SAILING INTO UNCHARTED WATERS
Chapter Thirteen
Lori finished ironing the collar of her blouse. Turning off the iron, she felt John's arms encircle her, pulling her close to his chest. The warmth of his mouth as it pressed against the side of her throat made her sad.
Since the loss of the baby, everything made her sad. Her world was a palette of muted grays and browns. She had zero interest in anything, including John. Something had to give, she knew it, but lost in grief, she wasn't sure what it was.
Johnny continued to press feather-light kisses against her throat. "Lori, are you sure it's not too soon?" he murmured.
She moved away, slipped on her blouse and began buttoning it. Throwing him a guarded look, she frowned. "You're kidding, right?"
"I'm not."
She sighed, irritated. "We've had this discussion all weekend. I'm going back to work and that's all there is to it."
"I'm not sure you're ready," he began, his voice soothing. "It's only been a week. You're waking up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, and your moods… well, your moods are…" He stopped, realizing he'd just said the wrong thing.
"My moods are what?"
"Nothing," he said, turning away. The last thing he wanted was a fight first thing in the morning.
"No, you started it," she insisted, stepping in front of him. "Go ahead – finish what you were about to say. 'My moods' are what?"
He looked at her face. She was spoiling for a confrontation; he could see it in the way her eyes darkened and her brows drew together.
For the past week, Laura's emotions had run the gamut from sadness and tears to unprovoked anger. The hospital had given them a pamphlet which had warned them about the moods each of them might experience. Losing the baby was not just physical; it was emotional.
John dealt with the grief by keeping it inward, refusing to examine it too closely. He was waiting it out, knowing that as time passed, things would get better.
Not Laura. Maybe it was the hormones; maybe it was just her emotional makeup. Either way, her grief had crystalized into anger. Unable to find a reasonable outlet for it, she snapped at anything, especially him.
He understood it, but it didn't make it easier to live with.
After five years together, they knew each other well: the soft spots, those tender, vulnerable areas susceptible to hurt. Lori's nasty remarks unerringly hit their target. He wasn't always successful at holding his temper in check when she scored a bulls-eye. He'd strike back, they'd give each other the silent treatment, and then Lori would come to him, filled with remorse, and they'd hold each other, trying to find comfort in a shared embrace.
Until the next time – and there was always a next time.
Hoping to avoid another altercation, he reached for her. One thing they always had going for them was their ability to reach each other through touch. It had always been that way between them, but he now wondered if it was enough.
"I'm sorry, honey. I have a big mouth. Look, it's just that I worry about you. You're the most important part of my life, you realize that, right?"
Lori's body grew less rigid as he held her. Relieved, he, too, began to relax, hoping they'd avoided yet another argument.
"And so I worry," he continued, kissing the top of her head. "Your moods are… well, they're fragile right now. You can't deny that, can you? This has been hard on both of us. But we're going to get through it. I know it doesn't seem that way right now, but we will. And we'll be stronger for it."
He felt her nod. For a moment, they said nothing, just held onto each other.
Finally, breaking away, she took a steadying breath. "I'm okay," she said. "But I need to go back to work, Johnny. There's nothing for me to do all day. I need to be with people again, focus on my work. Can you understand that?"
She looked at him and, again, sadness threatened to overwhelm her. Poor Johnny… she knew she'd been tough on him the past week.
She'd forced him to bear the anger she felt, and while she knew she'd been cruel to him at times – unfair – she'd been unable to stop herself. Perverse as it was, she experienced a sense of relief each time she struck a verbal blow that made him wince.
She'd wanted to hurt him, to have him get as angry as she was. He had a temper – she'd seen evidence of it when he talked about the thugs he brought in off the streets. Now, however, she sensed he was holding back and it infuriated her. Instead of telling her off, he managed to hold his temper, often just walking away from her.
Instead of diffusing her rage, his coolness only made her more angry and miserable. She didn't want his submission for God's sake! She wanted him to fight with her, to lose his temper, to rail against the fate that had taken their child from them… the child they had waited so long to conceive.
Instead, he was so damned understanding.
Understanding - yet missing the point. He understood the situation but he didn't understand her.
Maybe she didn't understand him, either.
Maybe it had always been that way. Maybe it had taken losing the baby to make her see it.
She had always been one for looking at a situation head-on and dealing with it. John liked to dance around problems, hoping things would work out on their own if you just let them be. That's why he was so unwilling to confront Andy about his drinking; it was why he had been so slow to look into a desk job. Despite his zealous pursuit and prosecution of criminals, when it came to personal relationships, Johnny was content to go along, rather than take positive action to make things better.
That's not fair, her conscience chided.
The memory of the slip of paper she'd found in John's pocket softened her harsh thoughts. With all that had occurred in the past week, she'd almost forgotten that John had cared so much about their happiness that he'd acquiesced to her pleas that he get off the streets – she'd seen the application for the lieutenant's position. She was no fool; she understood how much satisfaction John got from his job. She also knew she found it increasingly difficult to deal with the violence and fear that came with it. Knowing he'd made the sacrifice for their future happiness meant a great deal to her.
People could judge her harshly if they wished. She knew his cronies in the precinct would. But until you were a cop's wife, you had no idea what it was like to wonder if this might be the last time you saw your husband walk out the door… or if the next phone call might be the one telling you he wasn't coming home.
She certainly had not understood what it meant when she married him. She understood now, though, and the job was an increasing point of contention between the two of them. The baby… the baby had papered over the differences.
But now the baby was gone.
Still… Johnny loved her enough to apply for a desk job. He cared enough about the future of their marriage to give up something he loved in order to give her peace of mind.
Maybe this was a sign that they could overcome the different ways in which they approached life. Maybe Johnny was right: they could get through this – come out stronger than before. Knowing that she didn't have to worry about his safety was a gift, and one she didn't take lightly.
"I do understand, Lori," said John, interrupting her thoughts.
"If you think you're ready to return to work, then I guess you are." He raised his brows and shrugged. "Just do me a favor – you're not one hundred percent yet. Take it easy this week; try to simplify your schedule. Network a little, share the cases – you don't have to do it all, right? I know you, Lori – I don't want you going back to work at the same pace as before, not until you're well. And, honey – "
He stopped, unable to figure out how to put his concerns into words. Lori looked at him, puzzled.
"A lot of people, well-meaning people, are going to express their sorrow about the baby."
She lowered her eyes and bit her lip. She knew he was right, and it was the one aspect of returning to work that bothered her. She'd never been good at accepting the kindness of others, and this – the constant reminders of what she'd lost – she didn't know how she was going to handle it.
"Let 'em be nice to you, Lori. Not just because they feel you need it, but because they need it, too. People feel bad when something like this happens. I bet even those two old harpies are feeling some remorse now that…" John stopped. He couldn't put it into words for a minute. The loss of the baby still ate at him, too.
"I know what you're saying, John. I'll do my best. I know people will be bringing it up, trying to be kind. I'll get through it without biting anyone's head off."
He smiled and pulled her close again. "I know you will. Hey, how about I meet you for lunch today? I'll call you later, and we'll see if we can make it work, okay?"
"Okay," she whispered, rubbing her cheek against his. "It will be easier in the future, won't it?"
"Hmm?" Burying his mouth in her hair, he wasn't paying close attention to her words. "What will be easier?"
"You know, making our schedules sync. Once you're behind the desk, you'll be better able to keep regular hours."
Confused, John drew back to study her. "What do you mean?"
She smiled. "I've been waiting for you to tell me."
He stared at her. What was she talking about?
She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. "I know what a sacrifice this is for you, Johnny, and I love you for making it. This is a turning point for us, honey; I know it is. And once you've settled into the position, once the doctor says it's okay to try again, we'll try for another baby. I know I've been difficult, but I'll get back to normal, Johnny – you just need to be patient with me. I'm grieving, you're grieving… but you're right: we'll get through this together."
John frowned. "Lori, I don't understand…"
"I saw the notice about the lieutenant's position in the pocket of your suit jacket – when were you going to tell me? Johnny, this is just what we need. A fresh start. I'll do my part, too. I know what this means, how much you're giving up for me."
The job notice! John suddenly remembered leaving the notice in his pocket, forgetting to remove it when he left the jacket for Lori to take to the cleaners. Idiot! Idiot!
Lori's eyes were shining as she continued smiling at him.
Andy Sipowicz was pouring his second cup of coffee when Emma Smiddick entered the office, threw her purse down onto her desk and stared accusingly at him.
"Something wrong, Emma?" he asked, warily eying the old battle-ax.
"Why would you think anything is wrong, Detective?" she asked, her tone injured.
Andy sighed. Here we go.
Emma Smiddick had been a thorn in Andy's side since she'd joined the precinct as the replacement for their former secretary, Judy Davis.
He missed Davis. She had handled with poise and humor a squad room filled with randy, smart-mouthed cops, taking their good-natured taunting in stride. Diagnosed with breast cancer that spring and dealing with the cumulative effects of chemotherapy and radiation, she'd taken a leave of absence. Her prognosis for recovery was good and Andy was glad. Davis was one of the 'good broads.'
Unfortunately, her leave of absence created an open position in the department.
That's when Emma Smiddick, Patron Saint of All Pains-in-the-Ass, showed up, a transfer from another downtown precinct. Andy suspected her old precinct wasn't missing Emma all that much. In fact, he wondered if her departure hadn't resulted in a celebration down there.
"Okay, Emma, what's got your panties in a bunch now?"
"I covered for you yesterday, Detective. I know you've got some personal issues going on…"
Andy frowned. Who did this bitch think she was? "Gee, I must have missed confession hour 'cause I don't have any memory of discussing my personal issues with you."
The look on Emma's face was withering. "I'm not blind, Detective. I can see you have problems. And Lord knows I've tried to overlook them, always having your back, looking out for you. I've had your back since the beginning! But you don't seem to appreciate anything I do."
Andy brushed past her and sat down heavily in his chair. "So, what do you want from me, Emma? Flowers? Isn't that the universal symbol for apology? Although I don't see what the hell I owe you an apology for…"
"I stayed late last night to type those reports for you! I didn't have to do that! All I want is a little respect, a little thanks, for all I do."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Andy, swiveling the chair in the other direction and making a show of rifling through the pages of a file in his hands.
"Look, Detective, the least you can do is sign the reports. They've been sitting there all morning…"
"I had other things that took precedence."
"Like the bottle?" Emma suddenly stopped, realizing she'd gone too far.
Andy's face turned purple and he swung the chair back in her direction. "Look, sister, it's not all about you! Got it? The last thing I need is you ragging me about stuff that isn't any of your business. Your job is to do your job – that's it. And if you have to stay late, it's part of the job. Stop being such a martyr!"
"And you stop being negligent! I hear things, Detective. Who do you think you're fooling? It's a matter of time before you're out the door. You're a disgrace – even my old precinct knows it."
"Oh yeah?" Angry, Andy stood up, his hands balled into fists and resting on the desk as he leaned forward. "Well, here's a news flash for you, sister: everyone knows you're a whiny-assed martyr who your old precinct was willing – no thrilled! – to give up in a heartbeat!"
"That's totally untrue," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "I give my all to my job. I'm loyal to the precinct. How dare you say that? Why, I'd worked at that precinct for over twenty years."
"Really? So, Emma, put it into a historical context for me, will ya? Did they have typewriters when you first started working – or were they still chiseling words into stone tablets?"
Indignant, Emma sat down hard in her chair. "Well, I never!"
"No kidding," said Andy, again assuming his seat. "Why aren't I surprised by that?"
For ten minutes silence reigned, only interrupted by an occasional sniffle coming from the direction of Emma's workstation.
Andy ignored it.
The sniffles became louder until, finally, Andy heard Emma grumble, "I don't know why some people are so difficult to work with. It's just counter-productive, if you ask me... and if some people weren't so self-indulgent, things would run a lot smoother. But some people can't see their way past their nose…"
"And some people don't know when the hell to shut up," muttered Andy.
The phone on Andy's desk rang suddenly. "Precinct Fifteen, Sipowicz speaking."
The voice on the other end spoke rapidly and softly. "Hey, Sipowicz, here's a tip for you. Alphonse Giardella is having lunch at Marchetti's restaurant. Maybe you wanna show up and see what's going on."
"Oh yeah? And who is this?"
"Let's just say I'm a guy willing to do you a favor."
"What's in it for you?"
The line went dead. Andy replaced the receiver and looked at his watch. Where the hell was John? It wasn't like him to be late.
"Look, Emma, I've got to go out for a while. When Detective Kelly gets here, tell him to meet me at Marchetti's Restaurant."
"A little early for lunch, isn't it, Detective?"
Ignoring her remark, Andy replied, "Tell him it's about Giardella. Got that?"
"I've got it," she grumbled, writing the message on her blotter.
Andy nodded. "Good." Grabbing his jacket, he hurried out the door.
Emma sat there silently, staring into space, a frown on her face. As if waking up, she quickly grabbed a black marker and inked over the message Andy had left for John.
Maybe she'd remember to tell Kelly and maybe she wouldn't.
She liked Kelly. He was decent to her, almost flirtatious, and while she was a good twenty years older than the handsome detective, she had a bit of a crush on him. Why should she send him running after that pig of man?
Let Sipowicz call Kelly himself. If later questioned, she'd simply say she forgot.
After all, everyone experienced a little memory lapse once in a while...
Right?
To be continued.
Authors' Note: This is a continuing story from the writing team of WriterJasmine and Teeheehee1234. It's meant to be a fun attempt at writing a story together based on words that readers provide to us on a weekly basis. For more information about this, please read our profile and please feel free to participate. The 'bolded' words throughout the story are words that some of our reader friends sent our way this week. The words utilized are: fragile; nasty; zealous; puzzled; submission; altercation; historical; counter-productive; 'not all about you'; network; simplify; radiation; soothing; universal; zero; memory; symbol; taunting.