Expectations
Chapter 9
"It hits you different now, huh, Dunbar?"
Jim's hand tightened on Hank's harness and he turned to face Marty as they walked. "What do you mean?"
"When it's a kid."
Jim nodded, relieved to be heading away from the gruesome crime scene they had just spent the last two hours going over. Karen's comment about Jim being lucky not to be able to see things on the job came to mind now, but he couldn't take any comfort in it. He knew what he could imagine was often worse than what he used to be able to see. It was like when he used to watch horror movies. The suspense and the suggestion of what may have been there had always kept him on the edge of his seat far more than did the gory certainty of what had been shown.
Now he experienced crime scenes differently, taking note of the tension in the air, the unintentional verbal reactions of the others, and the words the others chose to use to describe it all to him. Their descriptions were usually terse so Jim had to rely on his gut and his imagination. Marty was right. When it was a murdered child, his mind did start to go haywire, particularly now.
"Same thing happened to me," Marty said, sounding strangely sympathetic. Jim wondered if he had been showing his reaction on his face and if Marty was trying to be comforting as a result.
"Oh yeah?" he said, keeping his tone light.
"Having a kid gives you a whole new perspective on the job—this kind of job, anyway. More places for your imagination to go. Any one of the kids we see could be yours."
Jim took a deep breath, trying not to let Marty see how his words had shaken him—although the same thing had been going through his own mind for months.
"The random ones, yeah," Tom agreed from Jim's other side. "But most of the kids we see were in rough situations to begin with or their families knew some shady people. That gives your kids the advantage right there."
"You can't start getting paranoid," Karen added.
Marty's sigh was full of the exasperation Jim had learned all too well to detect. "What do you and Tom know? Statistically, our kids may be safer because we don't hurt them and we don't associate with people who would, but it doesn't make a cop feel any better when he's out on the street, seeing what we see, knowing what we know, and thinking about his own kids at home. Am I right, Jim?"
"You're right," Jim said, nodding in Marty's direction. "How can your mind not go there with this kind of job?"
"Especially in your situation," Marty said in a tone so casual that Jim didn't know if Marty was even aware of the full implication of what he had just said.
Some part of Jim was gratified when people like Marty grew so comfortable they no longer considered his feelings when they spoke (although Marty never had), but it still rankled because of the truth mixed up with the ignorance. It's a little different for you, the husband of the slash and rape victim had said, implying the given that a blind husband could never be the real "man" in a relationship. The protector. Five years of marriage meant nothing in the eyes of people like that, nor did being a father. It was all about the blindness when it came to measuring who was a real man and who wasn't. Marty had come a long way toward making the best out of being forced to work alongside a blind man as if they were equals, but—he's already on modified assignment. He's blind. Marty still didn't get it and nothing short of Jim's sight being miraculously restored would convince him that Jim had any business being a cop.
"Some people are just like that," Christie had warned before Jim had been reinstated. "Some will never accept that you can do your job. Others will get used to the idea. Are you going to be okay, working as a team with people who don't think you should be a cop? It's going to happen, you know."
Jim had assured her that he wouldn't pay any attention to the doubters, but Christie had been right. More difficult than learning to do everything a new way on the job had been learning not to lose his temper when the comments came; both the deliberate and the accidental words that cut him down, sometimes making him wonder how he dared to show his face in public at all. But things could have been a lot worse. He had ended up under the wise guidance of Lieutenant Fisk and had been partnered with someone who had been willing to give him a chance, which was all he had ever wanted from a partner. Tom was slowly turning into someone with real friend potential and even Marty wasn't such a bad sort, as long as you stayed on his good side.
Jim wouldn't have lasted two days back on the job in some squads. He just wished he didn't feel so beholden to this one for having come around. No matter how good a job Fisk said he was doing and how much they all appreciated him for his ability to close cases, Jim couldn't shake the feeling at times that they were the ones doing him the favor for allowing him to come to work every day and letting him add his considerable brain power to their own.
"Hey, I got an invitation to Christie's shower," Karen said, dragging Jim back to the present. "That was nice of her to invite me. This Saturday, huh? Your place?"
Jim nodded. "Her sister is throwing it, but we didn't think it was a good idea for her to go someplace else for the shower."
"What are you going to do that day, Jim?" Tom asked, sounding highly amused.
"I—" Jim frowned. "I'll be making myself scarce."
It had been such a long time since a full day out of the apartment and left to his own devices had presented itself to him that he found the thought of it daunting. When he could see, he had welcomed such opportunities. He would go see Terry, shoot pool, have a few beers, talk for hours, whatever struck him as a good idea at the time.
He sighed and then straightened as a strange thought hit him. For the first time in nearly two years, he realized he missed Terry and the friendship they had had before that horrible day at the bank. Friends like Terry had never been very common in Jim's life—not since his army days, anyway. He had an abundance of casual friends, most of whom he hadn't spent much time with since the bank, but Terry had stood out as someone he could really talk to and now, with the prospect of a whole day to spend making himself scarce, he wondered how to occupy that time since Terry was out of the question.
"Here's an idea," Tom said. "How about on Saturday, while all the girls are doing their thing, you and Marty can come to my place and I'll barbeque some burgers and we'll catch a college football game on TV or something."
"Yeah, I'd be up for that," Marty said. "Jim?"
Jim felt a genuine smile spreading across his face. "I can do that. Thanks, Tom."
The smile kept coming back as Jim rode the subway home that evening. He hadn't wanted to push anything with either Tom or Marty, but he had often wondered if the two of them ever did things together outside of work and, if they did, if he would eventually be included. The occasional beer "with the fellas" after work was fun, but this was a Saturday. It meant more that they were making a special point of getting together with him over the weekend.
"That you, Jim?" an unexpected voice called from the living room as Jim opened the front door of his apartment. It was Christie's sister.
"Yeah," Jim replied. "Hi Marissa."
Her footsteps came toward him and stopped. "It's getting close now, huh?" she asked. "Twelve more weeks—if she goes full term. Christie looks like she's ready to pop."
"I heard that!" Christie called from the bedroom.
Jim cracked a smile and he could hear Marissa laughing under her breath.
"I don't get a hug?" Marissa asked.
Jim extended his arms and they embraced. She felt like a slightly shorter version of a not-pregnant Christie, but her smell was completely different. Different shampoo, different lotion—fruity, unlike the floral scents Christie preferred. Jim knew she didn't look much like Christie. Her dark hair was curly, her eyes were brown, and her face was cute and roguish; attractive, but not at all like the refined and obvious beauty everyone noticed the instant they saw Christie.
Marissa was the only person in Christie's family who knew that Jim and Christie had briefly been separated, and she also knew why. Jim hadn't found a way to broach the topic with her even yet, although he never encountered her without wondering just what she thought of him. Had he not been shot and blinded, she may never have forgiven him. Perhaps she hadn't forgiven him even yet, but pitied Jim too much for being blind to tell Christie to dump the two-timer. Marissa never gave any sign of being aware of his past indiscretions, but her friendliness only strengthened Jim's unease around her.
"What brings you by?" he asked as Marissa released him and stepped back, out of their hug.
"Oh, this and that," she said. "I'm helping to get the place ready for the shower on Saturday."
Jim felt himself flush at the thought of this sighted sibling, who already knew the worst there was to know about him, poking all over the apartment to make sure it was orderly enough for company. A maid came twice a month and Jim had been doing his best to keep it clean between times, but now he wondered if he had missed anything. He should have anticipated this. He should have asked Cara to give the place a once-over to make sure he was keeping it up to Christie's standards, but he couldn't do anything about that now.
He loosened his tie, trying to smile. "How ready is the place?"
"It's pretty clean, Jim. A few things out of place here and there, but you've done a good job. Christie's been telling me about how hard you've been working around here and that's really impressive, especially since—"
Jim sighed when he realized Marissa wasn't going to complete her sentence, his expression freezing into a bland mask of patience. He had grown used to people self editing whenever they got too close to the topic of blindness, but he wished they would just come out and finish their thoughts for once. At least Marty finished his thoughts, Jim thought, almost smiling to himself, thinking of how insulting Marty could be and yet how grateful to him Jim was because of how he came out and said what he really thought.
"All I can do is try," Jim said to fill the gap in the conversation.
"Your cribs have arrived," she said next.
"I know," Jim said, thinking of how many times he had nearly fallen over the large flat boxes over the last couple of days. "I'm going to assemble them and get things ready for the babies right after the shower."
"You'll need help with the cribs," she pointed out. "Those things are impossible."
"We'll figure it out."
He didn't mean to be curt, but it struck Jim as odd that Marissa couldn't bring herself to finish her sentence when she was complimenting him for accomplishing something but then she had no qualms about pointing out areas in which Jim was going to need assistance.
He went to the refrigerator for a beer.
"Oh, there's a lot of other stuff—" Marissa started to say, but Jim had already noticed that nothing inside the refrigerator was in its proper place and that covered trays and various other containers filled the shelves.
He faced Marissa. "What's this?" he asked, gesturing toward the packed shelves.
"Just food for the shower. My mother and I will be here that day getting a lot of the food ready and we thought it would be a good idea to have all the fixings ready to go so we have less to do on Saturday."
"But I—" he cut himself off, tapping his fingers on the counter. Anything he said at that moment would undoubtedly be an overreaction and the last thing he wanted was a petty argument with Christie's sister over the special treatment blind people needed.
"Want me to tell you where I moved everything?" Marissa offered. "I didn't mean to throw you off. I'm really sorry."
"I told you, Marissa," Christie called from the bedroom. "You can't go moving all of Jimmy's food around."
"I think she needs a little attention," Jim said, dropping his hands to his side and heading for the bedroom. Before taking too many steps it occurred to him that he might have to move cautiously in case Marissa had inadvertently booby-trapped any other part of the apartment. He went into one of the positions taught in rehab; one arm trailing lightly along the wall, other arm held in front of his body as a bumper in case of doors left half-open. He didn't like to walk this way in familiar settings, but at least it might spare him the humiliation of taking a tumble in front of Marissa.
"You okay, Jimmy?" Christie asked, probably wondering about Jim's careful movement across the bedroom.
He shrugged. "Everything is fine."
"Are you sure? You seem a little less—at ease than usual."
Pulling his tie off, he went to the closet to get out of his suit. "Don't worry," he said, emergingin only his boxer shorts. "Things will settle down after the shower when we get all the baby stuff organized and all the food put back again."
"I think you should stick around for the shower wearing just that," Christie said, a smile in her voice. "I have some friends who would be very grateful."
Glimpses of Christie's humor always lightened Jim's mood. She was serious by nature, so her jokes were a sure sign that she was feeling happy and relaxed, which meant it was okay for Jim to feel happy and relaxed as well.
"I would," he said as he pulled on a pair of jeans. "But I have plans."
"Really?"
"Tom invited me and Marty over."
"So you'd rather spend a day with Marty than stay here in your boxers with a bunch of women?"
He pulled a shirt over his head. "Yeah. I'm sure you understand."
"I'm sorry about Marissa," Christie said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I knew she was coming today, but I had no idea she would take over like this. Will you be able to handle the extra food for a couple of days?"
Jim sat on the edge of the bed and found Christie's cheek with his hand. "I'll be fine—as long as she shows me where everything is." Bending down, he kissed her.
"How was your day?" Christie asked.
A grisly crime scene and the body of a four-year-old boy popped into Jim's mind, all the more vivid because of how the knowledge of what had happened had been filtered through his imagination. He straightened his back.
"It was fine," he said, feeling his mouth tighten. Christie didn't need to know some things.
"I know that look," Christie said. "Tough case, huh?"
"Yeah," he said, grateful to Christie for not pushing the issue further. "You and the babies feeling all right today?"
"We're good, but it's getting a bit crowded in here. Uncomfortable. How am I going to make it through twelve weeks?"
"Watch it," Jim said, a protective hand cupping the roundness of her belly. "You better hope you get as many of those twelve weeks as possible. I keep reading about most twins don't make it to full term."
"I know."
"Jim?" Marissa's voice said from the doorway. "I need to get going soon so now might be a good time to show you what I did to your refrigerator. Really, I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I just didn't think."
Jim stood and walked toward his sister-in-law. "Don't worry about me. Just show me what you did and I'll be fine."
He followed the sound of her footsteps into the kitchen.
"How should we…?" she began hesitantly.
Jim opened the refrigerator. "I need to know by touch, so just tell me where you put things and I'll find it and—I guess that's it."
It didn't take as long as Jim had feared. Marissa had organized fairly well and in a logical way that made navigation easy, once he knew her system. Still, feeling around for things in front of a sighted person who wasn't very used to him being blind was never a comfortable thing for Jim to do.
"Okay," he said, straightening up and closing the refrigerator door. "Thank you, Marissa. Um—while you're at it, would you mind telling me if you moved anything else in the apartment so I don't go finding it the hard way?"
"This whole thing must have taken some getting used to," Marissa said.
Jim laughed, feeling at ease all at once now that Marissa was openly addressing the elephant in the room. "You aren't kidding," he said. "But my mind's eye has sharpened a lot and familiar places are easy as long as nothing gets moves around."
"Must be hard at work, though."
"Sometimes," he admitted. "But I have an understanding squad, and my partner, Karen, doesn't mind guiding when I can't have Hank with me."
"I've heard about Karen," Marissa said in a tone that put Jim on guard. "Christie tells me she's a beautiful girl and has been very—helpful."
Had the innuendo come from Christie or was Marissa adding her own interpretation? But here, again, was a case of a difficult topic finally coming to light between them.
"Karen's great," Jim said, choosing not to react to the suspicion in Marissa's voice. "She and Christie hit it off. You'll meet her at the shower on Saturday."
Jim leaned against the counter, waiting for Marissa to say something, but her long silence was eerie and Jim imagined her staring into his sightless eyes, looking for something there to support her suspicions.
"She's a good partner," Jim added, trying to keep any defensive note out of his voice. "Is she pretty? Sure. I can tell when someone is pretty, but—that has nothing to do with anything. Believe what you want, but I've been stupid enough for one lifetime and, at the end of the day, all I can think about is going home to my wife."
He longed for eye contact at that moment to see how his assurances were going over. It meant a lot to him for Marissa to believe him and learn to respect him again. Then he felt her hand on his forearm, first patting and then giving a little squeeze. It was the same kind of gesture Christie often used when she knew Jim was needing some kind of affirmation that would usually be visual.
"I'm glad to hear you say that," Marissa said quietly, probably so Christie wouldn't overhear from the bedroom, Jim guessed. "Christie didn't seem worried about Karen, but I had to wonder—"
"I don't blame you," Jim said, covering the hand on his arm with his other hand so he could connect back. "She's your sister. You want her with someone who won't do that to her. I know that Christie has forgiven me, but I hope you have too. I'd really like things to be good between us."
"Jim," she said, her voice tinged with surprise. "What a silly thing to say, after what you've been through…"
"That has nothing to do with it."
"Okay," she said, starting to pace in the kitchen. "I can't say I wasn't angry with you when it happened—and then I was mad because you got shot and needed her. I know you didn't plan it that way, but it just seemed a little convenient, you know? But God, Jim. Look at you. You're blind now and you've come so far; adjusted so well. Christie is very proud of you. I'm glad this came up today because it's been in the back of my mind for a while, this little doubt, wondering if you've really changed after all. Hearing it from you just now, I can see why Christie trusts you again, and I'm glad."
"What was that all about?" Christie asked after Marissa had gone.
"You heard us?" Jim asked casually.
"Not really, but you guys sounded so serious."
"She was just telling me what she got you for the shower. I like your sister."
Christie laughed. "I know. You've always liked her."
"I'm just saying."