Expectations
Chapter 11
Jim felt his watch, half expecting the hands not to have moved at all since the last time he had checked. They seemed unusually slow that day but finally, the shower was just an hour away. He turned to where he knew Christie's mother was sitting. "Sorry, Rebecca. I'll be taking your friend with me."
"Do you have to?" Rebecca asked and Jim could hear the jingle of Hank's collar as his mother-in-law fussed over his dog. "I've never seen such a sweet and adorable dog in my life. I don't think you had him yet last time I saw you."
"I didn't," Jim confirmed.
With surprise, he realized the last time Rebecca had visited, he hadn't even started going through rehab yet. He had been awkward, self conscious, devastated—but determined not to show it. He hoped he was giving off a different vibe now.
"I'd love to see you work with Hank sometime," Rebecca said. "I mean, out on the street. That must be amazing."
Now Jim's smile came easily. He didn't have to fake it when praise for Hank was the topic of discussion. "He is," he agreed. "You can always watch us out the window when we go."
He got Hank's harness and the dog was at his side before Jim even had to call him. Hank knew what the harness meant.
Voices approached from the hallway outside the apartment. Jim's head came up at the sound of laughter, both male and female, and then someone knocked on his door.
"Dunbar!" Marty's voice said when Jim opened it. "Good. You're still here."
"Hi, Jimmy," Shannon said, kissing Jim on the cheek and stepping past him. "Come on in, Marty. You can set the cake over here on this table and the gifts can go with the others. Thanks again for the help."
A puzzled frown spread across Jim's face. "Marty?" he said.
But Marty was already inside, apparently carrying things around for Shannon.
"Who is this?" Rebecca asked. Her tone confirmed the suspicion Jim had had all along about what Marty probably looked like. It was the same borderline-disturbing flirty voice she used with Jim.
"This is Detective Russo," Shannon answered. "Marty. He works with Jimmy over at the 8th Precinct. He was just walking past the building and saw me with my hands full and offered to help. I told him I was going to a shower here and he asked if it was for the twins and…here we are."
"What were you doing walking past my building?" Jim asked.
"Nothing," Marty said, sounding embarrassed. "I was on the subway and it hit me that York St. is just a couple of blocks from your building so I thought I'd swing by and see if you wanted to head over to Tom's together. I was just about to call, but I ran into Shannon and she was able to tell me which apartment it was so I thought I'd just come up."
Jim shrugged. "That's okay, Marty. Thanks."
"I feel better knowing Jimmy won't have to go over there alone," Jim's mom said.
Marty laughed, but it didn't sound snide. "That's not why I'm here," he said. "Jim would threaten to break my nose if I tried to play chaperone. I just thought…you know. It was on the way. You almost ready, Dunbar?"
"Yeah. I just need to find my jacket…"
Shannon introduced Marty to everyone, which gave Jim the chance to look for his jacket in peace. Several strange coats seemed to be hanging from the coat rack so it took him longer than usual to find his black leather jacket—the same one he had worn undercover the day Hank had been lost.
"It must be so exciting to be a detective," Gigi was saying to Marty in gushing tones. Since when did Gigi gush over anyone? Marty was possibly even better looking than Jim had supposed.
"It has its moments," Marty agreed. "I'm sure Jim's told you some stories."
Jim took a deep breath, trying not to think about how no one in this group seemed comfortable discussing that sort of thing with him anymore. So, he reflected, Gigi thought Marty was an exciting cop while Jim barely counted as the father of his own children.
"You ready?" Jim asked Marty.
"Yeah," Marty said. "It was really nice meeting all of you. Christie, you look beautiful. Good luck."
Jim kissed Christie and then he and Marty left amidst all the good-byes. Jim found himself starting to relax as they headed for the elevator.
"Nice place," Marty said. "Where are you gonna put the kids?"
"We have this room—it's kind of a bonus room—that's how it was listed when Christie bought the place, anyway. Too big to be a closet but too small to be a full bedroom. It has a window and a little closet and we're going to empty it out and get it all set up."
"You mean you're going to do that, right?"
Jim smiled and angled his head slightly in agreement. "That's what 'we' tends to mean around here these days."
"So what's the deal with Christie's friend?"
The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. "Christie's friend?" Jim asked, frowning.
"Shannon. Sexy blond with the—"
Jim held up a hand and shook his head. "You really don't want to be finishing that sentence, Marty," he said. "The 'sexy blond' is my sister."
Marty groaned and they rode the elevator in silence, not speaking again until they were out on the street.
"What?" Jim demanded when he heard Marty sighing beside him as they walked.
"Your sister?" Marty said. "How did I not see that coming?"
"Just watch it. She has a baby."
"But she wasn't wearing a ring!" Marty pointed out. "The kid's father's not in the picture?"
"That's right."
"So she's single?"
"A single mother."
"That's cool. I have a kid, too."
"Marty."
"Fine. I'll stay away from your sister."
"Thank you."
"But she really is—"
"Marty."
"Fine. But she could do a lot worse. I'm just saying."
The only other time Jim had been alone with Marty outside of work had been when they had gone looking for Hank together. Today had a very different feel. They were relaxed and headed for fun rather than hopelessly searching alleys. Jim felt more on a par with Marty now as he walked beside him without needing to depend on his guiding elbow.
"We have a choice," Tom said as he greeted them at the door. "Navy at Notre Dame or Buffalo at Kent State? Up to you."
"Notre Dame," Jim said at the exact moment Marty said, "Buffalo."
They all laughed.
"It doesn't really matter to me," Jim said. "You guys choose."
"Notre Dame is a better game," Marty admitted. "My brother went to Buffalo, so…you know. But let's watch the Fighting Irish."
Jim walked through Tom's apartment tentatively, half expecting a restraining arm to pop up, blocking his path. This was what usually happened when he entered a strange environment with Marty and Tom. Someone was always there to tell him he and Hank had gone as far as they could go without interfering with a crime scene. The room was carpeted, so Jim couldn't get a good feel of its size from sound of his footsteps.
"This is the living room," Tom remembered to say. "Uh—there's a couch straight ahead. And an easy chair ahead and to your left."
Jim took a deep breath through his nose, attempting not to be obvious about trying to get his bearings by smell. "I hope Hank doesn't scare your cat," he said, finding the couch with his foot and sitting down.
Tom's laugh had the easygoing sound that always made Jim feel comfortable. "Don't worry. She always hides when people—how'd you know I have a cat? Can you smell her? I didn't think she smelled."
"It's that bionic nose thing again," Marty said with a cynical laugh. "Dunbar has superpowers, remember?"
It had taken a while for Jim to understand why blind people disliked the assumption that they had special abilities to make up for their lack of vision. Now he knew that such an assumption would mean life was fair and that something was always given when something else was taken away. It was a lie; something sighted people seemed to need to cling to in order to feel comfortable with blind people.
"I don't smell anything you can't," Jim corrected. "I just get a different impression of my environment than you do. If you think about it, you can smell the canned cat food, you just didn't notice it because you can see and that distracts you from your other senses. No superpowers here."
"Her food," Tom said, sounding relieved. "Well…that's good. I'm glad it wasn't…you know. Anyone mind if we have pizza instead of burgers?"
"As long as there's no cat food involved, it's fine with me," Marty said in a certain dry tone he used sometimes.
Pizza, beer, the game, the "fellas"—contentment welled up in Jim. When had he last felt so relaxed? So normal? He had never anticipated reaching such a level of comfort with the same people who had made work so stressful those first weeks back on the job. Here, it was different. No expectations, nothing to solve, no one to impress. Sometimes they howled with laughter over nothing. Sometimes they sat back with their beers, not feeling obligated to say anything at all. Sometimes they talked and joked, no one being overly careful of anyone else's feelings. Until today, Jim hadn't known he had missed this kind of a day; this chance to be completely himself for a few hours without anything to worry or nag at him.
He had suspected something for a while and today confirmed it. There was a big difference between being accepted as a person and being accepted as a cop. Tom and Marty definitely accepted Jim as a person. He no longer had any doubt about that.
"So who was that lady who didn't want you to come over here alone?" Marty asked. "The one with the Thanksgiving sweater."
"Yeah, that's helpful," Tom said. "Have the blind guy identify her by her clothes."
Jim had to smile at that, but a sigh came with it. "She still wears that sweater? That's my mother."
"Ah. That's what I thought."
"So what's the story with your family, Jim?" Tom asked. "They all overprotective?"
This wasn't where he had hoped conversation would lead, but the questions had an open quality to them, kind of like the Crider kid when he had asked Jim about being blind. Some instinct told Jim his answers today would be met with the same kind of open-mindedness.
He shrugged with one shoulder and wrinkled his nose as he thought. "They're just not all that—comfortable."
"They don't think you can do anything," Marty added with a scoff. "They're right. You're completely useless, but you don't need a babysitter."
Jim laughed along with the others. Even Marty wouldn't have joked about Jim being completely useless if he had thought it was true. Why couldn't he have this kind of moment with the people he had known before losing his sight? Maybe it was because the people in his past life had Sighted Jim in mind when they saw him now and Blind Jim suffered in comparison. This was why Jim had allowed so many friendships to fade away after the shooting. The easy comradeship of the past felt forced. It couldn't be the same. Until today, Jim had thought he could no longer have the old kind of guy time, that he was too much trouble for anyone to seek out for casual comradeship, that he was too different from everyone else to be thought of as "one of the guys."
"When are you gonna fix up that room?" Marty asked. "You don't have much time. Christie looks like she could squeeze 'em out any minute now."
"She really huge?" Tom asked.
"Enormous," Marty confirmed. "Jim, you keep that old mental image, okay? It might take her a while to get back to what you remember. When Jordan was born, Sheila just seemed to spread out all over the place and she never really got it back. Not like your sister, now. How old is her baby?"
"Ten months," Jim said shortly.
"She looks good," Marty said, that tone back in his voice. Jim shook his head.
"What am I missing here?" Tom asked. "You met Jim's sister?"
Marty gave a lecherous whistle. "Oh yeah."
"Easy, Marty," Jim said, but he couldn't stop a smile from appearing across his face at Marty's sheer gall.
"Seriously," Marty said, all joking out of his voice. "You really that protective of her?"
"You just got divorced, man," Tom said.
Jim turned to Marty. "That was recent?"
"Yeah, you know," Marty said. "Around the time you showed up at the 8th.. I was having a great year all around. So, why are you protecting your sister from me?"
"Who says she's the one I'm protecting?" Jim asked, deadpan.
It took them a moment, but once they could tell Jim was joking, Marty and Tom burst into another of their hearty laughs.
"So, what's wrong with her?" Marty asked when they had calmed down.
Jim looked upward, thinking, and then faced Marty. "She's my sister. I just thought of a way to make her unappealing to you. Shannon looks an awful lot like me, Marty. If that doesn't turn you off…"
He heard a low laugh and Marty set his beer on the coffee table. "Sorry, Dunbar. We aren't in an episode of Seinfeld, so I don't see you when I look at her. What's the real reason this idea has you so spooked?"
The smile faded from Jim's face. He didn't object to his sister seeing someone like Marty. Once you got past his sarcasm and his inconvenient sense of humor, Marty was a good guy. Loyal. Even kind. Jim remembered how Marty and Tom had gone to great lengths to make sure that kid who had worked at The Le Sabre got her act together and went home to her family. A less scrupulous cop could have found any number of ways to have taken advantage of someone in her situation. Most would have, at the very least, just turned her back out without helping her get her life together. And it was Marty who had had the guts to stand up to Jim with the hard truth about the gun. Karen and Tom had undoubtedly agreed with him, but had been scared to tell a blind man he couldn't have something he had worked so hard to keep. As much as he had hated hearing Marty's words at the time, they had stayed with Jim since that day, proving to Jim that he had earned his place in that squad with his intellect and his skill and that the others were willing to come together and watch out for him even without the gun. He had Marty to thank for all of that.
Shannon talked a lot. She knew too much. She could spout off tales of embarrassing moments from Jim's past or she might get sentimental and spill her guts about how she felt about Jim losing his sight—even though she never did that when Jim was around. She could even go into a little spiel comparing Sighted Jim to Blind Jim just so Marty could have a good idea of who her brother really was. Jimmy used to be so macho and overprotective. He used to box. He used to play football with the rest of his squad. He used to get into fights. He used to…used to…used to. But Jim had to smile to himself. Marty would tell her Jim was still like that—with the exception of the sports. As much as Marty thought Jim shouldn't be a cop, he was still far more in touch with what Jim was capable of than were most of the people who knew Jim as he used to be.
"Where did you go, Dunbar?" Marty asked.
Jim straightened, dropping his clasped hands from his mouth. How long had he sat like that, not answering Marty?
"You okay, Jim?" Tom asked.
"Yeah," Jim said, managing a smile. "I'm good."
Marty sighed. "I get it. The sister is off limits. I can take a hint."
Jim laughed. "Eventually."