Author's Note: Thank you for sticking with this story! I apologise that it has been a long time without an update. I crosspost to several sites and don't like to update at different times. Unfortunately, there have been a new slew of issues at FF dot net that prevented me from uploading any updates for the last few weeks. It appears they are resolved now (fingers crossed it stays fixed)! Thank you for your patience!
The autos mentioned in this story are taken directly from the show. We know from Blind Spot that Eames drives a white Honda Civic. Goren is seen driving a black 1967 Ford Mustang in both Purgatory and Frame (it is a '67—you can tell by the grille design).
In Siren Call, Eames comments that Bobby should 'drive upstate' to visit his mother. For the purposes of this story, Carmel Ridge is located about ninety minutes north of NYC at the border of Ulster and Dutchess Counties (I recognise there is a great debate over what exactly constitutes 'upstate'.)
In Amends, it is implied Joe Dutton died in the summer of 1997. In this story, Joe's death occurred in December instead and Manny Beltran was visiting for the holidays.
Sunday | 15 December | 2002
"Watch your step, dad," Alex warned.
"I'm not an invalid," Johnny shot back.
He groaned as he pulled himself out of Alex's car. No, Johnny wasn't an invalid—but he was far from a picture of health and efficiency.
Johnny Eames wasn't particularly concerned with his own health. More often than not, he could be found with a cigarette hanging from his mouth or pinched between his fingers (when his hand wasn't otherwise occupied with a whisky or beer).
Twenty years earlier, Johnny Eames ate a bullet while on the job. It didn't end his career as a cop. It did make for stiff joints—especially when the winter air hit.
Alex's used '96 Honda Civic was perfect for her. But for Johnny Eames (who stood eye to eye with Robert Goren), it was a harder task to climb out of the low vehicle.
Alex's shadow appeared on the pavement. She offered her father a hand. Though he scowled, Johnny readily accepted her help up.
"Dad, are you sure about this trip to Philly?" Eames asked.
If Johnny Eames couldn't climb out of the car without help, Alex had serious reservations about him driving off to Philadelphia for a weekend with his old buddies.
Johnny already knew where Alex was headed. He dismissed her concerns—blaming the low car rather than his lumbago.
"I didn't need your help. I just like the idea of walking with you, Tink," Johnny said.
Tink.
It was short for 'Tinkerbell' and was Johnny Eames's pet name for his oldest daughter since she'd been no bigger than a loaf of bread.
"I like walking with you," Johnny went on as he patted her hand. "And I'd like to walk you down the aisle once more before I go."
"Dad, please."
"Was the proudest day of my life."
Eames's eyebrows shot up.
"That was the proudest day of your life? Not… oh, I don't know… when I graduated from the Academy? Or college?" Eames shot back.
Johnny stopped and turned to his daughter. He gripped her chin.
"Of course, I was proud then. But I was so proud, so very proud when you married Joe. Knowing that you were making a commitment to share your life with someone so wonderful, that you were happy. And that you asked your old man to share in that moment—I've never been prouder," Johnny said.
It was a testament to their close relationship.
Alex and Joe's wedding was unconventional.
Joe had taken a beating on the job. They realised that night that life was too short to fuss over place settings and flower arrangements.
Joe was out on medical. Alex had personal leave accumulated.
It snowed the day of their wedding. A blizzard.
They were married in a small, private wedding at Eames's little church in Inwood. The only witnesses present were Johnny Eames and their friends, Theresa and Kevin Quinn.
Johnny Eames was honoured that his daughter included him, that she wanted her father there as her witness.
"I was so proud of you. I am still proud of you," Johnny went on. "I just think of how happy your mother made me. Those days were the best days of my life. And then with all of you kids. Your mother gave me so much."
Johnny flashed his daughter a warm smile. He doted on his children and grandchildren. They were his reason for living.
"I just want you to have that too," Johnny said.
"Dad—"
"You can tell me all about it over a beer, hmm?"
The pub was packed.
Eames and her father shuffled through to the back room where a group from the church was crammed into the space. One of the young families at the church had recently given birth to a little girl. They were celebrating her baptism.
Eames's brother, Ollie, waved from the corner.
Joey rushed over and tugged on his grandpa's trousers.
"Papa, papa! Sit by me!" Joey said as he dragged Johnny over to their table.
"I'll get you a beer, dad," Alex said.
By the time Eames returned to the table, Johnny Eames was already working the room.
Alex nodded politely to the young couple.
"She's beautiful," Eames said.
Their daughter was only a few weeks old. She was swaddled tight and still only had short wake windows.
"I'm sure Holly would be only too happy to let you hold her for a while," Johnny nudged.
"No, I… thank you," Alex said, shooting down the idea.
"Pregnancy isn't contagious," Johnny teased.
Alex was embarrassed.
"Dad," she warned.
"Alright, alright," Johnny said.
"I'm just going to—"
Eames trailed off and pointed at the table in the corner. She passed her father his beer and then moved to join her brother and sister-in-law at their table.
"Don't tell me, dad's already working the room?" Ollie asked.
"You have no idea," Eames shot back.
"Heads up," Ollie cautioned over the rim of his glass.
Out of the corner of her eye, Eames caught sight of her father guiding a group over to their table.
"You remember Helen and Tony? They just moved back to the neighbourhood," Johnny explained. "And these are two of my kids. Oliver. Alexandra. You were what… ten when they moved to Pennsylvania?"
Alex nodded politely. She vaguely remembered the couple.
"And this is their son, Todd," Johnny said.
He pulled a middle-aged man down front and centre.
"Todd isn't married," Johnny added knowingly. "Alex here is single. You two used to play together when you were little. Walked to the bus together."
Alex cringed.
She felt like a little girl again with her father arranging playdates.
She awkwardly shook Todd's hand before he scurried off to get a plate of food. Helen and Tony followed.
Johnny slipped into the seat across from Alex.
"Poor kid. Tony said he's very shy around women—but a responsible man," Johnny said, hoping to sell Alex on the idea.
"Dad, please don't," Alex said.
"Sorry, honey."
Johnny squeezed her shoulder before he was pulled away to speak with another family friend.
"I'm sorry, Alex. He means well," Steph said.
"But while we're on the subject," Ollie began. "Have you called Kyle yet about the First Responder's Benefit? Or do I need to arrange it?"
Alex blinked in disbelief.
"I told you—I'll watch the kids. Take Liz and Peter."
Ollie's face soured.
"I don't want to go," Alex insisted.
"I'm going to see him Tuesday. I'll—"
"You want to go with Kyle so bad, you date him," Eames snipped at her baby brother.
To Alex's relief, Joey wanted to play the pinball machine in the other room. He tugged frantically at her sleeve.
"Can we go? Can we go? Please?" Joey asked.
Alex was only too happy to scoop him up for a few rounds of pinball.
Carmel Ridge Sanatorium | Poughkeepsie
Bobby knocked softly on the door of his mother's room.
"My blood pressure isn't going to go down if you keep barging it to check it!" Frances Goren snarled.
Bobby poked his head in the door. Frances dropped her magazine and peered down over her glasses, ready to tell off whatever intern they had dispatched to check her vitals.
Her face softened as she caught sight of her son.
"Bobby! Oh, Bobby! Come in, come in!"
He was her only devoted visitor.
When her marriage collapsed, Frances had struggled to keep things together for her children. That came at the cost of losing touch with friends and relatives.
Years of isolation and institutionalisation had fractured what little community threads remained.
Frances had family in Michigan. They wrote from time to time. They always sent a card for the holidays.
Frances's circle of friends had diminished.
Bobby could still remember his mother and those women huddled around the kitchen table, cigarettes piling up in the ashtray as they sipped on Schlitz beer and played cards until it was late.
Bobby was on church key duty then, assigned to produce the coveted bottle opener whenever another beer was required.
But Midge Lewis had a stroke in 1986. Annette Wright moved to Florida in 1993. And Frances's friendship with Irene Friedman (the closest of all of them) had gone sour after Bobby's father had shacked up with Irene.
Frances didn't blame Irene, of course. Or William Goren.
Who could resist your father? He could lie right to my face, and I'd still want to believe him.
No, what hurt was in knowing that the friend she had trusted the most—the one that had been Frances's shoulder to cry on after William ran out on her and the boys—had been the very same one bedding her husband.
Bobby was all Frances had left.
He visited once a week. He phoned every day. He sent flowers and cards and pastry from the local bakery, fresh plants, painting supplies, and anything that could bring his mother joy.
He procured old films, vintage books to fill her ever-expanding library, and magazine subscriptions to occupy her mind.
The two things Frances wanted most in the world were the two things Bobby couldn't provide—his brother Frank and a family.
"Where's your brother? Have you called him lately? You know, Bobby, you have to check on Frank. He needs you," Frances urged.
The last time Bobby had spoken to his ne'er-do-well brother, Frank had just been released from prison after a ninety-day stint for a drug beef. Bobby had agreed to allow Frank to stay with him contingent on Frank entering rehab.
Bobby pulled some heavy strings to get Frank into a residential programme.
Frank was booted less than a week later for sleeping with an orderly.
The last Bobby knew, Frank had gone back to living with an ex in Atlantic City. Frank was a junkie and a grifter. He struggled with gambling and sex addiction. He knew just how to charm and disarm a mark—and wasn't above using his brother when he needed a fix.
"I brought lunch from that place in Highland. There's pie too," Bobby said.
It was a small diner just across the river. There was a bookstore next door. From time to time, Bobby arranged for day trips with his mother. They would shop for books, walk the park, and always stop at the same diner.
"I wasn't sure if you wanted cherry or blueberry. So, I got both," Bobby said.
"When are you going to bring me a grandchild, huh?" Frances shot back.
Bobby laughed, flashing his mother the same shy smile he did whenever she put him on the spot.
"C'mon ma, you know I'm busy with work," Bobby said.
He began to unbox lunch for them, setting the small table in her room.
"I've got hot tea too. I brought the kind you like," Bobby went on. "And I spoke with the nurse. Anytime you want it, you can ask for it. I've brought a case."
Frances snorted.
"Anytime I want it, just ask. What I want is my teapot back," Frances said. "You know it was your grandmother's?"
Bobby nodded in agreement. He knew it well. Frances reminded him every time they were together.
Bobby also knew there was no way his mother was getting it back. She wasn't allowed a hot plate anymore.
Not after the last incident.
"I have a surprise for you, ma," Bobby said as Frances futzed about with mothering her boys—even if Bobby was over forty.
"You should be eating more greens," Frances said. "Your grandfather had a heart attack. Dropped dead at fifty. And I can tell you're still smoking. What have I told you about that, Bobby?"
The irony was not lost on Bobby. His mother had always kept an ashtray within arm's reach. Sunday morning scrambled eggs were liable to be seasoned with ash. His mother puffed all the way to church—and the whole way home.
"You need a wife to look after you," Frances said.
Bobby snorted.
"I'd never put someone through that," he remarked.
That made his mother laugh. Frances squeezed his shoulder and kissed his mop of hair.
"Eat your sandwich, Bobby," she ordered.
"Yes, ma."
He was eager to please. He spoiled his mother. Bobby was starved for affection that he put himself through the wringer just to earn a sliver of it. Frances Goren loved her son. But she had never shown Bobby the same devotion and affection as Frank.
It stung.
Even at forty-one.
Even in spite of her mental illness and Bobby's acceptance that he could never, would never share the type of relationship he longed for with his mother.
Bobby wasn't exactly sure what compelled him to try so hard to please her, to care for her with such dedication.
A part of him felt responsible. Frank certainly couldn't do it. And his father had walked out in 1972.
Bobby had, in his own way, walked out as well.
Enlisting in the Army wasn't just a shot at an education—it was an escape. Bobby had jumped at the chance to travel the world, to leave behind his mother and his brother and his working-class Brooklyn roots.
Robert Goren wanted to be a better man than his father.
He surmised that deep down, that was the biggest driving force in shaping the man he was. He couldn't turn his back on his mother—even if she favoured Frank.
Bobby wasn't the kind of man to abandon her out of convenience or ease.
Not again.
He still had nightmares about the night he'd first returned to Brooklyn. It was the first night Bobby had set foot back in the city after a decade abroad.
At thirty, Bobby had been keen to stay abroad.
Bobby wrote his mother every month. He called when he could. He sent money. A considerable portion of his paycheck went to supporting his mother (who in turn, passed the money on to Frank).
Then in 1990, Bobby received an urgent phone call from his old friend, Louis. Louis was one of the few to keep in touch after Bobby left the old neighbourhood.
Louis had moved home to care for his brother following a tragic accident.
And that was how Bobby learned that his mother was in dire straits.
Bobby took emergency leave and flew back straightaway. Bobby was living in Germany at the time but had been on loan to the CID Field Office in Kuwait when he got the call.
It was a tense series of long flights—six hours to Poland, then another ten hours to New York (including a layover in Germany).
By the time Bobby found his mother, she was a shell of the vibrant woman he'd once known.
He'd found her living in squalor.
She was too apathetic to care about her welfare or hygiene. She had lost her job and was at risk of losing her flat.
Unable to care for herself, Frances had fallen in with a real lech. The man was a gambling buddy of Frank's. He drank, he spent his days at the OTB, and he beat on Bobby's mother when she failed to fix dinner or fold the laundry.
After William Goren had walked out them, Frances Goren endured a slew of bed men—but they never lasted long.
Because in spite of everything, Frances did what she could to protect her boys.
The minute a man raised his hand or fist, he was gone. If he raised his voice to the boys, Frances kicked him to the curb.
But without her boys around to care for, Frances had nothing left to lose. And even that horrible man provided some semblance of stability.
As Bobby cleaned up her face and tended to the bruising, he swore that he would never abandon his mother again.
Robert Goren applied for a hardship discharge the next day.
In some ways, Bobby was still trying to make things up to his mother for leaving her like that. It was why he pulled out all the stops to treat her when he could.
"I have a surprise for you," Bobby repeated.
He put his fork down and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. Bobby cleared his throat. He was practically giddy with excitement.
"I spoke with Doctor Shima, and I've got something special planned for next week," Bobby explained.
He reached across the table for his mother's hand.
"We're going to spend the day in the city," Bobby announced.
His mother froze.
"Bobby?"
He nodded. His mother's eyes welled up.
Christmas was her favourite time. She loved all the shop windows and the snow and the lights. Frances had spent her whole life in the city. It was hard to be away from it—especially during the holidays.
"What do you say to lunch at Geshmak? We can go for a walk in the park, check out the bookstore, and then look at the lights after. I've made a reservation for dinner. It's a nice place. I think you'll like it," Bobby explained.
Frances sniffled.
"Oh, Bobby. You shouldn't be spending the holidays having dinner with your mother. You should find a nice girl—take her to that place," Frances said.
Bobby smiled and shook his head.
"I want to spend the holidays with you, mum," he replied.
"Alright, alright," Frances said with mock outrage. "If it will shut you up."
His mother paused to wipe her eyes. She was truly touched by the gesture. It had been months since their last outing—a brief afternoon Highland for the town's fall festival.
"Will Frank be there too? You invited your brother, right?" Frances asked.
Inwood | Manhattan
"I said I was sorry," Johnny said.
Alex slammed the door harder than intended.
"I'll call him and tell him it was a mistake," Johnny offered.
Alex remained silent as she helped her father out of the car.
"Come on, now. Are you going to be mad at me for the rest of the day?" Johnny asked.
"Try the rest of the year," Alex shot back.
Johnny Eames had given Todd her phone number. Alex was humiliated.
With considerable effort, she managed to get her father up the stoop and into his row house. Per usual, Johnny had one too many.
More like three.
Alex got his coat off and hung on the rack. She helped her father into his recliner and then switched on the game.
Eames handed her father the buttons and then went to the kitchen to start an early dinner for him.
Her Sunday evening routine usually included cooking and prepping meals for her father to reheat during the week.
Alex got a step stool from the closet in order to reach the cabinets above the fridge. She felt her father's presence as she opened a tin of tuna.
"I am sorry," Johnny apologised.
"Just… forget about it," Alex said.
Johnny handed her the mixing bowl.
"I just worry about you. All alone out there. You shouldn't be," Johnny said.
Alex stopped and turned to face her father. She frowned.
"I really thought that you… of all people—"
Alex paused, choked with emotion.
"I thought you would understand, dad."
Her mother had died young. And Alex had watched as that grief tore her father apart. Johnny Eames had never remarried. He didn't date. He'd poured himself into his family, into raising his children.
And the bottle.
Johnny Eames took a heavy breath as he watched his daughter.
"I'm alone, Alex. I've been alone for a long time. I don't want you to end up like your old man," Johnny confessed. "It's been five years, sweetheart. Joe wouldn't want you to—"
"Don't tell me what Joe would have wanted," Alex interjected.
She was tired of the pressure.
"Joe would have wanted to celebrate our anniversary, dad. Joe would have wanted to… to—"
Alex stopped herself. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her face grew warm.
Johnny threw his arm around his daughter and pulled her tight against his shoulder.
"I know it's hard. Let it all out," Johnny said in a soothing voice.
December was always hard for Alex. It marked the anniversary of her short-lived marriage, Joe's birthday, and the anniversary of Joe's death.
The holidays never felt the same after Joe.
She didn't have the ability to focus only on the happy memories—like their anniversary, holidays, New Years past. Joe's murder was mixed in right there with the rest of them. It muddled the whole season.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Alex whispered.
She furiously wiped away her tears. Alex took a shaky breath to compose herself. She lifted her chin and locked eyes with her father.
"What Joe and I had… you only get that once," Eames said with a sad smile. "Nothing else could ever… well, you already know that, dad."
Johnny replied with his own wan smile. He'd never been able to move on after losing his wife. He pulled his daughter into a warm hug.
"I miss him too," Johnny said.
Carmel Ridge Sanatorium | Poughkeepsie
"Okay. Okay. I'll try," Bobby said, acquiescing to his mother's insistence that he include Frank in their holiday plans.
If I can find him. Bobby thought bitterly.
"You have to call your brother, Bobby. Frank isn't lucky like you. You had all the breaks," Frances said, patting his hand.
Bobby chose to ignore the comment as they strolled around the solarium.
"Well, I'll try, ma. I'll try," Bobby said.
He didn't have a clue to Frank's whereabouts.
A sneaking voice in the back of Bobby's mind reminded him that he was a detective.
Not just a detective, the detective.
The wunderkind.
He'd found suspects with far more to lose on far less to go on.
"Or drop by his place. Maybe we could surprise him?" Frances continued.
Bobby hesitated.
"He's erm… I think he moved back in with the woman he was seeing before," Bobby said.
Frances reeled.
"That tramp from Atlantic City? What's her name? Cinnamon?" Frances barked.
"Cyndi," Bobby corrected politely.
Frances waved her hand dismissively.
"What can I say—he's always been like your father. These women get their hooks into him. How can I blame him? Frank is so handsome, and he's got such a big heart. He doesn't see they're just using him, you know?" Frances said.
Using him.
Bobby thought that was a bit rich.
Sure, Frank had been handsome. Once.
Now his teeth were a mess. Frank looked drawn from malnutrition and from his decades as a junkie. He didn't sleep well or eat right. Age didn't help.
But underneath it all, Frank remained charming. He always knew just what to say to get what he wanted—and not just with their mother.
Even emaciated in a frayed suit, Frank had more pull than his brother.
Bobby realised a part of his resentment toward Frank was jealousy (a very, very small part).
You could line ten women up on the street and ask them to pick which Goren brother they'd rather have. Bobby knew the pool would sway to Frank.
Frank was disarming. Bobby was brooding.
Sure, they were both 'fixer-uppers.'
But Bobby had anger issues. Frank was just sad.
Bobby smirked to himself as he envisioned the world's worst reality dating show, an army of women surrounding Frank as they tended to his every need, fawned over his emotional boo-boos because his mean little brother wouldn't shell out his hard-earned salary for Frank to put up his nose.
Television executives would probably order ten seasons of that shitshow.
At least Bobby and Eames would have something new to collectively mock while on stakeout.
Frances caught sight of Bobby's grin.
"What's so funny, huh?" she prompted.
"I was just thinking you should wear that red suit," Bobby said. "You always looked sharp in that red suit, ma."
His mother's face lit up.
Bobby's request was genuine. He'd learned his sense of style from his mother. She'd always been so put together—her hair done up flash, her nails impeccable, always a smart hat or stylish shoes.
On the rare occasions William Goren actually bothered to dote on his wife, Bobby could recall his mother dressed to the nines.
It was part of what gutted him so deeply to see her in despair, when her disease had left Frances too apathetic to care about herself anymore.
Bobby tried to give that back to his mother. He knew it was hard for her too.
It's why he arranged to take her to the salon and to bring in a nail technician. It was the reason he sent her flowers and hats and handbags. He'd sent his mother a lovely broach for her birthday and had a special gift planned for Christmas.
Bobby was, in every way, trying to emulate what his father should have done.
And it was why he had big plans to treat his mother for the holidays.
"I'll wear a suit too, ma. We'll get all spiffy for a day in the city," Bobby said.
It warmed his heart to see his mother perk up a bit.
Brooklyn Heights | Brooklyn
It was a quiet drive back to the city.
Bobby relished the commute. He loved the open road. It afforded him time to decompress, to listen to NPR or a book on tape free of the interruptions of city noise.
He pulled the Mustang into his car park shortly before 8:00.
Bobby was lucky. It wasn't a long walk from the car park to his flat. The walk took him past Salato, a favourite.
Bobby had placed a call on the drive. He popped in to pick up a late dinner.
It was snowing softly. The lampposts created a warm, inviting glow as Bobby strolled past row upon row of Brooklyn brownstones.
Bobby thought it was romantic.
He wasn't lonely.
He loved his life in Brooklyn. He'd hit the jackpot with a lovely flat in Brownstone that had been split into various units.
Goren could sink into his favourite chair by the big bay window that overlooked all the activity on the street below. He could watch the Brooklyn Bridge, the East River, and beyond was the skyline of lower Manhattan.
The walls were lined with books and albums. Bobby did not own a television. Instead, his Victrola held pride of place next to a stack of magazines.
Bobby's kitchen afforded him the space to experiment with flavour and colour. He'd always been a foodie—though the job prevented him from using it much.
There was room for entertaining. Not much, but enough for Bobby to host his due.
He was part of a collective of friends, like-minded intellectuals that got together once a month for dinner and conversation.
They called them salons.
And in the tradition of their continental Age of Enlightenment forebearers, Bobby and his crowd used these salons to entertain and learn.
It wasn't the plan he'd envisioned at eighteen—but he was grateful for his career and his home, his vibrant life in Brooklyn.
Yes, Robert Goren was happy with his bachelor life.
Rockaway Beach | Queens
Alex Eames shut off the ignition. She frowned as she eyed the flakes of snow falling on her windshield.
She was lucky to have a home—a home she owned no less. But there was no garage.
As she climbed out in the freezing air, Alex made a mental note to set her alarm to give herself time in the morning. The snow showed no sign of letting up and she would need to clean her car off in the morning before her commute to Manhattan.
Alex pulled a paper sack of groceries out from the back seat. With her bag in hand, she climbed the icy steps to her door.
Before she could unlock it, a noise caught Eames's attention.
The young couple that lived down the street jogged past, eager to get a run in before the worst of the snow hit overnight.
A gust of wind swept right off the Atlantic and down the street. Alex fumbled with the storm door for a minute before she managed to get inside.
She kicked the snow off her boots and shook the snow out of her hair.
"Hi, Polly," Alex called out.
"Hi, Bob! Hi Bob!" Polly replied as she bobbed and weaved in her cage.
As Alex fumbled for the switch on the lamp, she caught sight of the family across the street through their window.
They had a little girl around Joey's age.
It looked like they were just getting ready to put her to bed. She was at the window in her jimjams watching the snow fall. Her father scooped her up, pointing at the tree in their sitting room.
Eames had no doubt he was reminding her that Santa would want her to bed on time or there would be no presents.
Alex turned back to her own empty living room.
She didn't bother with a tree or any decorations anymore. It just didn't seem worth the trouble when there was no one to share it with.
Although Alex surmised that it wasn't very fair to Polly. She would have to stop at the pet shop and get something for Polly. The poor bird had suffered enough in her short life. Alex wasn't terribly keen to own a bird before she dropped in her lap—but she wanted Polly to know she was wanted.
"Should we get you a treat, Polly?"
Polly sang with approval. 'Treat' was a word she knew well.
Alex put the sack of groceries down on the counter in the kitchen. She climbed up the step stool to reach the cabinet above the sink where she kept Polly's treats.
It had been Joe's idea to buy a house with so many damned high cabinets. They were perfect for Joe—he'd been 6'4" and everything was too small for him.
Alex had become adept at climbing on counters, shimmying up walls, or standing on chairs.
Eames was just climbing down when her phone went off.
Alex didn't recognise the number. She cringed.
Probably Todd.
Alex ignored the call. She let it ring through to voicemail. She wasn't in the mood.
Eames clipped a treat to the side of Polly's cage and then opened the door to let Polly stretch her wings for a while.
Eames couldn't concentrate as she put away her groceries. Her mobile phone sat atop the counter, an unwelcome reminder that she would have to deal with the Todd situation sooner or later.
She would give him the same line she gave everybody.
Sorry, my work hours aren't conducive to dating.
It rolled off her tongue with ease.
Resolved she could not relax until Todd was a problem of the past, Eames snagged her phone.
Ugh. He left a voicemail.
Alex took a breath and rubbed her forehead. She didn't want to listen to two minutes of pointless rambling.
What about dinner? Your dad said you like Cantonese.
There was a slim chance Todd had called to apologise or make his own excuses. He could have his own reasons for not dating or hiding someone from his family. Hell, for all Alex knew Todd could be seeing someone already.
She would have to listen to the message before she called back. If she was lucky, she may not even need to call him back.
It's just a damned phone call. Eames reminded herself as she clicked to listen to the message.
"Hi. It's Billy."