Confessional
"Lieutenant," said Sharona Fleming, rather coldly. She looked impassively at the man standing on her front doorstep, who for his part was looking mostly at his own feet or at the roof.
"Sharona," said Lt. Randy Disher, addressing a point just past her right shoulder. "I, uh…I brought the case file by." He waved a manila folder in the air as if to prove his point.
"Adrian's not here," she said.
"Really?" he said, in an unconvincing impression of ignorance.
She held out her hand for the folder. He didn't seem to notice.
"Is Benjy home?" he asked the planter by the door.
"No, he's at Gail's."
"Really?" he repeated in the same tone of forced ignorance.
"Lieutenant," she said, "have you been checking up on me?"
He swallowed hard. "I, uh…I…."
She sighed and swung the door open wider. "Come on in."
"What?" he said to the hall lamp.
"This is not going to be a doorstep sort of conversation," she said.
"How did you…."
"My amazing powers of perception," she said wryly. "Adrian must be rubbing off on me."
She turned her back on him and walked into the living room. He followed her, and when she sat down he chose the most uncomfortable-looking chair he saw and did likewise.
They sat for a moment or two in complete silence.
"Spit it out, I don't have all day," she said.
So he started talking, without knowing what he was going to say, his voice shaky at first.
"I'm sorry I did it. I can't get them out of my head. Even more than the others…. I haven't looked at one of those magazines since then, I swear I haven't. They all remind me of you." He shook his head quickly as he realized what he had just said. "No, that wasn't meant to sound…."
"What I mean is," he continued with rising earnestness, "they're all people, too. Some of them have kids. Some of them will regret this. And they all have friends looking out for them—some not so well as others."
He rested his head in his hands. "I shouldn't have seen that. I've wanted to. I've really wanted to. But not like that. I wanted you to want me to. Too. I mean…you know…you and me…."
He looked up at the ceiling in frustration. "I'm just sounding like a bigger jerk every second, aren't I?"
He didn't dare look for her reaction to that statement.
"What I'm trying to say is, if I had it to do over again, I'd stick hot pokers in my eyes instead. I feel that strongly about it. 'I feel.' Gimme a break, Randy. What does it matter how I feel? You probably never want to speak to me again. I know I don't want to speak to me again."
Despite his stated intention, he was gearing up for the next sentence when she cut him off.
"You made a big mistake."
He was surprised she spoke at all, but he jumped eagerly for the opening he hoped was there. "I know. I know—it feels like the biggest mistake of my life."
"So did I."
He rushed on. "I know I can never…what?"
"I was the one who posed for those pictures in the first place. Nobody had to stalk me and wait at my window to get those. I did it on purpose. On my own."
He relaxed slightly.
"Which is not to say I'm proud of it," she added sternly.
So much for relaxation.
"No. No!"
"Because I'm not," she emphasized. "Not at all."
"No, of course not!"
"But I had to move on. And now…we have to move on."
"Does that mean…."
"I guess it does."
What he was hearing sounded too good to be true. He frowned. Was he hearing it properly? What had she actually said? He nodded thoughtfully. She expected him to be able to figure it out on his own. That was it. Okay, he could do that.
She moved to stand and he moved swiftly to stop her.
"No, wait…I can't…. Really, just tell me what it means."
"It means," she said—and time stopped as she paused and took a deep breath—"I forgive you."
Wow.
"Wow. Sharona...I don't deserve it..."
"No," she said. "You don't."
He looked down at his shoes.
"But that's what forgiveness is about, isn't it?"
Relief flooding his face, he looked up, and for the first time in what seemed ages, he looked right into her eyes. "Thank you. Thank you, Sharona."
"Thank you, Randy. For having the guts to say all that."
"Anything. Anything."
Then his brain caught up with his ears, and he stared at her in amazement.
"Hey…. You…you just called me 'Randy.'"
"That's your name, isn't it?"
"Well, yeah, but you've always just called me 'Lieutenant.'"
She shrugged.
"I don't deserve you," he stammered, without thinking. As usual. "I mean…."
"No," she repeated. "You don't."
He twitched his head apologetically.
"But then, that's what friendship is about, too, isn't it?"
"Friendship?" he blurted, not even sparing a thought to his lack of eloquence. "Yeah…yeah!"
A smile as genuine as his would have been impossible not to return.