(Chapter 35. A jewelry shop, the beach house, July 4, 2033.)
Maribeth had awoken to realize with some surprise that, not only did she have the day off, but it was also Independence Day and she had planned nothing for the holiday. While her husband was off packing up his office and saying goodbye to his colleagues, she had made some phone calls and prepared a menu. Olivia, Keith, Ken, Sue, Alex, and Marilyn had all agreed to come help her prepare the food, and Amanda, Ron, their kids, grandkids, and guests; Jesse, Katie Lynne, and Lauren; and several dozen other people were going to come for a late lunch at about two o'clock and stay for the party until dark. Then, they might all walk down the beach to the pier for the fireworks show at ten that evening.
When Steve arrived home, Maribeth presented him with a rather long shopping list before he could even take his boxes into the den and set them down. Steve had made a joking comment about how if retirement were going to be like this, he'd have to find a part time job so he could rest once in a while. Then he had gone off to change his clothes. As he headed out of the house, he stepped into the den for a moment, got his badge out of the presentation case in which Tanis had placed it, and slipped it in his pocket. He had another stop to make before he started on Maribeth's shopping list.
On his way to the butcher shop where Maribeth preferred to buy her steaks, Steve decided to make a detour to the custom jewelry store where he usually bought gifts for his wife. Their wedding anniversary was in two and a half months, and he had an idea for something special for her. He wasn't sure whether the place would be closed for the holiday or, like many other retailers, be having a Fourth of July sale, but since he was retired now and had all the time in the world, he figured he might as well see.
Steve pulled into the parking lot across the street from New Heirlooms and was pleased to see that they were open. Now, if Marguerite was working, he would really be in luck. She always managed to take his vague ideas and turn them into elegant creations that never failed to delight and impress Maribeth. As he entered the store, he smiled and nodded at a college kid who looked up from the display case showing a large selection of watches. Since it appeared that Marguerite was alone today, and she was already busy with a customer, he just smiled when he caught her eye and then proceeded to browse for a while.
He started by looking at the jewelry sets. Whenever they went out or attended a special event, Maribeth always liked to wear a nicely matched set of earrings, a bracelet, and a necklace. She already had more jewelry than Steve thought she knew what to do with, but he also knew she would be wanting something special for Steven's wedding, which he was sure would be coming up within the next year. Just to see what was available and what the price range was nowadays, he wandered down to the other end of the display case to look at the engagement rings. As he did so, the college kid moved over to where he had been, and suddenly, Steve felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Discretely, glancing sideways at the young man and using the mirrors around the shop provided for customers to see how they looked wearing different items, he tried to figure out why the kid had set his radar off. He had curly, longish, light brown hair and a few days' growth of stubble on his chin, and he wore a denim jacket with cut off sleeves and a gray, jersey knit hood. His jeans were faded, and his shoes were passing from well-broken-in to almost-worn-out. The grunge look, by whatever name it was now called, was coming back in, and Steve had noticed to his dismay that even Jesse's daughter, Lauren, had started wearing raggedy clothes when she wasn't working at Bob's.
So, why did this young man make him nervous? He moved to the other side of the display case so he could keep a better eye on the kid as he looked at the engagement rings, and it hit him. He couldn't have been much more than twenty years old. If he was in college, he probably didn't have much money, certainly not enough to buy the sorts of watches and jewelry sets sold in New Heirlooms. The only thing most young men his age might be looking for in a small boutique such as this would be an engagement ring, the one thing this particular young man seemed to have no interest in whatsoever.
As the kid reached out to pluck a pamphlet describing the shop's warranty program from its holder, another thing he didn't think would really interest a college student, the denim jacket opened slightly, and through the gap, Steve saw the flash of a gun grip. It would be too obvious to cross the room and whisper to Marguerite to call 911, and Steve really didn't want to turn his back on the youth anyway. Also, the young man hadn't done anything illegal yet, except maybe carrying a concealed weapon without a permit, and Steve, being retired now, couldn't even ask him to see that, not that he would, because if he were planning to rob the store, Steve would much rather catch him as he pulled the gun to ensure the charges would stick. If a black and white came in with sirens blaring, someone was likely to get hurt before he had control of the situation. Still, he needed backup. This is one hell of a dilemma!
Taking his cell phone out of his jacket, he punched in the speed-dial code for his old office and hoped someone would pick up. As he waited impatiently for an answer, his stomach decided to start burning again, and he sighed, knowing he'd have to go by the hospital soon or catch hell from his wife and everybody else under the sun. And Maribeth is gonna strangle me if I am late with her groceries. The suspect fidgeted nervously with the pamphlet in his hands as he turned to inspect a small case of cufflinks. Like anyone's gonna believe he has a use for cufflinks!
"Deputy Chief Slo . . . I-I mean Banks' office. This is Officer Donovan speaking. How may I direct your call?"
"Charles!" Steve said jovially into the phone, "I'm at New Heirlooms. It's a little jewelry store in Malibu, and I have found something Cheryl has just got to see. Could you put her on, please?"
His cordial tone had not drawn the attention of the young thief, but Marguerite, who knew Maribeth well and considered her a friend, did give him a puzzled look. When he caught her eye, he looked toward the suspect, frowned, mouthed the word 'trouble', and jerked his head toward the back room. Marguerite didn't get it, and Steve's stomach burned.
"Chief?"
"Just put her on for me, Charles," Steve said, trying to sound slightly annoyed instead of desperate, "I don't have a whole lot of time."
"Steve?" Cheryl's puzzled voice came on the phone. "What's up?"
"Cheryl, honey, you have got to come out to Malibu. I have found the perfect thing to go with those bracelets you like so much."
It was quiet on her end for a moment or two, then, "You're in trouble already, aren't you?" she asked in disbelief, and Steve immediately heard anxious activity starting in the background. "Did you even make it home, first?"
"Yeah," he said, not appreciating her assumption that he couldn't stay out of trouble long enough to get back to his house. As he spoke, he tried to get subtly closer to the young man. "Nothing too flashy, but if you can't make it today, I'll see if they can't hold it for you until you can come." He stressed 'flashy' and prayed she'd take the hint.
Marguerite hadn't gotten his hint to her yet, and as he continued strolling through the shop, he again jerked his head in the direction of the back room. She just frowned at him, confused, and went back to talking with her customer.
"You are in trouble, but you don't want lights and sirens, do you? Something is about to go down, but it hasn't started yet."
"That's right, hon., New Heirlooms, in Malibu."
"All right, Donovan has an unmarked car on the way, ETA of five minutes. Be careful, ok?"
"Sure thing, sweetheart, I'll be waiting for you."
Suddenly, Marguerite realized that something bad was happening, and her eyes widened momentarily. "You know," she said, taking hold of her customer's wrist and giving a small, urgent tug, "I think I might have just what you're looking for in back." Thankfully, the customer followed without protest.
As he closed up his phone, Steve heard a gun being cocked, and the young man stepped away from him. Pointing the weapon at Marguerite and her customer, he said, "Nobody's going anywhere."
As Maribeth boiled the pasta for her macaroni salad, she kept half an eye on the young woman chopping onions for her. She found it interesting that Emily had volunteered for one of the most onerous kitchen tasks, and wondered if perhaps the onion-tears weren't hiding some real ones, too. Em certainly seemed to be in a fragile state.
When she woke up that morning, Emily had been very stiff and in a lot of pain. She had refused all of Steven's attempts to help her, insisting that she would be fine once she had moved around a bit and had a shower. When she had realized that she had no clean clothes to change into, she had become very sullen and withdrawn, but she brightened immediately when Maribeth had offered to lend her some clothes. Surprisingly, though there was a six-inch difference in height, and a considerable difference in their figures as well, the two women found they wore exactly the same dress size.
Maribeth favored v-necks because they drew the eye away from the figure and up to the face, so it had taken a while to find something that would cover the scars on Emily's chest. They finally settled for a short-sleeved, pale blue, knit dress that buttoned up the front. The buttons made it easy for Emily to put on, and the blue was a flattering color for her.
Maribeth was not surprised that Emily was self-conscious about her appearance. She was a lovely girl, and the scars that marred her body had to be an unpleasant thing to face every day. So, it was with considerable pleasure that Maribeth watched as Em posed before the mirror in the borrowed dress. Her eyes lit up with delight and she said, "I look so pretty! I never wear clothes like this, but I just might start."
Despite three months of sedentary down time, Emily had maintained her lean, athletic frame. Though she lacked the curves to fill out the long dress like Maribeth did, she was considerably taller, and the hem, which came nearly to Maribeth's ankles, stopped at mid-calf on Em. She still looked drawn and pale, but that was improving almost by the hour now that the trial was over. Twirling slowly, she gave a girlish laugh when the border-print skirt fluttered out around her. The grass and flowers printed at the bottom seemed to wave in the breeze, and the butterflies flittered up the skirt to the drop-waisted bodice. Looking over to Maribeth, then, she smiled shyly, blushed prettily, and said, "Thank you."
A moment later, Steven had come into the room, took one look at her, and said, "Em, you look beautiful." He'd crossed the room, put his arms around her, and tried to kiss her, but by then, the smile had fallen away, and the shuttered look was back in place. She stepped away from him, and said stiffly, "Thank you, Steven," then she turned to Maribeth and asked, "Can I help you in the kitchen? I can't work fast, but I'll do what I can. I need something to occupy me for a while."
Now, Em was chopping onions. She had been silent for the past twenty minutes, except for the occasional sniffle brought on either by the fumes from the onions or from some emotions she was trying to conceal, Maribeth wasn't sure which. She and Mark had silently agreed that, as long as she didn't appear to be straining herself, they would just leave her be until she decided to talk to them, but Steven wasn't so patient.
"Em, are you sure you're all right?" Steven fretted.
"Steven, I can chop onions just fine," Emily insisted, her knife whacking the cutting board rhythmically in time with her words. "Even my weak heart can handle the strain. You, on the other hand, are driving me nuts!" Her voice slipped up an octave on the last few words, and it was clear that she was close to exploding.
Neither of them saw the half-amused, half-worried look that passed between Mark and Maribeth as they bickered.
"Ok, I'm sorry," Steven said, sounding a little hurt. "You've just been so tired lately."
"That is because I have no stamina any more," she said as if talking to a slow child, the knife still going 'whack, whack, whack' as she diced a small purple onion. "The reason I have no stamina is that I have been doing nothing for the past three months. The only way to rebuild my stamina is to do something! Now, stop hovering, go clean up the grill like you said you were going to do half an hour ago, and let me chop the damned onions in peace!"
"All right, all right, I'm going. You don't have to yell."
"Good," she snapped, and went back to chopping without another word.
Once she had gotten over her embarrassment about falling asleep and being carried to bed like a child, Emily had quite enjoyed a late breakfast with Steven, Mark, and Maribeth. The Chief had already gone into the station to collect the last of his things, come home, and been sent out again on some errands by the time she woke up, so she hadn't seen him yet, and she wasn't sure whether she was pleased by that notion or not. Her respect for the man bordered on awe, and that, combined with her guilt about the problems she had caused him made her feel awkward and insignificant every time she was around the him lately.
She knew she couldn't avoid the Chief forever, especially if she was going to continue seeing Steven, Although, if he doesn't back off . . . but when she heard there was a party in the works, she decided not to brood about the prospect of having to talk with him and offered her help instead. There were plenty of small jobs around the kitchen she could do while seated on a stool at the counter or in a chair at the table, and Maribeth appreciated the help. Emily was glad for the company, and as long as Steven quit hovering, she could look forward to a pleasant day.
"Hey, kid!" Steve snapped, and the young man turned the gun on him just long enough for Marguerite to drag her customer into the safety of the back room. Steve breathed a sigh of relief.
"Damn!" the robber swore.
Steve tried to suppress a chuckle. He knew he was in a dangerous situation, and he was indeed nervous about it, but he couldn't help be amused by the young man's reaction. The kid was so obviously a rank amateur that Steve supposed he should count himself lucky he hadn't been accidentally shot already. That sobering thought sent the acid washing into his stomach, and he quickly adopted a serious mindset.
"Look, son," Steve began, trying to start a dialog, "you . . ."
"Don't call me that," the youth snapped.
Steve sighed. The kid was very jumpy, but it seemed more scared nervousness than mental instability, and he didn't seem the mean type at all, just desperate, which could make him more dangerous than he seemed, but Steve doubted it. Perhaps the boy would respond to a concerned authority figure. "Well, I'm not going to keep calling you 'kid' or 'hey, you', so why don't you tell me your name? I'm Steve."
After a little hesitation, the kid shrugged his shoulders and said, "Andrew."
"Ok, Andrew. You don't really want to do this, do you?" he said conversationally.
"How do you know what I want?" Andrew almost whined, and let the gun drop fractionally lower.
"I don't," Steve admitted, "but I know whatever you do want, it's not this. You don't want to steal or frighten people and maybe hurt them, and I know you don't want to go to jail. So, why don't you put the gun down, and we can talk about it?"
Andrew raised the gun again. "I don't want to talk about it, old man!" he shouted angrily. "I just want to get the good stuff and get out of here. Now, put your hands down on that case and keep them where I can see them."
Steve did as he was told, and while Andrew wandered around the shop, trying to decide what was 'the good stuff', he continued talking.
"How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-one?"
"Nineteen," the boy said sullenly. "I'll be twenty in September."
"Have you been in trouble before?"
Andrew shrugged his shoulders. "Shoplifting when I was a kid. Dad beat my behind for that. And I got in a fight at school a couple years ago, but he let that slide because I was cornered."
"This is your first robbery, isn't it?" Steve asked, "It's your first real crime."
Andrew grew angry again for a moment, and Steve held his breath. "What's it to you?"
"Oh, nothing really," Steve tried to act casual, "but I can tell you're new at this. If you knew what you were doing, you'd have what you wanted and be gone already."
"Man, you sound like you think you know what you're talking about. What are you, a cop?"
Steve couldn't hide a smile this time. The situation was almost surreal. "Not any more," he said, "but until this morning, I was, for over fifty years. You don't strike me as the hardcore criminal type. I think you're here because you're desperate."
Andrew had stopped pacing and stood staring at Steve for a minute. "I don't believe you, old man. Now, shut up!"
"Andrew, I'm going to reach into my pocket and take out my badge," Steve said in a level, soothing tone. "They let me keep it as part of my retirement gift. I want you to see it because I want you to believe me." The whole time he was talking, Steve had been moving his hand toward his pocket. When Andrew made no threatening gestures and said nothing to stop him, he reached inside and pulled out his badge. Placing it on the top of the glass display case, he slid it toward Andrew so the young man could examine it more closely.
Andrew didn't bother to pick up the badge. He just took one look at it and said, "Oh, man! This sucks!"
"I was thinking the same thing, son," Steve said, "and the longer you hold that gun on me, the worse it's going to get for you. Why don't you put the weapon down, and we'll see if we can't work together to come up with a solution to whatever problem brought you in here in the first place? I'd like to help you if I can, but I can't do that as long as you're holding that gun."
"What do you care what happens to me?"
"I don't know," Steve admitted as he saw Davis and Reyes, the two officers Donovan had sent, approaching the doorway. He locked eyes with Davis while Andrew continued inspecting the jewelry and said, "I just know I care, always have, that's why I became a cop. The job isn't just about putting people in jail, Andrew. It's about helping people in need. Why don't you just stop this now, and let me see if I can help you?"
"Man, I got no choice. This is all my brother's fault!"
"What do you mean?
Did he force you into this?"
"No, man, he's in the hospital now, 'cause his bookie had him beat up," Andrew said. "My big brother, Richie, plays the ponies and loses more than he wins. Now, if I don't come up with the money he owes, Tony Morton is going to torch our dad's shop."
Now that the young man confided in him, Steve felt he was close to resolving the situation. If he could offer another way out, Andrew was likely to take it. "Listen, Andrew, at the moment, you're facing charges of attempted armed robbery, reckless endangerment, and carrying a concealed weapon without a permit. None of that's good, but if you cooperate now, it's not as bad as it sounds either, especially if you and your brother are willing to testify against Morton."
Steve had been speaking softly all along, keeping his tone gentle and soothing to try and calm the nervous young man and win his trust. Now he hardened his tone slightly but didn't speak any louder, "The minute you break one of those cases or fire that weapon, it's a whole new ballgame. Put the gun down now, and I can tell the judge you surrendered peacefully."
"What if I don't?"
"Then the two cops behind you are gonna take you out."
"I'm not gonna turn and look. I'm not that stupid!"
"There's a mirror behind me," Steve said, knowing the layout of the shop well, "look in it, and you'll see them."
Andrew glanced up at the mirror as Steve suggested, and Steve could tell when he saw Davis and Reyes, because his shoulders slumped. But he still held the gun.
"What about my dad?" Andrew pleaded. "He just paid the mortgage on the shop this year. He finally owns it. It's finally his. Can you protect him and his business?"
Steve softened his voice again. "We'll do what we can, Andrew, but I have to tell you, as a father myself, I'd rather have my son do the right thing, even if it's hard, than have to visit him in jail. And as a son, I wouldn't want to disappoint my father. You're trying to help your brother, but this is the wrong thing to, and I think you know it."
Suddenly, tears rolled down Andrew's cheeks. "I didn't know what else to do," he sobbed. He lowered the gun, and then put it on the display case.
Steve breathed a sigh of relief as Davis and Reyes came in and handcuffed the youth. Then he went to the back room and brought out Marguerite and her customer, assuring them that it was now safe. By the time he had finished giving his statement and helping a very rattled Marguerite close up shop for the day, Cheryl had arrived. So had a couple of crime reporters whom Steve knew got their stories by listening to the police band on their scanners.
Before Andrew was taken away, Steve let him use his cell phone to call his father. He made Davis promise to shepherd the kid through the system, and gave Andrew's father his cell number so he could contact him for the arraignment. He had every intention of honoring his agreement to help the young man. If Andrew could convince the judge that he was only acting out of desperation, and if he agreed to testify against Tony Morton, with Steve's testimony that he had surrendered peacefully and a sympathetic DA, he could get just community service. Normally, Steve didn't favor a slap on the wrist for violent offenders, but, despite his use of a gun, Andrew had been far from violent.
As the car pulled away with Andrew in the back, Steve felt Cheryl sidle up to him. "You just can't help yourself, can you?" she teased.
Steve shrugged. "I was just looking for a present for my wife."
"And you knew the kid was up to something," Cheryl recapped his statement, "so you kept your eye on him, saw he had a gun, and talked him into surrendering, but only after distracting him long enough to let the two civilians get to the safety of the back room."
Steve shrugged again. "After fifty years on the force, I guess some things are just automatic."
"Are you sure you don't want your old office back?" she asked teasingly.
"No, I don't. I'm retired," he reminded her, "and when I consider the paperwork Davis and Reyes are going to be filling out this afternoon, I don't think I want to come back."
Cheryl smiled up at her him. "You've still got it, you know?"
Steve smiled back and nodded. "I do now, but thanks for telling me all along."
"Any time, old friend. Any time."
"I'll kill him!" Maribeth yelled from the living room.
Mark and Steven rushed in to see what had upset her, and Emily followed along behind, shuffling slightly.
"What's wrong, Mom?" Steven asked.
"Your father," she fumed, pointing at the television screen, "I'm gonna kill him."
" . . . and former Deputy Chief Sloan distracted the gunman long enough for the customer and her to move to the relative safety of the back room, said Marguerite Furman, the owner of the shop. By the time the police arrived, Sloan had talked him into surrendering peacefully. Not a shot was fired in the incident, and no damage was done in the store.
"When we return, we'll tell you where to find the best fireworks shows this Fourth of July."
Maribeth gestured at the TV again and said, "He wasn't even wearing his Kevlar, the damned fool! He could have been killed!" She was absolutely livid. "He's supposed to be retired."
Emily looked at Mark and Steven and tilted her head toward the door. As the two men left, she said, "Maribeth, I suddenly need to sit down. Would you help me to the couch?"
"Man, he's gonna get it from Maribeth when she finds out!" Keith laughed. He, Olivia, Ken, and Sue were crowded in the jeep on the way to the beach house when the noon news came on. The lead story was about how newly retired Deputy Chief of Police Steve Sloan had foiled an armed robbery attempt at a small jewelry shop in Malibu.
"You think so?" Kenny asked. "It seems to me they understand each other pretty well."
"Oh, yeah," Keith said, "they understand each other, all right, and when she's through with him, Sloan is gonna understand that he'd better never pull a stunt like that again."
"Keith, don't you think that's going a little far?" Sue asked. "To a lot of people, what he did was heroic. I think she'll probably be proud of him."
"You didn't see how she was when he was sick with his ulcers, Sue," Keith told her. "She wants to wrap him in tissue and keep him in a box."
"She knows Steve is a hero," Liv added. "He has been for years. Now she just wants him to be safe. After what Em's been through the past few years, I can't say I blame her."
The conversation stopped then, and suddenly, Keith didn't find Steve's adventure quite so amusing.
"Thank you," Emily said as Maribeth helped her settle on the couch. When the older woman rose to leave, Em grabbed her wrist and asked, "Why are you so mad at the Chief?"
"Wha . . . Why am I mad?" Maribeth was surprised by the question. "Emily, you heard what he did. It was a dumb, dangerous thing to do. He could have been killed."
"Maribeth, he stopped a robbery. He kept two other people safe. It was heroic," Emily said. "Most people would be proud of him for that."
"Well, I'm not most people, and neither is he. He's been pulling these stunts for over fifty years now!" Maribeth was beside herself. "I was hoping he would be safe now that he's retired."
"The fact that he's done it before doesn't make it any less heroic," Emily reminded her.
"It doesn't make it any less stupid, either!"
Emily sat quietly for a moment, then she said softly, "I guess that makes me stupid, too, then, doesn't it?"
Maribeth opened her mouth to fire back when suddenly she remembered why the young woman before her was still so very ill. "Oh, Emily, no," she whispered, shocked by her realization. Her eyes suddenly flooded with tears and they slipped down her cheeks. "I just want him to be safe. I . . . I just . . . want him . . . to be safe."
Emily smiled gently, holding the older woman's hand and stroking her arm. "I know, Maribeth, but leaving the department isn't going to change the kind of man he is, and he is the kind of man who, in a crisis, is going to put others ahead of himself. You accepted that when you married him. You have to accept that now."
Maribeth took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and nodded. "I know that," she said. "I just . . . I love him so much, and . . . I'm scared to lose him."
"If he changes the way he lives, the way he acts, the way he treats people; if he becomes a safer person, a different person, won't you have lost him anyway?"
"I suppose I would." The two women sat in silence for several minutes, until Maribeth finally sighed and said, "I guess it's not so bad. It's not like it's his job anymore."
By the time Steve got home from his errands, the pink jeep in the driveway told him Keith, Liv, Ken, and Sue were at the house, and he supposed Alex and Marilyn had walked down the beach to get there. He sat in his truck for a few minutes, wishing he could delay the inevitable until his guests had left, but since many of his purchases were perishable items like ice cream and steaks, he figured if he didn't go in soon, Maribeth would just chew his butt out twice. Finally heaving a sigh of resignation, he climbed out of the truck, gathered his bags, and went in the house.
"I understand you had quite an adventure this morning," Maribeth said, and Steve felt the acid wash through his stomach. I should have told her about that before. Now it's just one more thing to catch hell about. He put the bags on the counter and prepared himself for a serious, embarrassing, and unpleasantly public tongue-lashing. So, he felt nothing short of astounded when his wife came over to him, wrapped her arms around him, and said, "I'm very proud of you, and I'm so glad you're safe."
He was so stunned, it took him a moment to respond to the embrace, and when he did, a quick look around the room told him most of its occupants were as mystified by Maribeth's behavior as he was. Only when Emily gave him a wink and a grin did he realize she had saved his bacon again. He smiled his thanks, closed his eyes, and held his wife a minute longer, grateful to be safe in her arms.
Emily leaned back in the chaise lounge on the deck of the Sloan family's beach house and sighed contentedly. When she had come out to sit in the sunshine an hour ago, she had pulled the hem of her borrowed dress up to mid thigh, and she had rolled the sleeves up above her shoulders to get more exposure to the sun. She had never been one to sunbathe. She didn't fancy risking skin cancer, and the idea of sitting and sweating in the sun while accomplishing nothing had never appealed to her, but she had decided that she could do with a little more color. Maybe if she looked healthier, people would stop treating her like and invalid; and she would start feeling a little better. The day had been warm and bright, and the coming evening promised to be balmy. The party had delightful, and now, with most of the guests down at the pier waiting for the fireworks display, she and Steven could have a chance to steal a few private moments. They had a lot to talk about.
The roar of the ocean and the calls of the gulls were a tonic, and as she took in the warmth of the late afternoon, it was wonderful to finally know she was free to sit and enjoy the world around her without the threat of prison bars closing her away from everything that she loved. She took another deep breath of the tangy ocean air and closed her eyes against the molten red of the setting sun. It may have been minutes or hours, but she sat there, relaxing in the waning light for a long while before Steven came to join her.
"Em?"
"I'm awake," she said dreamily.
"Oh, good, I brought you some lemonade."
She smiled and said, "Mmmm, thanks." Then she sat up, took the glass, and leaned back to sip it slowly. It wasn't sugary, but just sweet enough that it wasn't too tart.
"Are you warm enough, Sweetheart? It's going to cool off now that the sun's setting. Do you need a blanket?"
"Oh, I'm fine," she said, and stretched and yawned.
"You're not too hot, are you?"
"No, Steven, I'm fine," she replied patiently.
"Do you have enough sun block on? You don't want to get burned."
"Steven, I have been out here all afternoon without burning. I am fine," her patience was wearing thin and her tone was stern now.
"Maybe I should set up the sun umbrella."
"Steven!"
"What?"
"You are too tall, too young, and way too damned hairy to be my mama, so stop acting like her," Emily said. "I am fine, I am comfortable, and I was enjoying the sunset until you started clucking over me like an old mother hen getting ready to roost. If you sit down and shut up now, I will be able to do so again, and you can soak up the last of the sun with me, but if you're going to continue fussing, just go away."
"I'm sorry, Em." His embarrassed blush was made even redder by the evening rays of the sun. "I know I'm hovering, but I just want to make sure you're ok."
Emily sat up on the chaise, put one foot on the floor either side of the chair, her long legs straddling it, and looked her boyfriend in the eye. "I think we established the other day that I am most definitely not ok, didn't we? I have a bad heart, and I am missing a kidney." She pressed her lips together and tried hard to stare a hole through the deck for a minute before she looked at Steven again. "That doesn't mean I'm some damned china doll, though. I'm not going to break. I know my limitations, and, since I have no desire to die young, I'm not going to push beyond them just to worry you. I want you to hang out with me, Steven, not take care of me. I can take care of myself again, now, ok?"
Steven looked into her beautiful gold-green eyes, and saw the sincerity there. Emily had aged a lot in the past few months, but some of it had been good for her. Maybe she hadn't aged, but matured. She was more comfortable and at peace with herself than she had been since he met her. Before the shooting, she would have had to be doing something every minute, and he never would have imagined her just 'soaking up the sun' as she was doing now. She never used to like to be at rest, she'd always been driven, not in the way most high achievers are driven, but as if something terrible was running her down. She was more patient and forgiving with others and herself, and though she'd never been a mean person, she was kinder now. He smiled slightly, suddenly realizing that she was finally happy, and saddened that she had suffered so much to get there.
He pulled up another lounge chair. "Ok, Em, I'll take your word for it."
They sat for some time, side by side, holding hands, each of them with a glass of lemonade in the other hand. Finally, Emily sighed deeply and said, "You know, this is the first time since I was sent to prison as a kid that I have had absolutely nothing I had to do. This time it feels nice."
Steven chuckled. "I give it, oh, another two days."
Emily gave him a sideways glance through half-lidded eyes. "Are you laughing at me?"
"Yes."
"Why?" she asked as she let her eyes drift closed again.
"Because you have to stay busy," Steven said, not even bothering to look at her. The fading warmth of the sunshine had made them both lazy, and moving their lips to talk was just about as much effort as they could manage. "You're one of those people who just can't be still for long. You always have to be up to something."
"'No individual has any right to come into the world and go out of it without leaving behind him distinct and legitimate reasons for having passed through it,'" Emily quoted, the words rolling off her tongue almost as if they were her own.
"Hey, that's deep. No fair, I thought we were supposed to be relaxing."
"That's George Washington Carver, and discussing the deep and important issues of life is relaxing to me."
"Ok, then, if you want to play that way," Steven said, still with his eyes closed, "in three weeks in March, you saved Moretti's life, uncovered nine Mafia puppets in the LAPD including Leigh Ann, Rossi, Merino, Velasquez, and the five guys that came after you at the safe house my dad set up for that sting. You captured six Mafia thugs who were waiting to kill Moretti at a phony safe house, and helped Moretti get back in shape so he can live a longer, fuller life instead of dying young. Then you reunited him with his long-lost son and grandson, and put one of the biggest mobsters in the country behind bars by safely delivering the key witness to his trial. You also saved my dad's life twice, thank you very much, when he got sick at Mann's and then in court. Today, you saved him from a serious butt chewing by my mother and effectively preempted the ruination of her Independence Day picnic. I think you have about met your quota of 'distinct and legitimate reasons' for this lifetime." Steven would have ticked everything off on his fingers as he spoke, but he was still holding hands with Em, and besides, he was just feeling too lazy.
"Yeah," Em agreed, "I suppose I have."
"Good. Then I guess you can take it easy for the rest of your life."
"I don't think so," she said. "I'm still here and as they say, 'idle hands are the devil's workshop'"
Steven laughed. "Ok, that one's a little more familiar. Is that the Bible or something?"
"Or something, I suppose," Emily said. "My mama would know if it was the Bible, but the fact is, if I am not busy, I'll get bored."
"Catch up on your reading."
"I already have," Emily said. "Three months in the hospital gives one plenty of time to read."
"Then arrange flowers. That would be a nice hobby."
"Be not simply good, be good for something," she countered.
"Henry David Thoreau," Steven said with a laugh. "You've got a quote for everything, don't you?"
"Yeah. I just figure, if I am still here, I should be contributing something."
"Then learn to paint. A lot of people like art and you could donate the proceeds to one of your foundations."
"I can already paint. It's not a challenge any more."
"Draw."
"If I can paint, I can do that, too."
"Take up playing the bassoon."
"I already know how."
"Damn, Em, is there anything you've never learned to do?"
"Well, I can't make a decent pie crust to save my life or make biscuits that are any better than paperweights."
"Well, then, learn to bake."
"Why?"
"Because I plan to marry you some day, and it would be nice to have a wife who knows how to make a decent pie crust."
The young lovers laid on their side-by-side lounge chairs a while longer, enjoying the beautiful summer's sunset as the sky faded from pulsing orange to blood red to pale pink to silver to a blue that was somehow darker than black. Emily opened her eyes and looked at the sky. There weren't as many stars visible here in LA, and it was one of the things she missed most about Pennsylvania, but the sky was such a pretty color at night that it almost made up for the missing constellations.
Sighing, Emily said, "Life's too short to make pastry." There was another quiet moment, then she giggled a little and added, "But, I wouldn't mind making whoopie."
Steven was confused for a moment because it had been so long since either of them had spoken that his thoughts had wandered a long way from the piecrust comment. Finally recalling their conversation, he laughed with her and said, "I think we could arrange that."
In the closing darkness, he missed the nervous look Emily shot him, but he heard the anxiety in her voice when she said, "I'm not sure I'm up for that yet."
"Then how about a walk on the beach instead?"
"I . . .I don't know, Steven. I'd hate to get out there and not be able to make it back."
"We'll walk slowly, and we won't go far," he reassured her. "I'll take Dad's camp-chair-in-a-bag in case you need a rest, and if you get too tired, I'll carry you back."
"Making me an offer I can't refuse, are you?" she laughed. "All right, I'll see if I can go as far as the water's edge." It wasn't a long distance, but it was about as much as she could walk in one go. She figured she'd rest there and then they'd walk back.
Steven offered her his hand, and she used the leverage to help pull herself up. Then, arm in arm, they made their way slowly down the steps and across the yard.
"You know," she said, "yards are different here from how they are back home."
Steven laughed, caught off guard by the peculiar comment. "Ok, I'll take your word on that."
"I mean it," Emily insisted. "Seriously, the ground here is all sandy, for starters."
"Well, Em, this is a beach house."
"I know," she said, "but I can feel it sliding under my feet all the time. Back home, the grass grows thick and dense in rich, dark topsoil. Below that, there's often heavy clay, usually terracotta-colored, or the color of tea with milk; and then, there's bedrock. It's solid," she told him. "It's firm, and the mountains stand eternal. Here, it's always shifting, always moving, always in transition."
"You're homesick, aren't you," Steven asked kindly as he paused to open the gate so they could step out onto the beach.
"Maybe a little," Em admitted. By now, the moon had risen and it silvered the peaks of the waves as they rolled in toward shore and left the troughs between them in deep shadows.
Gradually, they approached the water's edge, Steven being careful to let Emily set the pace. When they were close enough to feel the spray and hear the water boiling as it rushed up on the sand and hissing as is ebbed away, they stopped. Steven turned to face Emily, and reluctantly, she turned to look back at him. Her coppery hair was a dark gold in the silvery moonlight, her freckled skin shining like speckled ivory. He gasped when a single tear, sparkling like a diamond, slipped down her cheek.
Reaching up to caress it away, he asked, "What is it Em? Why are you crying?"
"Oh, Steven," she gasped, "there were days when I thought I might never see you again. Then there were days when I thought you'd never want to see me, you'd never forgive me for what I did to your dad, for the way I betrayed him, for the way I betrayed your trust, for what happened to your Uncle Ron. I can't believe you want me here. What did I ever do to deserve you?"
"Shh," he soothed her and took her in his arms. "You didn't do anything wrong, Em. You were just doing a job. You didn't betray me, or Dad, and what happened to Ron wasn't your fault. They know that, and so do I."
He held her a while longer, softly rubbing her back as she wept against his chest. Then, when she calmed down, he leaned forward to give her a long, gentle kiss on the lips. As if the moment had been planned just for them, the fireworks show started just as their lips met with a sparkling burst of red, white, and blue.
When they pulled apart, Emily smiled and said, "That was some kiss."
Steven shrugged. "What can I say? Some guys got it, some guys don't. It just so happens I do."
"Oh, and he's modest, too," Em joked.
"Don't tease," Steven said affecting a hurt tone. "I'm very proud of my humility."
"You're a nut," Emily told him, but by the sound of her voice, he could tell that she didn't mind at all. He leaned forward for another kiss, and this time, three roman candles shot into the air and exploded in the colors of the American flag. He could feel Emily shaking, and when he drew away, he heard her laughing. "I'm sorry," she said, "It's just too much like a movie."
Steven just smiled at her and shook his head. After a moment he asked, "Would you like to sit in the chair and dip your toes in the ocean for a little bit before we go back to the house?"
He could still hear the laughter in her voice, and still, some of the tears from earlier, when she replied, "That might be nice."
Giggling when he tickled her feet, she balanced against him, lightly resting her hand on his broad, strong back as he stooped to remove her sandals for her. Then, holding on to both of her hands, helped her walk out into the tide until the water splashed up to her ankles and almost touched the hem of her dress.
"It tickles!" she yelped, laughing helplessly as the water washed sand over and around her feet, and the fireworks boomed as a backdrop to their private little interlude on the beach.
"I know, but it feels nice, too, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, it does," she admitted shyly, "and it's warm." The last bit was said with undisguised wonder, then, as she settled into the chair Steven had unfolded for her, she added, "You know, this is the first time I have ever put my feet in the sea."
"Are you kidding me?" Steven clearly didn't believe her.
"No," she said, shaking her head as she settled into the chair and lifted her skirt high enough to keep it dry, "in fact, the only other time I have ever been on the beach was when I warned your dad about Leigh Ann."
"Well, then," Steven said, "I'm glad to be here for your very first dip in the ocean."
She sat quietly for a minute or two, listening to the tide, focusing on the sound of the water, letting it drown out the noises of the Independence Day celebration at the pier, and she told him, "I love that sound, the rushhhh as the water rolls up onto the beach and the hissss as it slips away again. It's like the planet is alive, and it's breathing."
"Mmm-hmmm," he replied somewhat absently, and then he came around to kneel on the wet sand at her feet.
She laughed as the surf rushed up around him, soaking him to the hips. "It looks like I'm not the only dip in the ocean tonight," she joked and propped her feet on his muscular thighs.
"Steven?" she queried when he didn't respond to her teasing, "Is there something wrong?"
"No, Em, nothing's wrong." He took her left hand in his and she felt a cool metal band slide around the third finger. "I love you, Em, and I want you to marry me." A huge starburst of blue and gold exploded behind him as he spoke.
"Oh, Steven."
He would have been prepared for her to gasp in surprise or whoop with delight. Tears of joy would not have surprised him, but he certainly wasn't expecting a tone of quiet sadness.
"Em?"
She took the ring off, placed it in the palm of his hand, and gently closed his fingers over it. Holding his hand shut with both of hers, she said, "I'm going back home with Mama and Daddy for a while. We leave the day after tomorrow."
"Why?" he gasped, closing his free hand over both of hers. There was so much more he wanted to say, but the one word was all he could manage.
"I have been through so much in the past few years, Steven. First, it was BioGen, not just what it did to me, though I was sick for a long time, but what it did to everyone. I don't know a single person who didn't lose somebody they loved. For a while, there weren't enough healthy people to bury the dead.
"Then I got out of a bad marriage, but it was a bad divorce, too, and I ended up moving three thousand miles from home to get away from my ex."
"Em, if he hurt you . . . "
She heard the threat in his tone, and stopped him before he could say the words. "Oh, no, Steven! He knew if he ever hit me once he wouldn't live long enough to hit me again." The whistle and bang of several quickly rising plumes of light seemed to punctuate her words. "I've never played that game. We just made each other so miserable. He hated my being a cop, even though he was one, too. He couldn't stand the worry, and he tried to smother me. It was all well-intentioned, but it drove me nuts, so, naturally I took the most dangerous assignments I could get just to piss him off. After the divorce, I couldn't stand to see him at work every day. I couldn't bear to be reminded of what a failure I was as a wife.
"Then I got into this whole mess with Moretti, and the trial . . . " She trailed off, not sure what to say next, and the crackle of fireworks filled her pause. Eventually, she continued. "Now, I'm at a loose end. I can't be a cop anymore, but I don't know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I don't know who I am anymore, Steven. The last time I remember being Emily--just Emily and not, Detective Baer, the investigator who shut down BioGen, or Sergent Baer, Deputy Baer's ex-wife, or Lieutenant Stephens, the cop who kidnapped Giancarlo Moretti and ended up taking four bullets from a gun smuggled into the courthouse--I was nineteen years old and living with Mama and Daddy. I'd just told them I wanted to be a cop, and I was going to start working on my degree in Administration of Justice, and my mama said she was proud of me."
In the dark, Steven could not see the tears that filled her eyes, but he could hear them in her voice.
"I lost myself somewhere between here and there, Steven, and I have to go back and find me again, or it won't be long before I have nothing left to give you."
All the while Emily had been talking they had sat with their hands joined around the ring. Now Steven pressed his face against their intertwined fingers, and after a moment, she could feel his warm tears.
"How long will you be gone?" he asked, looking up. The moonlight made his face a luminous white, and his blue eyes shone silver. An explosion to the south cast the right side of his face in a blue light.
"Well, I have to be back before the snow flies," she said matter-of-factly. "The cold will kill me."
"So, when? Late September?"
"At the earliest, or as late as after Thanksgiving, depending on El NiƱo and how much hovering Mama does."
"I'll be waiting," he promised.
"Don't say that yet," she pleaded. "You have a lot to think about, too, you know."
"I love you, Em, and I want to marry you. That's all I need to know."
"It takes more than love to make a marriage work, Steven," she advised him. "Trust me, I know. I loved Ian like he was the last man on earth."
They sat in silence for a few moments, and when he didn't argue any more, she said, "I'm a very sick woman now, Steven."
"You'll get better, Em."
"I'll get stronger," she gently corrected him, "but what's wrong with me won't heal any more. Do you want to be a father?"
He shrugged.
"That's something you need to think about," she said. "My body probably won't take the strain of carrying a child. Even if I could survive a pregnancy, since the BioGen virus messed me up to the point where stem cell therapy won't work, I have to wonder if I would even be able to conceive a viable embryo."
"So we'll adopt or contract a surrogate."
"That's easy to say right now because you want me to stay. It could be very hard to commit to when it comes time to start a family.
"There's a good chance I'm going to die a lot younger than you, too. If my heart or kidney doesn't go, the BioGen virus still might get me. We have no idea what the long-term effects of infection are. How are you going to feel thirty or forty years from now when you have to start dating again or face being alone for the rest of your life?"
"My granddad's been a widower for a very long time."
"I know," she agreed, "and if you ask him if he still misses your grandma, he'll probably tell you 'everyday'."
"But I love you, Em," he pleaded.
"I love you, too, so I'm not going to tell you yes or no right now," she said gently. "We both have things to sort out. Maybe, by the time I get back, we'll know what we want and what we need."
Steven disentangled their fingers and tried to slip the ring back on her hand, but she pulled away.
"Please, Em, keep it until you get back," he begged.
"No, Steven," she said, gently but firmly, "I'm not going to let you convince yourself that I have made some kind of commitment to you. What I will promise now is that . . . I will think about it while I am gone."
They sat in silence together under the moonlight at the edge of the tide for a long time. The fireworks exploded in the night sky, but they were both too sad to take any pleasure in the display. Finally, as the finale began, Emily said, "Steven, I'm getting cold now, and I need your help to get back to the house."
Without a word, he put her sandals back on her feet and helped her stand. Then he folded the chair and walked her up the beach and across the yard, back the way they had come. After the rest of the party guests had come back for their vehicles, Ken and Sue had called a cab to take them back to Brentwood because they were flying back to Pennsylvania the next morning, and Alex and Marilyn had walked home, Steven and Em spent some time with her parents and his. When Steve made a comment about Steven moving back into the Brentwood house with Emily, his son told him quite bluntly, "That won't be happening, Dad. She's going back East."
Steve looked from Emily to his son and said, "I thought you were going to propose."
"I did."
Then, Liv and Keith decided it was time to go back to Brentwood, the young lovers kissed goodnight, but neither of them could quite manage to say another word to the other.
As Keith helped his daughter out to the car, Steven headed downstairs to his grandfather's apartment and Liv and Steve looked on sadly. Maribeth had already said her goodbyes quite some time ago and headed for bed because she wasn't officially retired until the coming Monday and she had to work in the morning.
"I knew the day she walked into my office that she was just like her mother," Steve said somewhat bitterly. "I kind of wish I was wrong about that."
"Steve, that's hardly fair," Olivia said as Keith came back into the house.
"She forgot her dirty clothes," he said. "They're on the bed in the guestroom. Mind if I go get them?"
Steve stood aside and let him pass. As Keith walked down the hall to the guest room, Steve said, "It's kind of hard to be fair when your child is the one who is hurting."
"Do you really think she isn't hurting, too?" Liv asked incredulously. "I can tell you from experience, this is killing her."
"Oh, yeah, just like it tore you up thirty years ago, huh?"
"It did, Steve. It broke my heart, but do you really think I did the wrong thing?"
Steve was silent a minute, fighting down the anger and hurt he was feeling on behalf of his son. Finally, he looked at her and said, "No, Liv, of course I don't. I think what you did was best for both of us, but what she did to him, three months letting him believe she loves him, and then she puts him off like that, it's just not fair."
"And what about what he did to her?" Keith asked, coming back to join them. "Is that fair?"
"What did he do to her?" Steve asked with a challenge in his voice.
Keith was livid when he replied, but he kept his voice low so as not to disturb the rest of the household. "It's been barely a day since the trial, she's just got her life back, and Steven is asking her to commit to spending the rest of it with him. He asked our permission to propose earlier, and we told him that would be fine, but we asked him to wait a few weeks. We'd have warned him Em was going back East with us, but she made us promise to let her tell him. I guess, between the sunset and the fireworks, the evening just seemed made for romance, and your son got a little carried away. He put his desires ahead of her needs.
"Now, I could go ahead and be angry about that . . .
"
"But you won't, will you?" Steve said sarcastically.
"Actually, I'm pretty pissed off about what he did . . . "
"Keith!" Olivia sounded shocked.
"Olivia, stop it. I'm not going to stand here and let him take an attitude about Emily's actions while he denies that that his own kid was in the wrong."
Olivia rolled her eyes and headed to the car to keep Emily company, determined not to get caught in the middle of the two angry fathers hashing out their differences.
Keith turned to Steve and said, "If he were my son, I don't care how grown he thinks he is, I would probably take him over my knee for what he did and teach him a lesson about how to treat people.
"Steven is pushing Em too hard and too fast, and she doesn't need that kind of pressure now," Keith insisted. "She can't handle it. He was wrong to propose so soon, but what's done is done, and if our kids are ever going to be happy together, they're going to need us to be supportive and compassionate while they try to find their way.
"So, on the ride back to her place, when Em starts to cry, I'll tell her it will be all right. When she says she loves him, I'll tell her I know, and not mention what an inconsiderate jerk he was to her tonight."
Steve stiffened at the insult directed toward his son, but Keith just continued talking.
"When she tells me how sweet and kind and considerate he is, I'll agree with her, and say nothing about how he disregarded her mother's and my request to give her a little more time to get her life back together before he pressured her to make him a permanent part of it.
"See, Steve, I realize that the selfish jerk he was tonight was a momentary lapse, and the compassionate, caring man we have seen the past three months during her recovery is the real Steven Sloan. So, even though I want to deck the boy right now, I'm gonna have to let it go, for both their sakes, and whatever you feel about Emily, you need to do the same."
Steve stood for a moment, looking as if he was about to explode, then a change came over him, and he smiled regretfully. "Do you remember on your wedding day when you told me I was a better man than you for standing aside and letting you marry Liv?"
"Yeah."
"Remember that I laughed, and you asked me what was funny?"
"Yeah, you told me we should invite you back for our twenty-fifth anniversary and you would tell me. We never did invite you, so tell me now, what was so funny?"
"I had already figured out that you were the better man," Steve explained. "I knew it when you and Liv sat there with Ted as he lay dying, and you told him forgave him. I could tell you meant it, and I knew I could never be like that. What Steven did was wrong, and I will talk to him about that when he's not so upset, but Keith, if our positions were reversed, I don't think I could forgive him like you are prepared to do. I'm just not that . . . decent."
Keith had the good grace to blush at the praise, and, looking modestly at the floor, he shrugged and said, "That doesn't make me better, beach bum. That just makes us different. I saw how upset Em was the day she came home from the hospital. I don't know what you said to her in the garden, but she really was all right when the two of you came back. I have a hunch you forgave her for all the embarrassment and trouble she caused you, and you must have said something else to calm her fears. I couldn't have done that, because I was just as scared as she was."
The two men stood there in awkward silence for a few minutes, and then Keith said, "Well, it's getting late, and I should probably get my ladies home. We all have a lot of packing to do tomorrow."
"Yeah," Steve agreed, "and I know Maribeth is gonna want me to clean up from the party tomorrow while she is at work. That'll take a while, so I'll have to get up early." Steve stepped into the house, and Keith went down the steps. As Keith reached the driveway, Steve called out, "And Keith?"
"Yeah?"
"When Em's ready to come back to LA, tell her to stop by. We'd be glad to see her anytime."
Keith smiled at the man who had become his unlikely friend. "I'll do that, and thanks. You have a good night."
"You, too," Steve said, and shut the door.
