Expectations

Chapter 14

The smell of paint had faded until it could have been just any room to Jim's sensitive nose.

Everything was in place now. All the boxes had been cleared, the cribs assembled, the furnishings and fixtures arranged…even the tiny baby clothes were folded in the drawers and hanging in the closet. Shannon and Marty had been over on two different Saturdays to finish the project. Marissa had even helped.

Now that the apartment was back to its usual orderly state, Jim found himself restless and wanting to be in that tiny room full of tiny things. He needed to know every inch of it; to learn it his own way.

Privacy wasn't an issue. With Christie in bed, Jim was free to spend as much time as he liked, running his hands over the cribs, the changing table, the shelves, the clothes, without worrying about being caught. It was small, but Shannon was creative and had found a way to make everything fit, even the rocking chair she had placed at the window between the cribs. Jim had spent a lot of time sitting in that rocking chair, Hank at his feet, as he took in the vibe of the room. The newness of everything gave him an odd feeling. He had never gone in there much, back when it had been used for storage, so this now felt like a new little world thrown into the old one Jim knew so well. Christie had always meant to fix it up as a guest room, but by the time the rest of the place had been arranged to her liking, she had decided to leave the room until inspiration hit. Imminent twins had caused inspiration to hit at last.

Jim knew it was gorgeous. Marissa had discreetly gone over it with him, telling him about the colors and the crown molding and the decorative toys on the shelves and the beautiful baby quilts Cara had made. She had even conveyed to him the way light filtered in through the sheer curtains. Thanks to Marissa, something of the charm and personality of this new place had settled within his consciousness, awaiting only the presence of two tiny beings to complete the picture. Jim found himself hoping Marissa would think to describe the babies to him from time to time. He suspected she might come close to doing them justice.

"There you are."

Jim jumped at the sound of Cara's voice.

"I didn't mean to startle you," she said, placing a hand on Jim's arm. "The room came out nice, didn't it?"

Jim shrugged. "You tell me."

"Don't pretend you don't know every part of this room by heart," she said comfortably. "I know you better than that."

He smiled at her. "Yes, you do. And I'm very happy with the room."

"You ready?" she asked.

The question made Jim start as a ripple of panic crossed him. "Is anyone ever ready?" he counter-questioned, trying to sound philosophical so he wouldn't sound nervous. "Being a parent is always unknown territory until you're faced with it, isn't it?"

She laughed quietly to herself. "I was talking about stroller shopping. Are you ready for that?"

Jim nodded, biting his lip before giving in to a smile at the misunderstanding. "Right. Stroller shopping. Yeah, I'm ready."

Christie had been given a stroller at her shower already, but they had decided to take it back because Jim had found it hard to maneuver.

"You'll have to go and pick one out you feel comfortable using," she had suggested. So Cara had volunteered help Jim find a place with a good selection of double strollers and to go with him to test them out. He could have gone alone, he told himself, but not having to was a great comfort.

"I forgot about the Christmas shoppers," Jim grumbled as he and Cara pushed their way through the crowd on the street.

"It'll be the same wherever you go this time of year," Cara pointed out. "Just suck it up and get it over with. I like having Hank here. He knows how to clear a path."

"Detective Dunbar!" a voice called.

Jim tensed for a moment. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"It's Artie Steckle," the voice said, now quite close. "I have Pete here with me. We're about to do some Christmas shopping."

"Hey!" Jim said, extending a hand so Artie could pump it enthusiastically. "Artie is the one who found Hank that time I lost him while I was undercover," Jim explained to Cara as he made his introductions. "And this is his nephew. How you doing, Pete?"

He wondered vaguely if he should try shaking hands with Pete, but not knowing where he was made Jim think of those awkward moments of trying to find each other's hands through shared darkness. He hesitated, but only for a second. Pete seemed to know where he was and Jim found himself caught up in an unexpected embrace.

"It's so good to see you, Detective," Pete said, releasing him. "I'm doing real good. I've had some training—I'm using a cane now—and I decided to go back to school."

"What's your major?" Jim asked.

"I had to change majors. I'm gonna be an accountant. Dean already has me doing some of his bookkeeping now and, once I graduate, I'll stay on with him and run payroll and take care of his books so he can keep it all in house."

"I see Dean once in a while outside the firehouse," Jim said. "He says you're doing a great job for him."

Pete laughed. "I try."

He sounded different. When Jim had first met Pete, he had thought of him as a kid; a scared kid with heartbreak in his voice. Now Jim sensed confidence, maturity. Even happiness?

"I'm sorry I haven't kept in touch," Pete said. "I meant to—after all you did for me. I just—well, things all started happening at once and I—"

"You got a life," Jim said for him. "I get it. It's okay, Pete. I'm glad you're doing so well."

"Thanks to you," Pete said, his voice growing quiet.

Jim shrugged and then laughed at himself for giving a non-verbal response to a blind guy. "Hey, I didn't go through rehab for you. You did that yourself. That was a big step."

"Tell him about what else is happening with you," Artie said, a great big smile in his voice.

"I'm seeing someone," Pete told Jim. "Her name is Tammy. She's in my major and—well—I got lost my first day back at school and she offered to help and—I didn't realize the cane was such a chick magnet."

They all laughed at that.

"You think that's a chick magnet," Jim said confidentially, "try getting a dog."

"Chick magnets, indeed," Cara said with a disapproving sound in her voice that made Jim picture her shaking her head.

"Just making an observation," Jim told her.

"Good-looking men like you and Pete here don't need 'chick magnets,' if you ask me," she said, but a tiny undertone of amusement could be felt through her words.

"How else are we going to get around?" Pete asked. It was perfect, the innocence in his voice—the same sound Jim had heard when Pete had earnestly assured Dean he wasn't about to jeopardize his new job by getting pregnant. Only now it sounded more like an intentional joke and Jim laughed heartily at it.

"So," Artie said during the next lull. "You Christmas shopping too?"

"Nah," Jim said. "Stroller shopping."

It hit him as he spoke that they knew almost nothing of his personal life.

"Your wife's expecting?" Artie asked in the warm tone Jim had immediately noticed when he had first met him. Something in Artie's voice had made Jim like him instantly and he still felt the same way.

"Yeah…due in February, but it could be sooner so we need to get this stroller thing settled once and for all."

"Your first?" Artie asked.

Jim smiled at him. "First—and second. Twins."

"Wow," Pete said, sounding as in awe of Jim as he had been when Jim had taught him how to piss standing up. "So—what're you having? Do you know already?"

"Girls. Both girls. And I actually need to be the one to get the stroller because I have to find one I can use with Hank here so we'll need to take a few of them for test drives."

"Got any names picked out yet?" Pete asked.

Jim and Cara both laughed at that. Cara knew, better than anyone, of the trial facing the Dunbars as they struggled over that very issue. According to the most recently agreed-upon rules, they each got to name one twin, but the other had veto privileges. All Jim knew for certain was that one of his girls was not going to be named Athena. He had made that pretty clear. They worked on their lists separately now to avoid bickering and then ran names past Cara, who offered feedback, but managed to stay neutral most of the time.

Jim sighed at the end of his laugh. "We're narrowing it down."

"Humph!" Cara grunted.

"Easy," Jim warned.

They parted ways, but Jim found himself thinking a lot about Artie and Pete throughout the rest of the day. His past encounters with both of them played in the back of his mind as he found the stroller that worked for him and as he showed it to Christie back at home.

When Artie had first refused to accept the reward money for finding Hank, Jim had assumed it had been out of pity; that Artie couldn't see profiting off of a blind guy. That thought had rankled right up until the moment Artie had asked for the favor. Jim could vividly recall what had gone through his mind as Artie had made that request. He had been relieved that Artie hadn't seemed to pity him. Gratified that Artie seemed to think Jim could be of some use to him in another way. Slightly embarrassed that he had seemed, in Artie' eyes, to have it all together as a blind man. Horrified at the thought of having to face someone in Pete's situation; to hear in his voice all the fear and hurt Jim didn't like to recall having experienced himself. He couldn't be a mentor, sharing his own experience, talking about things he had learned to keep inside so he could maintain the impassive face he presented to the world.

The more Artie had described Pete, how smart he was, how promising everything had been for him until his sight had started to fail, the less Jim wanted to have to do with the situation. Blind people made him nervous. Not once he actually met them; they seemed like anyone else, then. But the thought of them had unsettled him from the moment he knew he had joined their ranks. He was lumped together with the whole lot of them, from successful lawyers to beggars on the street. Blue-eyed Jim had not been a member of any minority group before the shooting. To find himself in one now—and one about which he was ignorant—would always be surprising to him, no matter how well he adjusted. But something had told him he couldn't turn his back on this boy.

And now Pete was no longer someone to cringe over, wondering how he was getting by, remembering that little break in his voice as he had said, "no offense, but I'm not a cripple." That had been hard for Jim to hear. The unspoken words, like you, had lingered in the air for a moment after Pete had spoken. Denial. Cutting down what Jim had taken pride in having learned in rehab by putting it under the "cripple" label. Jim took a deep breath. That exchange with Pete still got to him when he allowed himself to think of it, but it had been worth it because now Pete was happy. He was just a normal guy.

"You okay, Jimmy?" Christie asked.

Jim lifted his head, realizing he had zoned out while changing for bed.

He turned toward Christie. "I'm good. Just thinking."

"I know you're thinking," she said. "That's why I'm asking if you're okay. You've been preoccupied all evening."

"I ran into someone today…"

He had never told Christie about Pete, although she remembered Artie well. He briefly told her about Artie's request and how he had spent time with Pete, talking to him about getting help and cleaning his apartment.

"I had no idea you did that," Christie said, her voice full of reverence. "Come over here, Jimmy. I want to kiss you for doing that."

Sheepishly, Jim obeyed. "It wasn't a big deal," he said, leaning over Christie for his kiss.

One hand on his face, the other around his neck and pulling him close, Christie kissed Jim. "Don't tell me that wasn't a big deal."

He sat on the edge of the bed and took the hand Christie seemed to be offering him and squeezed it. "I owed Artie," he said.

"But what he asked of you—it wasn't easy and you did it. I know you don't like talking about what happened to you and how it's affected every part of your life, but you did it. You became a blind role model for that boy and you changed his life."

Jim shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts. "I don't mind talking about it," he corrected. "Telling people how I do things—that's fun sometimes. But—"

"But you had to get through to him before you could start talking about how you do things. You had to tell him how you feel about being blind and I know that didn't come easily."

Jim colored as something he had forgotten came up in his mind. "You want to know what I told him?"

Christie squeezed his hand. "I'd love to know what you told him."

"I told him that I got through it because of my wife."

He heard a small sound from her, like her breath had caught in her throat for a second, and her other hand joined the one Jim was already holding so she could give him a double squeeze. Then she gently pulled him to her in a hug.

"You really said that?" she asked. Her voice sounded thick, like she was suddenly fighting off a cold. Usually, when he heard tears in her voice, Jim felt guilty because he had caused the hurt behind them. This time was different. Even beautiful.

Her head rested against his shoulder and he settled into position beside her, his hand gently stroking a stomach so big he could swear it was growing under his touch. "He asked me if I ever wanted to blow my brains out," Jim explained. "I told him I thought about it every day and that if it hadn't been for my wife and a safe home to come home to, I would have."

She shivered. "God, Jimmy."

"You didn't know that?"

He felt the shake of her head. "I didn't know it was to that extreme. I knew you were down, but suicidal?" She shivered again.

"I wasn't serious," he said, pushing down on the side of her belly in case anyone was feeling kicky inside. "I said I thought about it, but I don't think I would have followed through. I'm glad I'm still here."