Expectations

Chapter 7

"What is it, Jim?"

Jim's head whipped up and, out of habit, he faced the sound of Lieutenant Fisk's voice.

"What?"

He heard Fisk's footsteps nearing his desk. "You okay?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah," he said, embarrassed to have been caught zoning—worse, to have been caught zoning by Fisk.

When he could see, he had often lapsed into deep thought, but being visually connected to his environment had made him better able to snap out of it when others approached. Now his mind was beautifully clear and free of external visual distractions. He could carry his thoughts deeper than he had been able to before and concentrate better but…it still embarrassed him to be caught at it. Whenever this happened and someone made it a point to bring him back to the present, he had a wild moment of wondering what he had looked like while in that zone and if getting his attention had been difficult. He had learned to laugh when Marty teased him about it. "Dunbar's thinking again," Marty had grown fond of saying. It was an accepted fact among the squad that Jim got a little weird that way from time to time. On the plus side, whenever Marty drew attention to this odd tendency, everyone grew receptive to whatever was going to come out of Jim's mouth next. They seemed to be in awe of the deep-thinking part of Jim's brain.

"You're not upset that you didn't get to go along with the others today, are you?"

Jim frowned and then he realized what Fisk was talking about. "No, no it was my idea to stay behind. I needed to be here to look into Dave Miller's alibi and I was able to get a lot more done than if I was searching that apartment with them."

"Good."

A chair rolled and Jim sensed Fisk pulling it near and then sitting.

"Do you need something, Boss?"

"No, I—well, I'm impressed that you knew to stay back today."

Jim shrugged. "It's no big deal."

"I know you're not a civilian aide, as you very clearly pointed out to me from the beginning, but that's a big step, knowing when to excuse yourself and when to put yourself out there."

"Thanks."

"Now, are you sure everything's okay? How's Christie?"

Jim smiled, but it was the kind of smile with a sigh behind it. "She's good. The babies are good. I'm in trouble."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"I missed her doctor's appointment this morning because of the homicide and it turns out her doctor is putting her on bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy. She called me a little while ago and told me."

"Why the bed rest?" Fisk asked. "You said everyone's fine."

"It's a precaution. Twins automatically make it a high risk pregnancy and Christie's doctor feels she would be better off not taking any chances."

"I see," Fisk said, probably nodding—at least that was what he was doing in Jim's imagination. "So…what kind of bed rest?"

Jim shrugged. "I was hoping you would know. You got kids, Boss?"

"Yeah. Three. One's married, the other two are in college."

"Your wife ever have bed rest?"

Fisk laughed, but it had a bit of a shudder in it too. "No. No twins, no complications."

"What does it mean, anyway? Bed rest. Will she have to stay there all the time? Will she be able to get up to use the bathroom and eat or will I—?"

"You up for that? Cooking and cleaning and shopping for her?"

Everything Jim had been thinking when Fisk had interrupted was suddenly in the open. "I—probably, yeah. I think."

"Your parents nearby? Hers? Anybody else in the city who can help?"

"My parents are in the city," he said, a hand coming up to his mouth as he thought. "My sister. Her sister. A retired neighbor who is friends with Christie. They help each other out from time to time. But I think I can…"

He didn't finish his sentence and Fisk didn't push him. "If you want to wrap things up early, you can go ahead and do that. Sounds like you need to get home. Help Christie get situated."

"Okay," Jim said, feeling for his laptop so he could shut it down. "Thanks."

He didn't know what would be awaiting him at home. Would Christie be mad at him for missing the appointment? Just how much of an invalid was she going to be?

"Christie?" he called as he entered the front door.

"In here," she answered from the bedroom.

Squaring his shoulders, Jim hung his coat and dumped Hank's harness.

"Hey," she said as he entered the bedroom. "You're home early."

"I wanted to make sure you're all set."

He felt the edge of the bed, checking to see if she had anything lying there, and then sat beside her.

Christie began talking before Jim could even get his thoughts straight. "I need to get some things set up in here so I can be more—"

Jim raised a hand to stop her. "Just a minute. First explain what this means, okay? You have to stay in bed all the time?"

"No," she said, her voice growing cooler. "I'm not on complete bed rest. I can do a little around the house and go to my doctor's appointments—unless things change. I can't go to work and I should stay in bed as much as possible, but getting up now and then is fine as long as I don't overdo it. Really, Jim, I wish you had been there with me to get the full explanation. All your questions would have been answered this morning and you would have known everything right when I did and—"

"I had a case."

The silence could have meant anything, but Jim suspected it wasn't friendly. Christie's jerky position shift confirmed the feeling in his gut.

"Don't interrupt me!" she said, the cold in her voice spreading across the room as she spoke.

Jim felt his face going into that blinking look of disbelief he knew he got whenever every response that presented itself to him could only make things worse. He opened his mouth to speak a couple of times but then closed it, knowing this moment wasn't about anything he had to say anyway.

"Great," Christie said when it became apparent Jim wasn't going to break that silence. "So now you're in I-can't-believe-I-have-to-deal-with-this-irrational-female mode, is that it? You don't have anything to say?"

"Christie," he said, hearing the pleading note in his own voice. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"I'm sorry that—that I made you mad."

"No, Jim, you need to understand why you made me mad and I don't think you do."

"I know why."

"Do you? Why don't you spell it out for me, then?"

He started doing the stretch that was about to lead to a much-needed neck crack, but Christie put a hand on his arm, startling the tension-releasing motion out of him.

"And don't do your pathetic little my-wife-is-stressing-me-out neck crack. Just answer the question."

He took a deep breath and then, head bowed, let it out slowly. "I missed your appointment and I—I interrupted you. I already said I'm sorry."

"This isn't good, Jim. Luckily I will be able to work from home—at least on a limited capacity—so that will pass the time,but I need to know I can count on you. I'm completely dependent on you now and I need to know you won't be taking off to a homicide when I'm here in labor."

"I won't, Christie. It was just one appointment—"

"Two. You missed one a couple of weeks ago. Of course you've already forgotten, but this is important. I know you're a cop, but you have a wife pregnant with twins and we need you here, too."

"I know. I will do my best to—"

"That's not good enough. God, Jim. Do you even know all the stuff I do around here? How are we going to do this?"

"I can handle it."

"Really? You've barely shopped since—well, you just don't do it. And how will we even get to my appointments? To the hospital when I'm in labor? I can't be driving myself."

Jim's head sank onto his clasped hands. "You're not talking about my job," he realized out loud.

She shifted, seeming to roll to her side. "I know."

"I will do the shopping and whatever else I can do around here." He raised his head and faced Christie, something burning inside him as he spoke, gaining momentum. "But do not make me out to be a slacker because I can't drive you to the fucking hospital! God, Christie! What are you doing?"

He stood and paced to the doorway, breathing hard.

"Jim, come back here."

Now her voice sounded almost gentle. Jim stopped, his hand searching for the door frame. He wanted to turn and go back into Christie's waiting arms, holding her and letting go of everything that had happened during the last five minutes, but that warm feeling had crept to his eyes and he knew he couldn't even trust himself to speak.

"Oh my God," Christie said, almost under her breath. "Jimmy? Just come sit here with me and we'll talk, okay? I'm sorry I said that. I just got scared."

After several even breaths, Jim turned in the doorway, but he didn't walk toward Christie. "We—we'll take a cab," he said, trying to smile.

"Jimmy."

Jim had grown used to imagining the expressions voices suggested to his mind. Christie's voice made him picture her with brows drawn, lip almost trembling as she fought back tears.

His hand gripped the doorframe, steadying him. "I just—I—I'll do the best I can. I'm not perfect—I never was, even before—but you have to trust me."

"I trust you. Please come here."

He went to Christie's side of the bed, kneeling beside her on the floor and putting his arms around her, kissing her. Then he stood, brushing the knees of his suit.

"Can we just start this conversation over? I think we can do better."

"Okay," she said so Jim could hear her smile.