Title: Weekend in the Country
Rating: PG-13 for mature themes and language
Spoilers: Set right after "Dance With Me"
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Characters belong to Steven Bochco Productions.
Summary: Jim and Christie visit Christie's parents for the first time since the shooting, and drama ensues.
Author's Note: Sorry, this chapter took longer than expected. It's also a lot longer than expected! Enjoy and please leave a review to motivate me to write more. :-) Lots of credit on this chapter goes to Zuzuu5 and The Divine Mrs. E, who gave me insights on this chapter that got me past a bit of a block and made the story much better than it would've been otherwise. So thanks!
Chapter 2
Ten minutes after leaving the interstate, I was turning our Volvo into my parents' long driveway. They lived just outside the town limits in the same house they'd bought 40 years ago, a century-old white clapboard farmhouse on four wooded acres. As we drove down the tree-lined, gravel drive, everything I saw made me both nostalgic for my childhood and happy to be returning after such an extended absence. A tiny wriggle of worry popped up alongside the pleasant feelings, as I remembered Jim's remarks about my dad, but I managed to push them aside and focus on the vivid memories that leapt to mind everywhere I looked.
"Oh, my mom's roses are gorgeous this year," I told Jim. "We'll have to go see them later." The magenta blooms that wound around a long split-rail fence separating our property from the next were my mother's special project, and I knew how much hard work went into them year after year.
I barely had time to shut off the engine once we pulled up beside my parents' blue Camry in the front yard before the front door burst open and a tiny, dark-haired figure came rushing across the porch and down the steps. "Aunt Christie and Uncle Jimmy are here! Aunt Christie and Uncle Jimmy are here!"
"Lisa!" I called, stepping out of the car and opening my arms wide. My sister Sarah's six-year-old flew into my hug and squeezed tight.
"Aunt Christie! You're here!" The wriggling ball of energy in my arms looked up at me with adoring green eyes.
"We're here," I said, laughing. "And you've grown so much since Christmas! I almost didn't recognize you, you're such a big girl."
"Look, I lost a tooth and the tooth fairy came last night and gave me a dollar!" Lisa proclaimed, opening her mouth wide and pointing inside to a small gap.
I reached out and tipped up her chin to properly inspect her gums. "I'd say that tooth was definitely worth a dollar," I said with a grin.
Jim came around the back of the car, already carrying my small suitcase in one hand, and his computer case and duffel bag over one shoulder, tracing the side of the car with his free hand. "Come here, squirt," he said, setting my suitcase down and carefully squatting to her level.
"Uncle Jimmy!" Lisa skipped into his embrace with such enthusiasm that she almost knocked him over. He grabbed for the car and steadied both of them while he gave her a warm hug.
"Hey, how's my favorite first grader, huh?"
"I got all my spelling words right today!" Lisa crowed.
"Wow!" Jim said in a voice filled with appropriate awe. I smiled down at them, wishing I had a camera. "I bet you got a gold star."
Lisa pulled back from him, a puzzled expression on her face. Her hair, the same color as mine and almost as long, swished all around as she shook her head. "Was I supposed to?"
Jim laughed, and so did I. "No, sweetheart. It's just an expression. It means you did good."
The child smiled, her face brightening again. "Yeah, I did. And I already finished my homework, too, and then I drew a picture of you and Aunt Christie and me and Michael and Mommy and Daddy and Grandma and Grandpa. Wanna see?" She tugged on Jim's hand, and he stood, still smiling.
"Sure—you can tell me all about it," he said, swinging his hand in hers. "But first, I need a favor," he said, looking down in her direction. "I'm going to need some help finding the house. Can you be my guide?"
"No, I can take you, Jimmy," I protested, but he looked up toward me and gave his head a tiny shake, his brow furrowing.
"Nah—Lisa can do it, can't you?" he asked her again.
"Yeah, Aunt Christie, I want to be the guide," Lisa said in a plaintive tone, looking up at me hopefully. "Please?"
"Just be careful," I told her. "Your uncle is precious cargo, you know."
"Yay!" Lisa did a little hop to convey her excitement.
Smiling, Jim reached down to pick up my suitcase, but I moved toward it and interrupted his movement, gently pushing his hand away. "I've got this one—you go ahead," I said firmly, not wanting to give his male ego time to react.
He nodded his assent, then reached out to Lisa and found her shoulder, nudging her to turn around and gripping her lightly. "Onward," he told her, and she giggled, then started marching forward.
Reaching back inside the car to grab my purse, I heard Lisa ask as they walked away, "Uncle Jimmy, are you still blind like you were at Christmas?"
Out of the mouths of babes, I thought wistfully, though I couldn't help smiling at the innocent question. I turned to follow them into the house and watched as Jim stumbled at the first porch step, and stopped, explaining to Lisa that she needed to tell him that they were about to go up stairs. They went slowly up the rest of the way, and I caught up to them at the door and held it open as they went into the foyer.
The house looked inside as it always had—my mother loved traditional décor, so everything was antique hardwood, lace, and tasteful floral wallpaper. I also smelled the familiar scent of coffee brewing, and it reminded me of my father, who drank several cups a day.
The massive mahogany grandfather clock in the entrance hall was just striking six o'clock as we came in. Once inside, Jim released Lisa and ruffled her hair. "Grandma!" she called in a singsong voice, skipping down the hallway toward the kitchen. "They're heeeeere!"
My mother appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. "So they are," she said with a smile. Lisa turned and led her back down the hallway toward us. My mother reached Jim and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, then put her arms around him, managing to avoid the two bags still hanging on his shoulder. "You look terrific," she told him. "Christine, doesn't he look just wonderful?" she asked me in an overly cheerful and slightly louder-than-normal voice.
I rolled my eyes and started to shake my head in dismay at her overreaction, but my wonderful husband just replied casually, "Thanks, Diane. It's good to see you," and gave her a quick squeeze. "You smellterrific—that a new perfume?"
"Yes, it is!" she exclaimed, as if his offhand observation was the most insightful thing she'd ever heard. "Jeffrey bought it for me for my birthday this year," she told him. "You like it?"
"Yeah," he said. "I do. Smells like flowers."
As they chatted, I set my suitcase down by the stairs and moved past Jim to receive my own hug and kiss from my mom. "I smell coffee—any left for us?" I asked her.
"Of course there is—I know you two," she said, and we both smiled. "Jim, let me take your bags up to your room," she said, reaching for them. "You must be tired."
"Nah, it's okay—I'll take them up," he protested, stepping to the right, toward the staircase. "Hey, Lisa?" he called.
"Uh-huh?" She poked her head out of the living room, where she was apparently watching something on television, based on the noises emanating from within.
"Thanks for helping me out," he said. "You're an awesome guide."
Lisa smiled and her cheeks turned pink with pleasure. I knew the compliment from her uncle had just made her day. "You're welcome," she said shyly.
"I have to go upstairs for a minute, and then you can show me that picture, okay?"
"Okay," she said happily, then disappeared again.
Jim took another step toward the stairs, and by the time I realized the mistake I'd made, it was a split second too late. I didn't even have time to open my mouth to warn him before he tripped over the suitcase I had dropped there unthinkingly. Fortunately, he was moving tentatively with one hand outstretched, and was able to catch himself against the stair banister and keep upright.
"Sorry, Jimmy!" I cried. I kept things off the floor instinctively in our apartment, but since we weren't in familiar surroundings, I had completely forgotten.
At the same time, my mother hurried over to him, grasping him arm. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he replied, smiling tightly. Moving away from my mother's grip, he reached down, found the suitcase at his feet, and ran his hand over it until he found the handle, then straightened back up. "Now I don't have to ask where the other suitcase is," he joked.
"Jim, why don't you let me take the bags upstairs, and you go with Christine to get some coffee?" my mother said, again, putting her hand on his arm again.
He smiled down at her patiently. "It's fine, Diane," he said, patting her hand. "I'll be right back." Gripping the stair banister tightly, he felt for the first step with one exploring foot, then headed up slowly.
My mother and I watched him go, then our eyes met expectantly. "Well," I said finally. "Could I have some of that coffee?"
As I walked behind her into the kitchen, I admired my mother's figure, still slim even at age 60. Her once-raven hair, shared by all three of her daughters, and now her granddaughter, was liberally sprinkled with silver. Besides being her mirror image, I had also inherited my mother's love of beautiful clothes, very evident that afternoon in her sky-blue sweater set and tailored black pants.
"Your dress is lovely," my mom said conversationally, gesturing to the sleeveless, flowered sundress I'd chosen to keep cool on a hot New York summer day. I knew her well enough to know she was using the topic as a distraction, but it wasn't going to work.
"Thank you," I replied. "Mom, listen—"
My mom held up a hand before I could finish. "I know what you're going to say, and you're right. I'm sorry—I'm hovering. I don't mean to, Christine, really—"
"It's okay—just relax," I told her. "He's not going to break. And if you keep fussing over him, it's going to be a really long weekend for all of us."
She smiled resignedly and sighed. "You're right, honey. I just…I just see him like that, and I want to help somehow." Seeming embarrassed, she turned to get a coffee mug and busied herself by pouring me a cup.
"You can help by just treating him like you did before he lost his sight," I replied, taking it from her and going to the refrigerator to get some milk. "Do you have any Equal?"
"I got some today, just for you," she replied, crossing to the pantry and pulling out a small blue box of my favorite artificial sweetener.
I smiled. "Thanks, Mama." As she handed me the box, I covered her hand with mine and let it linger for a moment. "He really is the same person he's always been."
She nodded. "Okay, honey."
After a few moments of small talk, I heard Jim come down the stairs. A few seconds later he appeared in the kitchen doorway, cane in hand and trailing the wall with the back of the other hand. He looked worried, so I asked, "Something wrong, sweetie?"
"Ah…" he began, moving toward the sound of my voice. He kept the cane close to his body as opposed to extending it full-length as he would outdoors or in a larger space. "I was coming down the hall upstairs, and…I think I might have stabbed the cat with the cane. I heard this, um, kind of screech? But I couldn't find her."
My mother gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, no, Rose!" she cried, obviously distraught. "You have to be careful—she's old and fragile!"
She headed toward the doorway, intending to hurry upstairs to look for the cat. Jim caught her with one hand as she moved past him, and I saw his contrite expression give way to the barest hint of a smile. "Diane…the cat's fine—it was just a bad joke."
"Oh, you!" she scolded him good-naturedly, slapping his hand gently. She shot me a look of relief as she added, patting his hand again, "Do you want some coffee?"
"Uh, no, I'm good, but thanks," he replied. "I'm gonna spend a little time getting reacquainted with the house. It's been a while, and I don't want to have to use the cane the whole weekend. So the cat will be safe," he added mischievously.
"I can take you around," my mother offered. "I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself—or Rose."
"I can handle it, Diane—I'm usually not a danger to myself or others, and it's easier if I do it myself. But first, I have a family portrait to 'see,'" he said with a smile, then turned and headed in that direction to find Lisa.
When he was out of sight, my mother turned to me with a wistful smile. "Doesn't it make you sad?" she asked softly.
I shrugged, with my shoulders and my facial expression. "Not anymore, most of the time," I said truthfully. "I'm getting used to him this way. And I think he's getting used to himself."
My mother nodded, but I knew she would need more time to arrive at the same place emotionally that Jim and I had already reached. The whole family would, in fact. They hadn't been living with the blindness 24/7 for a year like we had. "So, where is everyone?" I asked, wondering why Lisa was here while my father and sister were nowhere to be seen.
"I picked Lisa up from school this afternoon so Sarah could help your father finish setting up the exhibit," my mother explained. My sister had just started volunteering at a nearby contemporary art museum, which housed a small gallery where local artists could display their work. My father, an amateur photographer in his spare time, had shown several exhibits there.
"What about Ethan?" I asked, referring to my sister's nine-year-old, Lisa's brother.
"Ethan has soccer practice, so Wes is picking him up later." Wesley Langdon, my sister's husband, was my father's partner in his medical practice.
"Are we going to eat before heading over there?" I asked, absently rubbing my growling stomach. "I skipped lunch so I could leave the office early."
My mother's brow wrinkled with distress. "They're having hors d'ouevres at the reception, so I thought we would wait until then," she explained. "I have strawberry shortcake here for dessert afterwards."
"No problem," I said with a wave of my hand. "I can wait." I sipped the last of my coffee and put the mug down in the sink. "Are we ready to go?"
My mother nodded. "I'll get my purse and collect Lisa, and you collect Jim."
I found Jim in the dining room, tracing the wall and furniture as he'd been taught to put together a mental image of the room. "Hey," I said softly. "We need to head out now to get to the reception on time."
"Okay," he agreed. "Don't want to miss a minute of the exhibit," he added facetiously.
He followed me to the door, and I was surprised when he propped the cane, still unfolded, in the corner of the entrance hall. "Aren't you going to bring that?" I asked.
Jim shrugged, turning around. "Nah…I want to have my hands free."
"Jim…" I sighed. "I think maybe you should take it with you. Just in case."
"Just in case what?" he asked. "Just in case you get sick of my hand on your arm? I mean, I don't want to be an inconvenience or anything," he finished on a bitter laugh.
"You know that's not it. I just…fine, let's just go." I nudged him with my elbow, but he didn't move until my mother and Lisa came into the hallway. Then he took my arm and we headed out.
My mother offered to drive, and I gratefully accepted, allowing Jim to have the front seat while I shared the back with my niece. The museum was in the center of town, housed in a renovated warehouse. I described it to Jim as we approached, because it reminded me a little of our apartment building and I wanted to share the similarity with him. He was quiet, and I wondered if he was still upset with me for suggesting he bring the cane. He wasn't usually sensitive about things like that—not recently, anyway. After Clay's party, I had resolved to ask him to bring the cane to social events, because I had felt so bad leaving him to stand alone, not able to orient himself at all in unfamiliar surroundings. Now I had to wonder if he actually preferred to be dependent on me in those kinds of situations.
People were already starting to arrive as we parked and went inside. I saw my sister across the room and waved to her, then headed over, Jim in tow, to my father, who was talking animatedly with an old family friend. "Hi, Dad," I said, reaching out to hug him.
"Hi, sweetheart," he said with a smile. "Judy, you remember my daughter, Christine. And this is her husband, Jim Dunbar."
I hadn't seen Judy in years, but she still looked as I remembered her, a tall, willowy woman with gray-tinged blond hair tied back in a neat ponytail. "Of course!" Judy said, extending her hand to me. "Good to see you again, Christine. And Detective Dunbar, it's wonderful to meet you."
Jim reached his hand out toward her voice, and she grasped it warmly, covering it with her other hand. "Please, call me Jim," he replied.
"I followed your story in the Times, and Diane has kept me up to date, too," Judy continued. "I was so glad to hear that you finally went back to work." She paused, then added, "What you did was so brave."
"Thank you. I appreciate that," Jim said, smiling slightly. I reached out and rubbed his arm reassuringly.
"Well, I'll leave you three to catch up. Jeff, I'll talk to you later," Judy said, and disappeared into the growing crowd.
"Enjoy the exhibit," my father called after her, then looked at me as if to ask what he should say. I angled my head slightly toward my husband, imploring my father to speak directly to him.
"How've you been, Jeff?" Jim asked, angling his head toward my father and moving his hand over in that direction.
My father hesitated, then reached out and shook it. "Good. Thanks for coming," he said simply.
"We wouldn't have missed it," I said.
A short silence descended among us, and I smiled awkwardly. "Dad, why don't you tell Jim a little about the exhibit? I'm going to go get something to eat." I squeezed Jim's arm. "Do you want me to fix you a plate?"
"Sure," he said, forcing a smile. I felt a little bad about leaving him to fend for himself, but I this would be a good opportunity for him and my dad to talk a little.
My father didn't voice an objection, so I slipped away from the pair and headed for the small buffet stationed in one corner of the large, airy room. Without intending to do so, I meandered by the exhibit on my way over. About ten large, black mesh screens were set up in the center of the room, and they were covered with my father's photographs, stark black-and-white prints set against wide white mats and metallic black frames. The contrast was stunning, and I felt myself drawn to study them, even though my stomach continued to growl.
Most of the pictures were of everyday townspeople, caught unawares by my father's knowing telephoto lens. A small child throwing a tantrum in the street, his mother standing helplessly by, looking embarrassed. A trio of elderly men playing checkers in the town square. A young dog walker being pulled along the sidewalk, almost against her will. My father had brought the town to life and connected all of its citizens in suspended animation. The effect was mesmerizing. Goosebumps sprang up on my arms, and as I pondered the images before me, I allowed myself a moment of sorrow that Jim couldn't enjoy it with me.
"Hey, you, were you gonna spare a hug for your big sis anytime tonight?" I looked up from my reverie to see my sister Sarah approaching, and I smiled an apology. She looked as she always did, her short bob hairstyle setting off the high cheekbones and wide-set eyes she'd inherited from my father. Carrying two children had slightly rounded her figure, and though she always talked about losing those last ten pounds of baby weight, she never had.
"I got caught up in the pictures," I admitted opening my arms to embrace her. "They're so wonderful."
She pulled back from the hug and glanced over at them, then back at me. "He's very talented. I keep telling him he should turn the practice over to Wes and take pictures full-time, but he won't even discuss the idea."
I nodded, looking over to where I'd left the two men, and was surprised to see Jim standing alone, looking very discomfited, already checking his watch. "What happened to Dad? I left him with Jim."
Sarah shrugged. "He was there a minute ago. I went by to say hi, and they were just standing there. It was awkward—I guess Dad's still mad at Jim for going back to the police department."
"Is he really that upset about it?" I asked. "Did he say something to you?"
Sarah hesitated. "He's made a couple comments. You know him, it's more his style to grouse and grumble than just come out with it already. How's Jim doing, by the way?" she continued, deftly changing topics. "Can't imagine this will be much fun for him, huh?"
I echoed her shrug. "I asked Dad to tell him about the exhibit. Listen, I better go over there. It's good to see you," I said, kissing her on the cheek.
I threw a wistful glance back toward the buffet but continued over to Jim. "Where'd Dad go?" I asked him as I approached.
He turned his head at the sound of my voice, and lifted one shoulder, cocking his head slightly. "He said he had to go talk to someone. Look…is there a chair somewhere? You could just put me out of the way and—"
"Jim, no," I cut in. "You'd be miserable. Come on, let's get some food." I turned, nudging his arm with mine.
He took it, but seemed reluctant. "I thought that's where you went before."
"I got sidetracked," I told him. "Did Dad tell you about his pictures?"
Jim shrugged again. "In 25 words or less."
"Well, they're very good. Do you remember his usual style—black and white, and he experiments with perspective a lot? Switching focus from foreground to background a lot? He's done more of that. The pictures are of random people in town…" I continued describing what I'd seen, pausing only to ask him what he wanted from the buffet. He held one plate and I held one, and when both were full with vegetables and tiny quiches, we moved to a tall table to stand at so we could eat. "Here," I said, brushing his hand with a napkin.
"Thanks. You trying to tell me I have ranch dressing on my face?" he joked, wiping around his lips.
"No, it's just in case," I said with a smile.
We chatted while we ate, and then we meandered around the room, talking some to my mother and sister, and greeting a few more of my parents' friends who had come to support my father. They all knew who Jim was, and the reactions varied from morbid curiosity to discomfort to effusive praise, but he handled them all very politely, even smoothly. I wanted to kiss him, but I just squeezed his hand, allowing my touch to communicate what my face couldn't.
An hour or so after we arrived, Jim and I were standing at the photographs as I read the captions and described some that I hadn't focused on before, when I heard someone call my name. Twisting around to scan the room for the source of the vaguely familiar voice, my eyes zeroed in immediately on a face that unleashed a flood of memories in my mind, even after almost 20 years. Douglas Crandall, my high school sweetheart—for lack of a better term—was striding toward us.
"Doug?" Surprised but not displeased at the unexpected reunion, I smiled broadly.
Doug came up to me and enveloped me in a huge hug, dislodging Jim's hand from my arm in the process. He still towered over me, and as I pulled back and studied his face, I realized not much else had changed since I'd known him. His hair was still sandy blond, no sign of gray, and his eyes a piercing hazel. Dimples creased his cheeks even when he wasn't smiling, though he definitely was at the moment. If anything, he was even more handsome than he had been as the popular high school student body president. The faint lines around his eyes and a slight weathering of his skin made him look rugged and wise, a sharp contrast to the innocent and naive kid he'd been when we dated. In fact, he reminded me a little of Jim, which wasn't all that surprising—I'd always been attracted to the blond, athletic type.
"How have you been? I can't believe it's been so long!" he said, still holding me by the arms.
"Me either," I said, a little breathless from his exuberant embrace. "What a nice surprise!"
I noticed Doug's eyes flicker momentarily over to where Jim was standing slightly behind me and to the right. "I heard about your dad's exhibit and thought maybe if I was lucky, you'd be here.
"It's so good to see you—you look fantastic. I think you're even more beautiful now than you were in high school—if that's possible," he added with a wink.
For some reason, the wink reminded me that I needed to bring Jim into the conversation, so I smiled in response to his compliment, then turned and took Jim's arm. "Doug, this is my husband, Jim Dunbar. Jim, Doug Crandall is an old friend from high school."
"Jim, good to meet you," Doug said, extending his hand.
After a momentary pause, I slid my hand from Jim's sleeve up to his hand and guided it out to touch Doug's in what I hoped was a smooth gesture. I caught Doug's questioning gaze and gave him a meaningful look in return, hoping he'd get the picture without my having to explain verbally what was now probably quite obvious to him. Apparently he did, because he moved his hand to grasp Jim's and give it a firm shake.
"Nice to meet you, too," Jim said, and though his tone was relatively friendly, I knew my husband well enough to know he could sense, and didn't appreciate, Doug's ever-so-slight flirtation with me.
"What are you up to these days, Chris?" Doug asked, and I suppressed a wince at the use of the old nickname. Jim was the only one who called me that these days, and I was afraid he would be irritated by someone else using it—especially this particular someone else.
"I'm a fashion editor in New York. We live in Brooklyn. Jim's with the NYPD."
Doug's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wow—what do you do for them?"
Jim didn't answer immediately, probably because he wasn't sure the question was directed toward him. "I'm a homicide detective," he finally answered. Without giving Doug a chance to respond, Jim continued, "What about you?"
"Nothing that exciting, I'm afraid," Doug replied, laughing. "I'm a business consultant with Ernst & Young."
"You live here in town?" Jim asked.
"No," Doug said emphatically, drawing out the word on an exhale. "I left for college and haven't come back until now, actually."
"Then how did you know about the exhibit?" I asked, puzzled.
Doug gave an embarrassed-sounding little chuckle. "Ah, I actually googled your name—I guess your maiden name now—the other day, just for kicks, and the museum website came up announcing the exhibit. I'm visiting my mom in Hartford this weekend and thought I'd take a shot that you'd be here."
That was the second time he'd made reference to hoping to find me, and I swear I felt Jim tense up next to me. "You married, Doug?" Jim asked, a little abruptly.
"Divorced," he replied. "About a year ago. Guess I put in a few too many hours when I was just starting out consulting," he added with a slight smile. "What about you two? How long have you been married?"
"Six years in October," I replied proudly, squeezing Jim's arm.
"Congratulations," Doug said. "Hey, your dad's exhibit is terrific." He glanced at Jim, and his brow creased, as if he'd just realized the significance of Jim's attending a photography exhibit.
I jumped in before he could make some inane comment, as a couple people already had. "I was just…describing some of the photos to Jim. He's familiar with my dad's work…from before he lost his sight," I explained, a little haltingly.
Doug nodded his understanding, but thankfully didn't pry. Instead, he gestured to the small bar set up at one end of the room. "Would either of you like a drink?" he asked.
"Jim?" I asked. "They just have white and red wine, I think," I added, craning my neck to confirm what I remembered from a quick glance earlier in the evening.
"I wouldn't mind a glass of the red," Jim said.
"And I'd love some white," I told Doug. "But I don't think you'll be able to carry all three. Why don't I come with you?"
"No, that's all right," Doug started to protest, and to my surprise, Jim interrupted him.
"It's fine," he said. "I'll be here when you get back—I promise," he added wryly.
"I'll just be a minute," I said, rubbing his arm reassuringly.
"Okay," he said, smiling faintly.
As we headed toward the bar, Doug brought his arm up to my back and rested his hand lightly there. "It's so good to see you, Chris. I've thought about you a lot over the years."
I smiled, a little uncomfortable at his familiar touch. "That's nice," I said vaguely. "One red wine, and one white," I said to the bartender then, glad to have an excuse to divert the conversation.
Doug stepped forward. "I'll have a glass of red," he said, pulling out his wallet. "I'm buying," he told me.
"No, you don't have to do that," I protested.
"Please," he countered. "It's the least I can do."
"Thank you," I said, smiling up at him. He wore a soft gray sweater and black dress pants, still obviously a sharp dresser. Another thing he had in common with Jim, I realized.
The bartender handed us our glasses, and the two men exchanged money. "So…how did you meet Jim?" Doug asked, pulling me gently away from the bar. I looked over at Jim, who hadn't moved a muscle. He looked as he had at Clay's party, awkward and alone. He'd found a corner of the exhibit wall, and was holding tightly onto it, I could see even from here. A few people milled around him, examining the photographs, but nobody seemed to be engaging him in conversation.
"Christie?" Startled, I looked back up at Doug. "Sorry," I said, smiling. "Um…oh, some mutual friends introduced us. I wasn't too interested in dating a cop, but Jim charmed me on our first date."
"And…if you don't mind my asking, how does he…he's still a cop? Even though…" Doug waved his glass in front of his face, indicating his eyes.
I nodded, not wanting to get into the details of the struggle Jim had had to go through to rejoin the department. "He got shot during a robbery, and just went back to work a few months ago. He's worked really hard to…adapt."
Doug whistled softly and shook his head. "I can't imagine," he said. "Must've been hard on you, too," he added, gazing sympathetically down at me.
I flashed a little smile and shrugged. "We got through it," I said simply.
"Do you have children?"
I shook my head. "No—we've…we've both been focused on our careers," I said with a tight smile.
Doug nodded. "I know how that is, trust me."
I glanced nervously back over at Jim, and was glad to see my brother-in-law, Wesley, walk up to Jim and clap him on the shoulder, greeting him. Relieved, I turned my attention back to Doug.
"So, do you ever get to New York? We'd love to have you for dinner."
"Sure, I'm there at least a couple times a year," he replied. "Let me give you my card." He dug in his pocket and pulled one out, pressing it into my hand. "I'd love to see you again. Unfortunately, I'm flying back to London tomorrow. If you're ever on the other side of the Atlantic, give me a call, okay?"
"Of course," I said. Nothing he'd said had been inappropriate, but there was something in his body language, and his tone of voice, that seemed to asking an unspoken question that I had no intention of answering. I still found him very attractive, but I'd meant it when I told Jim that I'd never consider having an affair. Especially not now, I admitted to myself.
We chatted for what could only have been a few more minutes, until I suddenly became aware that my glass of wine was empty, and I was still holding Jim's full one. My head whipped around to where Jim was, and he was standing alone again. I turned back to Doug. "I-I need to get this back to Jim," I said, holding up the glass and stuttering slightly.
"Oh…right," Doug replied smoothly, with the hint of a smile. "I guess it's easy to lose track of time with an old friend. Listen, I need to be going anyway. It was wonderful to see you, Christie. Really." He bent down and brushed my cheek with his lips, holding my arm for a moment.
"You, too, Doug. Thanks for coming." I smiled warmly, then subtly removed myself from his grip. "Take care of yourself."
With that, I set my empty glass on a nearby table and turned to head back to Jim, who must have heard or smelled me coming. Crossing his arms, he shifted position and his face tensed up. Before he could speak, I pressed the glass against his hand, saying, "I'm sorry, sweetie. I saw Wes over here a minute ago and thought you were okay."
"Why wouldn't I be okay?" he asked, with an edge to his voice. He took the wine and downed half of it in one gulp. "Where's Dougie?"
"Jimmy," I said in a warning tone. "He had to go. We were just catching up – I'm sorry I was gone so long."
Jim shrugged, smacking his lips angrily after another drink of wine. "No problem—I'm used to it by now, don't worry."
My eyes narrowed with hurt and irritation. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what that means," Jim said sharply.
"You know, I seem to remember asking you to bring your cane."
"Yeah, like the cane would've…never mind, just forget it," he snapped, finishing off the wine. "Here," he said, thrusting the glass at me.
I grabbed it and stalked over to set it on a table, then went back to him. "You're jealous," I told him.
His eyes widened, and then he made a dismissive gesture with his mouth. "Listen, I'm tired of standing here beside a bunch of pictures I can't see, drinking bad wine, and listening to some guy tell my wife he's still in love with her. If that makes me jealous, then I guess I'm guilty."
"You're being ridiculous. Doug was just…it's been 15 years, Jim."
"You heard him—you're more beautiful now than you were then," he said, and I smiled.
"And I'm married…to a wonderful man," I replied softly.
"To a blind man," he added, sounding bitter.
"So what?" I asked. "This is silly, Jimmy. I'll probably never see him again."
Jim shrugged. "Fine. Can we go now?"
I looked around the room. The crowd was diminishing, but the reception was still going strong. I caught my mother's eye, and she said something to my father, then left his side and came over to us. "Are you two having fun?" she asked.
"It's great," I told her. "But it's been a long day.Would you mind ifwe took your car and left a little early?"
Her face fell, and I knew she was disappointed. Her gaze flickered from mine to Jim, and finally she replied, "Of course. I can ride home with your father. Let me go get the keys."
"Let's go say goodbye to my dad," I suggested. "Here," I added, nudging him with my elbow.
Jim didn't take my arm. "Where's Lisa?" he asked instead.
I sighed and looked around, spotting my niece holding onto her dad's hand as he talked to another man in the doorway to the hall. "She's with Wes. Why?"
"Could you get her?" he asked.
I opened my mouth to protest, but decided it was easier not to argue. I took a few steps and called out her name. The little girl swiveled around, then dropped her dad's hand and ran over to me. "Hi, Aunt Christie," she said.
"Lisa?" Jim asked, taking a step forward. "Want to practice guiding me some more?"
"Sure, Uncle Jimmy!" she answered happily, going over to him and grabbing his hand. "You put your hand here—" she turned around and moved it to her shoulder, "—and…where are we going?"
Jim smiled. "Out to the car. I'll meet you there," he said, turning his head toward me.
"What about my dad?" I asked.
"I'll see him at home. Let's go, Lis."
I watched them go, feeling my anger rise up to the surface. Suddenly, I remembered my earlier words to my mother, and they took on a whole new meaning: It was going to be a loooong weekend.