Before There Was Darkness

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part One

There wasn’t much that had the ability to reach out and permeate Jim’s soul, but the tone of a saxophone, caressed by the capable hands of a musician who knew exactly how to milk every haunting timbre out of the instrument, was one thing that could. The silky smoothness of certain notes, the brashness and rasp of others, emitted with just the right emphasis, could touch that place so deep within him. Walking alone on the rain soaked pavement, with the subdued echoes of a city preparing for sleep passing him by, that sound held him firmly in its grasp. He ordered Hank to stop and turned to face the source of the music.

He knew it was late; his first invitation for a boy’s night out with Marty and Tom, and, considering the tensions of the past few days with Karen, and at home, he thought he deserved this one. Though he had apparently pressed all the wrong buttons and pushed her to the brink of exasperation, he knew Christie would still be worried. He hadn’t ventured out on his own like this in months, fifteen to be exact.

But, he couldn’t bring himself to tear away from the loneliness of the music resonating from somewhere on the other side of the street. Moon River seemed, to him, an odd choice for a solitary sax; he had only heard the song done on the sax once before; then, it had been more subtle, the notes warmer, jazzier, not like this; this was moving, forlorn, a perfect coupling of instrument and artist. Whoever this was, he was an artist; he knew exactly how to wrench every ounce of sadness from that sax.

To Jim, that was the beauty of music – you didn’t have to be able to see anything to be able to feel it or to appreciate it. God, he loved music, all kinds of music; he always had. When he was growing up, he would lie in bed, with his eyes closed, and just let the music envelope him in the darkness. It was distracting, providing him with a much-needed diversion from the harshness of the streets of Red Hook or the angry invasions of his drunken father. Even now, at the end of a long day or after a particularly gruesome crime, he could still escape and lose himself in that soothing world with just the turn of a dial and the sound of smooth jazz calming his soul.

The basketball game, projected on the big screen at the bar, had been lost in translation; when you couldn’t see what was happening on the screen in front of you, there was really nothing to cheer for – you didn’t know who had the ball or what was happening until the crowd reacted. Not like baseball – that you could listen to on the radio and understand exactly what was going on – and he still did, on occasion. But, basketball was different; if he was being truthful, the whole vibe of the bar this evening had been different and he found himself, perhaps for the first time in his life, no longer comfortable in that environment.

Not necessarily because of the blindness, although there was no doubt that it had certainly added to the level of discomfort; more so because he was, again, at a bar and it was, again, a boy’s night out. It had been on one such occasion that he met Anne Donnelly, a fellow police officer, and the woman who now stood firmly planted between him and marital fidelity. If it hadn’t been for a few too many beers, or a few too many laughs and a definite breach of his better judgment, his marriage might still be standing on solid ground and his newly found insecurities wouldn’t have had anywhere to take root.

But, before the events of the past year, before he had been so sharply rocketed back to earth and this new reality, he had been a player with absolutely nothing to prove. Not when there was someone like Christie already waiting for him at home.

It’s ironic – it had taken a bullet to make him realize that he was one of the lucky ones; he had the beautiful wife, the beautiful home and a job he loved, a job that really, at least in his own mind, defined who he was. That bullet had changed everything. He had had to fight like hell to get it all back again. A year of recovery and rehab and a nasty, public struggle with the NYPD and he was finally back on the job. Though they had urged him to stay in-house, in a support role, and another minor struggle had ensued, he was, once again, partnered up and, it appeared, finally on his way to finding a zone of contentment with that.

His marriage, on the other hand, was not yet at that point. A year after that bullet, the one thing that had been such a constant in his life, in spite of his prior transgressions, was still on shaky ground. Plain and simple, he had cheated on his wife and he didn’t know how or if he was ever going to be able to mend that broken fence.

God love her. She had stayed by his side, 24/7, through the worst of all of it, through the nights of delirium, the days of self-pity, even the darkest times when all he really wanted to do was die, to let himself just slowly and mercifully slip forever into the void that had transcended his being. She wouldn’t let him go; she wouldn’t let him quit. She was the one thing he could cling to during those days of hell; the steady, soothing voice that somehow managed to keep him sane and focused and believing again that his life was still worth living; that he was worth every ounce of effort it was going to take.

Thankfully, in his mind, he could still picture her; her stunning gray blue eyes, the quickness of her perfect smile, the way her nose wrinkled just so when she laughed at one of his stupid jokes. It had been so easy to lose himself in those eyes, eyes that he would never have an opportunity to gaze into again. He had always been able to read her mood by what was reflected there, the warmth of the gray or the steeliness of the blue; that was now gone to him forever too.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was scared; scared that she would leave, scared that he might actually find himself relegated to a life without her. That was his biggest fear. Having to face the possibility that she would tire of him, grow weary of having to live this new life. God knows there were days when he couldn’t fathom how much more he could take, how he was going to be able to force himself to get up in the morning and keep moving. He had often wondered if he felt like this, how was she coping with the sudden turn of events? If she didn’t find him so easy to live with before, what must it be like for her now?

When he had finally come back to life, and spent days railing against the abyss that seemed to be holding him down and suffocating him, she was right there, always right there. He didn’t know at the time that she was already acutely aware of what he had done, of where he had been on all those nights when he was just going out with the boys. Yet, even after all of that, after the hardships of the last year, after being forced to make adjustments she couldn’t possibly have been prepared for, here she was; still by his side. As much as he wanted to believe it was because of her love for him, her ability to forgive him, her belief in her own marriage vows, the nagging little voice at the back of his consciousness had, on more than one occasion, convinced him that it was more out of pity.

Standing here, alone on the street, still entranced by the sounds emanating from that sax, he was reminded of what it had been like before all of this, before there was an Anne, or a bullet, or any of this uncertainty. He was reminded of what it was like when life was normal, what life had been before there was darkness.

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Two

It didn’t take Jim long to realize that nothing could have possibly prepared him for the sights and sounds of war. He had always prided himself on the measure of toughness he seemed to possess; he had no doubt going in that he was strong enough and had been exposed to enough growing up on the streets of Red Hook, that there couldn’t be much he would encounter on this short tour of duty that would even remotely affect his sense of well-being.

But, four days on the front lines of combat and a subsequent transfer to “clean-up” duty guaranteed that he witnessed, first hand, the absolute worst of what man could do. Even after his tour was over and he was back state side again, leaving the heat of battle and the smell of death half a world away, he was not immune to the shock of those images. Not sure what to do with it all, he did as he had always done, and buried it deep inside, along with the thousand other painful memories he hoped would never surface again.

Growing up in Red Hook had taught him a thing or two about survival. As if not enough to negotiate the mean streets, day in and day out, he found himself in the unenviable position of having to apply those same survival instincts at home. It wasn’t that he grew up hard. It was just that in the Dunbar house, there was an eternal battle raging over the bottle, a battle that, for all intent and purposes, was heading to a terrible conclusion.

The better part of his teen-age years had been spent shielding his younger brothers from the hurt of that environment. Jim could handle it; but Ricky, three years his junior, and Tom, just a year behind, they needed to be protected from as much of it as possible. Jim took that burden upon his broad shoulders; he was keeper, confidant and guardian.

There were far too many recollections of holding the two of them, tightly against his chest, trying to reassure them that this would all be gone, someday. The closed bedroom door was never barrier enough to escape the reality of their world; the pleading ministrations of their mother, struggling to control the demons that were slowly eating away at the semblance of the man they had once lovingly called Daddy.

It’s not that love didn’t exist in their house. It did. It was there in her gentle touch, the way she nutured and encouraged. On days when it looked like he might finally be crawling his way back to sobriety, there was love from their Daddy too. Those were the good days, the days when they were a family, the days when it seemed that life might almost be right again. There just never seemed to be enough of those days.

Jimmy had always admired the fact that his mother could be so resilient, able to deal with the curse of booze and still have something left to give to her sons. He didn’t know where she found the will or the courage to hold it all together, but she did. He was old enough to understand that she did it because she had to; there was no one else; there would never be anyone else.

It had been a tumultuous upbringing at best, but the Dunbar boys knew, because she made sure they knew, that in a better time, in a better place, they had been the apples of their Daddy’s eye. She also made certain that they understood it wasn’t anything they had done, or anything she had done, that had driven their father to seek solace in a bottle. It was just something, a sickness of sorts, that grew inside, and there was nothing they could do for him, nothing anyone could do for him until he decided it was time to do something for himself.

That was the bane of Jim’s existence. He dedicated himself to the things he knew would someday lift him out of this hole; he was, as his teachers would describe him, gifted and determined, though, perhaps, because of his acquired penchant for privacy, no one really understood the underlying reason for that determination. Jim did; he recognized that if he worked hard enough, and studied hard enough, this reality would be his only as long as it had to be, only as long as he was too young to have any say in the matter.

He swore that once he was able to fend for himself, it would never be his life again. He was resolute in his efforts to secure a better future, in spite of the barriers that existed simply because he had grown up in a lower-class home in a hard section of the city. Dreams, he discovered, were wonderful things; he could lose himself in thought, quiet contemplation about where he would go and what he might do when he was able to leave this world behind.

His father finally took that last drink when Jim was just 17. Although he allowed himself a period of mourning for the man he would never really know, for the family left behind, for the days when life was good, as good as it could get growing up in Red Hook with a drunk for a father, he pushed all of that down too, down to a place that he hoped would keep it suppressed forever. And he moved on.

*******

Being a New York City cop was one of the first things Jim could honestly say made him happy. It fulfilled him and defined him as nothing else in his life had been able to do. Except perhaps for the boxing.

As a teen, his introduction to boxing had served a two-fold purpose; first and foremost, once he began to show promise in the ring, no one seemed to mess with him anymore. He was a strapping, good-looking youth, broad shouldered and sturdy, but because of the quiet, private nature of his personality, Jim found himself at odds with many of the elements of Red Hook. Boxing changed that. Getting into the ring, going round after round with an opponent was a freedom for him, a place to let go of and abandon all of those emotions he couldn’t push down. He was a fighter; in more ways than one, he always had been, and, he was a damn good one too.

When he joined the NYPD, though, it was as if life had finally opened up and found him; or, in retrospect, perhaps it was more that he had finally opened up and found life. He had the mind for police work; he had always been overly analytical anyway, and was fortunate enough to be gifted with an inane ability to piece things together, especially on those occasions when vital pieces were missing. God knows, he had the stomach for it; after the sights and sounds of war,
there wasn’t much that shocked him anymore; there certainly wasn’t anything that he hadn’t seen before on a much grander scale.

He looked forward to getting out of the bed in the morning, in anxious anticipation of what the new day would bring. It wasn’t always exciting work; he witnessed his fair share of domestic disturbances, petty larcenies, stolen cars, drunk and disorderlies, and a handful of poor bastards who had finally had enough of life. It never mattered to him what the call was or how mundane the assignment, the satisfaction of a job well done left him feeling complete. He was at home on the beat, patrolling the neighborhoods of his precinct. He was, in a word, content.

“I’m a cop,” he’d say, and the simplicity of that statement, the truth behind it, the very certainty of it, made him smile. After years of wondering what the future might hold, he finally had the answer he’d been searching for and it satisfied him. A cop; that’s what he was; that’s who he was; a cop. 

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Three

Walter Clark was an NYPD veteran with twenty years on the job under his belt. His fellow officers would attest to the fact that he had definitely been around the block a time or two. Having traveled those circles for as many years as he had, the long-term exposure to the ins and outs of the job and having worked his way up through the ranks, Walter was an old hand at being a pretty good judge of people. This ability had served him well, not only during the long, often tedious and stressful hours of the criminal interview process, but also in identifying the best and worst in his fellow officers.

That was why when he came across a young beat cop by the name of James Dunbar, he knew instinctively that this one couldn’t be a beat cop for long. There was something different about this Dunbar kid; he possessed an unmeasured commitment to his job and an unwavering view of what it meant to be a cop – it wasn’t all spit and nails; it also demanded a degree of heart and compassion and pride; Dunbar certainly had all of that and more. Although Walter couldn’t put his finger on it right away, it didn’t take him long to recognize that what he saw in this young cop were all the same qualities that had carried him up through the ranks and ensured his position as an NYPD “long-timer.”

He was also very aware that Dunbar wasn’t the type of cop the brass would take notice of right away. It wouldn’t matter that his reputation was golden; for all that he was, outgoing he wasn’t. He was almost too reserved and too private to really stand out. It wasn’t shyness; it was more a defense. While some of the traits would serve him well in his ability to do the job, others, like the reservedness, were exactly the traits that would more than likely guarantee he would be overlooked when it came time for promotion.

But this kid was too gifted to let languish in the role of beat cop or get lost in the shuffle somewhere along the way. Walter knew this one had too much promise, too much potential, and he wasn’t about to let that promise pass unnoticed. He couldn’t; the kid impressed him.

******

“Officer Dunbar.” Jim didn’t immediately recognize the voice echoing his name down the hallway; truth be told, he wasn’t really interested in taking the time to find out who it was either. What he really wanted to do was just keep walking and pretend he hadn’t heard a thing.

It had already been an extremely long day; one of those dog days of summer to be certain, where the heat and humidity hung over the city like a wet blanket and the air didn’t move; it was hard to breathe. After 8 hours on the beat, all he wanted was to go home and grab a long, hot shower and a tall, cold beer.

That poor son-of-a-bitch had stood out on the 3rd floor ledge for most of the afternoon, in the unforgiving heat of the July sun, a pistol shoved tightly against his chin. After a few hours of trying to talk the guy down, the negotiators just didn’t seem to be making any progress. Out on patrol duty and assigned to this location for crowd control, Jim could already sense that this one was technically over before it had even begun. As if to validate his read on the situation, the guy had done it, pulled the trigger right there, in front of the gathering audience on the sidewalk below. Jim had never actually witnessed anyone do it before; he hoped he’d never have to see it again.

He drew in a deep sigh and turned to see Walter Clark heading down the hall toward him. He hadn’t really had much contact with Walter on a personal level; a hello, or how you doing, here and there if they happened to meet in the break room or the hallway; but those occasions were enough that he had long ago been informed that the name was “Walter, please. Not Detective Clark. That’s for the bad guys and the Boss.”

Jim had heard more than enough good things about this man to know that this was someone you would definitely want to have in your corner. Considering the thoughts that had been spinning around in his head recently, the timing couldn’t have been more right.

“Sorry, Dunbar; didn’t mean to hold you up. I’ve been trying to catch you for a couple of days now. Uh, if you had a minute or two to spare, I thought we could talk.”

He flashed one quick smile Walter’s way, but there was a weariness etched on his face. “Yeah, I was just heading home, but I got some time.” He hesitated before asking, “Is this something I need to be worried about?”

Walter let out a short laugh and slapped Jim lightly on the back. “Nah, not at all. Let’s find somewhere a little more private than this hallway.” Once they were settled comfortably in the far corner of the break room, he leaned forward in his chair and looked Jim straight in the eye. “How’s the job been treating you, kid?”

The question seemed to catch Jim a little off balance. “Good,” he managed, “it’s good. Hasn’t been a terrific day but, you know, sometimes you get one like that.”

“Yeah, I heard. Couldn’t have been an easy thing to see. First time?”

“For that, yeah, it was, but, you know, I’ve seen worse; we all have.” He paused for a minute and Walter could see that he was guarding himself, trying not letting too much out, a perfect example of that defense mechanism. His fingers nervously drummed the table top. “People, though, they amaze me sometimes, you know? It was so bleeding hot out there today but that didn’t stop the crowd – they just kept coming. They weren’t in a hurry to go anywhere either. I guess there’s something to be said for morbid curiosity - never was my cup of tea.”

“Understandable; not mine either. So, what is, Jim?”

“My cup of tea?” He shrugged his shoulders and caught his lower lip between his teeth. “I don’t know, really. But, since you asked, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve been having some thoughts lately. No reason, really….it’s just I think I’m at the point where I want more.” He was almost surprised that it had come out so easily, and to someone he still considered a stranger. He caught himself quickly, wanting to recover before sounding like he wasn’t satisfied with things the way they were. “Don’t get me wrong. I still love what I do; I love being a cop. It’s just I think I’m capable of so much more than what I’m doing now.”

Walter nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah, me too, Dunbar. I’d hate to see a good cop like you stagnate out there on the beat. That’s why I wanted a chance to sit down and talk. I wanted to see where your head was. Sounds to me, though, that if I were to put the idea out there that I’d like you to think about moving up, take that next step and work on becoming a detective, you might be open to the concept?”

“Walter, you a mind-reader?” It amazed Jim that someone had found him that easy to read. He had spent so much of his life trying to build the impenetrable walls around himself, and here was someone who, in less than 10 minutes, had managed to break them down. “Yeah, I’d be interested.”

Walter stood and moved behind Jim’s chair. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he squeezed lightly and smiled. “I’m glad to hear it, kid. I think you’re one of the best candidates I’ve seen in a long, long time and I honestly think you’ve got a real bright future ahead of you. Now, we’ve just got to make sure we get you moving on the right track.”

The enthusiasm was reflected in Jim’s voice, “So, where do we start?” But Walter thew him a curve ball - he didn’t get the answer he was expecting.

“For now, how about a beer? It’s been a long, hot day.”

“I really am beginning to think you can read minds, Walter. Mine, anyway.”

The older man laughed and put his hand in the middle of Jim’s back, steering him toward the hall. “Come on, Dunbar. Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a lot to talk about.” With the security of that hand gently guiding him forward, the wheels of change were set in motion.



[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Four

It was so easy to like Walter. There wasn’t much about the man not to like or to admire; he was as he appeared to be, not a false bone anywhere in the short, stocky little body his spirit currently occupied. What you saw was exactly what you got, no frills, no pretenses, no lies. He possessed all of those characteristics that Jim would have wanted in his father; all of those things his father never was.

He wasn’t sure why Walter had singled him out for this privilege, why he had been chosen above any of the other cops out on the beat, but he wasn’t about to question the motives either. Whatever the reason, on a professional level Walter was providing him an opportunity to move up far sooner than he ever would have anticipated. More than that, though, were the personal rewards; the missing dimension in his life, that of mentor and friend, was now solidly occupied. The bond of friendship between the two men had grown swiftly and easily.

The occasional meetings in the hallway or the break room soon progressed to evenings and weekends with Walter and Dorothy, his wife of 33 years. She had taken an immediate shine to Jim and proclaimed him very soon after his first visit to be a member of the family. That exposure to the private side of Walter’s life, the invitation to open up and feel comfortable, enabled more of the self-constructed walls to come tumbling down. As they continued to crumble, Walter discovered the reason behind the reserved, quiet nature of the kid and the long-ago established defense mechanisms. The strength he thought he recognized in Jim so early on was an obvious reflection of the burdens borne by shoulders that were far too young to have carried all that weight. From the beginning, Walter had sensed that this kid possessed an unmitigated dedication and determination; now he knew why.

Taking a break from the final review of some of the ground that would undoubtedly be covered on the exam, Wa lter and Jim retired to the shade and sanctity of the backyard, a cold brew in hand. The exam was only two short days away but Walter was confident that Jim was more than ready for it. He had been amazed at how truly gifted the kid was, how he was able to grasp so much and hold onto it, how his mind perceived things that wouldn’t necessarily be obvious to others. Every indication pointed to the fact that Walter was right about this one; he was going to be a hell of a detective.

Walter raised his beer and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the cold bottle. He glanced over at Jim, reclining in the lounge chair to his right. “So, kid, you ready for this?”

Jim nodded his head in affirmation. “Yeah, I think I am. As ready as I’m ever going to be, anyway.” He raised his bottle in salute, “I’d like to thank you, Walter.”

“Thank me for what?” Walter asked, as his bottle clinked Jim’s in return. “You could have done this on your own. All I did was give you a little bit of a head start. You would have gotten there eventually.”

The look on Jim’s face was full of skepticism. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, that’s one thing you need to work on, Jimmy. It’s so obvious that you’ve got what it takes. Too bad you can’t see that for yourself.”

“You know, Walter, if anyone had told me a few years ago that I would be a cop, maybe by the end of the month, a detective with the NYPD, there’s no way I would have believed them. Not with my background, not where I come from. I’ve had to fight so hard for everything up to now. ”

“Can I say something?” Jim glanced over at his friend, knowing that whether he said yes or no he was going to hear it anyway. He took a long swig from the bottle.

“You can never let anything hold you back, Jimmy. It doesn’t matter where you come from; what matters is where you’re going. As hard as your past may have been, it’s shaped all of the positive things about you.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I mean I know you’re right..” He took another swig of beer and closed his eyes. “Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if things had been different. Would I be sitting here with you in your backyard, getting ready to take this test? Maybe.” He shook his head, “Maybe not. And if my mother hadn’t been as strong as she was, where would I be now? I honestly don’t know what would have happened to us. My Dad sure as hell didn’t care about any of it.” He paused, “Or maybe he did and he just didn’t have what it took to handle it. But one thing I learned from all of that is that’s not me, that’ll never be me.”

“You are so far away from there now and you have to know you’re not going back. That’s a different lifetime and a different Jimmy Dunbar.” He reached over and squeezed Jim’s arm. “You should be proud of yourself, kid, of where you are. I know I am.”

“Let’s get the test over with first, okay? If I pass it, you can tell me again, deal?”

“Deal. But I bet it won’t be long before I’ll be calling you Detective Dunbar.”

Jim liked the way that sounded but he didn’t want to jump the gun. He still had that test to get through first and while Walter seemed confident in his abilities, he wasn’t so sure it was going to be all that simple. The nerves that had been a precursor to every school test he’d ever taken had already begun to churn the butterflies in the pit of his stomach.

“Hey, Walter, remember one thing. You better not be calling me Detective Dunbar. That’s for the bad guys and the Boss.”

“You’re right, kid. But it’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I do. Detective Dunbar. Who would have thought?”

**********

The promotions ceremony was all pomp and circumstance and, as special as it should have been for him, it was also the last place Jim wanted to be. He had never felt comfortable enough to enjoy a place in the limelight, preferring, as he always had, to remain in the shadows, anonymous; the ability to blend in had served him well.

Today, though, there was no place to hide; the Auditorium of One Police Plaza in Manhattan was packed to the rafters with friends and family of the promoted officers. Everyone who was anyone with the City was in attendance, including the Mayor, the Deputy Mayor, the Commissioner, the Chief of Detectives and the press, so much press.

“There’s no way I’m going to get through this alive,” Jim thought. He lifted his eyes from the security of the floorboards and glanced quickly out at the audience, noting thankfully that Walter and Dottie had found seats relatively close to the front. That gave him something other than his own nerves to focus on.

Two hours later it was over. The Mayor had delivered a rousing address, the oath had been administered and the graduating class had been sworn in. He turned the brassy polished badge over and over in his hands, still at a loss to really appreciate that he’d done it; they’d done it, he and Walter. It hadn’t really sunk in yet; the whole concept was still too fresh to be real, but the words on the front of that badge confirmed it; City of New York Police Department - Detective.

He went through the motions of shaking hands, more hands of more people than he could put a name to. In his heart he knew that this moment should be shared with his buddy. It belonged to Walter as much as it belonged to him. He had to find him, he was out there somewhere in the sea of suits and dresses that surrounded Jim; Walter found him first.

“Detective Dunbar, didn’t I tell you? Congratulations.” He grabbed Jim in a huge bear hug. For someone so much smaller in stature, he packed a lot strength in those arms of his. The smile on his face was a mile wide. “You did it, kid. How does it feel?”

“It’s great, Walter. It feels great.” While that seemed to sum up the emotion of the moment, the accomplishment celebrated by this day, Jim knew that what he was feeling was so much more than that. For the first time in his life, he felt the love of a true friend and it touched him.

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Five

He opened the door of the now dusty rental car and set foot on the solid ground of his grandparent’s Indiana farm. It had been years since he had seen the place, and although the paint was peeling off the roof of the old red barn and the house had aged a little through the years, it looked pretty much like he remembered it.

Dark green shutters, green tin roof, white clapboard siding, and a huge front porch that wrapped around three sides of the two story farmhouse; it was as quaint as it was welcoming. Two wicker rocking chairs sat on either side of wooden demi-barrels overflowing with brightly hued fall flowers. The porch swing, where he had spent hours as a young child, nestled under the protective arm of his grandfather, listening to the tall tales that only a grandfather could spin, still hung to the left of the of the screen door; the screen door that always seemed to need some oil on its hinges. The old tire swing, hung years earlier from the bottom branch of the sprawling oak tree, swayed lazily in the mid-September breeze, waiting for the promise of laughter of great grandchildren that would someday fill the front yard.

He hadn’t been here in twenty years, not since the summer he turned ten. That was the last good summer he could honestly remember, before the drinking had taken over their lives, before excuses had to be invented for why they couldn’t come, before his childhood had taken that turn for the worse.

The screen door creaked, just as it always had, when he pulled it open; nice to see some things hadn’t changed, he thought.

“Mom” he called out, “Anyone home?” The house was silent but the aroma of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies led him to the big country kitchen at the back of the old house.

“Hey, you baked. Are those for me?” He reached out to grab a still warm cookie from the plate in the middle of the butcher block table. She reached out and swatted his hand playfully with the oven mitt.

“First things first, Jimmy. Where’s my hug?” He put the cookie back on the plate and pulled her in close, burying his chin in the hair piled neatly on top of her head. A petite woman of five feet and a bit, Carol Dunbar had to strain on tippy toes to reach the cheek of her eldest son. He had inherited his fathers height and build, but he had her sandy blond hair, clear blue eyes and the incredibly long lashes that had been the envy of every woman he’d ever met.

“I can’t believe you’re here, Jimmy. It’s been too long.”

“I know, Mom. Maybe I should have come a long time ago, but you know, the job. It’s been hard to get away.”

She pulled back and held him at arm’s length, giving him the mom inspection from head to toe.“You look good, Jimmy. You look happy.”
“Yeah, I am happy Mom. Things finally seem to be working themselves out.”

“And Walter, how’s he? I’m going to have to meet that man next time I come to the city.” She was very aware of the relationship that had been building between her son and this man. Through her bi-weekly phone calls over the past year she had come to understand the depth of the friendship between the two of them. “I’m not just going to have to meet him, she thought, I’m going to have to thank him.”

“Oh, yeah, and when’s that going to be? I know he and Dorothy would love to meet you too.”

She did one of those shrugs with her shoulders, another thing that mother and son had in common. “Maybe in the spring; I haven’t made any plans yet.”

“Just let me know when you do. I’ll be ready”

“Need some time to clean the place up Jimmy?” she teased.

“Come on, Mom. You know that’s not me. Tom maybe,” he said in reference to his youngest brother who could never seem to find a hanger or a closet, “but not me.”

She laughed at him. “Always so serious Jimmy. You never did like to be teased.” She gave him a motherly pat on the butt and turned to the stove to pull the last tray of cookies from the oven.

“Come on. Let’s take a cup of coffee and a plate of those cookies to the front porch. Your grandparents should be home anytime now. They’re excited to see you.”

Once settled in the rocking chairs, a cup of hot coffee in one hand and one of her famous chocolate chip cookies in the other, she gazed at him with one of those looks; the “there’s something I need to ask you” look.

“Go ahead, Mom. Whatever’s on your mind, out with it.”

“Detective work spill over into everything you do Jimmy?” she asked. “ How did you know?”

“Just playing out a hunch...come on. It’s that look. I haven’t seen it in a long, long time.” She had turned her head away from him; he took her tiny hand in his. “What is it?”

When she turned to him again, her eyes were misty and her voice cracked when she spoke. “I need to ask you something Jimmy.” She hesitated for a minute. “Have you forgiven me?”

He couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“I don’t know, Cricket. I’ve asked Ricky and Tom. But I never asked you; I think I was afraid of what you might say.”

“God, Mom, I can’t believe you would even think that.” He stood up and paced the length of the front porch. When he had finished pacing, he stopped in front of her and leaned back against the porch rail. “There was never anything to forgive you for. Maybe I didn’t understand it then, but I do now.” His eyes were clear and his voice firm. “You did what you had to do and I love you for it, Mom. The only reason that we’ve come out whole is because of you. If there’s anyone who needs to ask for forgiveness it’s him. And it’s too late for that now.”

He knelt down in front of her and held her gaze with his. One tear rolled down her cheek. He brushed it away and smiled at her. That hundred watt smile, she thought, could change the world.

“So we’re okay then?” she asked. “Because I was starting to think that maybe you weren’t coming to visit because you needed to put some distance between us.”

“Mom, please. Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not Jimmy, really. It’s just that you haven’t been to visit since I left the City. What else was I going to think?”

It had been exceptionally hard on him when she had packed up the last of her belongings and boarded the plane to Indiana. His brothers had moved on with their own lives, both choosing the quiet pace of small town America. Ricky was with the Muncie, Indiana Police Department and Tommy was in the final year of his Masters in Engineering at the University of Indiana. Once she was gone, there was nothing left of the Dunbars of Red Hook. He was alone, the only one who seemed able to embrace the quickened pulse of life in the big city.

For his mother, he knew the memories were probably better left as far behind as possible for a while; his childhood had been miserable enough; he couldn’t even begin to fathom the pain that must have been in her heart all of those years. Even so, her leaving was the last thing he wanted; she needed it, he recognized that but he didn’t want her to go, although he never told her. He had supported her decision, only because he knew that she needed time to heal, to find herself again, to feel the comfort of her roots. But never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that she had taken all of that guilt with her.

“That maybe I didn’t come because I couldn’t? I want you to know right now that it’s good. We’re all good. And you’re the only reason for that.”

The look on his face told her everything she needed to know; the truth in his voice told her everything she needed to hear. Her family was fine and while that should have been enough, it was enough, there was one more basis for the sudden lightness in her heart. Jimmy had come home.

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Six

The aroma of fresh brewed coffee and bacon and eggs roused him from a deep sleep. It was early, the clock on the bedside table registering just 5:45; the life of a farmer, whether forty-two or eighty-two, like his grandfather, started early, often before the sun was a glimmer in the pre-dawn sky and without regard for weekday or weekend.

There was a definite chill in the air, a foretelling that the warmer summer days were dwindling and fall, in all its glory, would be heralding its arrival before long. He snuggled a little deeper under the warmth of the feather comforter, refusing just yet to give in to the rumblings of his empty stomach.

As much as he had enjoyed the past few days, and a chance to revisit the place that still held the fondest memories of childhood, the simple farm life left him craving the sights and sounds of New York. He missed it, far more than he thought he would. This afternoon he would head back to that world, to what was, for him, familiar and comfortable.

He had been out in the fields all week, working along side his grandfather, mending broken fence posts and relationships along the way. It had taken some doing. They may have been family, but they were more like strangers; twenty years of distance a wide gap to bridge. Gone was the little tow-headed boy who couldn’t wait to crawl up into his Grandpa’s lap. It was obvious that there would be a period of awkwardness between the two; thankfully it was short-lived. The more time they spent together, working and relaxing, the more familiar they became with each other. By the end of the week it was as if time had stood still and waited for the two of them to catch up.

Throwing the comforter back, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and cringed as his bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. That should have been enough to shake the last of the cobwebs from his head; anything leftover would disappear with that first cup of coffee. He pulled his NYPD sweat suit on to ward off the chill and headed downstairs.

He found his mom standing over the stove, humming something; he was never sure where she had found some of those tunes, but he loved to hear her sing. It was another one of the good memories he carried with him; it was also one thing he hadn’t inherited from her; he couldn’t sing to save his life Sneaking up from behind, he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her gently on the top of the head. “Morning, Mom.”

She reciprocated by reaching back and circling him as far as her arms would allow. “Good morning, Jimmy. Sleep okay, son?”

“Yeah, I haven’t had much trouble doing that since I got here.” He had wondered that first night how that was going to work. He was so used to drifting off with the sounds of the city; sirens, traffic, noise. Here on the farm, it was crickets, leaves rustling in the evening breeze and the occasional hoot of the barn owls. But sleep had been no problem; he’d hit the hay, exhausted every night, and was easily lulled into slumber by those sounds.

“It’s all that honest, hard work and that good, clean Indiana air.” She handed him a mug of steaming coffee.”

“Speaking of hard work, where’s Grandpa?”

“Up and gone already. Probably almost done with the milking by now. He keeps himself busy during the day. I don’t see him much.”

“I noticed. It’s been a busy week for all of us. Hard to believe it’s over.”

“Shhhh, please, I don’t want to talk about that right now. I’m not ready to let you go, Jimmy.” She gazed over at her eldest son, perched on the edge of the bar stool, his sandy blond hair spiking in all directions, two days of unshaven stubble on his face. His skin was lightly bronzed from the work of the week, making his blue eyes seem that much deeper. Thirty already, she thought. Where had the years gone? She took a mental photograph, something to tuck away for those occasions when she knew she’d miss him.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I promise you, Mom, I’ll be back a lot sooner next time, okay?”
She smiled. “You better - I’m going to hold you to that.” He knew she would. “What time’s your flight?”

“Not til 3:00. We’ve got a little time.”

Breakfast over, he left her to clean up the kitchen and retreated upstairs to gather up the last of his things and get himself ready. Once his suitcase was packed and stood waiting by the front door, he strolled out to the barn to find his grandfather.

“Grandpa? You here?” The sweet smell of fresh hay filled the barn.
“In here ” He found him, in the hay room, pitching the bales into neat little piles to be fed to the herd at the end of the day. “You heading out already, Bud?” His “buddy” of 20 years ago had grown up; the old man figured the nickname better grow up too.

“No, not yet. I got an hour or so before I have to hit the road. But I thought if you got busy, I might not find you later.”

His grandfather stabbed the pitchfork into a bale and pulled a bandana from the pocket of his overalls. He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“It’s been a great week...maybe a little too fast but I’ve really enjoyed having some good help around here.” Jim smiled and nodded in agreement. “You know, Bud, it was always hard to let you go back then. I think it’s going to be even harder this time. We’ve missed out on so much...I feel like I’m just getting to know you again.”

“Yeah, I know Grandpa, but I’d like to think we made up for a little of that this week. It’s been really good to have a chance to spend time with you again.”

The old man looked over at his grandson, so tall, so grown up, such a fine young man. “Jimmy...” His voice trailed off.

Jim looked at the old man; no doubt he’d aged in the last twenty years, but he was still strong and healthy. There would be more time, he knew that. He held out his hand but his Grandfather grabbed him and pulled him close, patting his back heartily.

“I know... I’ll miss you too, Grandpa.” With that, he turned and walked away, not wanting to say good-bye. He didn’t see the tears that welled in the old man’s eyes.

**********

Strolling through the field, her tiny hand tucked in his, Carol Dunbar felt a joy she hadn’t felt in years. There hadn’t been much time for special moments like this. Holding down two, sometimes three jobs to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads, and fighting with the damn booze to try to maintain some semblance of a normal life had demanded so much of her. While she had tried to make time for her sons, there were many nights when she crawled into bed thinking she’d done a pretty lousy job of it.

Moments like this were affirmation that perhaps she hadn’t done so badly after all. She knew Tom and Ricky were fine. Jimmy was the one she worried about the most. He was her eldest and as such, he was the one who had taken on so much of the pain of those years, the brunt of his father’s drunken anger directed not at her, but at him. But watching him with his Grandfather for the past week, the easy laughter between the two of them, the chance to sit down with him and talk about things that had never been said, listening to him talk about his job with passion in his voice, she knew he was fine too.

Back at the house, the suitcase safely stowed away in the trunk, he flopped down in the grass under the big oak tree. She sat back, reclining against its massive trunk.

“Jimmy, you haven’t mentioned anything about your social life. You keeping anything from your Mom?”

“Like what?” He knew full well where this was going.

“I don’t know. Are there any friends back in the City, and you know what I mean by friends. Nothing would make me happier than to see my boys settle down.”

“Nah, I haven’t mentioned anyone, because there really isn’t anyone. You know, it’s the job.” How could he tell her that there were lots of “friends” back home, just no one he’d want to divulge to his mother. “I guess I haven’t found that special someone yet.” He stopped and looked at her, a sudden seriousness to his face. “Did you think Dad was the one? I mean... ”

“I know what you mean, Cricket.” She smiled wistfully. “I wish you could have known what it was like when I first met him. We had nothing but each other and that was enough. Don’t get me wrong, we had lots of plans and dreams. When you came along, I thought all my prayers had been answered. And then came Ricky and Tommy and our life was good. We still didn’t have much, but we were a family and that’s all that mattered.”

“Your Daddy worked hard for a lot years and he provided what he could. We were never rich, but we were proud. Then he lost his job and I don’t know what else along the way. Somewhere in all of that he mired himself in misery. Honestly, I didn’t know what to do. As much as I struggled with it, I couldn’t bring myself to leave him.”

“Did you think about it? Ever?”

“Leave?” She grew quiet for a minute, than nodded her head. “When he got nasty, I’d think about it a thousand a times a day. But your Daddy was sick and I promised him the day we married that it was for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. That might sound cliche, but you don’t walk out on somebody because they’re sick. Maybe I made a mistake, I don’t know. I kept hoping he’d come back to us, he’d realize that all he needed was right in front of him. You remember, Jimmy, I know you do, the days when it looked like he would.”

“Yeah, I remember. Those were the days when I could almost forgive him. But then he’d go right back to that goddamn bottle...I was so angry with him, Mom, for what he was doing to you, for what he did to us. It’s funny. I thought I still was but when I think about it now, all I feel for him is sorry. He really blew it.”
“What about me, Jimmy? Were you angry with me too?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Mom.” He didn’t finish the thought; she knew in his silence what he wouldn’t say. “I told you before, I didn’t understand it all back then, but I do now.”

“Jimmy, one piece of advice from your old mom. If you are lucky enough to find the person you want to spend your life with someday, remember that it’s good and bad; you can’t know one without the other.”

“I know.” He rolled onto his side and looked at her. There was sadness in his eyes. “I wish I could have made things a little bit better, Mom. I tried.”
She smiled. “You did Cricket, and you still do. Just by being here.”

An hour later, she stood in the driveway, watching the car disappear around the bend. Although she knew the tears that had been gathering would fall without protest, she wore a smile of contentment too; the healing had begun. She blew him a kiss; he waved just once and then he was gone.

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Seven

His head was pounding, one of those headaches that started at the base of the skull and pulsated in waves of pain, eventually coming to roost squarely behind the eyes; it had been a while since he’d had one quite this strong. He cursed his own vanity; his contact lenses were killing him. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands briskly across his eyebrows, then pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate some of that pressure; nothing seemed to help. Too many late nights, too much coffee, a definite lack of sleep and bad take-out were probably all to blame for his present state of misery. The December air, heavy with the promise of a good snow, wasn’t doing much to help his cause. He’d already swallowed six aspirin and it wasn’t yet noon.

“Dunbar, you okay over there?” Dan Bellamy, his partner for the past four months, looked at Jim with concern. “We got to follow-up on that tip that came in this morning. If you’re ready, we should roll.”

He waved his hand as if to dismiss the concern. “I’m good…..I’m fine,” he said, a tone of impatience in his voice.

“You don’t mind me saying so, you don’t look so fine. You’re about as white that piece of paper in your hand.”

“Nah, it’s just a headache. I’m good.” He pulled the long beige trench coat from the back of his chair, grabbed the bottle of aspirin and what was left of his coffee, chasing down two more tablets on the way out the door. “Let’s go.”

This case had gotten off to a particularly tough start. The message had come across his pager shortly before 6:00 a.m, waking him out of a restless sleep and pulling him away from what he hoped would be a pleasant start to his day. He’d left her sleeping but, as with all of the other “relationships” he’d had, and he used that term lightly, he knew she would be long gone by the time he got home.

Now into the second day of their investigation and they still had nothing, not one solid lead to get them started. That lack of direction was beginning to eat at Jim; he wasn’t used to not having at least some little shred of evidence, something to build from. A canvas of the neighborhood had left them squarely where they began, at point zero; no one had seen anything or heard anything; even if they had, and Jim was sure they had, they weren’t talking.

CSI had been over the scene with a fine tooth comb; they hadn’t come up with any conclusive evidence either, no fingerprints on the car, no traceable DNA evidence, nothing. If their DOA had been carrying a wallet, it was gone, along with any credit cards he might have had and his ID; a search of the missing person’s files and the National Criminal Database hadn’t elicited a single match. A real John Doe in a stolen car; that’s all they had. Well, a John Doe with a single gunshot fired from close range with a ‘38 revolver and a single round-nosed bullet plucked from the victim’s chest during the autopsy. Not much to go on.

Jim had been particularly quiet since leaving the station. Dan couldn’t tell if it was the headache or his usual posturing, and he wasn’t about to ask. Under normal circumstances, when he got quiet like this, Dan knew the wheels were turning in Dunbar’s head. Whatever it was, once he had meshed it around long enough to determine whether he thought it was something worth mentioning, he’d share.

“Hey, Dan, let me run something by you.”

Just as predicted, he’d been thinking. “Shoot.”

“There’s nothing on this guy, no ID, no finger print match, no dental records, nothing.”

“Yeah, we got nothin. An anonymous tip we need to follow-up on, but other than that nothin. So where you going with this, Jim?”

“ I’ve been thinking about that tattoo.” The ME had found a small tattoo on the DOA’s left shoulder blade. “ I’m no expert but that looked like some pretty good work, a real pro, maybe a custom job? If we did a little on-line research, we might be able to find a match somewhere?”

“Not a bad idea. You want to hit that when we get back?”

“Yeah. Let’s see what we can come up with. We can start with some of the major parlors in the City and spread out from there if we have to.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Pulling up in front of a dilapidated three story brownstone, Dan drifted the squad car over to the curb and shut off the engine. Looking at his notepad, he confirmed the information from the hot-line tip. “This should be it. Rough looking place, Jim.”

“Yeah, let’s watch each other’s back. I’m not so sure about this one.”

“It says apartment twelve….,” Dan groaned, pulling open the front door. “Don’t it just figure…three stories up and no elevator. How’s that head Jim?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. Let’s go.”

The inside of the building was in a state of disrepair that far surpassed the condition of its exterior. Missing bannister rails, carpeting, if you could call it that, that had seen better days a long time ago. The walls bore too many years of neglect, but the graffiti sprayed on the faded wallpaper was relatively fresh. What little light there was, emitted by the bare bulbs hanging from the peeling ceiling, cast a dull glow on the dank corridors.

“Dunbar, I’m not getting a good feeling about this. Maybe we should call for some back-up?” Dan was still dealing with the occasional attack of nerves and it irritated him to no end that nothing seemed to phase his partner.

“Let’s not jump the gun here. We don’t even know what we got, if anything.”

“Hey, poor choice of words Jim.”

“Sorry about that.”

Three stories, seventy-two stairs and a little short of breath, they stopped in front of the pock-marked door labeled “12 . Dan knocked. There was no answer. Knocking again, a little louder, he called out, “NYPD, Detectives Dunbar and Bellamy. We’d like to talk to you.”

The sound of two chain locks being pulled back greeted them and the door opened a crack. A woman, as unkempt as the building she lived in, peered out through the small space between the door and the jamb.

“What you want?” There was nothing friendly in the tone of her voice.

“Do we have to talk to the door, ma’am? We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“I got nothin’ to say to no cops.”

“Please ma’am,” Jim said, “We’re investigating a murder and we got a tip that someone in this apartment might know something. If you do, we’d like to talk to you about it.”

“I don’t know nothin ‘bout no murder. Go away.” With that she slammed the door shut in Jim’s face.

He stood staring at it, in disbelief. “Was it something I said?”

“We good to get out of her now, Jim?” Dan asked, brushing past his partner to the stairs. He couldn’t wait to hit the pavement - something about the place wasn’t giving him that warm, fuzzy feeling.

“Well,” Jim said from the landing above, “we can’t make her open the door. Let’s just head back to the squad. I don’t like the vibe this place is giving off anyway.”

Already halfway down the first flight, Dan stopped and looked back at Jim, ready to reiterate what a great idea he thought that was. What he had time to do was yell “Dunbar, look out ”

Jim did a half-turn on the stairs, in time to see a shadowy figure racing toward him, full steam across the landing. Where the hell had this guy come from? Even with Dan’s warning, there was no time to react, nothing he could do. The guy slammed into him with all of that weight and speed and kept right on running, flying down the stairs past Dan. He didn’t hesitate, but pulled his weapon and took off in hot pursuit of the fleeing suspect.

Jim fought to keep his balance but it was no use; he tumbled down the stairs and came to an abrupt halt on the landing below, striking his already aching head violently against the wall. Lying there dazed and confused, he couldn’t seem to speak or move.

The last thing he saw was Dan crouching over him, that same look of concern on his face. “Dunbar, you okay?”

Then the lights went out.

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Eight


“Bus is on the way, Jim. Should be here any time now. How are you doing?”

“Not so good…” No point in lying. He wasn’t buying that he was fine; why should anyone else believe it? He felt like he’d been hit by a speeding freight train. His first attempt to get himself upright had been met with an extreme case of dizziness; his head spun, the walls spun, everything else around him caught up in a crazy gyration. He closed his eyes, trying to block it out, but there was no escaping; it was like riding one of those whirling carnival attractions, complete with the nausea, but definitely lacking the fun.

Although he had protested rather loudly at Dan’s initial suggestion that he call for an ambulance, he had finally shoved his stubbornness away in his back pocket and acquiesced. This was one time he thought his partner was absolutely right. There was no way he was going to make it back down the remaining 50 something stairs and out to the car.

“I guess it’s true what they say. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.” Dan was barely 5 foot 7 and a slight build; Jim, at an inch and a bit over 6 feet with a sturdy, athletic build, seemed to tower over him.

“Was that supposed to be funny?” he managed.

“No, I was just going for a little levity. Sorry, Dunbar.”

He tried to lift his arm to wave it off. The pain from that one small movement caught his breath short. “Oh, shit,” he thought to himself, “My damn arm’s broken.”

“Hey,” he asked, trying to get his mind off his current predicament, “did you get a good look at the guy?” It was obvious to him, anyway, having just been steam-rolled, that the guy was big and solid. He hadn’t seen much, black pants, dark blue hooded sweatshirt, white running shoes, Reebok or Nike, he thought.

“No way. He flew past me and was out the door before I hit the second landing. For a big guy he could move. By the time I got out on the street, he was long gone. I radioed for the ambulance, some back-up and came back here.”

“Good, that’s good.” He could hear a faint siren in the distance. As it drew nearer he recognized that it was the ambulance. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, “What a nightmare this day has turned into, huh?”

___________________________________________________________

It was the last place he ever expected to be; lying on some uncomfortably hard hospital gurney, a flimsy hospital gown and even thinner sheet doing a pretty poor job of maintaining his dignity. He had been poked, prodded and x-rayed. He was cold and tired and sore and growing more and more impatient as the minutes dragged on.

His arm was definitely broken; a hairline fracture of some bone on the inside of his forearm; he’d forgotten what they called it; didn’t matter really. What did matter was that he was going to be down and out for a few weeks, assigned to a desk job.

He shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn’t put so much pressure on his black and blue pressure points. Ouch Shit, that hurt - lay still Dunbar.

“Detective Dunbar? I’m Dr. Gordon.” An older man, white haired, bespectacled and very experienced looking, poked his head around the corner and pulled the curtain back. “How are you holding up?” he asked, planting himself on the stool and rolling it over to the bed.

“I just want to go home.” What a comforting thought that was; home, where he could get into his sweats, crawl into his own bed, and sleep.

“Not just yet, I’m afraid.” Shining his little pen light in Jim’s eyes, he uh hmm’d again. “Look to the left for me, good, down, um hm, up, good. Okay.” Making some notes on the chart, he turned to Jim, “I’d like to run a CT Scan, then we’ll send you up to take care of that wrist and give you a room for the night.”

“Is that really necessary?” He couldn’t hide the displeasure in his voice.

“According to your partner, you took a pretty good fall and you admit losing consciousness for a while. Just to be on the safe side, I would rather we keep you under watch for the next few hours.”

“If you’re telling me I have no choice in the matter, fine.” He was too tired to fight. It wasn’t like he had anything to go home to anyway.

------------------------------------------------

The snow that had been threatening to fall for days was coming down in big, lazy flakes, dusting everything in the city with a coat of fluffy white. Jim stood at the window, watching it fall; he was bored. Cabin fever had already set in and he wasn’t cleared to go back to light duty for another week. In the two days since he’d been discharged, he’d already gone through his entire CD collection for the second time and watched as much lame television as he thought he could handle. What the hell am I supposed do now?

The ring of the telephone interrupted his thoughts and he shuffled gingerly over to the side table. Walking was a chore; every fiber of his being screamed in protest. He couldn’t remember ever being this sore or this bruised or feeling quite this defeated.

“Hello?”

‘Jimmy? It’s Walter.”

‘Hey, Walter.” There was a little perk in his voice.

“How you doing, kid? Cabin fever set in yet?” Walter already knew the answer to that one. There was no way Jim would adjust well to sitting around.

“You know it.”

“Well, do you think you’re up for going out for a bit? I’m taking Dottie out to dinner tonight at Madison Bistro. If you felt up to it, we’d like you to join us.”

“Sounds great. I am going a little stir crazy here.”

“Thought you might be. How about 7:30? We’ll pick you up.”

“Good, that’s good. See you then.”

Somehow, as awkward as it was with one good hand, his left hand at that, he managed to get himself showered and shaved and was dressed and waiting when Walter buzzed to let him know they were waiting.

The restaurant was unusually packed for a weeknight, only a couple of empty tables to be seen. The Maitre’D sat them at a small round table in the corner. Jim staked his claim on the chair at the far side of the table, against the wall; safer that way. Dottie helped him shake out of his dark brown leather jacket and pulled the wool scarf from around his neck.

“Still pretty sore, Jim?” she asked, the concern evident in her voice.

“I’m okay, really. It’s not too bad.”

He sat down slowly, steadying himself on the arm of the chair, and eased his aching body into the seat. “Is this place always this crowded, Walter?”

“Don’t know really. It’s the first time we’ve been here. Friend of my recommended it. Said the food was really good.”

“You okay to have a drink, Jim? You’re not taking anything are you?” Dottie asked.

“No, I’d like a Heineken, please.” Once they’d ordered dinner, Jim sat back and took in the ambience of the place. It was warm and inviting, exposed brick, rich, dark wood and splashes of bright color in the art work that lined the walls. Square pillar candles sat on mirrored tiles in the center of each table, casting a soft flickering glow. If the food was as good as the atmosphere, it would explain the popularity the place seemed to enjoy.

Perusing the patrons, he was drawn to her immediately; two tables over and directly in his line of vision; small features, big blue eyes, perfect, petite nose, long dark hair that cascaded around her shoulders in soft waves. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

She must have felt his stare, he didn’t realize he was, because she shifted her gaze to him and smiled. With that, he was smitten.

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Nine

“Jimmy, are you still with us?” Walter’s voice harkened him back to reality.

“No, Walter,” Dottie teased, “He may be sitting at the same table , but I think his thoughts are occupied two tables over. ” She leaned over and whispered, “She’s really quite lovely, Jim.”

“Ah, now I see what all the fuss is about. No doubt about it, Jimmy. She’s a looker. Just like this one was thirty-four years ago.” Walter raised his wife’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

“Now, Walter, you know that’s not true,” Dottie replied, a fresh blush to her cheeks. “I was never that pretty.”
“Well, I always thought you were, dear. I still do.” She swatted him playfully. Jim couldn’t help but smile at the two of them. So, this is what marriage was supposed to be, partner for life; obviously Walter had found that, thirty-four years and still in love.

“So,” Walter winked, “what are you going to do about it?”.

Jim shifted positions in his chair. “If I told you absolutely nothing, would you say I was crazy? That one is way out of my league.”

She had excused herself from the table, just once, and his eyes had followed her until she disappeared around the corner at the back of the restaurant. She was long-legged, lean and graceful, all class and beauty and dignity. Judging by the way she was dressed and the way she carried herself, he was more convinced than ever that they were from two different worlds; and a woman like that would never belong anywhere in his.

It was not quite 10:00 when Walter and Dottie dropped him off in front of his building. He made his way very cautiously across the snowy sidewalk and up the steps to the front door. His arm throbbed, his head ached and his whole body was tired. He realized that he had probably pushed the envelope a bit too far and a bit too soon. Maybe there was something to this prescribed down time after all. The Doctor had tried to warn him that with any head injury, concussions included, there would be periods like this for the next week or two. Damn if he wasn’t right, Jim thought.

He had made it very clear to Jim that he shouldn’t fight the urge to rest, let his brain tell his body what it needed. Right now it was screaming for sleep. He changed into his sweat pants and t-shirt and eased himself down onto the bed. As tired as he was, though, sleep was an elusive friend. When he closed his eyes and willed the exhaustion to pull him under and allow him to drift off into the dark, his mind was fully awake, torturing him with thoughts of her. He couldn’t think of anything else; hadn’t thought about anything else since that initial smile.

As much as he had tried to concentrate his efforts on enjoying the rest of his evening with Walter and Dottie, he found he had a hard time focusing his attention at his own table. He tried not to be too obvious about it but he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her. Every attempt on his part to be discreet had failed; each time he had glanced her way, casually or otherwise, she had caught him looking.

But, he had caught her too, once or twice, watching him over the rim of her wine glass.

Okay, Dunbar, enough already. How is it that she’s got you all twisted in knots? You know absolutely nothing about her, other than the fact that she is so incredibly, frigging beautiful. God, all she had to do was smile and that was it, she had you, hook, line and sinker.

What he was sure of was that the internal battle he was currently waging with himself was all but over anyway. There was nothing to be done about it now; it had been too late the minute he sat back and watched her walk out of the restaurant and disappear into the snowy night. He had done absolutely nothing to stop her.
____________________________________________________________________________
He sat in the dining room, a pen clutched clumsily in his left hand, a writing tablet flipped open on the table in front of him. When he woke, early, with thoughts of her still consuming him, he recognized that perhaps he had made a monumental mistake. Why hadn’t he said something, approached her somehow or at least handed her his business card?

But no, Dunbar, you idiot, you made a decision based on your own goddamn insecurities and you let her walk away. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

After making a pot of coffee, he set his mind to creating a list of all the things he knew for certain; he was, after all, a Detective. In a city of millions, it clearly wasn’t impossible to find her; although it would require some effort on his part but he had five days of down time left to kill and nothing better to do with them.

Her party had been at the Bistro when they arrived for their 8:00 dinner reservation;was there a reservation for 7 with a question mark. The restaurant was on Madison Avenue; was it possible that she worked somewhere on Madison with a question mark. She had been with a fairly large group, maybe ten to twelve people, mostly women, a couple of men; work gathering with a question mark. He had already tried to call the restaurant, much too early. The answering machine said open at noon.

He looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It didn’t seem to be ticking the time away fast enough. If I get my ass in gear, get showered, dressed and hop the train, I can be at the front door when they open. Beats the hell out of sitting around here, waiting to make a phone call. Let’s do it.

It was difficult to shave with his left hand; he’d struggled with it the night before. Although there was definitely a little shadow of stubble, he decided to pass, just in case. Hard to impress someone with a piece of toilet paper glued to your cheek.

He dressed carefully, with the hope that he was going to have to make a good second impression; God knows whether her first impression of him, if she had a first impression, had been memorable. Dark grey tailored slacks, lighter grey shirt and a v-neck sweater in a cross stitch pattern of muted blue and grey. When she had given it to him, his mom had suggested that it accented his beautiful baby blues. Black belt and black leather loafers, black leather jacket and out the door; he was a man on a mission.

It was just after twelve when he pulled open the front door of Madison Bistro.

“Good afternoon, Sir.” The young hostess looked up from her lunch manifest, and smiled at Jim. “Can I get you a table?”

“No, thank you, I’m not here for lunch. Actually, I’m looking for some information.” He flashed his badge. “There was a party in here last night, at that table,” he gestured awkwardly to the long table in front of the window. “I need to know if there is any record of who might have had that reservation.”

“I don’t have that information, but if you’d like to wait a minute, I’ll check with the manager.”

“Thanks.” Jim leaned against the bar. The bar stools looked a little high and given the uncooperative nature of his bruised muscles, he didn’t think he was up to tackling that challenge just yet. He tapped his fingers nervously on the burled walnut.

“Detective? I understand you’re looking for some information.”

“Yes, please. I’m hoping you still have your records from last night. The occupants of the long table in front of the window. A group of ten or twelve, I believe.”

“I have the manifest right here. Let’s see, yes, here it is. We had a 7:00 reservation for Style Magazine in the name of Christine Sullivan.”

“Style Magazine.” He couldn’t help but smile. “That’s great. Just what I needed.”

Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, thank you. I can take it from here.”

Directory provided him with the telephone number, a reverse match provided him with the address and within thirty minutes, he was on the elevator, heading for the 24th floor of 383 Madison Avenue and the headquarters of Style Magazine.

Pushing open the solid beveled glass doors, he approached the crescent shaped reception desk. Pretty swanky place, he thought to himself. Lots of smoked glass, pale blond wood panels, etched mirrors and ornate brocade furniture.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for a Christine Sullivan.”

“If you’d like to take a seat, sir, I’ll check and see if she’s available. Is she expecting you?”

“No, I don’t believe she is. But this is quite important.”
“Your name?”

“Dunbar, Detective Jim Dunbar with the NYPD.”

He stood watching while she placed the call; he didn’t think he could sit, even if he wanted to; he was nervous, ridiculously nervous for someone his age.

“Yes, Ms. Sullivan, there’s a Detective Dunbar to see you...No, he didn’t say what it was in reference to...but he did say it was important...Yes, I’ll tell him.” She hung up the phone. “She’s just finishing up with a client but she’ll be right with you ”

“Thank you.” He walked over to the waiting area and studied the framed prints on the paneled wall. Magazine covers from each of the past twelve months. Style magazine was exactly what it sounded like, women’s fashion, and the obvious reason for the manner in which his mystery woman had been dressed last night.

A very soft, very feminine voice interrupted his thoughts, “Detective Dunbar? I’m Christine Sullivan.”

Not sure what to expect he turned around slowly, and there she stood.

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Ten

“It’s you.” He wasn’t entirely sure what flashed across that beautiful face or exactly what was reflected in her big blue grey eyes; shock definitely, but he also thought he might have detected a hint of pleasure there as well.

“Yeah, it’s me. Look, I’m sorry to barge in on you like this ...” He felt very much like a little school boy, a very shy, very nervous little school boy.

She was as gracious as she was attractive. She placed her hand lightly on his shoulder. “Why don’t we move to my office. I have a little time before my next appointment.” He followed her back to a large corner office; her name was on the door. Definitely out of your league, he thought to himself, way out.

“Please, sit,” she said, gesturing to a soft green leather couch. As inviting as it appeared, he looked at it a little hesitantly. “Or maybe you’d be more comfortable in one of the chairs? Can I get you something, a coffee, tea, or a soda?.”

“A coffee would be great if it’s no trouble.” She hit the intercom on her desk. “Mandy, would you bring us a carafe and two mugs. Thank you.”

Jim shrugged his jacket off and laid it over the arm of the couch. He managed, somehow, to get himself planted in the chair. She caught him wincing at the effort; he was obviously still feeling some pain, meaning that this injury was relatively recent. And yet, here he is; he came looking for you.

“You’re hurt,” she said, an undertone of sympathy in her voice. “I couldn’t help but notice last night. Is that a hazard of the job?”

“In this case, yes. I met a perp who just happened to be a little bigger than me.”

She looked genuinely concerned. “Does that happen often?”

“I hope not.” He grinned at her.

Great smile. Warm, genuine, good sense of humor. “So, Detective Dunbar...”

“Jim., please.”

“So, Jim, to what do I owe this unexpected visit? I take it this is not official business because you haven’t shown me your badge or read me my rights.” She sat down on the couch, and crossed those incredibly long legs. Pouring a mug of coffee, she handed it to him. “Cream or sugar?”

“Just black, please,” he said, reaching out to take the steaming mug from her and setting it on the table. No ring on her left hand. Damn good thing. He was struck by the notion that he hadn’t spent nearly enough time thinking this out before dashing out the door, not half as much as he probably should have. What the hell would you have done if she were married?

“This is a little awkward...I know that’s how I’m feeling, anyway.” Come on, you’re a grown man, for God's sake. Just spit it out. “I believe I made a mistake last night and I’d like a chance to make it right.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” There was a look of definite confusion on her face.

“I, uh, ...” he hesitated, slightly, “that is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. There I said it... I apologize if that seems a little forward and I hope I’m not out of line here.” He looked at her, catching his lower lip in his teeth, waiting, watching for her reaction, some sort of reaction, any reaction at all.

“Well,” she smiled, “to tell you the truth, Detective, I spent the better part of my evening thinking about you, too. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little disappointed that you didn’t do something about it last night.”

The nerves he had been struggling to control seemed to dissipate in that instant. “So, this wasn’t necessarily a bad move on my part? Coming here?”

Christine shook her head. “No, I don’t think it was."

"I am so glad to hear you say that."

"I have to admit, I was more than a little curious when they paged me to tell me there was a Detective looking for me. It was a very pleasant surprise to see you in the lobby." She took a dainty sip of her coffee.“But if I might ask, how did you find me?”

There was a little touch of teasing in his grin. “I’m a Detective. I had a few places to look.”

She laughed easily. “That’s what I would call putting the job to work for you. How long have you been a detective, Detective?”

“Not quite two years.”

“And before that?” She was trying to do the math; late twenties, early thirties?

“I’ve been a cop for almost 8 years, beat cop first , then anti-crime.”

“All of it here in the City?”

“Yes. I grew up here.” He stopped himself short, not wanting to mention the ties to Red Hook, just yet. He hoped she wouldn’t ask. She didn’t.

“And what is it that you investigate now, Detective?” she asked, intrigued.

“Homicides.” He said it so matter of factly. Seeing the look on her face, he added, “I know, but someone’s got to do it. It may as well be me.”

“I’m not sure I know too many people who would have the stomach for that kind of work.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, I hate to cut this short but I have a meeting in15 minutes . Can we continue this conversation another time?”

“How about tomorrow night?”

“I’m afraid I can’t. Please don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that we have a big show early next week. I’m afraid my calendar is full from now until Tuesday with meetings and preparation.”

“Well, then, how about Wednesday? Dinner?”

“I’d like that.” She flashed him another one of those gorgeous smiles. Walking over to her desk, she pulled something from her top desk drawer and brought it to him. “Here’s my card. Why don’t you call me on Wednesday and tell me what you have in mind.”

“That sounds good.”

She lifted his jacket from the arm of the couch and held it up so he could slip into it. “I’ll walk you out.” They said good-bye at the main door to the reception area.

“So, see you on Wednesday, Jim?" It wasn’t a question really; she was certain he would call.

“Yeah, I'll see you then.” Half way out the door, he turned,“ It was nice to meet you, Christine Sullivan.”

“Likewise, Detective.”

There was a little extra energy in his step as he crossed the lobby of Style Magazine. She floated back to her office. Five days was a long time to wait but she was very much aware that as full as her schedule was the time would fly by. Wednesday would be here before she knew it.

A light snow was beginning to fall as he exited the building and stepped out into the bustle of mid-afternoon Madison Avenue. The heartbeat of the city raced around him; horns honked, traffic moved slowly like a weaving serpent along the street. He was oblivious to that world, lost in contemplation.

She had surprised him. Her beauty was without question; if it were possible she was even more so today. Where he was big and all rough edges, she was petite and refined, almost delicate. Although he had expected there to be a hint of arrogance, there was none. She was so very real; down to earth and unassuming. The smile that had captivated him in the first place was never far away; and the laugh that accompanied it was full of life. He had never met anyone quite like her. Seeing her again was five long days away; he hoped the time between now and then would slip by in a New York minute.

Passing a small flower shop, he ducked inside and placed a standing order for a single long-stemmed red rose. A rose a day for five days should keep me fresh in her mind, he thought.

He didn’t need anything to keep her in his.

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Eleven

“Hey, Dunbar, welcome back. Good to see you.” Jim was not in the mood to hear how glad his partner was to have him back. If would be fine, if it were true.

“I wish, Bellamy. But I’m not officially back on full duty until I get the final clearance. Right now, I’ve got a ticket that says I’m good for light duty.” He wasn’t entirely thrilled about it either; he had argued vehemently with the Doctor at his follow-up appointment earlier in the morning.

“Come on, Doc, my head is fine. I haven’t had any symptoms for a couple of days now. No headaches, no dizzy spells, no blurred-vision.”

“Sorry, Detective, not good enough. If you could tell me that you’d been symptom free for a week that would mean something. Unfortunately, though, for you and me, your head isn’t the only thing I need to pass clearance on here.”

“If I come back on Friday and I’m still good, what then? Could you cut me a break?’

“I’m afraid my hands are tied by the Department’s own policy. Until you can perform all the requirements of your job, and correct me if I’m wrong, but the ability to drive a car and draw your weapon are all part of the normal requirements, I can’t give you a full duty pass.”

“Is there anyway that this thing can come off sooner than you think?” he asked, referring to the cumbersome cast that encased his right arm, knuckles to elbow.

“Not likely. We’ll do another x-ray in a couple of weeks and give you a better prognosis then.”

Jim raised both arms, waving his left hand in a dismissive gesture of utter exasperation. “Alright, alright. If that’s the best I’m going to get.”

“I’m afraid that’s all I can do. Sorry, Detective, but here’s your light duty pass.” So that was that, and that was so damn frustrating! How many times had he been forced to draw his weapon in the past two years? Twice, three times tops. And driving a car; isn’t that what partners were for? Damn it, he thought to himself, I just want to get back to work, do my job.

“So, you tied to the desk, Jim?”

He scowled. “Looks like it, until I get this damn thing off,” he said, holding up his right arm.

“Geez, sorry, Jim. That sucks.” Jim had made it very clear that he didn’t hold a particular admiration for the administrative aspects of police work. Delegation was a power tool especially when you had a rookie partner and he had used it to his advantage.

“Tell me about it.” He dropped his coat over the back of his chair and pulled his laptop from its case, glancing at the files still sitting in his in-box where he had dumped them last week. At least he had a few reports to get typed and filed; that would occupy some of his time.

“Hey, how are things going on the investigation?” he asked, referring to what had landed him in this quandary in the first place.

“We’re working a couple of leads on the perp. But we did some research on that tattoo like you suggested. Damn if we didn’t get a match! We pinned it down to a New Jersey gang out of Trenton, bunch of real badasses, Jim. ID’d our DOA on Monday, Reggie Dees, twenty-six, long rap sheet, drug trafficking, car theft, gun running, you name it. Good news is, I think we’re pretty close to blowing the whole thing wide open.”

“That’s great. Congratulations.” It was difficult to mask his irritation. He had such an incredible itch to get back out in the field. He wasn’t going to be able to scratch that itch until he had full use of his right arm. That meant no cast and that meant at least three more weeks.

As irritated as he was with that predicament, though, he wasn’t about to let anything detract from the one bright spot to this day. Pulling his wallet from his coat pocket, he flipped it open and removed the business card she had handed him; the one he’d checked for everyday, just to make sure it was still there.

Not wanting to appear too anxious, he had talked himself into waiting until after his Doctor’s appointment. Considering the manner in which his morning had been progressing to this point, downhill in a hurry, he wasn’t inclined to wait any longer. Christine Sullivan; Executive Fashion Editor; Style Magazine. He dialed the main number listed on the front of her card.

“Christine Sullivan, please…Yes, it’s Detective Jim Dunbar.” Dan looked over at his partner and raised one eyebrow. He’d have to hear about this one later.

“Hey, it’s Jim……Yeah, I’m good, thank. You?...Oh, you got them, that’s great…you’re welcome... I’m glad. That was the whole point…I do? Sorry, I guess I am a little down…. .No, it’s nothing, really. I was just hoping to get a full work clearance this morning...not yet…But enough of that…How was the show?…Good, that’s good…So, are we still on for tonight?...How about 7:00?…Pick you up there?…That’s fine, that’s good…Wear something warm and casual, okay, nothing too dressy…Hey, how do I get in after hours?…In the lobby at 7:00…Great. See you then.” He hung up the phone, a slight smile on his face. Things were definitely beginning to look up.

“So, what’s up with that, Jim?” He’d noticed Dan trying to making a very concerted effort to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” At least it’s nothing yet, he thought.

He had put a great deal of thought into this first date; it helped to fill the slow passage of time on his down days. More than that, though, was his desire for it to be something special. He didn’t want an ordinary evening to make that all-important third impression; she certainly wasn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, just an ordinary woman.

Stepping out of the carriage, he crossed the sidewalk and gave the revolving door a solid push. It was not quite 7:00 but she was already there, waiting for him. He had mentioned casual attire for their evening out but this outfit went far beyond his expectations; she was in a word, breathtaking. She had chosen a soft red turtleneck that hugged her petite curves in all the right areas and paired it with tight form fitting black jeans that only served to emphasize how very long and slender her legs really were. A matching black pea jacket and bright red scarf were draped casually over her elegant shoulders. She turned at the sound of the door and smiled shyly.

In his hand, he held another single, long stem red rose. “This is for you,” he said, holding it out to her. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “So do you.” That little hint of pleasure was back in her eyes and that was a good sign.

“You ready?” She slipped her arms into the sleeves of her jacket, tucked the scarf under the collar and nodded. Jim placed his hand gently on her arm. “Well, then, let’s go.”

“Where are you taking me? You’ve been very secretive about your plans for tonight. I thought we agreed that when you called you were going to tell me what you had in mind.”

“We did, and I will, when the time is right.”

They stepped out into the chill of a mid-December evening. The winter sky was clear; small white puffs of cotton candy clouds floated in a sea of black. The air was crisp and cold, too dry for snow.

“Your carriage awaits, Ms. Sullivan.”

She looked up and gasped; it stopped her in her tracks. Waiting at the curb was an open white buggy, drawn by a lone white horse, his tail and mane braided with red ribbons, a collar of jingle bells and holly around his neck. The horseman, attired in black tails and a top hat, stood beside the rig, holding the small side door open for them.

“This is amazing, Jim.” There was that look of pleasure again.

“Good, that’s what I was going for.” He reached behind the seat and pulled out a thick woolen blanket, opening it wide and patted the seat beside him, a hint that he wanted her to slide a little closer. “Warm enough?” he asked, as he tucked it in tightly around them. “We’ve got a bit of a ride ahead of us. There’s another blanket back there if we need it.”

‘No, this is good. I’m fine, thank you. But you’re not going to tell me where we’re going are you?”

“What’s the matter, Christine, you don’t like surprises?” He turned to her and grinned. Everything he needed to see, wanted to see, was reflected in her beautiful eyes. At that moment, he knew it; he had her.

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Twelve

There was something special about the city at Christmas; the enchantment of the store windows adorned in their holiday finest, strings of lights garlanded across the barren tree branches like strands of multi-colored jewels, the unspoiled beauty of the city streets cloaked in the glistening diamonds of a new fallen snow. With the bells jingling in perfect rhythm to the spirited canter of the horse drawing the carriage and the tranquil beauty of the winter world surrounding them, it was exactly the beginning Jim had hoped for.

“Hey, are you okay?” He looked down at her, snuggled tightly against his arm, her cheeks rosy from the cold night air, her eyes bright and full of life.

“I am. This is wonderful, Jim. I haven’t had a carriage ride in, I don’t really remember when. I was just a little girl. And I’ve never had one in winter. It’s magic.” He knew she thought it was; it was written in the expression on her face and the sparkle in her eyes. “So, are you ready to tell me where we’re going?”

“I don’t remember saying I would.” Jim hoped to draw this out for as long as possible. He was intent on not giving up the secret just yet. It had cost him some very old, very big favors but he had gladly paid the price.

Passing Rockefeller Center, he leaned forward and tapped the horseman on the shoulder, indicating that he should stop. The majesty of the tree was, as it had been each and every year before, more spectacular than the last. Its reflection was echoed a thousand times over in the dark glass facades of the buildings sheltering the plaza. A flurry of bright colors and laughter filled the night air as the skaters whirled and glided their way across the frozen surface of the pond.

“It looks like they’re having a ball out there. Do you skate, Jim?”

He laughed. “No. But if I ever decide I could risk another broken arm, I might just give it a shot. You?”

“Another one of those things I did a long time ago. I haven’t skated in years. I don’t even know if I would remember how.” Settling back on the seat again, resting comfortably in the crook of his arm, she gazed up at him. “So, if you don’t skate, I guess this isn’t our final destination this evening?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh, come on, Jim, please,” she pleaded with him. “Just a hint?“

“Alright, alright. Since you seem to be having such a hard time with this.” He grinned. “It involves snow and lights. Lots of snow and lots of lights.”

“What kind of hint is that? That could be just about anywhere.”

“Exactly and that’s as specific as I’m going to get.”

“You love this don’t you?” She mocked frustration, but there was a lighthearted, playfultone to her voice.

“As I said before, Christine, don’t you like surprises?” He tapped the horseman again and the carriage moved on.

They wound their way leisurely along the rim of Central Park and onto West 67th Street, coming to a final stop at the opulence of Tavern on the Green. As grandiose as the old red brick and stone structure was on any other occasion, at Christmas it was a true vision. Every nearby tree was a shimmer with white lights wrapped tightly round the trunks and laced through the starkness of the bare branches. Each window of the grand old building was aglow with white paper lanterns and tiny fairy lights. There wasn’t a nook or cranny, outside or in, that wasn’t touched with some symbol of the season.

He took her hand and helped her down from the carriage. Her eyes were radiant. She wrapped her hand tightly around his arm and smiled. “I should have known, Jim. It’s beautiful!” She brushed his cheek lightly with a gentle kiss, affirmation for him of what he thought he had read in her expression earlier in the evening.

“I’m glad you’re pleased.” Escorting her along the brick walkway, his hand positioned in the small of her back, he marveled at how well things appeared to be going. Even on those few occasions where silence had descended between them, it had seemed natural. There was an easy calm to those quiet moments. He had never known that with anyone else.

Seated at a window table in the Crystal Pavilion, the splendor of Central Park cloaked in its mantle of white before them, the black velvet backdrop of the sky behind it, they toasted their first date and each other. It seemed so appropriate to Jim that meeting her had occurred at the end of a year that had already seen so many changes in his life, and at the beginning of another. One, that at this moment, with his fingers contentedly entwined with hers, held the promise of something so new.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Jimmy, take me back to your place.” She had leaned over and whispered it softly but there was a sultriness to the tone of her voice. He hadn’t heard it before.

Although they had been seeing each other regularly, spending as many of their waking moments together as possible, it surprised him that she would be the first to hint that their relationship should progress to that next plateau. He hadn’t wanted to push too hard or too soon and had never attempted to broach the subject with her; her suggestion that she was ready to move forward was all he needed to hear.

“Okay, then, let’s get out of here.” He dropped a twenty on the table, more than sufficient to cover the tab for their shortened evening.

Unlocking the front door, he led her down the hall toward the darkened bedroom and reached for the light switch. She put her hand out to stop him.

“No, leave it off for now,” she managed, pulling him closer to her, catching his mouth with hers. One hand played lazily in the back his hair, the other fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. With the satisfaction of finally baring the taut muscles of his chest and shoulders, she slid the shirt down his arms and let it drop carelessly to the floor. She trailed her lips across his. Her tongue traced a path down his chin, his neck, his chest, across the muscles of his stomach and stopped just short of his waistline. She reached for his pants, unbuckled his belt and moved her hand slowly down, until she found him. Her fingers touched, caressed and teased.

“Christie.” His breath was ragged in his chest, his heart pounding. He drew her back up to him and lifted the sweater over her head, tossing it into the corner . The thin satin of her camisole was no match for his will to explore, to feel, to touch. He raised the camisole and buried his head in the valley between her breasts; his hands moved tenderly over the gentle curves of body to the waistband of her skirt. Sliding under the soft fabric of her panties, his fingers trailed lower until he felt her tremble beneath his touch.

With his arm encircling her waist, her mouth help captive by his, he walked her backward slowly and lowered her gently to the bed, engulfing her small body under his. There was a passionate heat behind her kiss, a need behind her touch and a desire in her eyes. He knew his desire was there, too, laid bare for her to see.

They stripped off the final barriers and explored, as only new lovers could. When, at last, she took him deep inside, they moved together in perfect rhythm, poetry between them, a rhyming of their newfound desire for each other. Their motions were slow and deliberate, gentle at times, forceful at others. And when it appeared that they were both close to the pinnacle, he slowed and pulled back, not wanting to end it too soon. Every change in her expression, every emotion in her eyes was firmly etched in his mind. This time, their first time, was meant to be remembered.

Finally allowing themselves to reach the height of their passion, climaxing as one, they laid together, spent, exhausted and satisfied. He kissed her tenderly on the top of her head and pulled her closer to him, every curve of her body a fit with his. Then they slept.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Morning was just breaking, the sun not quite a splinter of pale light in the cold gray of the mid-winter sky. It was much too early to be awake but sleep seemed to elude him, again, just as it had for the past several nights. Thoughts of her ran circles around his need for rest.

Four days ago, he had driven her to LaGuardia, watched her board that plane to Los Angeles, and on the long drive back into the City, faced the fact that she was gone and he felt nothing more than alone. Their conversations each night only served to intensify his heightened sense of solitude and he found himself counting the hours between her calls. It was easy to deal with the loneliness during the day with his mind firmly focused on his job.

Occupied by the tasks at hand, he didn’t have time to let those feelings overwhelm him. But the minute he hung up the gun at the end of the day and closed the locker door, his mind would inevitably wander to her, to his need to see her, be with her, to hold her, to make love to her. There was absolutely no denying it; he missed her, everything about her, above all, all the little things that he had grown so accustomed to.

He missed being able to gaze into her eyes, to see the raw emotion reflected there, her warmth, her humor, her pleasure. He missed the feel of her hair, the softness of it against his skin. He missed her scent, the subtle, feminine bouquet of it, the lingering effect it seemed to have on him. He missed the touch of her hand, small and delicate, but seeming, somehow, to belong in his. He missed her smile; he had heard it in her voice but the effect wasn’t the same when he couldn’t see how that smile lit up her beautiful face.

He wondered if it was even possible that his life could have changed so drastically in such a short period of time. This woman, the one who, just a few short months ago he had determined to be way out of his league, who couldn’t possibly occupy a place in his world, seemed to equal him, satisfy him and complete him as no one else had been able to do. When he was with her, it was as though the blank spaces in the canvas of his life were finally satiated with color; the picture was perfect and whole.

God, Dunbar, you are so screwed! She’s under your skin and she’s in deep. But, is this really as good as I think it is? Isn’t it just a little too soon to know for sure? Does anyone ever really know for sure or is it just a leap of faith?

What do I have to base any of this on, anyway? It’s not like I have anything to compare it to…Or maybe I do. And that’s why I know what good feels like; because I’ve lived through the bad and I know that’s not what I want my life to be. I want it to be like this.

He glanced over at the clock; another seven hours and she would be back on the ground and back in his life. It was going to be a very long day.

Picking up the phone, he dialed a long distance number. The phone rang, once, twice, three times. Come on, please answer.

“Hello?” Her voice was sleepy; he’d completely forgotten about the time change.

“Mom, it’s Jimmy.”

“Jimmy,” there was a sudden urgency to her voice. “Is everything okay? It’s so early.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. But Mom, I have something to tell you.”

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Thirteen

“Jimmy…” A lazy Saturday afternoon, the remnants of a picnic lunch still spread on the ground beside them, they reclined on the blanket under the warmth of the spring sun. The Park wasn’t yet crowded, a peaceful setting still a possibility and they had found one, sheltered under the green canopy of the budding trees. Another weekend or two, with the sun a little higher in the sky, the trees in full leaf, the boats moored again in the lake in anticipation of new lovers, signs of renewed life would return to the City and spill over into the Park.

“Ummm?” An air of quiet contentment had settled over him. Christie was snuggled against, him, her head resting contentedly on his shoulder, her body melded tightly to his. Her arm draped casually across his chest, her fingers tracing an abstract zigzag on his shirt.

“Tell me about your family.” She could feel him stiffen slightly under her touch.

He opened one eye and peered at her. “What would you like to know?”

“Everything,” she said, raising her head up, imploring him with the depth of those beautiful eyes, eyes he could easily lose himself in.

He knew this was coming; at some point it had to. While he had managed to steer their conversations clear of that subject, it was inevitable that she would want to know. He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and drew his chin down in a matching shrug.

“Not much to tell, really. Mom lives in Indiana. I have two brothers, both younger, both in Indiana. Ricky’s a cop, Deputy Chief in Muncie and Tommy’s a civil engineer with the State.’

“I thought you said you grew up here, in the City?”

“I did, we did. She left a few years ago.” He lowered his head and closed his eyes again.

“Is that it?” He had made it clear to her before that there were facets of his life that he guarded very closely. It was never easy with him; sometimes getting him to talk about things was like trying to pull teeth.

“No, of course that’s not it.” He paused. When he continued, it was with carefully chosen words. “Christie, I grew up in Red Hook. My father drank, a lot. I was 17 when he died.” There was still that tinge of bitterness in his voice; it had a habit of sneaking up on him, invariably anytime the conversation turned to that man. He certainly hadn’t intended it to, not with her.

“Jimmy, I’m sorry,” she said, a sympathetic quietness to her tone.

“For what? Me? Don’t be.”

“No, not for you. I’m sorry because I didn’t mean to pry open any old wounds. I just wanted to know about your family.”

“Yeah, well now you know. I didn’t grow up in the kind of home most kids dream about.”

“Jimmy, please. What did you think would happen if you shared that with me? That I’d hold it against you or somehow think any less of you?”

“No, it’s not that.” He fought to control the sudden edge that had crept into his voice. “It’s just a place I don’t like to go.”

She laced his fingers with her own and brought his hand to her mouth, brushing it with her lips. “Okay, okay,” she soothed, “I won’t ask again. But, Jimmy, when you’re ready, let me in, please.”

He rolled over and raised himself over her, confining her slender body beneath the bulk of his own. What he saw reflected on her face and in her eyes touched him; his hurt was her hurt. A wave of emotion swept over him. He took her beautiful face gently between his hands, cradling her, and lowered his mouth to hers. The intensity of the tenderness behind that kiss left them both breathless.

Holding her close, wrapped tightly in his embrace, he said quietly, “Believe me, Christie, you’re already in.” Finally releasing her, he patted her firmly on the behind. “Hey, let’s head back to my place. What I’d like to do with you right now could get us both arrested.”

She pulled back and laughed, that easy, spirited laugh that made his heart sing. “Well, then, what are you waiting for? Let’s go.”


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He couldn’t concentrate; tension was taking hold of the muscles at the base of his neck and arcing though his shoulders and back. He stretched until he heard the familiar crack in his spine; but that old trick didn’t provide him with the relief he was so desperately seeking. Swallowing the last of what was now ice-cold coffee, he made his way down the hall to the break room, chiding himself as he walked. “Come on, Dunbar, snap out of it!

It wasn’t like him to let his personal life interfere with his ability to focus on the job. He had tried to curb the multitude of thoughts running amok in his head and concentrate on the case file in front of him. But, having read the same sentence at least a dozen times over, he realized it was a useless endeavor and snapped the file shut. Reaching for the phone, he dialed a familiar number.

“Walter, it’s Jimmy. Do you think you could meet me for a beer later?”

“Yeah, sure kid. Something on your mind?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Casey’s? 5:00?”

‘Great, that’s great. See you then.” He needed someone to talk to; he needed Walter. He certainly couldn’t turn to his partner, not for this conversation.

The friendship that was so often cultivated between partners, working that closely together, day in and day out, trusting that person with you life, wasn’t there with Dan. He was a little too young, a little too green, his interests a little too different. Jim appreciated the fact that as a partner, he couldn’t have asked for anyone better to watch his back. Beyond that, though, there were no common denominators to encourage the bonds of friendship.

Seated in the privacy of a booth in the back corner of the bar, the din of the regular 5:00 cop crowd behind him, Jim glanced over at his mentor. He took a long swig from the bottle and set it back down on the table, twisting it absently between his hands. “I’m in trouble here, Walter.”

“What’s up kid? What’s eating you?”

He tilted his head to the side and stretched his back and shoulders. “Do you remember that night at the Bistro, right after my accident?”

Walter shook his head in agreement. “Yeah, I remember…are we talking about who I think we’re talking about?”

“We are.”

“Jimmy, that was a long time ago, and if I remember correctly, you let that one get away.”

“I did. But I went looking for her, Walter.”

“You’ll have to tell me about that sometime. I take it you found her?”

He nodded his head. “I did…and we’ve been seeing each other since.”

“Jimmy that was, what, over seven months ago and this is the first I’m hearing about it? How could you keep something like that so quiet?”

“Come on, Walter.”

“Yeah, I know kid. Building those walls again?” He was more than aware from past experience that Jim would guard something this important, hold it close to his chest until he was ready to let it go. “So, how can I help?”

Jim paused, his fingers nervously drumming the table. His silence apparently spoke volumes, the unsaid words conveying everything he wasn’t quite ready to admit, not yet, not out loud, not even to Walter.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Walter’s face split into a wide grin. He reached over and grabbed Jim by the arm. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

Jim could feel the flush on his cheeks. He looked a little sheepish, recalling the last time Walter had asked him that same question. “That what I wanted to talk to you about, Walter. I need some advice. And, since you and Dottie have made such a long go of it and still seem happy…”

Walter stopped him short. “You know, the problem with you, kid, is that you think too much. You don’t need advice from me, Jimmy. You already know.”

That much was true; he was well aware of the revelations of his heart. His feelings for her had grown so easily, so swiftly, it had surprised him. There was absolutely no denying the hold she had on him. But for all the truth he recognized in those feelings, there was still that underlying sense of insecurity. As outwardly confident as he appeared to be, inwardly he cursed those insecurities and the affect they seemed to have on the more personal dimensions of his life.

He was scared; scared of commitment, scared of rejection, scared of all those long-suppressed emotions, the ones he had yet tofully reconcile. Before her, those parts of his life had always been casual, no strings, no promises. He had never allowed himself to love, not like this, to become so attached to anyone, to want or to need the way he did with her. Falling in love with her was a complication; one that he wasn’t sure he was the least bit prepared for; and yet, that’s exactly where he found himself, totally and helplessly in love.

He shrugged his chin, took pause for a minute and then he grinned. “You’re right, Walter, you’re absolutely right. You know, I think I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“Ah, that’s great, kid, just great!” He laughed. “I’m glad we had this little talk, Jimmy, glad I could help you set things straight. You didn’t need me; you just needed to say it.”

Jim laughed too; there was no stopping it. The stress had released him and in its place a sense of peace, the knowledge that his decision was the right one, a realization that she was the right one. He knew his life would never be the same, he could never think of himself again without thinking of her too. He raised his bottle in salute. “Yeah, thanks for that, huh? Hey, Walter, if she’ll have me, I’m getting married.”

“Oh, I think she will. Hey, Jimmy, you haven’t even told me her name.”

“It’s Christine, Christine Sullivan.”

Walter snapped his fingers, signaling the waiter. “We need a couple more beers here please. Looks like we’ve got something to celebrate.”

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Fourteen

It had been years since Jim last stepped foot in the ring, laced up his gloves for the final time and felt the exhilaration of winning a hard-fought battle; but he could still find a significant measure of gratification, going a few rounds with the speed bag; the solid smack of clenched fist against leather, the effortless cadence of his hands and arms as he worked the bag, hand over hand, until his whole torso was drawn into the fluidity of the exercise. The passage of time hadn’t registered any adverse affect on his abilities; he still moved like a fighter.

Working the bag was one of those things that required absolutely no focus on his part. He could do it with his eyes closed, he was that familiar with the reaction of the bag and that sure of the rhythm of his body. Once he was in that groove, had arrived at that place where his mind and body performed in perfect synchronicity, he could immerse himself in the nothingness. With a severe case of nerves wreaking havoc with his thoughts and tying his stomach in knots, he needed that nothingness this day, more so than he had in a long while.

He had already second-guessed himself a thousand times over the past twenty-four hours; the unrequited doubts constantly needling him, because, as Walter had so astutely pointed out, he really did think too much. His heart had already accepted that Christie was the one, the only one who could make him feel whole. As much as he wanted to listen to the voice of his heart, his head was preoccupied with an ongoing analysis of the glaring differences that existed between her world and his.

There was no doubt that she challenged him, asked of him things that he wasn’t ready to give, demanded an openness that no one else had sought from him. But those moments, the moments where she pushed him to share, dared him to talk about things he had hidden long ago, to let her in, were eclipsed by the quiet contentment he had found with her; long walks together, hand in hand, the conversation flowing easily between them, lazy Saturday mornings, snuggled together, unmoving, appreciating, the silence between them unforced and unbroken, relaxing Sunday brunches that more often than not took them well into early afternoon, the simple pleasures they knew from just being with one another. Those were the moments that defined their relationship and affirmed Jim’s knowledge that he had found his mate, his partner, his lover, his friend.

It was so easy for him to picture her, enjoying a Saturday afternoon at the ball park, her long raven hair pulled through the back of a blue and white Yankees cap, her slender legs clad in a pair of well-worn jeans; the woman could make an old sweatshirt look good. Try as he might, though, he simply couldn’t conjure up the same image of his adjustment to her world, accompanying her to Style Magazine affairs or fashion shows, making polite small talk about a subject he knew absolutely nothing about, had, at least to this point, absolutely no interest in, with a group of people that he had absolutely nothing in common with.

And, yet, unavoidably, he knew he would, if she were to ask. He would make the adjustment to all of the elements of her world that were foreign to him. He was willing to make the sacrifice because her happiness meant that much to him. Any extra effort on his part would be worth it because she was worth it. He could still hear his mother’s voice, as clearly as the day she had spoken the words, “ If you are lucky enough to find the person you want to spend your life with someday, remember that it’s good and bad; you can’t know one without the other.”

Taking one last swing at the bag before steadying it with his hands, he headed for the locker room and a long, hot shower. The only thing left to him now was to wait and worry, try to control his rampant nerves and ignore that voice in his head.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sweet sound of jazz filled the room with its spell, weaving it’s magic through the smoky air of their favorite jazz club, the voices of a packed house hushed by its excellence. The sax player blew a softened version of Moon River, the light feather rasp of the brush on the snare and cymbals, the deep tonal notes plucked from the cello strings, the only accompaniment to the smooth timbre of the sax.

She had moved her chair around so that she now occupied a place directly at his side, as close to him as the two chairs would allow. The enjoyment of good music, good jazz especially, was one of those things that they did have in common; she was obviously entranced in its hold right now; her shoulders swayed slightly to the music. On this night, she was nothing short of stunning; her selection of a deep violet satin blouse, a wide line of gold beading edging the plunging vee of the neckline, all served to just further enhance what already Jim considered to be her best attributes. Her hair appeared that much softer, darker, the blue of her beautiful eyes that much deeper.

She turned, caught his gaze and smiled. There was something different in her expression, a softness to her radiant smile, a look that Jim could only interpret as adoration on her face. Her hand found his back and she gently rubbed his shoulder, every once in a while moving up to toy with his hair. That touch, the tenderness of it, the way it could soothe his jangled nerves, the spark it often elicited in him, was something he hoped would never change.

He leaned toward her and they met in a kiss, a little longer, a little more to it than he had anticipated, given that he felt so on display. When he finally let her go and she pulled back, he said softly, “Christie, I think I need a breath of fresh air. Do you want to take a walk?” She smiled and nodded her head in agreement.

He waited while she pulled her jacket from the back of the chair and draped it over her shoulders. He took her hand and led her out through the doors at the back of the bar, to the trellised river front patio. The air was clear and cool, a million stars pinned to the rich black cover of the mid-evening sky. They were alone on the patio, the magnificence of the city skyline spread before them, its image mirrored in the calm waters of the river.

She put one arm around his waist and leaned back against his shoulder, taking in the splendor of the view. He wrapped both arms around her and buried his head against her hair, breathing in the subtle, clean scent of it. It was one of those moments of quiet contentment that he found so compelling.

“Jimmy?” she said softly.

“Hm...” He didn’t want to move or to talk. He wanted to savor the peace, the tranquility in his heart, the simple, pure joy of standing there holding her.

“Do you realize that we are all alone out here? ”

“I do. That’s nice, don’t you think?”

“It is.” She turned and gave him a long, lingering kiss. “I hope you know how much I adore you, Jim.”

“I’m not sure I do. Can you show me again?”

“Stop teasing, Jimmy. I’m serious.”

“I am too. I’d like you to show me again.” This time he reached down and cradled her beautiful face between his hands. There was a gentle passion to this kiss, it was long and deep.

“Let’s sit for a minute okay? I’m not ready to go back in yet.” He indicated one of the tables at the far corner of the patio, tucked intimately under the canopy of the ornate trees that edged the patio in decorative pots. He disappeared briefly behind the short serving counter to the side of the patio doors, and returned with a silver champagne bucket, a bottle of Dom Perignon chilling in the ice. A crystal champagne flute was tucked safely in each jacket pocket.

“Jimmy?” She questioned him.

“Ah, no questions, okay? Just sit, please,” he said, pulling a chair out for her. He lifted the champagne from the ice and pressed the cork, the explosion of it splitting the silent mood of the patio; they both laughed.

As he poured the champagne, the patio doors swung open and the haunting sound of a single sax, rendering I Don’t Want To Walk Without You, echoed into the night air. He could feel the warmth of his emotions filling his heart and bringing a mist to his eyes. This was one time when he would have to fight to suppress that swell of emotion, to make it safely through what he was about to do without giving in to the depth of those feelings. He took one small gulp of champagne, set the flute back on the table and moved to her, pulling her up to stand with him.

Inside, he was shaking; he hoped it wouldn’t be reflected in his voice. Clearing his throat just once, he began slowly, quietly, “Christie, you have to know that I love you. I think I fell in love with you the first time I laid eyes on you.”

“Jimmy...” He placed his finger gently against her lips to quiet her.

“Let me talk, okay?” There was so much already written in her eyes; he didn’t need her words to confirm that what he was feeling was in her heart too. “I know I’m not easy, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but I think we’re good together... I have never been sure of very many things in my life; but I am sure about us, about you. Christie, I want to spend all my days feeling like this, with you.”

Tears filled her eyes, her lips trembled. He pulled the small velvet box from his jacket pocket and opened it, revealing the ring, the one he had spent the better part of a day searching for. “Christie, marry me, please? Walk with me for the rest of my days? I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

Her tears were now flowing freely. She held out her left hand and he slipped the ring on her finger; he wasn’t sure whose hands were shaking more. As it found its place at the base of her ring finger, he felt the first tear trail down his cheek; more would surely follow.

She lifted his face to hers and brushed that tear away. Reflected there, in her eyes, was the love he had been waiting his whole life to find. Through her own tears, she managed, “Yes, Jimmy, I will marry you.”

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Fifteen

It was teeming rain, cold, heavy torrents of rain that, were they delivered in a solitary act of mother nature, would have ensured traveling conditions couldn’t be any more miserable. But, this morning, as if to compound that misery, the rain was driven by the lashing winds of an unexpected cold front, sweeping in across the city from the east. It bounced off the roadway, ricocheted off the hood of the car and flowed in swift currents down the windshield. The steady, metrical slap of the wipers, positioned on the highest setting, was useless against the onslaught.

Jim strained forward in the driver’s seat in a desperate attempt to follow the curve of the asphalt, both hands on the wheel, his knuckles white from the exertion of trying to maintain his lane, battling a stiffening wind that seemed intent on blowing the car off the road. The white line, the one thing he should have been able to rely on, a beacon to guide him, was lost to the sea of gray shrouding the car. He shot a quick glance sideways at Christie, sitting silently, nervously, in the passenger seat, idly twisting her engagement ring round and round with her right hand, her eyes also focused on trying to maintain sight of the road ahead.

“Hey, Baby,” Jim said, searching for a sign, anything to indicate an exit, “I’m going to pull over for a few minutes and see if this rain doesn’t let up a bit. Honestly, I’m driving blind. I can’t see a thing.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Good idea. If we’re where I think we are, there should be a rest area coming up soon. It’s not going to be much of a weekend in the Hamptons if it stays like this. I checked the weather yesterday; they didn’t say anything about this, they said a chance of rain.”

“It was obviously a really good chance,” he joked. She didn’t look amused. “Hey, don’t worry about it, okay? I love the rain; I just don’t like driving in it, not when it’s like this.” Grinning, he added, “But I can think of a few things we can do to stay occupied if it doesn’t let up.”

“Jimmy, you’re terrible. At my parent’s house?” she shot back, teasingly.

“I’ll be quiet, promise! You on the other hand…”

She swatted his arm. “You deserved that.”

The day had started out on such a positive note. When he had finally given in to the reveille of the alarm clock and dragged himself to a sitting position, he could hear her humming in the kitchen. Meeting him in the hallway, she held out a mug of steaming coffee.

“Oh, you’re up,” she said brightly.

“Good morning.” He kissed her tenderly on the cheek. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Because you’re the one who has to drive. And, after the late night you put in last night, I thought you could use the extra shut-eye.” He followed her back to the bedroom, perching himself on the corner of the bed, watching as she ran through her mental list of four days of necessities for a trip out of town. Her suitcase already held twice as much as his; a symptom, he was sure, of her seemingly constant need to look her absolute best.

“Did you pack a jacket or a sport coat? I’m sure we’ll go for dinner at least once this weekend.”

“Not yet, but I will. Don’t worry.”

“So, other than that, what’s left to do?” she asked, placing the last of her clothes into the suitcase and zipping it up.

“I’ll finish my coffee, grab a quick shower, throw the rest of my things into the suitcase and we’re good to go. Unless,” he said, reaching out and pulling her to him, burying his face against the softness of her silk pajamas, “I can convince you that another hour or so won’t make a difference, one way or the other.”

“Sounds tempting, Detective, believe me. And I might consider taking you up on that offer, but I am so ready to get out of here and get this weekend started.” She leaned down and kissed him before wrestling herself out of his grasp.

“Alright,” he said, feigning disappointment, “give me 15 minutes. I’ll be ready.”

“Oh, I can’t wait, Jimmy. This is going to be fun,” she said, her expression replete with excitement.

He understood that excitement, wanted desperately to feel it too, for her sake, to share in her enthusiasm, but four days with his potential in-laws wasn’t an event he was particularly looking forward to. He felt trapped, committed, forced into something he wasn’t the least bit ready to face. At the same time, he also accepted that there was absolutely no sense in putting off the inevitable. This meeting would happen, one way or the other; it had to since there was now absolutely no doubt about her importance in his life. After a great deal of talking on her part, convincing him that this was something they needed to do, sooner rather than later, and some wrangling with the work schedule, he had finally given in and agreed to spend the Thanksgiving holiday in the Hamptons, with her family.

The sign for the exit loomed eerily out of the fog. He flipped up the turn signal and eased the car over, pulling safely into the rest area. Shutting off the engine, he unfastened his seatbelt and leaned back against the door. A distant, dull throb was just beginning to emanate from the base of his skull; his eyes were already tired. He closed them and rubbed his hand deliberately across his brow.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I feel a headache coming on, though. A big one.”

“Is it any wonder? God, I hope this lets up.” She looked longingly out the window. There was absolutely nothing to see, everything around them lost to the weather.

Tilting his seat back, he stretched his long frame out as comfortably as the cramped space would permit and turned to her. “Hey, can I ask you something? And don’t go getting defensive on me, okay? Why are we staying at your parent’s house? Couldn’t we have found a room somewhere?”

“Come on, Jimmy. They want us there, with them this weekend, to have some time to get to know you. After all, you are marrying their little girl. And, with your job and the hours you seem to keep, who knows when we might have another opportunity like this?”

That much was true. Occasions like this, where he could take a break and breathe, were few and far between.

“But, you have to know that I find situations like this just a little uncomfortable.”

“I know you do,” she said softly, “but these people are going to be your in-laws, Jimmy. You’re going to have to figure out a way to get comfortable with them at some point in time; may as well start now.”

“Alright, alright, but if I’m going to survive at all this weekend, you have to help me out here so I know what I’m up against, okay?”

“So, where do you want to start?”

“Your Mom?”

“Lillian, remember? She’s an artist, at least she thinks she is. Loves to garden, golf and play bridge. She’s a philanthropist, everyone’s friend. There isn’t anything she wouldn’t do for you. People say I look just like her.”

He smiled. If that were true, he would have an idea of what Christie might look like thirty years down the road. “And your sister? Older?”

“Erica. Two years older than me, looks more like Daddy, a free spirit, a wanderer, working on her Ph.D., slowly, though, still searching for what it is she wants to be when she grows up. I’m certainly not expecting her to figure that out anytime soon!” She leaned over, turned his face to hers and smiled. “But, I have absolutely no doubt she will love you, Jimmy.”

“If you say so.”

“Oh, I know so.”

“And, your Dad, Stewart, right?” She nodded. “He’s in advertising?”

She nodded again, but there was something odd in her expression; he read it immediately. “Alright, Christie. Out with it. What have you been keeping from me?”

“Nothing, it’s just that I may have omitted a little detail or two.”

He looked puzzled. “Like what? Come on, spill.”

“It’s true, my Dad is in advertising.” She hesitated. “Actually, some say that he is advertising. Have you heard of Sullivan and Hooks?”

“Yeah, but who hasn’t?” The realization of what she had just said suddenly dawned on him. There was nothing he could do to mask the shock in his voice or, he was sure, the expression on his face. “Jesus Christ, Christie, you’re that Sullivan?”

“No, Jim.” she said firmly, “My Dad is that Sullivan. I just happen to be his daughter.”

“And when you say you grew up in the Hamptons, what are we talking about here? Not one of those nice little summer homes that line the main street, I’m sure.”

“No, it’s not, Jimmy. But what difference does that make? I’m no more responsible for that than you are for your roots.”

“It might make a huge difference. God, Christie, think about it. How the hell are they going to feel about you being engaged to a guy from Red Hook? A cop at that? I’m sure that’s not quite what your Daddy had in mind for you.”

“Jimmy, please.” She reached over and took his hand. “I am sure that what he had in mind for me was for me to be happy. And you make me so happy; that’s all that matters.”

“Maybe to you…” His voice trailed off. When he spoke again, there was an edge to it. “You could have told me all of this a long time ago.”

Her voice was quiet in response. “I know. And maybe I should have, but I never judged you based on where you came from. I don’t think you’re being very fair.”

“Fair? This is not the same thing.”

It was her turn to sound defensive. “Why, Jimmy? What makes this so different? Explain that to me, please?”

He wished he could take this conversation in a different direction but with those deep-seeded insecurities brought so quickly to the forefront, who he was, where he came from, his measure of self-worth, all of it a manifestation of being put down more often than lifted by the words of the one man who should have so positively influenced his life, it was too late; there was no way to back down now.

“It just is, okay? Christie, you know I don’t come from the all-American family or a background I can talk about openly. How the hell am I supposed to answer the kind of questions they are bound to ask?”

“You answer them honestly, Jimmy, that’s how. God, you are so damn stubborn. And it’s not that you can’t talk about it; you won’t.”

“No, Christie, I can’t,” he said, decisively. “You of all people should understand that. If that’s what is going to be expected of me this weekend, then maybe I should turn this car around right now, because I am not about to sit through four days of hell so your parents can satisfy themselves that I am not at all what they had in mind for a son-in-law.”

“I don’t believe this, Jimmy. How dare you walk into their home with a preconceived notion of them and what they will or won’t think of you. You’re not even going to give this, or them, a chance, are you? You’ve already got it all figured out. But I’ll tell you what, James Dunbar, if anyone is being unreasonable about all of this, it’s you.”

“Am I really, Christie? You think about it and then you tell me how I’m supposed to live up to all of those expectations.”

“Jimmy, please.”

He held up both hands, dismissing her instantly. “This conversation is over. God, I have to get out here, I need some space,” he said, his anger on the verge of boiling over. Before she could say anything else, he snapped his seat upright and threw the car door open.

“Jimmy, don’t, please…” but it was too late; he slammed it shut and disappeared into the fog and the driving rain.