CHAPTER ELEVEN
. . . . .
. . . .
Another day in court.
Another feeling of grayness, despite the sunshine, and despite the peaceful outcome he'd wanted: Lilly was his for a year, and there was no fighting or trauma about it.
Except for the trauma of having to go through it at all, and the possible trauma for Lilly in the future.
But he was taking Juliet's advice and believing it might not all blow up in his face at the expense of his daughter's well-being.
Or he was trying, anyway. Optimism had never been a buddy of his.
Marlowe, as they exited the courtroom, tugged on his arm lightly.
He stopped with her against the wall, while their wary lawyers stood nearby, as if they halfway expected all this calm was about to end in a rip-roaring set-to.
Carlton was too weary to be annoyed. He might have wondered the same thing if he were on their side of the paychecks.
"Carlton," she said cautiously. "Could I... I know you don't have to. I know you might not want to and I understand. But could I keep Lilly this weekend?"
It took him a moment to translate the request into English; that's how far off-kilter he felt.
"Please." It was a whisper.
"Yes, of course," he assured her, his heart squeezing at her obvious fear he wouldn't agree.
"I'll bring her to you next Friday. I just thought..."
"I understand. It's okay. It'll be a nice... it'll be good."
She would bring Lilly to the house next Friday night, and have that last weekend to pack up what she needed for her grand journey. This weekend would be her last chance for quality time with Lilly.
He'd explained to Juliet, who was curious, that they'd started Lilly in daycare back in November, working toward the time when he'd have full custody. The sooner she got used to spending her daytime hours with strangers—though he was training himself not to assign a negative connotation to that term—the easier the transition would be between Marlowe dropping her off and picking her up, and Carlton doing it himself.
Marlowe was smiling, looking a bit misty-eyed. "Thank you."
"It'll be good for you both," he repeated, lacking any other sensible words.
"And one day next week I'd like to bring some of her things over to the house. If you could get home early one night, or leave late one morning?"
He swallowed. "You still have a key."
Marlowe nodded. "Yes. But I'll be leaving it with you."
Oh, that hurt a little. So final in its simplicity. But she wouldn't need his house key as she traveled, and she would never live with him again, so it was only logical, right?
Carlton focused. "Just let me know what day and we'll work something out."
"Thanks." She stepped into his arms for a brief hug, and he clung to her briefly, because what else could he do?
This was really ending. Or changing, at any rate, in a way to top all the other changes. And it sucked, but he still cared about her and always would.
"Sorry," he whispered against her hair. "For everything."
"Me too," she whispered back.
. . . . .
. . . .
The knock came late morning on Saturday, but when Juliet went to answer the door, Carlton stood alone on her porch.
Hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, crystal blue eyes as muted as they'd been on Tuesday—and really all week long when she'd seen him at the station—he looked as if his windbreaker was giving him no comfort.
"Lilly's with Marlowe this weekend," he explained in lieu of a greeting. "Thought I'd stop by anyway to let you know we weren't cutting you off. You just get the morning to yourself."
For a second he appeared to be actually about to leave, and she did not want that.
"Wait, so I don't get to visit with you unless there's a chaperone?"
He blinked, and then a slow smile overtook him.
"Come in, silly man. I have coffee and cookies and if you fall asleep while I'm chattering away, you probably need to."
"If the coffee's strong enough, I'll be fine." He followed her to the kitchen, and stood by the window overlooking the back yard while she poured the brew into large mugs.
Sitting with her at the table, he drank deep and contemplated the cookie she handed him.
From their brief texts the last two nights, she knew the custody hearing had gone as he'd hoped. From looking at him, she knew he was still in a pretty subdued place, and probably exhausted.
"Eat the cookie," she suggested. "Tastes better that way."
"Looks pretty good. Smells good too."
"It is good. I'll bet I wouldn't have to talk Lilly into trying it."
"No," he agreed, and finally took a bite, seeming to appreciate its still-warm chocolatey goodness.
"You still feel like a zombie, I gather."
"Yeah. But I'll have it together by next Friday night."
"That's a week away. How can I help before then?"
"Distract me. But I don't know how."
"Shooting range," Juliet suggested, and damn if he didn't light up. She laughed, and thought for the thousandth time how much a smile transformed his lean face and turned those already impressive blue eyes into something truly gorgeous... and then for the thousandth time she told herself to hush it.
Carlton laughed too. "What the hell does that say about me? Shooting stuff cheers me up? I am a mess."
"No, you just know what your happy place is."
"I think these days my happy places start with Lilly and you," he said lightly, and her breath caught a little.
Keep it neutral, girl.
He added, "You're doing an admirable job at this BFF business."
"I do an admirable job of everything," she retorted, and he nodded as if there were to be no argument about that.
Which of course there wasn't.
. . . . .
. . . .
They had lunch (after destroying a few targets apiece), large bowls of chili from an old favorite diner, and he was feeling better. A little more connected to the world.
It was Juliet of course, not the shooting; whereas the shooting range had once provided all the therapy he'd ever needed (actual psychotherapist opinions notwithstanding), he'd learned with age how to take his relaxation from humans who cared about him: first Marlowe, then Lilly, and now—as it used to be once and again in the past—Juliet.
She was such a bright, glowing... force in his life. He idly wondered how she would react if he told her.
Probably she'd smile and thank him and say something nice back, but he didn't need her to say anything nice.
She pushed her chili bowl away, having done a pretty good job of making its contents disappear. "Indecently delicious," she said with a sigh.
"Just like always," he agreed.
"Hey, the shooting range reminded me." Her dark blue eyes were inquisitive. "You know I was dead serious about babysitting, right?"
Carlton laughed. "Yeah, you seemed that way, though I don't know how many chances you'll get."
She scoffed, "You could develop a social life."
"Or a Broadway career," he countered.
"But admittedly," she said with a pointed look, "it is more likely in the very extremely short term before a social life develops, that you'll have Chiefly obligations after hours."
"Yeah, and?" There had already been a few, but only on weeknights, when Marlowe had Lilly.
"And if Lilly's ever going to spend an extended amount of time in my place, I want to get a gun safe. I never felt I needed one before, even with Shawn around."
He had not been expecting that (or the comparison of Spencer to a toddler). "Okay. Yes, that'd be good. Thank you."
"What... um... what do you do about your weapons?" The question seemed hesitant, as if she thought he might take offense.
"Weapon," he corrected. "I just have the one."
Juliet was surprised. "Really?"
"Really. Well, I have an antique Civil War era piece but it's in my safety deposit box. The only other gun I own goes to work with me and gets locked up as soon as I get home. Even after Marlowe moved out, I've kept to that routine."
"Huh." She looked impressed. "I'm surprised. But maybe not."
Carlton shrugged. "I never thought I'd take such a sharp turn in my attitude, either. But after Lilly was born I tried to convince Marlowe to learn how to shoot, and she wasn't interested. I told her she'd need to protect herself and our child and how all kinds of people want to kill me—which yeah, I know nobody cares enough to want me dead—" He paused at her frown. "Criminals, that is. Better?"
Juliet nodded. "Much."
"Anyway, one day she said that if she needed to protect Lilly in our home, she'd rather do it with her arms around her than set her apart and alone while she wasted time fetching a gun."
He remembered feeling the sheer power of that concept enveloping him. He remembered looking over at Lilly in her crib, sleepily suckling on her pacifier, and Marlowe's words simply resonated with him, with every last atom of his being.
Juliet was looking at him solemnly.
Carlton nodded. "I got rid of all of them except the service weapon. Bought a safe. I change the combination every few months and when Lilly gets old enough to be sneaky about paying attention, I'll change it every week. We are never going to be one of those statistics involving a child dying, or killing someone else, because of an unsecured weapon. I figure I've still got a few tricks left to defend myself and Lilly from any home invader, and the really odd thing is…" He paused, and smiled. "I haven't missed the extra firepower at all."
Her smile was slow and glorious. "And you don't even need it, because you are a kick-ass bad-ass."
He grinned. "Thank you for noticing."
"I always have," Juliet assured him.
. . . . .
. . . .
"Mamma's going on a trip," Lilly said as soon as he opened the door for them on Friday night. Then she remembered she hadn't seen him in awhile and flung her arms around him.
Marlowe set Lilly's bag—the last one, he reflected—on the floor just inside the door.
"Hey, Lilly-cat. I missed you this week." He'd talked to her on the phone—conversations which were never completely fulfilling because four-year-olds tended not to have very long attention spans—but hadn't seen her.
"I missed you too, Daddy! Mamma's going on a trip."
"I know. You told me."
"I'll send you some presents," Marlowe added, patting Lilly on the back. "And I'll call you."
Lilly beamed: she knew all about presents.
Carlton set the little girl down and invited Marlowe the rest of the way in but she declined.
He could tell she was trying to hold it together. "It's okay," he murmured.
"It's not," she said, and brushed back a tear while Lilly was preoccupied with opening up the bag to pull out... well, everything.
"I think that's the last of it. You have Beth's number, and remember she said she'd babysit anytime you need her."
"Yes. Thanks."
She drew in a breath. "I have to go now, Carlton, or..." Another breath. "Lilly, I need a hug before I leave."
Lilly obliged, and Marlowe held on tight, and Carlton's eyes were burning and it was so damned hard.
"I'll talk to you soon, honey," she said against Lilly's hair, then thrust her at Carlton and was gone.
And he'd have had to do it the same exact way.
. . . . .
. . . .
Juliet heard a knock. Just past seven on a Friday night, not exactly the witching hour. Maybe her neighbor. She hoped not, because she'd been on her feet all day with Buzz chasing after some larcenous cheerleaders and to rest was her dearest desire. That and to wonder how it was going with Carlton and his fractured family.
When the knock came again, she reluctantly got up from her sofa and padded to the door, but through the peephole was surprised to see Marlowe Lassiter, and immediately opened it up.
"Hi," the other woman said softly. "Can I come in a minute?"
"Yes of course." She held the door wide and gestured for Marlowe to sit.
She looked wiped out, but resolute. "I just dropped Lilly off at Carlton's place."
Juliet felt her pain—it was evident in her sad brown eyes. "I'm sure it was hard to do that."
A nod. "I was supposed to leave on Monday but I think I'm going tomorrow. I think the longer I wait, the less likely I am to do it, and I need to do this."
Juliet sat across from her, ready to listen.
Marlowe smiled faintly. "I imagine Carlton's told you something about my plans."
Careful.
"He said you needed a chance to just take care of you. After a lifetime of taking care of everyone else."
Another nod. "That's... essentially it. And I have to do it now because if I wait until Lilly's older, she might not... forget so easily. Not that she'll forget her mother abandoning her for a year, but—"
"You're not abandoning her," Juliet cut in. "Don't think of it that way. I know you'll be in touch with her and she'll never feel abandoned. Carlton won't let her feel that way."
Marlowe put her hands to her face, breathing unsteadily. "No one can know for sure."
"I know." She hesitated only a moment. "My father did abandon my family. He's a con artist and a fraud and even though as an adult I learned he never stopped loving me, it sure felt like he did when I was a kid and he was just gone from my life. You're not abandoning your daughter. Trust me on this."
The smile was unsteady, like her breathing, but it was genuine. "Thank you. Carlton's said the same thing but... my self-doubts are pretty rampant right now."
Juliet kind of wanted to hug her. "You've both had a rough time. But Lilly's going to be fine, Marlowe, I promise."
There was a tissue box on the end table, and Marlowe availed herself of it, to dab at her eyes briefly. "That's why I'm here, really. About Lilly."
"Yes?"
"Carlton's strong. You know that. But I don't think he thinks he can do this—being a single parent. I know he can—you know he can. But I think he doubts himself."
Juliet certainly knew that, and thought it was safe to assume many in his position would think the same way.
"And... that's where I'm counting on you."
"Me?"
Again, be careful.
"You know him better than I do. You can probably see more clearly than anyone else when he's having a difficulty he can't get past, because as partners you had to know each other inside and out."
Slowly, she offered up, "But he's very private. There are things about him it took me years to learn because he didn't want them known."
Marlowe nodded, and she sounded stronger now. "And I could have remained married to him for another twenty years and never have learned those things if he didn't want to share them."
There was no censure or jealousy or bitterness in the words, and nothing Juliet could say to contradict them.
"So I need you, Juliet."
She swallowed. "What can I do?"
Pulling a slip of paper out of her pocket, Marlowe set it on the table near the tissue box. "That's my cell number. If you ever feel that he's talked himself into a corner where Lilly's concerned, if he ever gets to where he's so consumed by fear of screwing up that he might be making a mistake—and I know it's an imposition to put this on you, I do—then please call me. I think he might be afraid to call on me if he gets stuck or thinks he's stuck. He might think he has to leave me out of the loop out of respect for me, but I don't want that. This is going to be hard for me. For a long time. For most of the time I'm away, I know it's going to kill me to not be with my daughter. But making this journey... comes with a pricetag. And if part of that price means flying back from, you know, Newfoundland to help him solve a Lilly problem that you two can't solve, I will do it. You understand? I don't want him to make it easy for me. It's not supposed to be easy. I am leaving my daughter behind and that's not supposed to ever be easy."
Setting aside the "that you two can't solve," Juliet absorbed the intensity of her words and the strength of feeling behind them.
"I will not lose that number," she finally said. "I think you might give me too much credit for influence over him, but I promise I will make sure you are involved any time it seems necessary."
Marlowe sighed. "Thank you. And don't doubt your influence."
Better not say anything here. She just shook her head.
Standing up, Marlowe said, "I never really knew what to make of you, you know."
Juliet rose too. "Well, I did arrest you."
She smiled. "Yeah, that's part of it. I mean about your partnership. I never doubted his feelings for me but I also knew I was never really first."
Instantly uncomfortable, Juliet started, "Oh, Marlowe, please—"
She held up her hand to stop her. "Hear me out. When I first met you both I could tell there was some tension between you. I didn't know your history or even how long you'd been partners. I only knew you were with Shawn Spencer and there was some trouble between you and Carlton. When he talked about you, when he visited me in prison, I figured out that tension was about Shawn. And I knew... I mean, I knew he really cared about me, and I never thought there was anything between the two of you, but there was something, you know?"
Juliet was paralyzed—there were so many ways not to react to this.
"Then when I was released, and you generously took us into your home, I wasn't so lost in my own happiness that I couldn't spot the tension again. And maybe it was just because we overstayed our welcome, but..." She smiled. "I remember the day you found us in the bathtub. I saw how... unprepared you were for the sight of him in that situation. I should have been more embarrassed for myself but in the back of my head all I could think was that part of your reaction was about seeing him..." She laughed a little. "Well, naked in your tub. You had a—a woman's reaction to that. He's an attractive man, and you noticed, and I noticed you noticing."
I hope he didn't.
Dammit, what are you THINKING? Drop this line of thought instantly!
You should smile here. Why aren't you smiling?
Marlowe spoke more gently. "Then during the time Trout was there? Carlton demoted, and not having you as his partner: that was so hard on him. He overcompensated in so many ways and tried so hard to convince himself he only wanted his job back, but he talked about you as much as he talked about Trout. I don't think he realized it."
"Marlowe," she tried again, feeling the way she did when she futilely tried to stop the flood of information she got from Ursula Gibbs about Carlton's prowess as a lover, information she'd never ever been able to completely shelve.
"Juliet, it's okay." Marlowe's tone was almost kind. "He was mine, and he was faithful, and he would always have been faithful. I never doubted his feelings, I swear. But like I said, I knew I wasn't first. And that was never more clear to me than when he made Chief and found out you were moving to San Francisco."
Her heart thumped at the memory of that conversation between her and Carlton. The pain, mixed with joy at having him admit, in so many words, that he'd rather have her at his side than the position he thought he'd wanted all those years. Putting her arms around him and telling him it was going to be fine, when it wasn't.
Marlowe reached out and touched her shoulder. "I see it was as hard for you as it was for him. I knew it would be. And I'm sort of glad, you know, not because you were hurting but because it shows me how much he mattered to you too."
Juliet had to sit down, making it as far as the coffee table. She wrapped her arms around herself and said, "Marlowe, partnerships are so... complicated. Ours was more complicated than it needed to be because of Shawn—and because of Carlton too. He's a complicated man." It seemed so lame, but it was at least the truth.
"Yes, I know," she said with wry amusement.
Still she needed to explain, somehow, or maybe defend, if not deny. "And I swear, there was never anything—"
"It's okay," she repeated, still smiling a little. "I don't even know why I started this. I was going to walk out and go cry in my car about leaving Lilly." She looked down for a moment, then back at Juliet, adding gravely, "I just want you to know that I trust in your friendship, your partnership, your... connection with Carlton. Wherever it's been and wherever it may eventually go. And I trust that you'll be another set of eyes watching over my daughter while I'm away."
Juliet squeezed herself harder. "You have my word."
Marlowe opened her arms, and Juliet felt as if she herself were the one needing comfort now, as she accepted and returned her hug.
"That's all I want."
They stood apart for a moment more, in silence, and Juliet locked the door behind her after she was gone.
She felt drained. Exposed.
Aware.
And Carlton was on her mind all night long.
. . . . .
. . . .