other time it would have seemed like a fatherly gesture, but her hand in his . . . the way he opened doors for her . . . maybe she too wanted out of purgatory. I waited outside for an hour . . . he didn't leave until all her lights turned out . . . I went home . . . to think . . . to reflect upon the consequences of my actions.