David and Andrea Hobbs are haunting her outer office when Brenda comes in with her coffee and a little pink bag with a chocolate croissant inside, still warm and gooey from the bakery. David looks rumpled and tired and is still in yesterday's suit.
"We found Arnold Cartwright," he says with no preamble.
"Good morning to you too," Brenda says. Her assistant shrugs, gazes into her computer screen and pretends, probably, to be somewhere else. "Where is he?"
"LAPD picked him up about three hours ago and processed him," David says.
"Let me guess," Brenda says.
"He's sitting in an interrogation room at Major Crimes," Andrea says.
"Well David, hon, I don't know what to tell you," Brenda says as they follow her into her office. She tosses her stuff down, presses the button to boot up her computer. Worthless assistant. "This was bound to happen sooner or later."
"Chief, I've been after this guy for four months and now Major Crimes is going to completely ignore our investigation into his fraudulent activities and try to get him for murder!"
"Did Mr. Cartwright murder someone?" Brenda asks.
Andrea tilts her head. "It's beginning to look like it. A couple of someones."
"Then he should probably go to jail for that," Brenda says. "What do you want from me?"
"I thought maybe you could call down there," David says. "See if we can do a parallel interrogation."
Brenda stares at him.
"Or maybe go down there with me," David says.
"Come on," Brenda scoffs, sitting primly in her seat. "When we were on the other side, we worked with the D.A.'s office before, you know the drill."
"When we were on the other side you made it your personal mission to keep everyone else out of there so you could have suspects all to yourself!" David accuses.
"I shared!" Brenda mutters. Andrea makes a noise of disbelief but tries to cover it with a cough. David just rolls his eyes.
"There's no reason," Andrea says in an even tone, "that we can't get Mr. Cartwright for both murder and fraud and put him away for several lifetimes."
"Exactly," Brenda says. "All you gotta do is go on down there and ask!"
"And you think Captain Raydor is just gonna let me in to muck around in her sandbox?" David asks. The same Sharon who ambushed her because Brenda was running in a park too close to her condo.
Brenda tucks her hair behind her ear and looks at the wall right above David's head. "Of course she will! She invited you down there herself at New Years!"
David shakes his head. "That was to be polite and you know it!"
"Fine," Brenda says. "Have a seat. I will call over there and butter her up for you, happy? Can't believe you, scared of little ole Sharon."
David opens his mouth to retaliate but Andrea shakes her head, so he closes it and pulls a face. Brenda, feeling very benevolent and infinitely patient, picks up the phone and dials Major Crimes, punching in Sharon's extension. When it starts to ring, she pushes the button to put in on speaker and sets the phone back into the cradle.
"Raydor."
"Hey, it's me," she says. "I wanted to check in about somethin'."
"Okay, look, I know it's Wednesday but it's chaotic over here today, so we can have lunch if you want to eat at three o'clock but otherwise-"
"No, no," she says. "This isn't about lunch."
"Oh, good," she says. "Then you should come over this weekend. Rusty has this new friend and he's coming over for dinner and I feel like, I don't know, I feel like if it's just me he'll feel uncomfortable, do you know what I mean?"
Andrea's eyebrows have started to rise up slowly and David just closes his eyes and shakes his head.
"Yeah, that sounds good," Brenda says. "But I called about something else."
"For the love of… yes, Brenda, I returned the breadmaker!"
Brenda reaches out and snatches up the receiver, holding it to her ear. "Captain Raydor!"
"What?" Sharon says, exasperated.
"You have a man in your lock up that is of interest to an investigation my department is currently running," Brenda says, trying to sound professional and upstanding, trying not to picture Sharon leaning back in her office chair, her long legs crossed, her black heels, her tight skirts. The way the light comes in through that window behind her, the calm inner office in the heart of an always busy place. "Arnold Cartwright?"
Sharon sighs and makes a slight tsking noise with her teeth.
"A person of interest how?"
"He's the suspected head of money laundering ring. We have a joint investigation with the FBI that we've been running for-" She glances up at David who holds up four fingers. "-over three months. Look, I know people don't end up in your lock up for fraud and we're not asking for you to give him up, just let me send an investigator and a D.D.A. down there to ask him a few questions."
"I don't-"
"It's your show, Captain. I'll make sure they know who is in charge."
David opens his mouth to complain but she holds up a finger and points at him, jabs it in the air. Deputy Chief Johnson would've hung up the phone by now; they're lucky that Sharon is better at playing with others and that she and Brenda get along - outside the office, anyway.
"Who are you sending?" Sharon asks.
"I'll tell you what," Brenda says, sounding just sweet as pie. "I'll send you down Andrea Hobbs, how about that?"
Andrea smiles, rolls her eyes, tilts her head. Used to being a pawn between these two offices.
"Ha, sure. And who else?"
"And David, it'll be fine so I'll just send 'em on down and you can-"
Sharon barks out a dry laugh. "No way, no deal, no how. You can come down yourself but if you send my division David Gabriel? You know exactly how the guys are going to deal with that. You and Andrea or you can have Mr. Cartwright when we've finished trying him for murder in the first degree."
Were Brenda alone in her office, she might try to sweet talk Sharon into giving in, were she to do this over again, she'd make the call in solitude. But David is leaning forward, straining to hear both sides of the conversation.
"All right, Captain, have it your way. Though you did invite him to your murder room not three weeks ago."
"Not for this," Sharon says and hangs up.
She sets the phone back in the cradle and looks up at them. "David, I still want you to come along, you know the case better than I do."
"You got it, Chief," he says.
"I will meet you both downstairs in half an hour," Brenda says, shooing them away. Even though this is a bit of a hiccup to her day, she's still going to eat her chocolate croissant before it goes completely cold.
oooo
Arnold Cartwright seems like a real piece of work.
"He hasn't called a lawyer yet," Provenza says, pointing a gnarled finger at the monitor in the electronics room. "But we haven't asked any questions yet, either, so it may just be a matter of time."
Cartwright is alone in the interrogation room staring at the empty table in front of him. He's a huge guy, hulking even, with a mean face and a hard expression.
"What do we know?" Brenda asks.
"We know he locked two of his low level lackeys in a wooden shed and burned it to the ground," Provenza says. "Apparently he's also a little sketchy with money."
"A little," David says dryly, from the back. "Just in the pocket change amount of fifty seven million."
"And how do we know he's responsible for the fire?" Brenda asks, rubbing her forehead tiredly.
"The fire department was called because a neighbor saw smoke and they reported the bodies," Flynn says. "The land is owned by one of Cartwright's puppet companies. Also we have audio from a phone call last week where he threatened to light some people on fire. Not a metaphor, I guess."
"The moment we set foot inside that room, he's gonna ask for a lawyer," Brenda says.
"He hasn't yet," Provenza says.
"You don't get this high up in the food chain by being an idiot," Andrea says. "Chief Investigator Johnson is right."
"Okay," Brenda says. "I think the best way to play this is for Sharon and I to go in there together."
"Good," Andy says. "Double team him."
There's a long, silent pause until David and Provenza burst into snorting laughter and Buzz just looks slightly horrified.
"Thank you for that, Lieutenant. How very necessary that comment was." Brenda glares at him. "Where is Captain Raydor, anyway?"
"She was on the phone," Andy says, glancing sideways at Provenza. Provenza rolls his eyes.
"What?" Brenda says.
No one says anything at all until Buzz gives in, always the first to break under pressure. "She was talking to her ex-husband."
Brenda scrunches up her nose in distaste.
"Oh, so you've met him, too?" Andy says.
"No," Brenda says. "But I've heard enough about it. It might work out, actually. She'll already be mad. Okay, someone bring Mr. Cartwright here a cup of coffee and I'll go get your Captain."
"Why should he get coffee?" David complains.
"Because I need him to like me. He doesn't know me, I need him to think I'm here to help." David was a good detective, he's a good investigator, too, but he never really had gotten the hang of asking the right questions, of leading someone down the garden path. Especially Brenda's style. David wanted to walk in, ask the hard questions and leave. But some people need a little buttering up.
Brenda looks down at her outfit and knows it's not right. Now that she doesn't do interrogations daily anymore, she's been dressing more for her higher up position and while she looks more powerful in tailored suits and solid colors, it's much less adaptable. Today she has on a black pencil skirt and a navy blazer. She wishes she had something with color or a sweater or something to soften it up.
"Okay," she says, mostly to herself. No one questions her, they all know what she's like when she's making a plan.
Sharon is still on the phone, Brenda can see her through the window of her office. Sharon is beautiful no matter what, a byproduct of being a beauty queen. Even if she were in the schlubbiest of sweats with frizzy, messy hair and a ring of dark, smudged mascara under her eyes, she'd still be pretty enough to turn heads. But now she looks pinched and drawn and while it doesn't diminish her beauty, Brenda can admit she looks unlike her normal self. This is what Jackson Raydor makes her look like and Brenda has a sudden urge to find the man and step on his neck with her pointiest, highest heel. How does one marry someone like Sharon and then let it all play out like this? Brenda wants to go in there, smooth out the deep crease between Sharon's eyebrows with her thumb.
She remembers vividly Sharon's thumb wiping under her eye and she has to suppress a shudder. Steels herself.
Brenda knocks lightly on the door as a courtesy before pushing it open. Sharon glances up, nods her permission for Brenda to come in and sit down. Brenda doesn't sit, leans instead against the filing cabinet with her arms crossed.
"Times up, Jack," Sharon says. "I have to go." She rolls her eyes at Brenda, trying to play off the moment as unimportant. Things have certainly been better between them since their pizza dinner at Brenda's. Rusty had never been to Brenda's apartment before, so it was nice to have them over and Rusty was enough of a buffer that they'd managed to interact in a way that didn't feel too out of sorts. But there's been this weird layer between them of false, forced cheer. Brenda had heard it on the phone earlier and can see it on Sharon's face now. She's trying so hard to make things seem casual and instead it all seems fake. She and Sharon are not the kind of friends to gossip about nail polish or complain about men or chit chat over lattes but that's what Sharon is loudly projecting.
They weren't the kind of friends who pressed their mouths together in a dark, empty room either, until they were.
"They've given you a hundred chances, that's why and if you can't figure out how to apologize to them in a meaningful way, then I don't know what to tell you! They're grown adults and I can't make them talk to you and I wouldn't even want to ask them to try. Clean up your own mess for once."
There's a few tense moments of silence before Sharon says, "Fine." And then aggressively hangs up the phone.
She looks up at Brenda, tired and mad. Before New Years, Brenda would have offered to talk about it but now… and anyway, they have work to do.
"I need good cop, bad cop," Brenda says.
"Fine, which one do you want me to be?" Sharon asks, standing and smoothing out the wrinkles from her skirt. She's mostly in beige today with a light purple shell underneath her jacket.
"What do you think?" Brenda asks, dryly. "Do you have back up clothes here?"
"Yes," Sharon says slowly. "Why?"
"Can I see?" Brenda asks. Sharon just points to the tall cupboard in the corner. When it was Brenda's, it'd been filled with boxes that had never found a home after the big move, but when she pulls open a door, she can see half of it is empty and has been made into a proper closet. There's at least three outfits here which is a testament to how pear-shaped this job can go sometimes. Brenda reaches out to touch a cream colored blouse.
"That'll do," she says already reaching up to unbutton her navy blazer and shrug out of it. "May I?"
"Of course," Sharon says, moving to the blinds to snap them closed. Brenda's got on a white tank top under her jacket so she's not gonna flash the world, but she appreciates it nonetheless. The blouse slips off the hanger and Brenda undoes the buttons. It smells like Sharon's house, clean and pressed and orderly. It's a little loose when she buttons it up but maybe that's just because she prefers a tighter fit to things. Brenda is compact and curvy, but Sharon is slim and lithe. "Why are you doing this?"
"I need to look more… approachable," Brenda says. "More good cop." She turns back to the closet. "No sweaters? Have I ever seen you in a sweater?"
"I have one," Sharon says, moving behind her desk and opening one of the long drawers. She pulls it out and it's teal. Not a cardigan with buttons but one of the kinds with extra fabric that hangs down in the front, that you can wrap around yourself.
"Oh, I bet that's a pretty color on you," Brenda says, taking it. Sharon doesn't react to the compliment at all and Brenda wishes she hadn't said it. "I've never seen you wear this."
"I forget it's here," Sharon says. "And it's so bright."
"It's perfect," Brenda says. She puts it on and it's a little long in the sleeve but she pushes the sleeves up to her elbow and that becomes hard to tell. "Do I look nicer? Do I look like someone who wants to help out a murdering thief?"
"Tuck in the blouse," Sharon says. Brenda nods - that's a good idea and she's used to just deferring to Sharon's fashion sense now. She has to unzip her skirt to do it, but when she tucks everything in and zips back up, she looks at Sharon questioningly.
"You look very nice," Sharon says, the lines by her eyes deepening as she squints. Like saying so has taken some effort.
"I care about the murders," Brenda says. "But I need to convince him that the only thing we care about is the money so he thinks he's gotten away with the murders. It'll make him sloppy, later on. Then we can trip him up, get him to admit to both."
"How about you go in there and do you and I follow your lead," Sharon says.
"Look mean," Brenda says, holding open the door so Sharon can walk through.
"I bet I can manage that," Sharon says dryly. "I'll just think about my shit for brains ex-husband."
They stop in the hallway just outside the interrogation room. Julio is standing watch outside the door and he dips his head at Brenda and she waves at him, but she turns to Sharon and does what she probably should've done back in the office.
"You okay?" she asks.
"What? Let's just go in there and get this over with," Sharon says.
"Okay but I just… wanted to make sure," Brenda says reaching out to touch Sharon's forearm. Sharon jerks her arm away and glances at Julio.
No, things are definitely not right between them.
oooo
Rusty was right - when Sharon is mad, it's not a secret. She's calm enough until the moment she closes the interrogation room door behind them and then she turns to level Brenda with a glare, one she hasn't seen the likes of in some time.
"Now hang on," Brenda says. "I know that didn't go exactly to plan, but-"
Sharon doesn't let her finish, just stalks down the hallway, through the murder room. Brenda follows her because she's not sure what else to do and while she's aware of the rest of the squad, of David and Andrea too, looking on, she doesn't stop. Sharon passes by the elevators and then pushes open the door to the stairwell.
Brenda goes in after her.
Sharon stands on the concrete landing between flights and floors with her back against the wall. It smells like industrial cleaner and stale coffee and the occasional stolen cigarette break. Sharon's face is flushed in the unflattering light and her hands are balled up. Brenda stops halfway down the steps, wrapping Sharon's sweater more tightly around her.
"You always get exactly what you want," Sharon says. Her voice is soft but it still bounces around the small concrete area and seems to hit Brenda right in the stomach. "I don't know when I forgot that."
"I didn't do it on purpose, you know that," Brenda says. "And now you have time to put together an airtight murder case while he's in trial for the fraud."
"That's not the point, Brenda!" Sharon says. "The point is I let you in here knowing you were going to walk all over me! Knowing you were going to take over and I should've told you no, but I didn't because it's you!"
Sharon tips her head back, her hair shifting to reveal the long, pale column of her neck.
"We never could manage the friendship when we worked together," Brenda says. "You're right, I shouldn't have come down here." She doesn't bother to point out that she hadn't wanted to, that she knew it was a bad idea, that Sharon had demanded it.
"Maybe we should… I don't know," Sharon says, shaking her head. "Maybe it's too much."
Brenda feels the hot prickle of tears and comes down the last few steps to stand in front of her. Sharon lowers her chin to look at her, her mouth open slightly, a little crooked in that way that drives Brenda completely to distraction. Brenda feels like she's got to scramble, triage this situation. Say whatever she has to say, do whatever she's gotta do to make sure Sharon doesn't cut her out.
"Look, I'm sorry," Brenda says.
"Do you even know what you're sorry for?" Sharon asks with a disbelieving laugh. "Because I know you and I know that if you had this interrogation to do all over again, you'd do it exactly the same. Because you always think you're right."
"I don't… that ain't true," Brenda says.
"You came in with a plan and you made sure everyone was going to follow it and you knew I'd let you because we're too close now. Too tangled. Too in each other's lives. You know everything that's going on with me, you text my kid, you wear my clothes."
"That goes both ways," Brenda says defensively. "You don't even knock any more! You just walk right into my house, drink my booze, rifle through my makeup, tell me what to wear, how to do my hair! You can't blame me for what you participate in fully, too!"
"You're right," Sharon says and her glance drops down to Brenda's mouth, she's looking at it still when she repeats, "It's too much."
"Well, I'm sorry," Brenda says.
"For what?" Sharon asks.
"For kissing you," Brenda whispers. "For making things wrong between us."
Sharon's gaze snaps up, her eyes wide and her brows high, her forehead wrinkled with surprise.
"Brenda, I-"
"Things have been tense and it's my fault but, it doesn't have to be. We can just forget it ever happened, you know?" she says. "Because I'd been drinkin' and I'd just seen Fritz and I know, I know you were just trying to do right by me and I took it too far and I'm sorry." She shakes her head, the back of her throat burning, her heart racing in her chest. "If it's too much, I'm to blame. I'm always too much."
"I didn't think you wanted to talk about that," Sharon says finally pushing off the wall so she's standing up straight.
"I thought you were mad," Brenda says. "You wouldn't look at me."
"I didn't know what to think," Sharon says. "I don't know what to think."
"It don't matter," Brenda says, taking a deep breath in and flashing her a forced smile. "I'm gonna leave Andrea and David here to help you work out any final details. Maybe they know somethin' that'll help you with your murder case and I promise to you that the next time our offices cross paths on a case, you won't see me. Not even my shadow."
"Okay," Sharon says.
"And I'll give your clothes back," Brenda says. "You want me to wash 'em?"
"No," Sharon says.
"'K," she says. "And the next time I'm about to overstep my bounds, just tell me before I make a fool outta myself in front of you."
"You aren't a fool," Sharon says.
"That's a kind lie," Brenda says.
"And that sweater is a pretty color on you, too," Sharon says.
Brenda manages another weak smile but Sharon's looking at her mouth again and Brenda wonders if it's already too late; even though they've patched things up here, New Years still is going to hover between them. The night when Brenda pushed too far, where she showed too much of her hand. Brenda's always taking advantage of people, always figuring out how to get what she wants. Does she do it with Sharon, too?
"Please," Brenda says softly now. "Tell me what I can do to help us get back to normal."
Sharon shakes her head. "You didn't do anything wrong that night," she says. "And I can't stop thinking about it."
Brenda needs some time to process this, to compare Sharon's words to the ones in her head that continually remind her that she's selfish and greedy and wrong, but it's time she doesn't get because Sharon breathes out hard and gets look on her face like she's made a choice about something. Then she reaches out and grabs Brenda by the shoulders and comes in fast.
Sharon is kissing her.
Brenda panics for moment, worried she's going to have to apologize again, make this right again, it's going to be tense and weird again. Except no, that isn't right.
Sharon is kissing her. She relaxes a bit, closes her eyes. Sharon up close smells like vanilla and jasmine and roses all mixed up together and it's not cloying or too sweet, but just right. Their mouths are pressed together but Sharon stays still until she feels Brenda soften and then she moves her mouth and for a moment it's just like the first time in the dark room with the stacked up chairs and the false wall and the sea of people counting on the other side. A soft press of lips. No different, really, than the way families kiss except for maybe it lasts longer. Closed mouths pressed together.
Brenda breathes out through her nose a tilts her head a little because this is nice, too nice, so nice that she thinks that if she's going to hell, she may as well earn her ticket there. Tilting her head causes movement and the movement causes friction and then things start to change.
Sharon's hands in her hair for one, holding her head, anchoring her. And some how they've moved close enough that she can feel their bodies pressed together - breasts and hips and knees - and Brenda is kissing her back, now, too. It must be good because Sharon makes a noise, just a little one, like a small whimper and that's when Brenda decides that she's going to ease open her mouth.
Then she can't think anymore at all. It's like taking too many shots too fast in a row. One moment you're fine, the next you're dizzy and drunk. Sharon's still holding her face and Brenda's hands have found purchase on the swell of her hips and while it's Brenda who opens her mouth, Sharon's tongue makes the first move and when their tongues touch, Brenda gets a sharp jolt of arousal that starts in her stomach and spreads like warm honey down and out.
Sharon is a confident kisser. She's confident in many aspects of her life, so Brenda isn't sure why she's surprised by this. But Sharon kisses with a purpose, with a fiery heat that seems to rev things up even more. Not just lips and tongues anymore but noses and spit and teeth. Brenda feels nails against her scalp and when the kiss finally breaks, it's because Sharon has wrenched herself away.
"Brenda," she says. "You're hurting me."
Brenda blinks at her, still dazed. Still drunk. And then realizes what Sharon means. She releases the fingers that she'd been digging into Sharon's sides.
She steps back, Sharon's fingers slipping free from her hair and falling back down to her sides.
Brenda reaches up and touches her lips, damp and swollen.
"What'd we just do?" she asks.
Sharon shakes her head. "Nothing," she says. She reaches up to smooth her hair, clears her throat and gives Brenda a smile, anxious and gone in a flash. "We just handled the tension, that's all."
"Nothing," Brenda repeats.
"Doesn't have to mean anything at all," Sharon says. She nods at Brenda, like they've reached the conclusion of a very productive meeting and then turns and sprints up the stairs. She's out the door before Brenda can gather her wits.
oooo
Maybe you could call your brother, her mother offers conversationally.
Brenda's in the tub, he knees drawn up to her chest, her chin on her knees. Only the ends of her hair are wet where they float in the water around her. She hadn't meant for this to be a real bath, just a hot soak but had been so distracted by her own thoughts that she'd gotten in without putting her hair up. Now she'll have to wash it. Or at least wet it down.
"Mama, I don't think Jimmy knows a single thing about kissin' women," Brenda says. She mumbles it, her chin against her knees making enunciation difficult, but she has a feeling her mama knows what she says whether she bothers to say it out loud.
Don't be sassy with me, her mother scolds and this causes Brenda to sigh, to stretch her legs out and let her body sink into the water, hair and all. As if being under water will protect her from a voice in her head.
"You like Sharon," Brenda says, though her voice sounds foreign in her ears through the bathwater. She can hear only the muffled noise of her own heart and the slow trickle of water draining through the overflow at the front of the tub. Sharon had met Brenda's mother only one time really, as she recalls, and Willie Rae had been kind to Sharon because that's the kind of woman Willie Rae was. She'd always been welcoming of Brenda's friends - especially in high school. Brenda often brought home friends with her for dinner after cheer practice and for study groups. There were a few who always asked to come home with Brenda and she'd thought it weird at the time, but Willie Rae had seen what Brenda hadn't at only sixteen. Skinny girls in second hand clothes and scuffed up shoes who were hungry and desperate for the family that Brenda took for granted. She wonders if Willie Rae would really grow to like Sharon or if the voice in her head likes her simply because Brenda herself does. "She smells like jasmine," Brenda says, though why she's trying to convince her dead mother of anything... "And vanilla... and... I can't quite place it."
Honey it's only the most recognizable smell in the world, her mother says with a chuckle. Chanel number five!
How does her mother know that? Best not to think too hard about the voices in her head, Brenda reasons with herself. Save that can of worms for another day.
I just think you're going through a rough time and what you're doing with Sharon is makin' it harder than it has to be, her mama says.
She's not wrong. But shouldn't Sharon get credit for all the good she's done for Brenda? Brenda can't remember the last time she had a best friend. Fritz, she supposes, but even she knows it isn't the same as having a female friend. She'd had a lot of friends in high school but hadn't been singularly close to any one of them and she'd done well enough in college but had been dedicated to her studies and hadn't really clicked with anyone.
Junior high, then? She'd been close with a girl she'd gone to school with but they hadn't lived in the same neighborhood and had gone to different high schools.
She watches her toes at the end of the tub, her breasts breaking the surface of the water.
She hasn't called Sharon. That's the pattern right? Kiss and don't call? Except for this time, Brenda doesn't expect Rusty to step in to play referee. Maybe Brenda hasn't been alone in her attraction to her pretty and accomplished friend in the last few months, maybe that attraction is something that Sharon has for her in return but attraction and feelings aren't the same thing. It'd be one thing if Brenda just daydreamed about touching Sharon but it's all the other stuff that she thinks about that makes Brenda fret that it's more than just… lust. Coffee dates and shopping and spending time together at home. Her favorite days are when Sharon drops by or when she's invited to the condo. She fantasizes about slipping her hand into Sharon's just as much as she does about dragging her lips up that long, ivory neck.
Brenda sits up, the water splashing loudly as it moves around in the tub.
Sharon doesn't want hand holding and nights on the sofa and borrowed clothes. She doesn't want a relationship. She has a good life full of balance and grace. Two words that clearly don't describe Brenda.
Saturday morning, Brenda runs at the park but Sharon isn't there. She's just letting herself into her apartment when her phone starts to ring. The picture of Sharon and herself at Christmas is jarring to look at and she considers briefly letting it go to voicemail before rolling her eyes at herself and sliding the bar while pushing open the door. "Hello?"
"Hi," Sharon says. "It's me."
"Hey," Brenda says uncertainly.
"You okay? You sound out of breath," Sharon says.
"Just came home from the park," Brenda says. "What's up?"
"Today? It's raining!" Sharon exclaims.
"It is barely drizzling," Brenda says. Her hair is a little damp but it was more like running through a heavy fog than anything else.
"Well," Sharon says. "I applaud your dedication to fitness."
"Uh huh," she says, toeing off her shoes. "Something I can do for you, Captain?"
Sharon is quiet for a moment and then says, "I probably deserve that."
"Probably," Brenda says. But it's difficult to stay mad at Sharon. She's not even sure she is mad. She feels a little tender about the whole situation, a little sore. Talking to Sharon now feels like pushing on a bruise but not talking to Sharon would probably be worse.
"Rusty and I are going to brunch," Sharon says. "Will you come with us?"
"Do you want me to?" Brenda asks. "Or should I just forget you ever asked?"
Maybe she's a little mad.
"I would very much like for you to come," Sharon says.
"I need to shower," Brenda says. "I need at least half an hour."
"We'll come pick you up," Sharon says. "I think… I think we should eat brunch together and spend some time with Rusty."
"Ah," Brenda says. "Okay. Well, I'll be here."
She doesn't dress up. She's spent too much time worrying over what Sharon is gonna think of her that she just can't care on a Saturday when her muscles are tired from running and she hasn't been sleeping well and her mama is giving her the silent treatment yet still tsking away in the back of her mind just so her only daughter can't forget that she's there, ever haunting. She pulls on jeans, the skinny kind that she can wear with her soft boots, the kind that Sharon wears around the house but Brenda will happily wear into public like she's twenty years old. She layers up - a pale pink tank top, a t-shirt, her gray hoodie that is so soft that it's like wearing pajamas but it zips up and is fitted enough that it doesn't actually look like pajamas. When Sharon texts that they're downstairs, she shuffles down to the street with her hood up and sees Rusty's car double parked. Sharon is already in the backseat.
"Sup, homie," he says to Brenda when she gets in. Sharon snorts from the back seat.
"Good morning to you too," Brenda says pulling down her hood. "How come I get the front seat?"
"I like to be chauffeured around," Sharon says. "Also it's so roomy and clean back here."
Brenda twists to look behind her. Next to Sharon is Rusty's school bag and the floor of the backseat is littered with empty water bottles, plastic wrappers, old sneakers.
"Yeesh," Brenda says. Sharon's legs, clad in black pants and ankle boots, are tucked as far over as she can manage.
"She's trying to be nice," Rusty says. "Something about not letting the guest sit in the filth."
"Actually what I said was that it's filthy back here and I'm continually appalled." Sharon sniffs. "Watch the road, Rusty."
When they get to the little restaurant, they're seated right away despite the crowd and when they're taken to their table, it's set for three even though there are four chairs. Like she'd called ahead and made reservations, certain Brenda would come. Brenda orders coffee first and Sharon says, "Better make it a pot."
She hides behind her menu, scanning through her choices. Eggs Benedict, french toast, denver omelette.
After several moments, she looks up to find both her brunch companions staring at her.
"What?" she says. When no one says anything, Rusty elbows Sharon and she jumps and tries to cover it by resting her chin on her hand.
"You're just quiet, that's all," she says.
"You know how I am before coffee," she mutters.
"I feel like we haven't seen you in forever," Rusty says. "I'm glad you came today."
"Thank you, honey," she says. It's not Rusty's fault she's bent out of shape. The coffee arrives and Brenda has to sit through the long moments of the server setting the cups onto the saucers, pouring the coffee. There's a little silver pitcher full of creamer, those long packets of raw sugar and Brenda's just about to ask for honey when Sharon beats her to it.
"Honey, please," Sharon says. "And waters all around, too."
Sharon takes splenda in her coffee if anything at all. When the server comes back, it's with those little boxes of honey, like jam, and she pours two into her mug and some cream. Everyone is quiet until she has a sip.
"Good?" Sharon asks.
"Better," Brenda says. "Rusty, I hear you made a new friend?"
Sharon had tried to invite her to dinner over the phone. Before Arnold Cartwright. Before the stairwell and Sharon's tongue in her mouth. Before all of that.
"Oh yeah," he says. "There's this guy in my media studies class that is kind of cool." He shrugs, fiddles with the plastic corner of his menu.
"You met him?" she asks Sharon who nods.
"I did. We had him for dinner."
"What's he like? What's his name?" Brenda asks.
"Michael," Rusty says. "He's not like anything, he's just like… a guy that I know."
"Just a random guy that you brought home to meet your mama," Brenda says. Rusty slumps down in his seat a little.
"Whatever," he mutters and Brenda grins.
"Is he cute?" she asks.
"Sharon!" Rusty complains. "Help me."
"He is cute," Sharon says. "He's a blonde."
"Hey!" Rusty says. "That's not the kind of help I meant."
"You like blondes," Brenda says to Sharon, a challenge, maybe. Her eyes widen a little but she doesn't argue.
"We're just friends," Rusty says. "He's nice, that's all."
"That's how it starts," Brenda says. "Just bein' friends and then who knows what can happen? All of a sudden your whole relationship ain't what you thought!"
"Okay!" Sharon says, slapping her hands down on the table. "I think we're ready to order, where is that server? Rusty, what are you going to get? I'm thinking that spinach omelette, doesn't that sound good?"
"Scrambled eggs and bacon," he says. "Will you order for me? I have to pee."
"Sure," Sharon says. The moment he's out of earshot, Sharon leans forward and stares at Brenda over the rim of her glasses. She's wearing makeup - mascara at least, because her lashes are so thick and dark. "Listen to me very carefully. Knock it off." She enunciates each word to show how serious she is. And Brenda does feel bad - she should be trying to be a role model for Rusty, not a petulant woman staring down fifty in a hoodie and fake uggs, the only thing holding her hair out of her face are the sunglasses still pushed on top of her head despite the gray weather.
The server comes back to take their order - Sharon gets her vegetable filled omelette and orders Rusty's breakfast, too.
"French toast," Brenda says, handing her menu off.
"Rusty needs stability and to see us as productive and capable people," Sharon continues. "Every adult in his life before me has let him down and I am going to break that streak if it kills me. Or you."
Brenda rolls her eyes. "You and I havin' a spat is not goin' to ruin Rusty's life," she says. "You want to teach him that being an adult means bottling up your feelings? Pretendin' you don't have any at all? That's healthy."
"Okay, clearly we need to talk about this," Sharon says. "But not right now."
"Fine," Brenda says. "When?"
"I'll come over later," she says. "Rusty is going out with Michael."
"Just friends," Brenda says. "Good luck with that, kiddo, better not take the stairs."
"Enough!" Sharon hisses.
Rusty comes back from the bathroom, looks between them.
"What's up with you two?" he asks. "Usually it's all giggles and doe eyes."
"Your mama gets grumpy when she's hungry," Brenda says.
"Preaching to the choir," Rusty says, sitting down.
"You two are ruining my brunch," Sharon says, picking up her coffee mug and scowling into it.
"Sorry," Rusty says and he does sound sincere.
They're only halfway through the meal when Sharon's phone starts to ring.
"Womp womp," says Rusty. "There goes your Saturday."
Sharon sends him a scolding look and pulls her phone out of her big bag. Her fingernails, usually a neutral color or coated only in clear polish, are varnished a deep read, nearly burgundy. She slides one perfect finger along the bottom of her phone and brings it to her ear.
"Good morning, Andy," she says.
"Andy," Rusty whispers to Brenda with a little smirk. Brenda doesn't like that at all, doesn't care for Rusty's playful, knowing tone or the implication that Andy is more than Lieutenant Flynn to Sharon. But Brenda doesn't know for sure - Sharon doesn't spend a lot of time talking about work, speaks even less about her interaction with Brenda's former squad. And Andy Flynn had been at Christmas dinner so that was not just a courtesy extended to Brenda alone.
Does Sharon eat brunch with Andy, too? Catch a movie with him? Paint her nails a dangerous red with him in mind? Corner him in a secluded location and slant her mouth across his?
"Let me just…" Sharon is saying now, digging a pen out of her bag. She jots something down on her paper napkin. "No… it's fine. Have Julio start a neighborhood canvas and see if Dr. Morales is available today. I'd rather not wait until Monday to have the body looked at."
"Nothing like a little murder to liven up a breakfast," Rusty says. Brenda feels she can't really participate in this side conversation. Sharon is her best friend but there's so much about her that Brenda still doesn't know, that Sharon doesn't share. She feels a pang of guilt for giving her such a hard time today - no wonder Sharon keeps her at arm's length. What kind of friend is Brenda? What kind of person? A numb lady with a chest full of weeds, that's who.
Sharon hangs up, an apology already etched into her features.
"Is it bad?" Brenda asks.
"It's always bad," Sharon says. Which is true, of course, but there's a dead body and then there's three dead bodies and then there's dead children. Even badness has a sliding scale.
Brenda is the only one who takes a to-go box home, warm on her lap with her half eaten french toast. Rusty gobbled his down too fast for there to be leftovers and Sharon ought to be grateful she's not going to a crime scene on a full stomach. Sharon doesn't drop Brenda off first, though it's only a few moments out of the way. She just drives home, parks, her head already at work, her body on autopilot. It makes no difference to Brenda where she finishes her breakfast so she quietly follows them out of the car, through the dark parking garage, into the elevator, down the hall. Sharon breaks off immediately to go change her clothes, Rusty heads for the sofa. Brenda gets herself a fork from the kitchen and pops her box into the microwave, just to warm it up again. Rummages through Sharon's refrigerator until she finds a bottle of syrup.
When Sharon comes out again, she's in one of her suits, a black one like she's headed to a funeral. She's clipped her hair back and has her navy trench over her arm. When she spots Brenda sitting at the counter, her mouth full of her food, she seems to realize that Brenda does not actually live here.
"Sorry," she says, shaking her head. "We probably should've-"
"It's all right," Brenda says, winking at her. How many times had she made promises to meet Fritz somewhere or pick up dinner or call at a certain time only to come home late, her head somewhere else all together? She never remembered what she was supposed to have done until she saw his hangdog expression or, later on, his expression of cold anger. She doesn't want that for Sharon. She wants Sharon to look at her and see a light burning in the darkness.
"Have fun tonight, Rusty," Sharon says, walking over to touch the top of his head. "Call me if you need anything."
"We're just going to a movie," Rusty says. "No big."
"Whatever you say," Sharon says knowingly. She turns to Brenda.
"See you later," Brenda says. "Even if it's late."
"I'll do my best," Sharon says. It's not exactly a date set in stone, but Brenda believes her anyway because that's who Sharon is. A woman who is always trying her best to be good and kind and just.
When Sharon closes the door and locks it behind her, Rusty twists to look at Brenda over the back of the couch.
"You two are really weird," he says.
She sighs. "Don't I know it."
