Chapter 5: Night Games (2.17) 4/1/93

Rita finally sat on the couch with a glass of wine and a bag of ice for her aching head. She leaned back for a few minutes, letting the shock of the cold pierce her temples. It had been ages since she had a headache, and this one was a doozy. She killed a man earlier today, and the sounds of the gunshots echoing through the bullpen were still haunting her brain. Why did this have to happen today, while making the most important decision of her career? The shooting reminded her of the negatives of moving across the country to San Diego. How could she leave Chris behind?

Chris would be furious with her if he found out she had a headache and didn't tell him. Although, she was pretty sure he already knew. When they said their goodbyes for the evening he asked her three times if she was feeling okay. He could read her like a book. She desperately wanted to invite him back to her place for dinner and a movie, but she couldn't. She needed time to think tonight without interruption or persuasion.

She traded aspirin for a tall glass of red, knowing she needed some liquid courage to further investigate the matters of her mind and heart. Bob was a great recruiter, she'd give him that much, and it didn't help that he was handsome and flirted with her every chance he got. Bob needed a decision tomorrow before his plane ride home. It was now or never.

Rita thought for a minute and then got up to retrieve a box from her closet. Returning to the couch, she opened it and smiled. Her letters. Whenever she felt sad or confused or nostalgic, this box was her lifeline. Revisiting letters from friends, former lovers, and her foster parents and brother brought her a sense of comfort during difficult times. She opened the box and flipped through the pile, looking for one in particular. She didn't have to search for long; it was close to the top, one of the last letters she had received. Unfolding it, she felt shaky. She knew this letter, in particular, would sway her heart, but she felt compelled to reread it now. Taking a swig of wine, she tossed a blanket over herself and cozied into the words on the page.

May 2, 1992

Dear Rita,

Happy birthday, beautiful! My Grandma Rose taught me to never tease a woman about her age, so I would never point out that you turned 30 before me. HA!

Seriously though, I hope you have a wonderful day. By the time you read this tonight, we will have already hit the beach for a morning run, hopefully had an uneventful day at work, and finally celebrated in style with excellent food and wine at your favorite restaurant. While I'm sure you'd rather be on the beach in Sanibel reading a trashy novel, I hope this places as a close second.

Sammy, you mean the world to me. I've never had a friend like you before in my life. I couldn't ask for a better partner, both on and off the job. I'm not sure what I did in this life to deserve you, but I know how blessed and lucky I am to have you by my side. Thank you for being my guidepost, the calm to my craziness, the voice of reason in my romantic escapades, the keeper of my secrets, my best friend.

As you begin your thirties, I wish you a decade full of happiness, health, and love. You deserve it all.

Love,

Chris

Rita placed the letter on the coffee table and leaned back, staring at the ceiling as the ice worked its magic. What was she going to do? Her brain steered her in one direction, her heart in another. Usually, she made decisions rationally, mind over emotion. This would be a slam dunk if she were thinking solely from a career advancement perspective. But the second Chris' face flashed in front of her, that look when she first told him about the job, her heart broke all over again.

She remembered her birthday as if it were yesterday, even though it was almost a year ago. Sanibel would be a distant runner up to that standout day of perfection. It was everything in the letter and then some. It was a late-night walk on the beach, trading sips of champagne from the bottle they snuck out of the restaurant. It was laughing and singing off-key and dancing to the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. It was sharing a decade's-long to-do list of hopes and dreams. It was the chastest kiss on the lips, tasting an intoxicating blend of champagne and salty sea air that left an indelible mark on her soul. She tipsily tiptoed through the sand, wishing that night would never end. And while the earth resumed its normal spinning the next day, their friendship blossomed stronger than ever. She knew that night that Chris was more than just her partner and her best friend. He was more important to her than she ever could admit. She loved him in ways that were very specific and unique. He wasn't a significant other in the romantic sense, yet they were bonded for life. The depths of their friendship went far beyond anything a romantic relationship could offer. He was her person.

She got up and retrieved her stationery and a pen. She needed to put words to paper to help her work through her thoughts.

April 1, 1993

Dear Chris,

I'm not sure if I'll ever give you this letter- I guess that will depend on my final decision regarding Bob's offer. I'm really struggling with this and I usually turn to you to help me sort out the messy parts of my life. However, I could see the shock and hurt on your face the second I mentioned this to you, so I already know what your advice will be. I'm sure by now you are probably furious with me for even considering it, and maybe even wondering if I'm pulling the ultimate April Fools joke on you. I need objectivity right now, which means I need to make this decision alone.

Sam, the offer is amazing. A once in a lifetime opportunity. As far as the dreams I have for my career and where I want to be in the future, it's perfect. I think what I love most about it is that Bob, as a Captain, sees me as an equal- I have a real opportunity to make advancements there someday. I'm not sure if Palm Beach PD is as forward-thinking as San Diego. Will I ever get that opportunity here? Who knows. I guess I have to give them credit for promoting me to Sergeant so fast, but I worked damn hard to get here, you know? Probably twice as hard as the guys. I know I don't have to preach this to you; you are always in my corner and you've heard me complain about this way too many times. I sometimes wonder: will I ever make Lieutenant? Will the department continue to recognize my hard work and talent?

The most difficult part of this decision is that I don't want to leave you. Professionally and personally, you encompass both areas of my life in innumerable ways. I know you'll (eventually) be happy for me as my best friend, but as my partner, I know you'll be crushed. Hell, I'm crushed too. I keep thinking, what if you were the one being offered the job? How would I feel? My immediate emotion is sadness, which makes me feel incredibly guilty for even entertaining this offer. You are the best partner I've ever had, and the last two and a half years have been the highlight of my life. I can't imagine doing this job without you. You are also my best friend- I know you don't need me to reiterate that, but it's important that you know I'm not taking it lightly. I know our friendship would survive on opposite coasts, but it wouldn't be the same. Is a job worth all of the upheaval to our lives? Bob teased me about acting like I was married to you, and in many ways, I feel like a strong partnership and friendship are like a marriage. We've been through a lot together; it's not so easy to leave it all behind.

Then today happened and now I'm more conflicted than ever. Foster Henshaw entered the bullpen with a death wish and tried to kill you. My gun just happened to go off a split second before yours, but it was enough to stop him cold in his tracks before he could fulfill his promise. Your words are still hitting me like a dagger to the heart, but I know you didn't say them maliciously. You're right; if I wasn't there today, who knows how that would have gone down. Would another partner protect you the way that I instinctively do? Would Bob protect me unconditionally if the roles were reversed? So much trust goes into what we do; I don't know if I could ever replicate that somewhere else with someone else. I also know there are no guarantees here, either. Hudson could split us up tomorrow and we'd have no choice but to move on. I know he wouldn't without reason, but we both know the department is always coming up with ridiculous programs, like Hutch rotating to Lauderdale. Life is constantly changing.

While I still have lots to think about and the clock is ticking, I felt compelled to write this to you. I don't ever want you to doubt how much you mean to me. You should be here right now, splitting a pizza with me and sharing this bottle of wine, and I think that's what I'd miss most of all. I hate that I can't include you in this decision, but I understand your bias wholeheartedly. (I'd want to kick his ass too if I were in your position.) Please know that your presence in my life is eternal; regardless of the decision I make, you are stuck with me forever.

Love,

Rita

She folded the letter, placed it in an envelope, and scribbled Chris' name on the front. Writing that made her feel a thousand times better. Her headache was subsiding, which was a relief. She could usually tell the difference between a stress headache and an aneurysm headache, the latter usually lasting throughout the night. She might get a few hours of sleep tonight after all.

As she poured another glass of wine, her phone rang. She smiled, knowing instinctively who it was. "Hey, Sam."

"Am I that predictable?"

Rita snickered. "Yes, but that's okay."

"How's the headache?"

"How did you-"

"Can't fool me, Sammy. I saw it in your eyes. Ice helping?"

She closed her eyes, "Yeah, it's pretty much gone."

"Wine or aspirin?"

"Am I that predictable?" She bantered back with a chuckle. "Wine."

Chris laughed. "Ah, you went with wine, which means it's a 'deep thought' kind of evening. I won't disturb you. Just wanted to check-in."

Rita stayed silent for a moment, taking a second to memorize the sound of his voice. Phone conversations might be all they have if she took the job. Would that be enough?

"Uh, Rita? Still there?"

She smiled. "Yeah, I'm still here. How are you feeling after all that happened today?"

"I'm okay. That case was nuts. Glad it's over. Thank you again for today. Next time, I'll save your life."

Rita smiled. "It's a deal. Have a good night, okay."

"Call me if the headache gets worse. I'd be happy to crash on your couch if you need me."

"Thanks. I think I'm alright. I'll see you in the morning."

"Sounds good. Goodnight, Sam."

Rita hung up the phone and glanced across the way at the arrangement of pictures on her side table. She appreciated that he didn't bring up San Diego, even though it probably killed him to avoid it. She walked over to the pictures, picked up her favorite of the two of them, and brought it with her over to the couch. Staring at her best friend's face, tracing over his features, everything suddenly appeared in crystal clear focus.

What was she thinking?

How could she leave Palm Beach? Her life was here, and that life went way beyond the job. Did a promotion really matter if she'd be miserable? And even if she got promoted here in record time, that would also mean she'd lose Chris as a partner. Was a promotion even on that list of hopes and dreams she shared with Chris last year as they danced in the moonlight? The details were fuzzy now. Why was she so obsessed with the future, when the present was exactly what she wanted and needed? For once, she wasn't going to fiercely fight for her independence and self-sufficiency. Instead, she was going to bask in the contentment of being a part of an amazing team with an incredible pal.

She tucked the letter into her purse; she'd sneak it into Chris' desk drawer at work tomorrow. She felt a sense of relief wash over her that she didn't realize existed until now. She considered calling Chris but decided to surprise him with the news in the morning instead. Taking a last sip of wine, she flipped off the lights and headed for bed.