CHAPTER TWO
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"You know all my secrets anyway. It's exactly right for you to be the first person to hear this one."
She felt a flash of pride—and doubted it was quite true—but focused immediately on his bearing. Somewhat defeated, somewhat unmoved… tired.
"Carlton, anything you choose to tell me is... well, I'm honored to have your trust. But I won't be offended if you don't want to talk about it."
"I know." He gave her a half-smile. "Understanding me and seeming to like me anyway is one of your mutant superpowers. Can we go back outside?"
"Sure—"
He'd already picked up their dessert plates, and she carried their drinks out behind him to set on the little wrought-iron table between the patio chairs. He went back inside for a moment to drape his jacket on the sofa, and came out again rolling his sleeves up over his lean forearms.
Juliet let him get settled next to her before she said, "For the record, I don't seem to like you. I do like you. You're very likable."
"And you're full of crap, O'Hara." His tone was dry. "I'm tolerable on a good day, and on so-so days, sometimes I don't completely suck."
She only laughed at him. "You're full of crap, Lassiter, because I have good taste."
"You fell for Spencer," he retorted.
This made her laugh too. "Doesn't mean I don't have good taste."
He nodded, adding slyly, "Because even a stopped clock is right twice a day."
"Shut it, partner. You like to hide your good side, but once someone spots it, it's easy to see it every time."
"Says you." But there was no heat behind the words. He sipped his beer, again looking out across the blue-green pool, lit up fully now along with the twinkling lights strung along the palm trees.
She knew he was gathering himself to talk to her, but she wouldn't push him. He'd tell what he wanted to tell.
"Fifty-eight." A faint breeze stirred a tendril of hair at his temple.
"Fifty-eight?"
"We'll come back to that." Another sip of beer. "There's a lot of new city council members this year, and they're making life pretty hard."
"What's their deal?"
Carlton scratched his jaw. "Same as in a lot of other cities, I imagine. Police departments under scrutiny nationwide. We haven't had any incidents but they're ultra paranoid that we might. I'm having to justify every penny in the budget a dozen times over. The only reason I'm at this conference is that it was paid for before they got out their scalpels."
"We've taken some of that heat ourselves. Hard times everywhere."
"Yeah. Sucks. But they're not helping by doubting everything we do, especially since I'm short-staffed right now. Carvell retired two months ago, and right after that Silvers' wife got some fancy job up your way, and he decided he liked her enough to follow her there."
"Why, that bastard," she said with mock horror.
He grinned for a moment. "Anyway, they told me they wouldn't even consider letting me fill either position for six months. Got four months to go."
"But that's crazy. You can't be down two positions for that long. And no one should work that much overtime—"
He cut her off. "They're being stingy about overtime too. I have to request it in advance, which is nuts. I have the consultants' budget—which you'll be interested to know doesn't get used as much without Spencer mooching for cases all the time—and some discretionary funds, but I'm not allowed to spend any on overtime for current employees."
"That's crazy," she repeated. "How are you supposed to, you know, enforce the law under those circumstances?"
"You tell me." He ran his hand through his hair roughly. "So that leaves me to pick up the slack, or at least some of it. I suspect Brannigan's working extra hours and not recording them, but the one time I asked her about it she threatened to burst into tears, so I told her officially to stop, and then advised her to at least be stealthy." One last swig of beer and he set the bottle on the table. "How's the pie?"
Juliet took in another sweet, warm morsel. "You'll never know if I finish mine off and start in on yours."
Quickly claiming his plate, he had a bite—and seemed to appreciate it—before continuing his tale. "Anyway, I'm working a lot of twelve-hour days. It's actually nice to get back into detective work, and you know what? If I have to skip council meetings and delay filing their extra paperwork because I'm busy solving crime, I think it's a fair tradeoff."
"Amen! But you have four more months of this?"
"Yup, unless there's a sudden unexplained spike in criminal activity in each council member's neighborhood which might sway them. Not that such a thing would happen," he added with exaggerated innocence.
"Of course not. Unthinkable."
"Exactly. So." He cleared his throat. "Home life."
Juliet braced herself. "Marlowe's not taking your absence well."
"Let's go back to fifty-eight," he said instead. "Not much of a number, is it?"
She studied his profile, as he gazed out at the twinkling palms again. He seemed calm, for Carlton, which didn't mean much. Even tired, he still somehow seemed like he was made of coiled energy.
"The night I met Marlowe, we spent five minutes tops in the bar before she bailed. When I tracked her down, we spent another five minutes together before you showed up with Tom Cruise and Blacula."
Juliet had to smile at his wry tone. "Sorry about that."
"Don't be. Then we had a thirty-minute date which you also interrupted," he said pointedly, but without anger, "and then driving to her house and waiting while you searched it probably took another thirty minutes."
She was afraid she knew where this was going.
"I got to visit her for an hour a week, always with a guard present, except for the weeks she was in solitary. I count 57 hours, plus the hour and ten minutes before her arrest, that we spent together before she was released." He glanced at her, unsmiling. "After that it was all giddiness, exacerbated by that nutjob Ursula Gibbs trying to get back at me, and instead of reporting Ursula to her supervisor, I decided the 'smart' solution was to get married. Married, Juliet. To a woman I'd spent 58 frickin' hours with."
She stared at him, mesmerized.
He let out another heavy sigh. "Idiot."
"No," she protested. "Not an idiot."
Yet it didn't feel right to say you were in love.
He shrugged. "Thing is, I wish I thought having someone tell me I was an idiot then would have helped. It wouldn't have helped. We were on fire. Stupid-ass idiot fire."
"Don't..." She trailed off. "You don't get to not be human."
And people used to call him Robot Lassiter, a memory which still angered her.
"Yeah, I know. Damn me. So we got married fast, she got pregnant fast, and suddenly two people whose courtship essentially worked out to a week and a half had to learn... hell, everything about each other. Every damned thing that matters, anyway." He set his pie plate down and went to the patio railing, his hands clenching the metal too hard for a few seconds.
Oh Carlton. She wished she could hug him.
"Which is separate from trying to be parents." He rubbed his face, showing again his abiding exhaustion. "Marlowe's a good woman."
"She is. You're a good man."
He faced her now, his manner intent. "She's a good woman. She's nice and she's beautiful and she's been good to me and she's worked hard her whole life. She's a great mom. But I..." He sighed. "I'm an ass, because Lilly's the one I miss. Not Marlowe."
"You... miss her? Lilly?"
"Marlowe moved out. Filed for divorce. She's staying with a friend in Santa Maria."
The words were heavy, clear and laden with regret.
Juliet felt her heart twinging for him. No… aching. And this explained the side trip before he could get to Palm Springs.
"It was three months ago, so I can't even blame it on the hours I've had to keep."
"Oh my God, Carlton, I'm so sorry." Her eyes were burning but this was not the time to go misty.
He returned to his chair, seeming inexpressibly weary. "I see Lilly on weekends. I work as long as I can on weekdays so I can have the weekends free for her. But it's killing me, not seeing her every day."
The sadness in his voice made her ache anew for him. "Are you... I mean... are you talking to Marlowe? Is this about needing time to get to know each other?"
"No, because for once I can honestly say a relationship failure isn't all my fault."
"Hold up there," she said, instantly irritated. "From what I hear, Victoria was at least sixty percent responsible for what happened in your marriage. Maybe seventy if you count her cranky-ass father."
Carlton actually laughed at that. "Thanks. I won't argue the point. Thing is, Marlowe pretty much spent her whole life taking care of other people. Her brother's illness took up a lot of her time. Those four roommates of hers—she was like their mom. Then she lands in prison and between the regimented structure of each day and her built-in need to be everyone's protector, she had no peace there either, unless you consider time in solitary to be peaceful."
Picking up his plate, he finished off the pie, but Juliet knew he wasn't done with the telling.
"I guess I made a lot of promises about taking care of her. I guess that sounded good to someone who'd been in her situation all those years. And I tried to deliver on those promises, but everything happened so damned fast—including the whole Trout debacle, which ripped a piece out of my hide in more ways than one. Hell, it was a carnival ride that first year. We just never had time to figure out we weren't suited for each other."
He sounded reflective, not bitter. Like a man who'd given all this some serious thought—like a detective with decades of experience at figuring out other people but maybe not used to figuring out himself, let alone the woman who shared his home.
As much as he resisted psychotherapy, she thought, it was fascinating to hear him lay out with precision all the elements which comprised the collapse of his marriage.
When he was younger—when he still held Victoria in thrall—he could not have managed this level of self-analysis. She was proud of him, but this was probably not the time to say so.
"So I don't think there would have been any point to counseling. I think Marlowe... no, I know Marlowe wants real time on her own."
"But... but she's got Lilly. Moms don't get time on their own."
"She says the Santa Maria thing is temporary, that she's lining up a friend to get an apartment with back in Santa Barbara, and we'll share custody. She also says what she really wants is to take off for a year and just go do her own thing, and if that's true, Lilly will be with me." His tone was one of relief, mixed with grim satisfaction. "It's sucking the life out of me, Juliet. I miss that little girl every damned day."
Again she wanted to hug him hard; this time she settled for reaching over and covering his hand with hers. "I know. How's she doing with this?"
He surprised her by interlinking their fingers, and she took it as a gift of trust, making her heart swell a little. "She's confused. We don't fight in front of her—we never really fought at all—and we do a lot of telling her we love her."
"And you're definitely divorcing?"
Carlton squeezed her hand and let her go. "Yeah. It's okay. Neither one of us wants to try to live the lie. Lilly'll be better off in the long run, if we're very careful in the short run."
She resisted the urge to reclaim his hand. "Have you been able to talk to anyone else about this?" At his raised eyebrows, she added, "I know you're... not a fan of personal therapy, but you have tried it before, and you've admitted it's helpful."
"I've admitted that to you," he clarified. "As for talking to anyone, that'd also be you. You're the designated BFF, y'know?"
Juliet couldn't help but smile at his wry tone, and now had to resist reclaiming his hand—as well as going misty—even more.
"If anyone's figured anything out, it'd be my neighbors. I guess someone could have seen the divorce petition in the paper, but no one's asked, and you know me; I'm not exactly the gut-spilling kind."
"Yeah, I know you." Hell with it—she took his hand again, long enough to squeeze it hard. Carlton closed his eyes and relaxed into the touch, and she willed him to feel better, at least a little, for a little while.
After a few moments—with those blue eyes still closed—he said, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
When she started to protest, he cut her off.
"I don't mean in the 'you deserve to know' sense. I mean... I probably did need an outlet a lot sooner." Now he looked at her, expressionless. "That's the point of having a BFF, right?"
Juliet smiled, knowing that as hard as it was for him to make personal admissions, those about their friendship were somehow harder. It spoke to his assumption of rejection, and she hated that his early life experiences had scarred him.
"Kinda," she said, still smiling. "But we make our own rules in matters of the heart. You're telling me now, and I just wish there was something I could do for you."
"You're doing it." He let her go and took the beer bottle instead, but it was empty. "Is there a soda machine around here?"
"Probably. Shall we go for a walk to find out?"
In response, he rose, stretching a little. "Yeah, let's do that. Better yet, let's check out that bar I spotted. What's it called? Rocks?"
A drink suddenly sounded like nirvana.
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They stacked their dinner dishes on the tray, and after she collected her handbag, they strolled down to find the lounge.
Red-lit, or amber maybe, it was about a third full, probably not bad for a Sunday night. He bought her a glass of wine and himself a Scotch, and they settled into couple of chairs separated by a glossy wood table, a little away from the others.
Juliet was lovely—she was always lovely—in this light, and he was very glad to be with her despite the dark clouds which never seemed to completely retreat from his personal horizon.
It didn't surprise him at all that he'd told her everything in one fell swoop. She was always the one he could tell damned near anything to. In an ideal world, Marlowe should have taken on that role, but it turned out Marlowe wasn't the answer to all his questions.
"It doesn't seem real, you know." His voice was low, but he knew she heard him.
"You mean this turn of events in your life?"
"This turn of the last three or four years. Meeting her, marrying her—you leaving and getting engaged to Spencer—me making Chief and finding out it wasn't what I wanted at all—then Lilly, and now... sitting here with you. No Marlowe. No Spencer. Not enough Lilly. Let's drink to that," he finished dryly, and lifted his glass.
She met the toast. "But on the other hand—stop smirking, you know there's always another hand—you understand yourself better than you did, say, ten years ago. You know this thing with Marlowe isn't a thing you did wrong. You know Lilly is a thing you did right. You know I'm... honestly, happier and better off without the stress of Shawn in my life. There really is a lot of good here."
He gave her a skeptical look. "Tell me more."
Juliet grinned at him. "I'll tell you plenty, partner. I always could talk your ear off."
He sang softly, "Nobody does it better..." and ducked the mock slap she aimed at him. "Yeah, but you always said the right things."
"Didn't always get through."
"More got through than I admitted."
"And you regretted every time you didn't listen." When he looked up, quizzical, she said only—and smugly—"Ursula Gibbs."
"Oh hell, O'Hara, it was one—no, okay. You're right. If I'd listened to you about her, she wouldn't have had a reason to go power-mad on me, and Marlowe and I wouldn't have gotten married in such a rush, and I—"
Now she was horrified. "Stop! That's not what I meant! You are not allowed to regret anything which led to Lilly being here and making you the proudest father around."
Immediately sheepish, he nodded and leaned back in his eat. "Okay, fair enough. I just hope we don't screw her up with this."
"Carlton. Many children of divorced parents turn out just fine. You love her, Marlowe loves her, the two of you are going to show her what it is to be reasonable adults—oh stop shaking your head, you can be reasonable and you know it—and this is going to work out."
He shook his head anyway. "You sure about that?"
"Yes I am. Everything will work out." She twirled her glass slowly. "Eventually."
Carlton smirked. "That's what I thought."
"How soon will Marlowe come back to Santa Barbara?"
"Sometime in the next month."
She sipped her drink, apparently thinking about this. "But with your schedule, how will you be able to manage even shared custody? Not to be pessimistic, but until you can get the city council to let you fill those open positions, you're still spread pretty thin."
"Believe me, I've thought of that." He felt his shoulders tensing, and knew his tone was grim. "I've already decided on a couple of things. One, I will leave work every day by five-thirty. Period. If I'm going to be a father at all, I have to be there for her. Two, if this means our backlog of cases grows, too bad. And third, I'll quit if they give me hell about any of it, and fourth..." He hesitated. "If we have 50/50 custody and Marlowe wants to settle somewhere else permanently, that's where I'll go to look for work."
Her eyes widened. "You'd leave? Really? You—" But then she nodded. "Of course you would. There's no question about it. Do you have any reason to think Marlowe wants to leave Santa Barbara permanently?"
"Not really. She might take off for a year but ultimately I don't think she wants to be too far from her brother." He saw her nodding, but explained further, "Adrian's not likely to get out of prison for a long time, but when he does, his health situation means Marlowe will want to keep close to him. In fact, I suspect that's why she's thinking of taking off right now: because the window won't be open forever."
"I always knew you listened more than you let on." She said it affectionately, but then got a funny look. When he frowned, she said, "Sorry. I was just thinking about how... aware you are of... I don't know how to say it. How you are now compared to when I first met you. And maybe not how you are, but what you let people see."
He nodded, unsurprised. "When I met Marlowe... no, when I really understood I was going to commit to her—and she was in prison then—I knew I couldn't afford to make the same mistakes I did with Victoria. Age helped too, although you know what they say: age doesn't always bring wisdom; sometimes age comes alone." He grinned and stretched one arm out across the back of his chair. "You helped, of course. I couldn't have gotten anywhere with myself if you hadn't been there."
To his surprise, she seemed to be blushing.
Damn, he'd missed her.
"Well, whether or not that's true," she managed, "you certainly helped me too along the way."
He let his skepticism show in an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Maybe... maybe I'll take a little credit for toughening you up as a cop. But you already knew how to kick ass when you got to the SBPD."
"Uh, I was still carrying a purse the size of a backpack to crime scenes, and had no idea how to talk back to my big scary partner. The only ass I could kick was my own, when I got home every night wondering when I was ever going to measure up."
Carlton's eyebrows shot up. "Measure up to what? Me? I was the laughingstock of the force then. No one thought you should measure up to me."
"Oh, my God." She downed the rest of her wine and set the glass down hard. "Okay, so you were coming out of the Lucinda Barry business. And maybe you were extra hard on everyone else for a while because of that. But I never heard anyone laughing at you, Carlton. The only person who ever talked about you or treated you with any kind of disrespect was Shawn."
He held her gaze for a long time, and a host of memories flitted through his mind.
You liked him anyway and why didn't you ever tell him to shut it? and you've never said Lucinda's name to me before were among the comments he was not willing to make at this point.
Finally he spoke quietly. "That was all a long time ago. We were both a lot younger and our lives were very different. You want another glass of wine?"
She barely got out a yes before he was on his feet and off to the bar.
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