Before There Was Darkness

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Sixteen

He wasn’t entirely sure how much distance he’d put between himself and the car. The necessity to breathe, to clear his head and attempt to regain some semblance of control had carried him as far from there as possible. As in every other instance he could remember when faced with potential confrontation, he’d done as he always had; he’d run. This time, though, there was no escaping; confrontation was waiting for him, demanding that he revisit those memories he had long ago shoved to that place so deep within himself.

Standing in the unrelenting rain, his body convulsed with a violent bout of shivers, he was suddenly humbled by the realization of what had just transpired. Years of suppressed rage flooded through him, erupting finally to the surface where it manifested itself in unexpected, hot tears that seemed intent on flushing out every ounce of anger, frustration, disappointment and pride. It shocked him that they had come so easily, without warning; he hadn’t felt them. Once begun, he wasn’t sure he would be able to make them stop.

How was it that one man, a man who knew so little of his eldest son, could still, after all these years, so aptly define how that son perceived himself? Jim had resolved long ago that nothing of his relationship with that man would prevent him from taking pride in who he was and what he had accomplished. Yet, when confronted with a situation that might demand just that, a response to his own self-worth, he couldn’t seem to journey past those feelings of abasement.

Today, she had told him to answer honestly, somehow expecting that he would address those questions about his past. It had overwhelmed him; he wasn’t sure how or if he could. How could he share those memories with anyone, openly and freely, given that they made him feel so small, so unworthy of anything good? He’d never talked about them before, never shared them, not even with his mother. Those moments, the most hurtful moments were borne in silence; they were his and his alone.

He recognized that nothing could be solved standing here alone, in the pouring rain; he had to go back and face her, try to answer the questions he knew she would undoubtedly have. He drew the sleeves of his jacket across his eyes, attempting to eliminate any evidence of his brief loss of control. Pulling a long breath of cold air deep into his chest, he exhaled slowly, and repeated, in, out, once, twice and again until the shaking, like the anger, was all but gone, his composure almost intact.

He heard her calling his name, long before he could see her through the fog that still held the rest of the world in its steely grasp. “Jimmy? Where are you? Jimmy?”

Clearing his throat, hoping the rawness he felt there wouldn’t betray him, he answered her call. “Yeah, here, Christie. I’m here.”

He saw her approaching, her pale blue raincoat cinched tightly at her waist, the collar turned high on her neck, a colorful golf umbrella shielding her from the misery of the unforgiving rain. He smiled wryly. At least she’d had sense enough to come prepared for the elements. She reached out and touched him gently on the shoulder, imploring him to look at her. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said absently, no hint of emotion in his voice. With the redness of her eyes and the tearstains that streaked her otherwise perfect make-up, it was undeniable that his had not been the only tears shed.

“Look at you, Jimmy. We need to get you to the car and get the heat going.” She took his arm to lead him back.

He pulled away and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Please don’t do that.”

“What am I doing? I’m just trying to help you.”

“Well don’t, okay, I don’t need your help. I’m fine.”

“Oh, God, Jimmy, why do you have to be so damn stubborn? You are obviously not fine, you’re wet and cold and if we don’t get you out of this weather and into some dry clothes and some heat, you’re going to spend the rest of this weekend sick in bed.”

“Christie,” he held up one hand, motioning for her to stop. “Don’t do that.” His tone was quiet but firm.

Exasperation filled her voice. “What now?”

“Don’t stand there and act like nothing just happened.”

“No, you’re right, Jimmy, you’re right. Something did happen and we need to talk about it. But not here, okay? Let’s go; we can talk about it in the car.” He turned and walked ahead, refusing her offer to shield him with the umbrella.

She’d already laid a change of dry clothes neatly across the backseat. He stripped out of the wet ones and slid into the comfort and warmth of a heavy sweatshirt and jeans. With the heat circulating through the car, and the change of clothes, he felt the chill slowly release him. He shuddered just once.

The silence between them was thick and uncomfortable, not like those other occasions when there was absolutely no need to say anything. This time something needed to be said yet neither of them seemed willing to break that silence. She was the first.

“I’d like to know what just happened, Jimmy.”

He glanced at her, at the longing in her eyes, and still he couldn’t bring himself to answer, not fully.

“I think you already do. Talking about it isn’t going to change the way things are.”

“I need you to tell me, Jimmy. You tell me how things are. Why did you run?”

“Christie, you have absolutely no idea. You can’t even begin to understand.”

“No, you’re right. But it’s not because I don’t want to. It’s because you won’t let me in. I’ve asked, I’ve waited, and you keep closing that door, Jimmy. You leave me standing outside, looking in.”

He turned to face her. She touched his cheek, her hand tenderly brushing his mouth. There was sadness in her eyes; he knew he was responsible for it.

Softly she said, “Try, please? I’d like to know and not because it’s going to make any difference one way or the other, just that it might help me understand things, understand you, a little better than I do right now.”

He sighed deeply. “This isn’t easy.”

“I know I know,” she said soothingly, “but you have to start somewhere Jimmy. And I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” She laced his fingers with her own.

“I’m not sure I can explain how hard it was growing up with a father like that.” He paused and laughed quietly, bitterly. “Jesus, who the hell am I trying to kid? He was never a father; he was a drunk.”

He stopped and put his hand to his mouth, holding his finger tightly against his lip, trying to slow a tremble that hadn’t yet begun. “I honestly thought I was done with him, that I’d buried those memories along with him a long time ago.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But then something happens and he’s right back in my head.”

“Jimmy, he didn’t beat you did he?”

He shook his head. “No, not like that.”

His father had never actually hit him, but it hadn’t taken physical violence to inflict the scars that Jim still bore half a lifetime later. The pain of the words, the depth of the hurt, the lasting effect it had on him was more than if those fists had flown. He often wished they had, that the man had hit him, so he could have fought back. His words were useless, meaningless, lost on ears that had shut him out a little more with each belt from the bottle.

He shook his head again. “He never laid a hand on me, Christie. He didn’t need to; there was absolutely no way to fight back against the shame in his words or the disgust in his voice. He hated me, blamed me for everything that was wrong with his life. Whether the bottle was half empty or half full, it was all my fault.”

She was quiet, contemplative, this admission seeming to take a minute to sink in fully. He watched a tear slip down her cheek; she brushed it away. “God, Jimmy, I had no idea. But you can’t carry that with you. You need to find a way to leave it behind. That was a lifetime ago and you don’t live in that one anymore.”

He smiled faintly. “Oh, I wish it were that simple….”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Why isn’t it? Why can’t it be? He’s not here anymore and you have to know that those words aren’t true now. They weren’t true then.”

“But that’s not the point, Christie. The point is that as soon as someone asks me a question about where I come from, it’s all right there again. That’s something I’ll never be able to let go of. It’s who I am.”

“No, Jimmy, it’s who he was. You may have the same last name but you’re not him. If that’s what it was like for you as a child, you have even more to be proud of. Look how far you’ve come.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “You’re not an easy man, Jimmy Dunbar. But it’s easy to love you, faults and all, and I do; I always will.”

“And...” he hesitated, “And what if your parents don’t?”

“Is that what this is really all about? Because if it is, I need you to know that it doesn’t matter. There is nothing they can say or do that’s going to change my mind. If they love me, they’ll accept you.”

“Are you sure, Christie? Are you really willing to give up one for the other? Because that may be what it’s going to take.”

She tried to keep her frustration in check. “There you go again. You think you’ve already got it all figured out. But I’m asking you, please give them a chance to get to know you before you make up their minds for them?”

“I’ll try, okay? That’s the best I can do for now.”

“Then that’s just going to have to do. And I have no doubt, Jimmy, that when they see how important you are to me, they’re going to love you, as much as I do.” Her arms encircled him and she drew him as close as the bucket seats would allow. “Okay?”

With her reassurance came the realization that while it was true, perhaps, that she had held back a piece of information, key to his understanding of who she was and what kind of background she came from, it ultimately made no difference as to how he felt about her. It never would. More importantly, though, he realized that she had done absolutely nothing to deserve what he had thrown into her lap.

“Okay, then.” He patted her leg and flashed her what he hoped was a confident smile. “Let’s get this show back on the road.”

He turned the key and wheeled the car back onto the freeway, just as the first finger of sun knifed its way through the dispersing fog.

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Seventeen

There was nothing gentle about the wind. It churned the deep water into heaving swells that battered the private expanse of sandy beach fronting the well-manicured grounds of the property the Sullivan’s called home.

The house itself was welcoming, weathered cedar shakes and pale gray stone, a white columned seasonal porch wrapping its perimeter, and windows, so many arched, leaded windows that took full advantage of the pristine beauty of its secluded setting. Although it was substantial, sprawling in multi-level wings from a central vestibule, it wasn’t quite as lavish as Jim had originally imagined it to be. But there was no denying that living like this, in this location, with the private tennis courts, the pool and the black Rolls Royce parked outside the five-car garage, was the by-product of money, lots of money.

Stepping from his own car, he leaned against the door and stretched his cramped neck and back, drawing in a cleansing breath of air, fresh with the salty aroma of the sea. He exhaled slowly, closed his eyes and tilted his head back to feel the warmth of the sun on his face.

Christie came around the open door and laid her hand on his shoulder, gently massaging the tension from his muscles. “Everything okay, Jimmy?”

Nothing more had been mentioned about the unexpected detour their journey had taken earlier in the day. The rest of the drive had passed by uneventfully, except for the occasional wind gust that seemed to raise the car from its solid contact with the road. They had shared light conversation, laughter and, apart from those occasions when he had to pull away to fight the elements, she had maintained ownership of his hand; he had gladly relinquished it to her.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Looking over at her, one eye still closed, he sighed. “That was a tough drive and I’m not so sure I’m ready for what comes next.” Pulling her close, he buried his cheek against her hair and whispered, “I’m sorry, Christie, for earlier.”

“Shhhhh. We’re done with that, okay?” She kissed him, then reached up to rub the telltale lipstick from his face. Taking his arm, she smiled. “Come on, I think we need to go in. They’ve probably already seen us drive up.”

This time, he didn’t pull back. “Alright, then, lead the way.”

********************************************

“Christine. You look so good, dear.” Her mother enveloped her in a loving embrace and planted a kiss on the cheek of her youngest daughter.

Lillian Sullivan was, as Christie had hinted, the spitting image of what she might look like 30 years down the road. Her hair was salt and peppered, cut in a short, face-framing style that complimented her still youthful features. She was beautiful, slender, impeccably dressed, or as Jim noted, expensively dressed, another characteristic she and Christie obviously shared. She turned and looked at Jim through the same blue gray eyes as her daughter, smiling as she sized him up.

“And this must be your Jim. I am so glad to welcome you to our home.” She hugged him warmly. “And to the family I guess?”

“Thank you. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Sullivan,” he said, returning her embrace.

“Oh, Lillian, please. Everyone calls me Lillian. Let’s not stand here in ceremony. Come in, please.” She motioned to the central hallway. “I’ve got fresh, hot cider brewing in the kitchen.” Jim trailed behind, following the rhythmic clicking of two pair of high heels on the polished marble floors.

Taking a seat at the breakfast bar separating the immaculate kitchen from a casual eating room, Christie patted the stool next to hers for Jim to sit

“Where’s Daddy?”

“He had to go to the Club for a while but he should be along anytime now. He’s really looking forward to having both his girls home again.” Lillian pulled heavy crystal mugs from an overhead cupboard and dropped a cinnamon stick in each. “By the way, your sister is at the Cromwell’s; Jake’s home for the weekend. I’m sure you know how much your father would love to see the two of them finally get together.”

“Oh,” Christie said. In response to the puzzled look Jim knew must have been written in his expression, she added, “And it’s not just Daddy, I know you’d love it too, Mom. They’ve been on again and off again since they were sixteen. But, now that Jake’s finally settled successfully into his career, I’m sure they’re really hoping Erica might decide to follow suit. It’s not like Jake hasn’t asked.”

“Yes, he’s made quite a name for himself in the law community, the firm’s youngest junior partner ever.”

Christie shot a stern glance in her mother’s direction and discretely shook her head. “It helps, of course, when your grandfather started the firm.”

“Still, dear, he didn’t get there based on name alone. He’s brilliant, just the kind of man we’d like to see Erica settle down with. Couldn’t ask for anyone better.” She passed one of the mugs to Jim. “And you’re with the NYPD, is that right Jim?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m a Detective with the Eleventh Precinct.”

“Lillian, please. That’s an admirable job. But is there much of a future in that?”

“I guess that depends on what you mean by a future. I enjoy what I do and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it.” She reached out and patted his hand. “ I just wondered if there was the possibility of moving up in the ranks someday.”

“If I chose to, I imagine there might be. But like I said, I enjoy what I do.” Christie smiled and wrapped her arm protectively around him.

“Well, I guess that’s important too,” Lillian said, not missing a beat. “If one must work, I guess one may as well enjoy what they do.”

Christie glanced at Jim, a hint of regret in her eyes. “Jimmy, I think we should go get the luggage and settle in before everyone gets back. If you want to rest for a bit, now might be the time to do it.”

Lillian turned to her daughter. “Oh, we’ve got Jim in the blue room, and you’re in your old room, dear.”

The response from Christie surprised him. “Mother,” she said, sweetly, “if it’s all the same to you, one room will be fine. Jim, we’ll take the blue room. The view of the ocean is spectacular.”

Stepping onto the porch, he sighed deeply. Christie took his hands and turned him to face her. “Jimmy, I’m sorry. I know what she comes across like, but I don’t think she meant anything by it.”

“It’s okay, Christie, really. I don’t suppose she’s used to carrying on a conversation with someone like me. And I don’t mean anything by that.” He patted her firmly on the behind. “Let’s get those suitcases and check into the blue room.”

It was, exactly that, undeniably blue, not soft baby blue or bright robin’s egg blue, but a dark, regal midnight blue. An expansive four-poster bed, graced by rows of plump brocade pillows dominated one wall. Comfortable wing back chairs in a complimentary, masculine plaid of deep blues and greens were placed strategically to take full advantage of the large stone fireplace on the opposite wall. In spite of its size and color, the room was warm and inviting.

“Do all the rooms in this house have a name?” Jim asked, setting his suitcase down on the antique trunk at the foot of the bed.

“No, just this one.” Christie laughed. “ I don’t know whatever possessed her to do it. I think it was one of those moments of sudden inspiration. Thank God it didn’t go any further. The rest of the rooms up here are actually quite normal.”

Jim surveyed their surroundings and nodded. “I like this, though. Gives it character. Promise me, when we have our own place, you won’t be afraid to experiment with some color.”

“Only if you promise you won’t ask me to paint anything midnight blue,” she threw back.

“Deal!” He strolled to the double french doors leading to a private balcony,offering, as Christie had suggested, a spectacular view. “Come here,” he said quietly, holding his arms open.

She melted into his embrace and they stood wrapped together, savoring the calm of the scene spread before them. The setting sun blazed an eternal path of glistening gold that sliced through the water and danced on the peak of each crested wave. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but the water, swelling and rolling gently under the subsiding wind. With Christie tucked safely in his arms, he was once again awed by an overwhelming sense of peace.

She shifted slightly, turning her attention to the clock on the fireplace mantle. “Oh, Jimmy, I hate to ruin a good thing, but I think we should head downstairs. If Daddy isn’t home yet, he will be any time now. He knows dinner is served at 7:00 sharp, always has been, always will be.”

“Then we better go. I’d hate to start off on the wrong foot with your father.” Giving her one last squeeze before releasing her, he asked hopefully, “Hey, can we continue this later?”

********************************************

Knocking softly on the library door, Christie called to her father. “Daddy, are you in there?”

The door swung open and Jim caught his first glance of Stewart Sullivan; thick, grey hair, weathered skin, deep tan, looking for all the world like someone who had spent far too much time in the sun, light blue eyes accented by deep laugh lines. Although he was casually dressed in light pleated pants, a striped button down shirt and grey sports jacket, there was no doubt that the clothes were designer and expensive. He was far less imposing than Jim had suspected, but the nerves that had crept in were no less relieved by this observance.

Stewart Sullivan pulled his daughter to him. “It’s so good to have you here, Kitten.”

“It’s nice to be home too, Daddy.” She motioned for Jim to join her. Taking his hand, she turned to her father. “I’d like you to meet someone, Daddy. This is ...”.

“No need, no need,” he said, giving Jim’s hand a generous shake. “ This must be the man who wants to marry my little girl.” He stood shorter than Jim by a good four inches and was not nearly as solidly built, but his grip was strong and secure. “James, Jim, what do we call you?”

“Jim will be fine, sir.”

“Then Jim it is.” He wagged a finger at him. “You and I have a lot to talk about, and we will. Please, sit,” he said, motioning to an over-sized leather couch. “We’ve got a little time before your Mother will be calling. So, Kitten, how’s life in the big City? Work still treating you well?”

“Yes, it’s fine, Daddy. But let’s not talk about work, okay? Not this weekend.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I guess I miss it more than I thought I would. Retirement’s great, but there’s only so much golfa mancan play. And with the lousy weather this summer I didn’t get out on the boat as much as I would have liked. Do you sail, Jim?”

“No, sir, I’ve never had an opportunity to.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Jake Cromwell’s already agreed to crew the regattas for me next summer. Now there’s a sailor, it’s in his blood.Christie loves to sail, don’t you Kitten? Was a time I couldn’t get her off the boat.”

Christie looked at Jim, apologetically. “Used to, Daddy. It’s been years, though. I think my sea legs left me a long time ago.”

“Well, doesn’t matter now, anyway. The boat’s already in dry dock for the winter. Maybe next summer. We’ll get you out on the water then.” Jim shook his head in agreement, and, looking at Christie, raised his eyes to the roof. She stifled a giggle. With a shrug of his chin, he responded, “Sounds good, sir. I’d look forward to that.”

“What about golf, Jim? The course is still open. As a matter of fact, Jake and Cy Cromwell and I are planning on playing a round Saturday morning. Can I interest you in making it a foursome?”

Jim cleared his throat lightly. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t golf either.”

“Blaspheme. Everyone golfs.” He lifted the brandy snifter and drained it. “I guess it’ll just be the three of us then.” He stood, empty snifter in hand. “ If you’ll excuse me.”

“Well,” Jim said, once it was obvious he wasn’t coming back, “that went extremely well.”

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Eighteen

Stewart Sullivan leaned comfortably back into the dark leather sofa, brandy snifter in hand. Jim was relatively certain at this point that where Stewart went, so went that snifter; they never seemed to be very far apart. With Christie in the kitchen, having graciously declined Jim’s offer of assistance, he found himself cornered in the library.

“So, my daughter tells me you’re with the NYPD, a detective? Just what is it that you detect?”

Jim cleared his throat, something he often did when he was particularly nervous. Stewart Sullivan made him nervous. “Homicides, sir.”

“If we are going to carry on with this conversation, please drop the sir, son. I’m not that formal. The name is Stewart.” He took a deep pull from a cigar that had been smoldering in a marble tray on the occasional table, filling the room with its pungent aroma. Exhaling a succession of perfectly round smoke rings, something that obviously came with practice, he waved the stogie toward Jim. “Sure I can’t offer you one of these? Nothing better after a dinner like that then a good cigar and a good glass of brandy. And, as I have discovered through the years, nothing better before, either.”

Shaking his head, Jim smiled. “No, thank you, sir…Stewart. I don’t smoke.”

Taking another pull before returning it to its resting place, Mr. Sullivan sighed, “Ah, but this isn’t smoking, Jim. This is pleasure. There’s a difference you know. You might actually like it.”

“I’ll stick with my beer,” he said, raising the bottle in mock toast. “Thanks, though.”

“Have it your way. So, homicide you say? Do you find that a satisfying job?”

“I do,” he responded with measurable pride. ‘I like a good chase, putting the pieces together.”

“Can’t begin to pretend I’d have the stomach for a job like that. Must feel good, though, when you finally get the bugger.”

Jim smiled at Stewart’s choice of descriptive, nodding in agreement. “No doubt.”

“So, have you ever given any thought to doing something different? I would think that gets old in a hurry.”

Jim shrugged and shook his head. “Not really, I’ve never had occasion to. Fact of the matter is I like what I do.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, I guess. I can’t say advertising was ever really my passion, but I grew to like it over time. And, as you can see,” he said, indicating the finer appointments of the library, “ it was very good to me. I know for a fact, though, they don’t pay you boys near enough. That’s got to give you some incentive to expand your horizons, look at other options?”

“That may be true, sir. But, I learned a long time ago, money isn’t everything.”

Stewart let out a hearty laugh. “You’re talking to the wrong guy here, Jim.”

Not sure what his response should be, Jim let the silence hang between them. He did not want to get drawn into a discussion about the merits of money or lack thereof.

“Listen, Jim” Stewart offered, “ if you ever tire of police work, I’ve got connections in just about every business known to man. I’d be happy to see if we couldn’t get you into something that paid a little better.”

“That’s kind of you, sir,” Jim answered, attempting to imply a degree of gratitude. “But I just can’t see myself doing anything else with my life.” He shrugged his shoulders decisively. “This is who I am; this is what I do.”

“Police work is a good and honorable profession, there’s no question about that. But, where I do have a question, speaking only as Christie’s father, is whether my daughter is going to be happy.” He paused, swilling the brandy around the bottom of the snifter before taking a drink. “I don’t mean you any disrespect here, Jim, but I am quite sure you know my daughter is used to a certain lifestyle.”

"Yes, sir,” Jim replied stiffly, “that is very apparent to me. And I don’t mean you any disrespect here either, sir, but I believe what is important is that we love each other. I don’t believe the size of my bank account has anything to do with whether she’ll be happy.”

“Ah, that’s young love talking, Jim. And, as we all know, that can be a very fleeting thing.”

“As can money, Mr. Sullivan.”

Stewart laughed again, a deep rich laugh. “Point well taken, young man. Point well taken.” He raised his glass in toast and drained it dry. “Can I get you another beer?”

“No, thank you. I’m good.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, I need a refill.” Empty snifter in hand, he lifted himself from the couch and strolled to the rich wood cabinets gracing the wall from floor to ceiling behind Jim’s chair. “So, Jim, it does appear you and I have something in common after all.”

“And what is that, Stewart?”

“We both love my daughter.” Turning from the bar, he laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “In your case, I just hope that’s enough.”

************

He found Christie, curled up in the luxury of the pillowed window seat spanning the immense bay of the casual nook. The embers of a dying fire cast a soft glow across the polished marble floor, adding an impression of homey warmth to the room. Whatever it was she was reading, she was deeply absorbed in it. Jim stood quietly in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, captivated, watching the change in her expression, the furrow of her brow, the purse of her lips. Running an absent hand across her chin, she sighed, then reached up to push an errant strand of hair from her face.

“Hey....” he called softly, not wanting to disturb her but overcome by the sudden need to. “You alone?”

“Hey.” She looked up and smiled, marked her page and laid the book down. “Yeah, Mom retired for the night a little while ago, but I thought I’d wait here for you.” She beckoned him with her finger. “Come here. I’ve missed you.”

He went to her and kissed her gently. “Thanks--for waiting I mean.”

So,” she said, hopefully, “how did it go?”

Jim shrugged. “I’m not sure, really. It was, ah…it was interesting. I think that’s the best way to describe it. I’m still here, though.”

“That’s something, Jimmy,” Christie said, teasing him. “No one has ever made it through the initial interrogation with Daddy before today. Why do you think I’m still single?”

Grinning, he said, “I’m not even going to try to touch that one.” Taking her hands, he pulled her up to stand with him and wrapped her in his embrace. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

“What? Now? Jimmy it’s so late.”

“Yeah, I know, but I need to get some air. Are you coming?” She nodded and followed him upstairs to grab a jacket.

A light breeze blew in over the ocean, playing nonchalantly with the trees and grasses lining the path from the main house to the beachfront. It was clear and cold, the air abnormally dry for a late November evening. The moon, full and bright, cast a rich glow across the dark ocean waters, blazing a silver thread to that place where sky and waters finally meet.

Jim dropped to the sand, stretched out his long legs and pulled Christie into his lap. Wrapping his jacket around her, he held her close, and breathed in the sanctity of the moment, the quiet peacefulness of his surroundings. Something about that earlier conversation with Stewart was bothering him. Any effort on his part, to pass it off and take solace in his own knowledge of the strength of their relationship, was met by the same lingering doubt. He couldn’t seem to journey past the tiny seed that had been so artfully planted.

“Can I ask you something, Christie, and be honest with me, okay?”

She nodded. “Always, Jimmy. What is it?”

“I need to know something...,” he hesitated. “Is this really going to work, you and me?”

She pulled away slightly, and turned to gaze at him. “Where the hell did that come from?” Something in his expression must have provided her the only clue she needed. “Oh, God, Jimmy, what did he say?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, Christie, really, we were just talking.”

“Jimmy....please. I know he said something; he had to. That didn’t just come up clear out of the blue.”

A rueful smile crossed his face. “I think your Dad’s worried that I won’t be able to provide for you, at least not in a manner you’re accustomed to. And, the truth is, he’s right. I’m a cop, Christie; we won’t ever be rich, I can guarantee you that.”

The expression in her eyes was as fierce as the tone of her voice. “And you think any of this is important to me?”

“Your father seems to think it is,” he said quietly.

“Oh, Jimmy. Look at me, please.” She turned on his lap to face him, her hands resting possessively on his shoulders. “I’m sorry Daddy said anything that would make you doubt us. I wouldn’t change anything about you. Well, okay, maybe there are a couple of things....” she grinned. “But I love you, Jimmy, just you, and there is nothing I want more than to start my life with you, from the ground floor up, not the penthouse down.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, since you put it that way....”

She laughed too. “I do.” Taking a page from his book, she reached around and swatted him. Lifting herself from his lap, she stood and held out her hand.

“Now, Detective Dunbar, take me back to the house, please. You’re going to need to rest up. Tomorrow isn’t going to be easy.”

He pulled himself up and stopped to brush the last traces of sand from his pants, disposing of that nagging little doubt along with it.

Taking her hand, he turned and grinned. “I think I’m finally starting to realize that nothing with you ever is.”

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Nineteen

“Jimmy, come on, we’re late!” Christie called, exasperation filling her voice.

He opened the bathroom door just a fraction and peered out from behind it, a thick layer of shaving cream veiling the right side of his face. “Give me a couple of minutes, okay? I’ll make it as fast as I can. Hey, is that what you’re wearing?”

“Yes, why? Is it okay?” Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she smoothed the lace bodice of a rich chocolate silk blouse. Paired with a coordinating silk pencil skirt, tailor made for her slender figure, a delicate gold chain belt cinched around her tiny waist, she was the picture of elegance.

“It’s better than that,” he said, proudly. “You look beautiful. But, I’m afraid we’re going to be a little mismatched today…in more ways than one.”

She smiled. “Don’t you worry about a thing, James Dunbar. I am not about to throw you to the wolves. Now, go,” she pleaded, shooing him back into the bathroom and closing the door, “before Mother is up here, wondering what’s keeping us. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s all about the schedule.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going…”

******

The main house of the Southampton Country Club was a grand old dame, perched proudly on a grassy knoll, an interminable view of her picturesque surroundings, the charming seaside towns of eastern Long Island nestled at her feet. A palatial two-story structure, she was whitewashed to perfection, lustrous in spite of the gloom of the overcast skies. Gloss black shutters adorned the towering windows gracing her elegant facade, an expansive porte-cochere and broad stairs leading to a pair of solid oak doors welcoming members and guests alike to enter her opulent interior.

Leaning against the dark mahogany bar of the informal lounge, a cold Heineken in hand, Jim had never felt more out of place. Conversation floated around him, filling the air with the din of voices, thick as the spicy aroma wafting from the designated cigar bar to the right of the lounge. Stewart had begged his pardon on arrival and disappeared there, detouring briefly to collect his companion brandy. Quietly excusing herself from their company, Lillian was now surrounded by a circle of chic, well-dressed women at the opposite end of the room, leaving Christie and Jim to their own devices.

Weaving their way to a quiet corner of the crowded room had given occasion to meet many of the gathering throng, dear friends of the Sullivan family, Stewart and Lillian’s age, people who had known Christie since birth, people Jim knew would soon be forgotten, if only for the overwhelming number of them.

The small talk had been polite at best, his introduction acknowledged by a handshake or a brief nod of the head, congratulations offered with modest sincerity. Beyond that, though, they had not yet found themselves drawn into the fold of the social circles mingling around them; he preferred it that way.

An older woman, shrill of voice, her body perfectly plump and her snow-white hair perfectly coiffed, bustled across the room and threw her arms earnestly around Christie’s neck.

“Christine, darling, you look wonderful! More like that beautiful mother of yours each time I see you!”

“Mitzi, it’s nice to see you,” she managed, her voice muffled by the pudgy shoulder that seemed intent on smothering her.

“My, my, my, dear, city life seems to agree with you. Or,” she said, gazing over Christie’s shoulder at Jim, “is there something else we can credit this to?” She winked and Jim smiled, hoping what he felt on his face appeared sincere enough, waiting for yet another introduction to someone he knew he probably wouldn’t remember half an hour from now.

“Jimmy, I’d like you to meet Mitzi Cromwell. Mitzi, this is my fiancé, Jim Dunbar.”

He nodded and held out his hand. “Mrs. Cromwell,” he said, politely.

“It’s Mitzi, dear. Fiance, is it?” she said, taking his hand and sizing him up. “Then it is true. Erica mentioned something about that, but I had no idea she was actually serious. There are going to be a lot of broken hearts, Christine. You had those blue bloods lined up and waiting.”

Christie smiled broadly and laid a possessive hand on Jim’s shoulder. “My dance card’s full, Mitzi. I found the one I’ve been looking for.”

“Well, I must admit, he suits you, Christine. What is it they say? Opposites attract?” she tittered. “Guess that much is true.” Waving at someone on the other side of the lounge, she declared, “Well, I must be off. It looks like Mrs. Hayden-Smith finally has our drinks. Good to see you again, my dear. Jim, we’ll have to talk more at dinner.” She sashayed away as quickly as she had arrived.

Jim allowed a heavy sigh to escape, and leaning against the bar, raised the beer and took a long, slow pull from the bottle. The collar of his shirt seemed inordinately tight, his tie hampering his ability to breathe, the gray wool jacket suddenly too warm. He reached up to tug at the knot around his neck.

“Hey, is everything alright?” Christie’s hand found his back and gently rubbed his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he responded, attempting to make it sound even a bit believable. “This is fun.”

She squeezed his arm, reassuringly. “Jimmy, I’m sorry. I can’t even begin to know what this must be like for you. But,” she said, brightly, “you’re doing great.”

“He suits you, Christine,” he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, that’s just Mitzi,” she replied, her voice soothing. “You never know what you’re going to get with Mrs. Cromwell. Please, try to take it all with a grain of salt, okay?”

He pulled her to him. “I’ll try….” he said, meeting her in a quiet kiss.

“Alright, you two, enough of that, especially in such a public place.” The voice was warm, the teasing undertone unmistakable. He turned to the voice and found himself face to face with another dark haired, blue-eyed beauty, slender, stylish, this one very much her father’s daughter.

“Erica…” Christie said, wrapping her sister in an affectionate embrace. “I was beginning to wonder if we were ever going to lay eyes on you this weekend."

“What? And miss all this?” She responded, gesturing to the scene before them. “No way!” Turning her attention to Jim, she smiled and nudged her sister’s arm. “And I certainly wouldn’t miss that! Are you going to introduce me?”

“Of course. Jimmy, this is my sister, Erica. Erica, this is Jim.”

He held out his hand, “Erica, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Oh, put that damned hand away and get over here,” she said, drawing him into an enthusiastic hug. “So, you’re the man who thinks he’s going to make an honest woman out of my sister?”

“Erica…”

“Christie, I’m teasing. Obviously being engaged is agreeing with you. You look terrific. But,” she purred, throwing a quick glance Jim’s way, “I can see why. Very nice.” He felt the slow burn of embarrassment creeping up from under his shirt collar.

“Oh, he does blush easily, doesn’t he?” she teased. “You’ll get used to us, Jim. If you plan on joining this family, you’re going to have to.”

“Speaking of that, where is Jake?” Christie asked, her eyes scanning the growing crowd. “I haven’t seen him yet.”

“No, and you won’t now. He’s with Daddy and Cy. I imagine they’re talking business and money over one of those horribly smelly things they insist on smoking. You won’t see any of them now until dinner, which, come to think of it, is probably just as well.”

Christie shot her sister a disapproving glance. “I see that knack for tact hasn’t escaped you. So, what’s up with you and Jake? You’ve been spending a lot of time over there this weekend. Anything to tell?”

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “God, Christie, what’s to tell, really? He kept asking and I kept saying no.” She glanced down at her left hand, a hint of regret in her voice. “I wasn’t ready and, to tell you the truth, I don’t think he was either. But he seems to have settled down now, his career is on track and I’m getting my life in order.”

Turning her attention back to Jim, she added for his benefit, “If you ask any of them, Jim, they’ll tell you I’ve been riding free for too many years now. I’m sure Daddy would have cut me off a long time ago if he didn’t think it would affect that stellar reputation of his. Anyway, enough of that,” she said excitedly, “come on, Chris, you’re obviously happy and sure about what you want. So, when? Have you set a date yet or…found your maid of honor?”

“No, we haven’t made any firm plans yet. The spring, sometime, I hope and of course I know who I want for my maid of honor, if she says yes.”

Erica turned a finger to herself, “Me?” she mouthed. At Christie’s confirmation, she threw her arms around her sister. “Yes, absolutely, yes! I’d love to. So, now that we have that settled, what about the rest?”

“We’re not sure about anything yet,” Jim said, tucking Christie’s hand in his. “It’s only been a couple of months. We’ve got time.” .

“We’ve talked about it, a little, though. I think Jim would rather have a quiet, simple wedding in the City, and I’m leaning that way too. I was thinking of the Crystal Pavilion at Tavern on the Green. It’s very special to me.” She smiled and looked wistfully at Jim; he caught her glance and smiled back, remembering that first date, when the world and his place in it had finally seemed complete.

Erica snorted and shook her head. “Yeah, good luck with that! Are you kidding, Christine? You know Daddy. He’s probably been dreaming of this day your entire life. There is no way you are going to get away with some small, quiet wedding and certainly not in the City.”

Acutely aware of what his future sister-in-law was implying, Jim looked from Christie to Erica and back again. “And what about…” he hesitated, “ and what about what Christie and I want?”

“You’re joking, right? In case you haven’t noticed yet, Jim, Daddy has a way of getting what he wants.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe he does,” he said, clear conviction in his voice, “but not this time.”

******

Stewart Sullivan stood at the head of table, a crystal wine glass substituting for the usual snifter. Taking his knife, he let it ping gently against the glass.

“Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, if you would grant me a minute of your time, please.” At the quieting of the room, he continued. “ I would like to propose a toast. This is a day for Thanksgiving, and as a man gifted with good friends, a good life, a good wife, ” he said, saluting Lillian, “and two beautiful daughters, I have much to be thankful for.” Taking a sip from the glass, he lowered it and grinned. “Mind you, much of that was my own doing, so I guess most of the thanks for that belong to me, right?” This observation was met by laughter and raised glasses.

Settling the guests with a wave of his hand, he continued, “Seriously, though, back to the business at hand. Our eldest daughter Erica has just returned from Paris, her master’s degree finally in hand and it looks like she’ll be joining the business world after all. It’s been a long time coming! Believe me, Lily and I wondered if it was every going to happen, but we are so very proud of her. We always have been.” Erica blew an animated kiss toward her father and raised her glass in salute.

“And, my other beautiful daughter, Christine is here this weekend too, ready to move into a new phase in her own life. For those of you who haven’t heard yet, my baby is getting married. Now I know we were all hoping she was going to fall for one your boys, one of the fine young men I see in this room today. But, my little girl has always been very sure of what she wants, and it looks like what she wants is one of New York City’s finest. So, on behalf of my beautiful wife and I, I would like to welcome him to the family. Looks like we’re going to get that son after all! Christie, darling, if you and Jim would stand, please.”

Christie smiled at her dad, and squeezed Jim’s arm, a look of complete adoration on her face. Taking Jim’s hand, she encouraged him to stand with her. As they raised their glasses, a warm round of applause and the clink of glasses echoed around them. “ To Christie and Jim.” Nodding their appreciation, they drank in toast, and sat again, the awkward moment over. Stewart remained standing.

“And I know Christie wouldn’t mind if I said this, so, lastly, to our friends and family gathered here today, I am openly inviting all of you to help us share in the joy of that special day. By God, we’re going to have ourselves a wedding.” He toasted the room, quietly downed the contents of his glass and took his seat.

Glaring in Stewart’s direction, Jim lifted the linen napkin from his lap and dropped it deliberately on his plate. Pushing his chair away from the table, he quietly excused himself and disappeared through the solid oak doors at the end of the grand hall, a defined purpose to his stride.

Alone with his thoughts, the din of the society crowd confined safely behind those doors, he breathed in the damp sea air and counted backward, tensing and untensing his fingers, trying to find some measure of calm; he didn’t feel calm.

“Jimmy?” He hadn’t heard her approach and he didn’t turn to face her. “Are you okay?” she said, quietly. He thought he detected a measure of penitence in her voice and in the hesitant touch of her hand on his back.

“No, Christie, I am not okay. Of all the pompous, arrogant...” he said, trying to mask the fury in his voice. Pulling his hands briskly through his hair, he shook his head. “Jesus Christ, Christie, is that all these people have to think about? Plan their lives around? A society gathering, our wedding? What about what we want? Do we have a say in any of this or is Erica absolutely right?”

He whirled to face her; there was no disguising his anger. “Christie, I need to know right now, before we go any further here. This isn’t my world, it never will be. Is it yours?”

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Twenty

She flinched as though he’d taken his hand and struck her. The depth of her hurt was immediately evident, in the sudden glaze of her eyes, the tremble of her chin, her hand dropping from his shoulder to rest in defeat at her side. She lowered her head and sighed, wrapping her arms tightly across her body, as if to shield herself from the potential of any further pain.

“Jimmy,” she said softly, the unmistakable threat of tears in her voice, “I love you, you know I do. But are you asking me to choose, one for the other?”

“Yeah,” he responded with a nonchalant shrug of the chin, “in a way, I guess I am.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t choose you over my family or vice versa. And honestly, I don’t understand why we can’t have both.”

“Because I can’t keep doing this!” Anger boiled to the surface, sharpening his words. “I guess I’m just not…what was it Mrs. Cromwell labeled it, “blue blood” enough for any of it or any of them. Christie, I stood in that bar today and listened to two women carry on a conversation about some gardener who murdered their rose bushes, as if it that was some huge tragedy they would never recover from. You can’t murder a rose bush for Christ sake! If the damn thing dies, it can be replaced, a thousand times over with the money these people have… God, even announcing our engagement, your father couldn’t just say congratulations. He had to stand up there in front of his friends and make it sound like you were settling for something less than you deserved.”

“Oh, Jimmy, I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

“Maybe not,” he said, indignantly, “but that’s basically what he said and I’m sure that’s what everyone in that room thinks too. You look at me and tell me it’s not true.”

“I can’t…just like I can’t choose between you and them. Having one without the other is like giving up a piece of myself. And if you love me, really love me, then you have to take all of me, who I was before and who I am now. And that includes family, Jimmy. It’s a package deal.”

Strolling to the edge of the deck, he planted his elbows on the wide railing and rested his chin wearily in his hands. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I tried, Christie, I tried to tell you that our worlds are just too different, we’re too far apart. But you didn’t want to hear me.”

Her hand was on his shoulder again, the soothing tone back in her voice. “I know, Jimmy, but…”

He turned to face her. “Well, sometimes, Christie, love just isn’t enough.” Kissing her softly on the cheek, he strolled across the deck and disappeared through the doors, leaving her standing in the chill of the late afternoon, his words, like his footsteps, an echo in the wind.

**********

“I’ll have a Heineken, please.” Jim took a seat at the vacant bar and reached up to loosen the knot in his tie and undo the top button of his shirt, freeing himself from the choke hold around his throat. Absently twisting the cold bottle between his hands, the contemplation of what had just transpired playing out in his head, he didn’t hear her approach.

“Hey, is this seat taken?”

She’d startled him. “What? Sorry, no…please sit,” he said, pulling the barstool out for her. “Would you like a drink?”

“I’ll have the same thing you’re having,” she responded, taking a seat and crossing her long legs.

He raised the bottle to the bartender. “Another here, please? Do you want a glass?”

“No, thanks, I’ll drink it like the big boys do.”

A fleeting smile crossed his face, the brooding silence settling back again, seemingly without pause.

Laying a hand over his, she gently squeezed his fingers. “Jim, can I say something, here?”

Shrugging his shoulders, a suggestion of indifference in his tone, he said, “I think I’ve heard it all, but if you think you’ve got some new angle to add, let’s hear it.”

“Look at me, please.” Her hand found his chin and she turned his head to face her. “I’m not even going to begin to profess knowing anything about you or what your story might be. But, it’s obvious to me that you have absolutely no idea what to think of any of this. Truth of the matter is, though, I’m not sure any of us really do. I know I don’t and I’ve been exposed to it my entire life.” A hint of sadness crept into her smile. “Maybe that’s why I’ve spent so much time trying to find myself in all of this, not just as Stewart Sullivan’s daughter, but to figure out where it is that I fit in. Believe me,” she said knowingly, “we all do, Jim. If you think growing up like we did made it any easier, I’ve got news for you. It doesn’t seem to matter where we start, here or there, it’s never an easy road to acceptance. God knows I’ve lost my way on it so many times.”

Lowering his gaze from her, attempting to close the door she had so deftly opened, he said, “Look, Erica, it’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do here. I do really….”

“That’s good, and if that’s the case, then hear me out, please?”

“Alright, alright…you’ve got the floor,” he said reluctantly.

“I love my sister, Jim, and what that means is that it doesn’t really matter how well I know you, or how much I know about you, I already care about you because she does. I just don’t want to see either one of you make a rash decision that you might regret somewhere down the road.”

“So you’ve talked to her?” She nodded. “Then you should know that it may already be too late for that,” he said, the image of Christie’s wounded expression filling his head.

They raised their bottles in unison, both taking a long swig. She put hers down first and swung around so she was facing him.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot…” he responded, absently picking at a loose corner of the label.

“What do you see when you look at my mother and father?”

Casting a questioning glance in her direction, he frowned and shook his head. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Come on. You’ve spent some time with them. Is there something, anything about them that stands out to you?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I just want an honest answer, Jim. And don’t give me that look; I’m not going to jump down your throat. I’ve known them a lot longer than you so believe me, there is nothing you can possibly say that I haven’t already noticed.”

“Alright, you asked,” he said, cautious hesitation in his voice. “Except for this, today I mean, I see two people living very separate lives…”

She nodded. “Very astute read, Jim. Is that the detective in you or does that ability just come naturally to you?”

He had to laugh. “No, not really…just an observation.”

“Truth is, Stu and Lily probably should have divorced years ago. But they didn’t and for all the wrong reasons. The price of embarrassment was too high for either of them, to say nothing of the fact that it would have sullied that great Sullivan name.” She shrugged her shoulders. “So, except for the social occasions, things like this, they are very rarely together. Dad has his library and when he’s not there, he’s here or out on the boat. And Mom has her charitable causes, her bridge group and her studio. They might eat at the same table, but that’s pretty much it.”

He glanced over at her, a rueful smile etched on his face. “And I assumeyou must have a point to all of this?”

“My point is that no matter how much you think you know about someone, how much you think you have in common, it doesn’t always work out the way you think it’s going to. I mean, look at them, Jim. They were born in the same social circles and they haven’t been able to figure out a way to make it last. They tolerate each other, but I think any love they may have had died a long time ago. And worse than that, they’ve made absolutely no effort to keep it going. Christie was raised with that, we both were, spending time with one or the other, but never the two of them together. And because of that, she has a very strong vision of what her marriage is going to be….that’s not it.”

He nodded. “That’s not what I want, either. I didn’t grow up with a glowing example of how it should be; only what I never wanted it to be.”

“So, what’s holding you back, Jim?”

“I guess I am...I don’t know,” he said, frustration marking his words. “It just seems that whenever we reach what I think is a comfort zone, and I’m finally starting to believe that we can make it, really make it work, something happens and I’m just not sure anymore. God, Erica, I’m so tired of fighting an uphill battle.”

She laid an affectionate hand on his shoulder. “So don’t fight, Jim. Talk. Let Christie know how you’re feeling. She’ll listen. I know she will, because she loves you. I didn’t know it was possible to feel for someone the way she does for you. And whether you believe it now or not, sometimes love is enough….if you let it be.”

Raising her bottle, she drained it and set it back down on the bar. “Hey, bartender. Put both of those on my Daddy’s tab, please.” Grinning, she said, “If my Dad is going to drive you to drink, he’s also going to pay for it.” She started toward the steps to the main foyer, the familiar sound of her high heels clicking across the polished marble floor. Reaching the top step, she stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh, and Jim, just in case you’re interested, last time I saw Christie, she was out on the deck. I think you can still find her there.”

“Hey, Erica….” he called after her.

She turned.

“Thanks...”

********

He found her where Erica said she would be, a forlorn, solitary figure at the corner of the deck, her coat draped across her shoulders warding off the damp chill that had settled over the coast. He didn’t need to see her face to know how deeply he had hurt her. It was there, in her posture, the bow of her head, the sway of her back and shoulders. He knew, without seeing, what would be reflected in her eyes.
“Hey,” he said quietly, wrapping his arms around her, burying his cheek against her hair.

She pulled away and turned to him, the pain he had anticipated masking her beautiful face. “Do you want this back?” she asked, tugging the ring from her finger and holding it out to him. A single tear slid down her cheek; she reached up to briskly brush it away.

“No, that’s not what I want, Christie” he said softly. “I want it back where it belongs.” Taking it from her, he slid it down her slender finger. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

She gazed up at him, the tears gathering in hereyes threatening to fall. She started to say something, her voice broke and along with it, any resolve she may have had to hold herself together. Pulling her to him, her sobs buried against his shoulder, he wrapped a protective arm around her, fighting to control the fragility of his own emotions. “God, Christie,” he whispered, “I am so sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

When she was finally able, she lifted her head and looked up at him. “Jimmy, I love you, with all my heart. But if you are saying that you still want this, you still want me, I can’t choose. You have to know that.”

Caressing her face in his hands, he leaned down to kiss her and wipe the remaining tears from her eyes. “I’m not asking you to. I never should have asked you to.”

“What then, Jimmy?” her eyes searched his face, looking for his answer.

A rueful smile crossed his lips. “I’ll take the package, Christie. But, we have to be allowed to live our own lives, to do things our way, without interference. I can’t ask you to change who you are. These people are your friends, your family and this is your home….”

She rested her head against his chest, her hand reaching for him, her fingers entwining with his. “But, it’s not yours,” she said quietly. “Are you going to be okay with that?”

“Yeah, I am, and I am going to marry you, Christine Sullivan,” he hesitated. “...but I think I need to establish some ground rules first.”

“Do we get to talk about this?” she asked.

“No, there’s really nothing to talk about. I want you to understand that there are certain things I am not willing to do.”

“Such as….” she said firmly, pulling away again.

“Such as…discovering that I might have a hidden taste for cigars or brandy, or that I might actually harbor some talent for the game of golf.” He looked at her and grinned, “Tennis, maybe, but that’s about as country club as I am willing to get.”

She returned his smile and a little ray of light returned to her eyes. “Fair enough and while we’re in the throes of being so open here, is there anything else you’d like to get off your chest?”

“No, that’s it for now. I’m still not sure what to make of the rest of it. But,” he said lightly, “it’s not like I’m going in alone. I mean I’ve got you and Erica watching my back, right?”

“Um….” she murmured, wrapping her arms around him and settling her head back down on his chest. “Erica can watch your back. I prefer the view right where I am.”

[Duchess of Lashes]

Before There Was Darkness

Part Twenty-One

She wasn't sure of the time; the house was quiet, the silence punctuated by the occasional rustle of the wind in the trees. Moonlight permeated the darkness, flooding through the double French doors, bathing the blue room in its shimmer. Jim's slow steady breathing confirmed that he was lost in a deep sleep. Although he had denied that the stress of the afternoon had taken any toll on him, his eyes had easily belied his exhaustion. She’d seen him tired before, at the end of a long day or trying to piece together a particularly tough case, but never like this; he fell into bed and was asleep before she could crawl in beside him.

Wide awake, with sleep a forgotten notion, she rolled on her side, propped herself up on one elbow, and watched him, drawn to those things she loved about him, loved about his face; the sandy blond hair with a certain mind of its own, the long dense lashes that framed his lively blue eyes, the strong, square jaw line, the shape of his mouth, the fullness of his lower lip, even the little crook in the bridge of his nose, a souvenir from his days in the ring. She felt herself smile at the thought of all the mornings yet to come, a lifetime of mornings when she would awaken like this and find him beside her. Any last tinge of anger harbored from the earlier events was, in this moment of serenity, eclipsed by the complete contentment in her heart.

She disrobed quietly, and inched closer to him, raising the heavy brocade comforter and sliding her hand under. He stirred against her.

A low moan escaped his throat and his eyes fluttered open. “Christie, what are you doing?” he murmured, his voice hoarse with sleep.

“Shhhhhhhh ” she laid a finger against his lips. “Don’t say anything, Jimmy.” Nestling her body tightly to him, her mouth found his and he responded to her instinctively, his senses immediately roused to the spark of her touch.

That touch seemed somehow different this time; she allowed her hands to linger, exploring intimately, unhurried and deliberate, like she had never touched him before. Her fingers danced on his skin, slid along the brawny build of his arms, caressed the strength of his shoulders and chest, lingered in the little hollow at the base of his throat before trailing lightly across his abdomen. She heard his breath catch as she pulled the hem of his T-shirt from the cinched waist of his sweats and in one swift motion, lifted it over his head. Drawing the cord at his middle, she loosened the pants, and tugged them down, relieving him of their constraint.

His breath was hot and brisk in her ear. Wrapping her in his arms, he lifted her to straddle him. She caught his hands in hers and pushed his arms over his head, pinning them to the bed. Leaning forward with the soft waves of her hair brushing against him, she teased his heightened nerves with her tongue, until her mouth pressed against his, hungry and possessive. He untangled his fingers from hers and moved eagerly across her body, finding those places that quivered to his touch.

“Jimmy,” her voice was barely a whisper, his name caught in a gasp that escaped as he lowered her to him, shuddering as he filled her.

They moved as one, rising up and ebbing down again, gazes locked together. She watched the subtle changes in his expression, the indolent pleasure in his eyes gradually supplanted by the intensity of his growing want. His breath came harder, his heart raced under her, and his fingers, once gently interlaced with hers, gripped a little tighter. With one final pitch, they peaked, trembling in the turbulence of that swell and in the ensuing tranquility, basked in its afterglow.

Framing her face in his hands, he met her in a gentle kiss, tender and loving, and she knew, more so than she had before, that she was his, would always be his. Were there any reemerging doubts, they were quickly dispelled by the simple knowledge that what she had found with him was right and real. Nothing, not the pain of his past, the complications of the present, the events of this day or any other day, could possibly tear them apart.

He drew her to him, she curled into his embrace and sighed deeply. “I love you, Jimmy,” she whispered. “I will always love you.”

His arms tightened around her possessively, and with the first light of dawn fracturing the fragile hold of the night, they slept again.

* * * * * *

When she woke to the sunlight streaming through the windows, she found herself alone, the sheets and comforter neatly pulled up on Jim’s side of the bed.

She sat and stretched trying to discard the lingering remnants of sleep. “Jimmy?” she called, expecting to hear him answer from the bathroom. There was no response. Slipping her arms into her robe, she pulled the sash tightly around her waist and headed downstairs.

Stewart Sullivan leaned around the counter, an open pouch of coffee in his hand, and planted a kiss on Christie’s forehead. “Good morning, Kitten. Did you sleep well?”

“Morning, Daddy. I did.” She peered over his shoulder to the breakfast room; the table was empty. “I thought Jimmy might be here. Have you seen him?”

“I did, about thirty minutes ago or so,” he said, depositing the contents of the pouch into the basket and flipping the switch on the coffee maker, “but I haven’t seen him since. I asked him again if he’d join us for golf this afternoon but he turned me down flat.”

“I’m afraid Jim’s just not a golfer, Daddy, and I don’t think you’ll ever convince him it’s something he might want to do. But it was nice of you to offer.”

“He seemed a little quiet this morning, sweetie. Is everything okay?”

“As far as I know, but I haven’t talked to him yet. He was gone when I woke up.” She hesitated. “Yesterday was hard on him, Daddy, and to tell you the truth, you didn’t make it any easier.” To his puzzled expression she added, “I know you probably didn’t mean anything by it, but what you said just seemed to rub him the wrong way.”

“What I said? What did I say?”

“Daddy,” she said, softly, “Come on. In a room full of total strangers to Jim, you stood to toast us, and rather than just welcoming him to the family, you made it sound like we were settling for something less than you thought we should; not just me, but you and Mom too.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said, shaking his head, “I’m sorry.”
“Maybe you didn’t, but I can certainly see how Jim could have interpreted it that way. And I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

“Alright, I will when I see him.” He paused briefly. “Look, Kitten, I’m not saying he’s not a fine young man. From the little exposure we’ve had so far this weekend, it’s obvious to your mother and me that he has a good head on his shoulders. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed. I guess I just always had it in the back of my mind you would stay a little closer to home, marry a little closer to home.”

She laid a hand on her father’s shoulder. “Well, it didn’t work out that way. But he was worth waiting for and I love him, Daddy. So, I’m asking you to give him a fair shake please? Stop with all the little innuendos. He’ll be more comfortable and I think you’ll find that he might open up a little more if you do. When he does, you’ll see that he really is quite a remarkable person.”

“I don’t know enough about him yet to stand here and judge him. It just seems to me, for all the obvious reasons, you’re starting your life together on some pretty shaky ground. I think it’s important that you have a little something in common and I just don’t see it, Christie. You can’t build on something if there’s nothing there to support it.”

“And that’s where I think you’re wrong, Daddy. We’ve worked through so many things already and I know we’re both stronger for it. I don’t mean you any disrespect,” she said, softly, “but look at you and Mom. You had all the common ground in the world and that wasn’t enough to sustain you.”

He nodded, a tinge of regret dimming his smile. “You’re right about that, dear. It’s not that I don’t love your mother, I always have but,” he sighed, “somewhere along the way, we just seemed to go in two different directions. Look, I’m probably the last person who should be giving you any advice in that department but I just want to see my little girl happy.”

“And I will be, Daddy,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “He makes me happy.”

“Well, then,” he said reaching into the cupboard and pulling out two mugs, “when you’re ready, I guess we have that wedding to plan. Coffee?”

She shook her head. “But keep it warm, okay? Right now, I want to go find Jimmy.”

* * * * * *

She found him on the beach, reclining in the unusual warmth of alate November morning, apparently unaware that the small waves boiling and rolling onto the sand were nipping mischievously close to his feet. One knee was drawn to his chin, one arm wrapped around his folded leg. So deeply absorbed in contemplation was he that her arrival went unnoticed.

“Hey,” she said, brightly. “I thought you might be here.”

“Hey,” he turned and smiled, raising one hand to shield his eyes against the sun. “I woke up early and thought I would go for a run.”

She plopped down beside him. “You should have woken me up. I would have come with you.”

Laughing, he said, “No, I thought after that middle of the night workout, I better let you sleep.” He leaned over to plant a good morning kiss on her cheek. “What was that all about anyway?”
She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not sure, really. I didn’t plan it, if that’s what you mean. I was just laying there, watching you sleep, I was thinking about you, about us, and you know, one thing led to another. It was alright wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, that was nice,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers. “Thinking about us, huh? What were you thinking?”

“That yesterday was hard on you, and that we certainly didn’t do much to make it any easier.”

“Yeah, well, I made it unnecessarily hard on you too,” he said, sheepishly. “And I’m sorry for that. Maybe I need to relax a little, you know, try to let things bounce off me a little more.”

He stood and held his hand out to her. “Hey, let’s walk. I saw your Dad this morning. I’m afraid it was a little awkward.”

“Yeah, he told me. ” She tucked her hand in his. “Do you think you and Daddy will ever find a place where you might be comfortable with each other?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. We seem to have one very important thing in common. Hopefully we’ll find others. And if we don’t, that will just have to be enough, ” he said, squeezing her hand.

“I talked to him, Jimmy, and I think he’s going to try to make a real effort where you’re concerned. The last thing he said to me was that we had a wedding to plan.” His hesitation was immediate; she felt him stiffen. “I think that means acceptance, Jimmy, that’s all. You and I need to talk about it first.”

He let a deep sigh escape and relief filled his voice. “I am so glad to hear you say that. Christie, I really meant what I said yesterday. We have to be allowed to make our own decisions, okay? No interference.”

“Agreed, no interference, Jimmy. And despite what you might think, I don’t want a big wedding. I never have, although I think I’ll probably take some major grief for that. Daddy can have his society wedding when Erica and Jake announce their engagement.”

He raised one eyebrow skeptically. “You think you’ll really see that day?”

She nodded. “They’ve been on and off again so often I’ve actually lost count. But they always wind up right back where they started, with each other. And, if you haven’t noticed already, she hasn’t been around much this weekend. I do know where she has been. I think it’s just a matter of time.”

“Alright, so if they’re going to headline the society pages, where does that leave us? If we don’t get married here, where?”

“Jimmy,” she said, hesitantly, “ I have a confession to make.”

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. “Oh, no, Christie, what now?”

She laughed. “Jimmy, it’s not what you think. It’s just….I wasn’t kidding when I mentioned Tavern on the Green to Erica. I’ve already looked into it, and if you want to get married in the City, then I want to get married there,” she said softly, fighting to keep her emotions in check.“That’s where I think I knew for the first time how much you were going to change my life. And now I want the fairy tale, Jimmy, I want the horse and buggy, I want the sax player, I want it all.”

He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “I love it, and I’d love that you’d do that for me, for us. When?”

“On the 14th of December, the first anniversary of our first date. It’s only three weeks away, Jimmy. Do you think we can make it? Or do you think it’s too soon?”

“Nope, I think it’s perfect,” he said, and she knew without question he thought it was. It was there, in the tenderness of his voice and the expression in his eyes. “But what about your family Christie, especially your Dad?”

“It’s time for him to let me go," she responded quietly. You’re my man now, Jimmy Dunbar. You always will be.”

[Duchess of Lashes]

Before There Was Darkness

Part Twenty-Two

“You’re being so quiet, Jimmy,” Christie noted, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his shoulder. “You didn’t say a word during dinner.” She reached up and caressed the back of his head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He put the last of the dinner dishes in the dishwasher and gave the door a quick flick upward with his foot. It slammed shut with a convincing thud.

“No, I’m okay…just tired I guess.” Turning to face her, he attempted to achieve some measure of lightness in his tone. “So, how are you doing with that list anyway?”

“We’re almost there, sweetie,” she responded, brightly. “But we would be that much closer if you could just take a few minutes to do the things you need to do. Like go and get fitted for your tux, preferably while they still have some available.”

“Christie….” His arms dropped resignedly at his side; he didn’t bother finishing the thought. Justification would take far more energy than he had at that moment.

“Come on, Jimmy, it won’t take you very long,” she pleaded. “The rest of it, I can handle on my own, but I can’t do that for you.”

A forced smile found its way to his face. “Alright, alright,” he said, “I’ll try to swing by tomorrow….promise.” He brushed a light kiss across her cheek. “But now,” he said, untangling himself from her embrace, “if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. Are you coming?”

“No, not just yet. I think I’ll read for a little while. Hey, Jimmy,” she called after him. “Don’t try, okay? Just do it?”

Several times since their arrival home from the Hamptons, he found himself questioning what it was that had possessed him to believe pulling a wedding together in less than three weeks was even remotely possible under the best of circumstances. Or why, in retrospect, he had agreed without hesitation when Christie had suggested December 14th, except for the strong sentimental ties to their first date and the knowledge that it would be the wedding they wanted, the one Stuart didn’t. There was a certain measure of satisfaction in that.

He quickly realized there was much more to it than he had anticipated. Granted, the wedding was going to be a small affair but that did not appear to diminish the volume of arrangements still necessary to pull it off. While Christie had assumed much of the planning, appointments littered his calendar, not the least of which was getting fitted for that tux. He’d thought about that one every morning, on his way to work, and again on the long ride home. It, like a lot of things, wasn’t even a fleeting thought during the day.

As the obligations to make their special day a reality began to mount, he found himself secretly hoping that December would follow the pattern of years past where the number of new cases dwindled significantly under the spell of the approaching holiday season’s good will. And for the first several days of the month, it appeared he would enjoy the anticipated respite needed to participate in and keep all of those appointments. But when the high-pitched beep of his pager wrenched him out of a deep sleep and from a warm bed, it served to ensure that while Christie would be occupied with the final details of the wedding, he would be occupied piecing together the end of another life.

*****

“Danny.” Jim drew the collar of his coat a little higher on his neck, warding off the chill of what was shaping up to be a very cold December day, and acknowledged his young partner with a nod.

“Cold enough for you Dunbar?” Dan Bellamy blew on the tips of his fingers before shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

“Nah, this is nothing,” Jim responded, his words frosty against the bitter air. “You know, it’s not technically even winter yet.”

“Could have fooled me. Sweet Mother Mary,” he said, stomping his feet against the frozen ground, “I’m hoping that transfer to the sunshine state comes through sooner rather than later. No offense, New York, but I would much rather be doing this where it’s warm all the time.”

“What,” Jim said, a frown creasing his brow, “and give up all of this?” Although the bleakness of the predawn sky lent a cold appearance to the stone facades of the impressive skyline, he still found the city beguiling. He shook his head. “Nope, you couldn’t pay me to leave.”

“Yeah, well I guess that’s where we’re different, Dunbar.”

Jim smiled, “That’s definitely one way, Danny boy. So, what have we got?”

“Looks like a jumper.” The drone of the rescue boat’s engine coming to life echoed through the silence. “Guess that mean’s they’re finally bringing her to shore.”

“Her? Are we sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Hooker?”

“Can’t be sure about that,” Dan responded with a shrug. “It would make sense, though, seeing as how she went over around 3:00 in the morning.”

Glancing up at the infrastructure of the Brooklyn Bridge, towering above, he shuddered. That really was a hell of a way to go. “Anybody see anything?”

“Maybe, the homeless guy over there. Told them he thought he heard a scream and then she hit the water.”

Jim turned toward the bridge footing, to the figure huddled against it, a thin grey blanket his only barrier against the cold night. “Have you talked to him?” he asked, nodding in his direction.

“Not yet.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s start there.”

A few questions asked, a few vague answers, and it was apparent that the old man had enriched them with everything he had seen and heard. From what he described, there was absolutely no reason to believe this was anything more than a painful end to a desperate life.

“I’ll go call it in,” Jim said, heading back to the car for the two-way. He nodded his head in the direction of the river. “They’re coming in.”

Once the boat was securely tethered to the dock, the body was lifted onto a waiting gurney and quickly concealed under a plain white sheet. Danny crouched beside it and lifted one corner. “Caucasian female,” he called out. “I’d say early to mid 30’s. No obvious signs of foul play.”

Jim shoved the two-way into his pocket and made his way back to his partner.

“There’s no way this is a hooker, Dunbar.”

"Why? What makes you say that?”

“Take a look for yourself,” he said, pulling the sheet back once again to reveal the lifeless body under its protective veil. “This is a real classy woman.”

Turning his gaze from his partner to the victim, Jim heard an audible gasp, not recognizing right away that the sound had emanated from within. He felt his breath come quicker and shallower, the tremble started in his hands and radiated from there, bile rose abruptly to burn at the back of his throat.

“Oh, Jesus Christ .....” he managed, recoiling from the gurney. He struggled to repress a sudden, strong wave of nausea.

“Hey, Dunbar!” Dan threw himself to his feet and reached out to grab his partner’s arm. “Jimmy, do you know her?”

*****

Hunched behind the steering wheel, he stared blankly out the windshield, car keys dangling from fingers that refused to move. His body, like his mind, was still in a state of shock, numbed by the realization that Alex D’Ambrosia was dead.

God, had it really been just a couple of months ago that he’d seen her, so full of life and laughter?

The lyrical sound of that laughter reached him long before he saw her, dazzling as always, the companion glass of red wine in one hand, the other animatedly emphasizing whatever story it was she was telling to a captivated audience. There was no denying the draw of her vibrant personality or her infectious zest for a good time and she definitely knew how to have one. She caught sight of him and smiled warmly.

“Well,” she said, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I’d just seen an apparition. Could this be the Ghost of Dunbar past?”

“No,” he answered with a shake of his head. “No ghost.”

Wrapping him in a friendly embrace, she crooned, “You look terrific for someone who’s been in hiding, Jimmy.”

“You’re looking good too, Alex,” he responded, disengaging himself from her arms.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Yeah, that would be great, the usual, please.” He laid his coat across the back of the vacant barstool and loosened his tie. “And I haven’t been hiding, Alex, just out of commission.”

“I’m teasing, Jimmy,” she replied, handing him a cold brew. Politely excusing herself from her circle of colleagues, she turned her attention to him. “I guess I thought I’d hear from you again, you know? I’ve missed you.” She planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “So, what have you been up to anyway, aside from the obvious, I mean. I see your name every once in a while in a case folder that crosses my desk.”

He drew his chin down in a shrug. “You know, same ole, same ole. You?”

“Still working it, Jimmy, still working it. I haven’t grown tired of it yet.”

“I never thought you would, Alex,” he said with admiration. “I know what it means to really like what you do.”

She smiled broadly. “And I do. I’m not sure this is what I had in mind when I passed the bar, but Jimmy, it’s not about the money anymore; it’s about making a difference. As long as I feel like that, I’m good.”

“No doubt,” he countered with a clink of the bottle against her glass, “and you always were, Alex. That you were.”

Batting her heavy eye-lashes, she replied in her best Mae West, “Why, James Dunbar, are we still talking about my abilities as a lawyer here?”

He had never intended for anything more to happen between them, but with the alcohol flowing as easily as the conversation, aided and abetted by her ample, natural charms, he found himself increasingly drawn to her, just as he had on many occasions in what was now another lifetime ago. She had never been shy about hinting that she would like something more from him. He wasn't close to ready to make that kind of commitment and she wasn’t close to being someone he could picture making the commitment to.

But, with Christie away on another one of her elongated business trips to the West Coast, all sense of responsibility and commitment seemed to desert him at the same time. He found it increasingly difficult to turn away from her deep brown doe eyes, or to ignore the pleading in her voice, just once more, please, Jimmy, for old time sake. He had finally conceded, convincing himself that he wasn’t really doing anything wrong; hell, he and Christie weren’t married yet, they weren’t even engaged.

Stumbling through the door shortly after midnight, he forced himself under a long, hot shower. It cleared the alcohol induced fog in his head but it did nothing to cleanse his soul. He couldn’t wash away the guilt. He’d never said a word to anyone about that night or about her, and he never saw her again.

Now she was dead. How in the hell had Alexandra’s life ended so abruptly in the East River at 3:00 in the morning?

*****

He opened the apartment door slowly and stepped inside, shivering against the sudden blast of heat that greeted him. Letting the keys drop on the table, he shrugged his coat off, hanging it absently on a vacant arm of the coat tree in the front hall. Drawing a deep breath, he tried to find some measure of composure through the overwhelming numbness.

“Jimmy? Is that you?” Christie called from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he replied, hoping he had managed to inflect some normalcy in his tone.

“Hey,” she met him in the doorway and drew him into her embrace. “You look like hell.”

“Good to see you too,” he said, wrapping his arms a little tighter around her.

“Are you hungry? Dinner’s just about ready.”

“No. I think I need a drink first.”

“Listen, why don’t I turn the heat down for a little while so you can go and grab a shower? It might make you feel better.”

“Nah, just give me a few minutes, okay?” Reaching into the fridge, he grabbed a bottle and popped the cap off. Leaning against the open door, he took a long pull and swallowed slowly, letting the bitterness of the dark ale wash through him.

“So,” she asked, hopefully, “did you get in today for your tux?”

He knew before he answered that his words wouldn’t be enough. He shook his head. “Christie, I’m sorry…..”

“Jimmy.” Exasperation filled her voice. “I know you’re busy, but how can you keep forgetting something that important?”

“Christie, please not now,” he said firmly.

“Not now? Jimmy? Come on. I asked you yesterday, I asked you the day before that, and the day before that too. What do I need to do? Call you three times a day to make sure you remember to get it done?”

“No, that’s not necessary.” He sighed deeply. “It’s just.....”

She nodded knowingly. “You’re going to tell me you got another case, right? I was here when that pager went off this morning, remember? Look,” she said, softening her tone, “I know what you do is important, sweetie, but you have got to make some time to get this done.”

He took another long pull from the bottle. “Christie, you don’t understand. This new case........it’s big.”

She turned to face him, her expression, like her, voice, full of indignation. “And so is our wedding, Jimmy. This is the most important day of our lives and it’s only nine days away. I would think that would count for something, that I would be at least a thought in your head at some point during the day.”

“Come on, Christie,” he said, reaching out to take her hand. “You know you are.”

“Well,” she said, with a slight shake of her head, “I’m really beginning to wonder about that, Jimmy.”

“Oh, God,” he said, exhaustion overtaking him. “This has been such a long day already. Can we talk about this later?”

“No, Jimmy, we can’t,” she answered. “I want to talk about it now....because I think there’s something more going on here than just the job.”

“Where the hell is that coming from? Huh? You know what I do, Christie and you know when that pager goes off, I have to go.”

“Yes, Jimmy, I am well aware of what you do. But what I want to know is what really goes on when you’re late or why it is that you can’t seem to find a few minutes to do one thing,” she said, holding up a finger for emphasis, “the one thing I asked you to get done!”

“Why would you say something like that? Huh?” The burn of anger simmered close to the surface. He fought to keep it out of his voice. “Where the hell is that coming from?”

“Here,” she said, walking determinedly to the desk. Picking up a pastel envelope, she turned and held it out to him. “This came for you today.”

“And?” he asked, unsure how that one envelope could possibly be as influential as it appeared at that moment.

“And......” she said quietly. “I think I have a right to know.” She laid it on the table in front of him. “Jimmy, who is Alexandra D’Ambrosia?”

[Duchess of Lashes]

Before There Was Darkness

Part Twenty-Three

There was no mistaking that it was Alex’s elegant script flowing across the front of the pale mauve envelope, her address label affixed neatly in the corner. The coincidence of its arrival and her departure did not pass unnoted. Jim felt the churn in the pit of his stomach , the queasiness he had managed to suppress for the past several hours seizing control again. His legs were suddenly rubber beneath him.

“I need to sit down,” he said, dropping to the couch and setting his half-empty bottle precariously close to the edge of the table. Resting his chin against his clenched hands, he caught his bottom lip between his teeth and stared blankly into space, his expression unreadable.

Christie’s posture was rigid, arms folded across her chest, her eyes riveted on that envelope. “Jimmy?”

He breathed deep and exhaled slowly. “Christie, this isn’t what you think,” he said quietly, a finger absently stroking his lower lip. “I can explain.”

“I hope so because I really need you to say something right about now.”

He lifted his head and caught her gaze. “Alex is....she’s someone I knew, before I knew you. We were....” The moment he uttered the word, he was struck by his use of the past tense, not so much in the context of when Alex had occupied a place in his life, but measured now by the fact that she would never do so again. “Alex D’Ambrosia was a friend, a good friend....a long time ago.”

“You’re not friends now?” she asked, taking a seat beside him, her tone demanding his response.

“No, we’re not friends now,” he replied. “She was just....she was someone I used to know.”

Her eyes darted from his face to that little bit of paper, now seemingly wedged between them. “If that’s true, Jimmy, don’t you think her timing is just a little too neat? Why now? Why today? Why haven’t you mentioned her before?”

“Hey, slow down.” He lifted her chin, meeting her eyes with us. “I haven’t mentioned her because I guess I didn’t think it was important. I’m sure you’ve got skeletons in your closet too. Or have you told me about everyone that’s ever been involved in your life?”

“No, of course not,” she answered, “but none of them are trying to contact me a week before my wedding.”

“Christie, believe me, I wasn’t expecting this, not from her. As for her timing....” a wry smile turned the corners of his mouth, “I haven’t heard from her in such a long time. I have no idea what this might be,” he said, picking the envelope up from the table, “but....”

“But what Jimmy?”

“She’s dead, Christie,” he said quietly, a slight tremor in his voice. He pressed a hand to his mouth, one of those little mannerisms he often used in an attempt to suppress his surging emotions. “We found her floating in the East River this morning.”

Her eyes widened. She glanced from his face to the envelope and back. “I...I don’t know what to say, Jimmy.”

“No,” he said, with a discernable shake of his head. “I don’t know either, and honestly, Christie, I don’t know what or how I’m supposed to feel. I’ve had to wear my cop hat on this one all day long and keep it all in check. But, I knew this woman.” He stared at the envelope in his hand, yesterday’s date clearly postmarked across the stamp. “Whatever this is, it’s not what you’re thinking.”

"Jimmy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply...”

“Yeah, Christie, I think you did...but I need you to know that it was over, okay? We were over long before I met you.”

“I believe you, Jimmy,” she said, softly, her hand finding the tense spot at the back of his neck. “But that still doesn’t explain the letter.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “No, it doesn’t. For all I know, this is nothing more than a good-bye to her friends.”

“Suicide?”

Heaving himself from the couch, he strolled to the window, pressing his forehead to the cold glass. “We’re still waiting for the coroner’s report.”

He closed his eyes to block out the jumbled thoughts and images playing in his mind, Alex as he had last seen her alive, the frozen face staring back at him with lifeless eyes, the knowledge that he had neglected to tell Christie the whole truth about the extent of his relationship with her, the little transgression he wished had never happened and yet, even with guilt, he was now somehow glad it had, the overwhelming sense of loss he felt for someone who hadn’t been part of his life for so long, the recognition that Alex had much left to do, wondering who would step forward and take up her causes, and through it all, the same nagging doubt that had plagued him since they’d pulled her from the water.

This was no suicide; the Alex he remembered would never do it. She cherished her work, as he did, defined herself by it, and believed so fully in the good of her causes that he knew she would never leave any of it untended.

He turned to Christie. “No, this wasn't a suicide. She wouldn’t kill herself, not the Alex I knew. I’m sure of it. I don’t know what she thought she needed to tell me, but whatever it is, it’s here,” he said, tearing the envelope open and unfolding its contents.

As he read her words, he recognized that he was making absolutely no effort to guard his reaction to them, his shock and anger playing out in his expression. He clenched and unclenched his fingers; he paced back and forth in front of the window, and when he had read the last word, he slammed an angry fist against the window ledge.

Christie jumped. “Jimmy, what is it?”

“Jesus Christ ” he hissed. Her letter tucked tightly in one hand, he picked up the phone and dialed his partner’s number. “Come on, come on, answer.....Yeah, it’s Jim. Can you meet me?....Yes, now...where we found our DOA this morning. If you happen to get there before I do, just wait for me, okay?”

He folded the papers and slipped them back in the envelope, tucking it in his coat pocket. “Christie, I’m sorry about dinner,” he said, shoving his arm into the sleeve, “But I have to go.”

“Jimmy, hold on.” She met him in the entry, straightened the collar of his coat and smoothed down the shoulders. “Hey, are you going to let me in?”

He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Don’t wait up for me, okay? This could be a really long night.”

******

“Alright, Dunbar, what is so important that it couldn’t wait until the morning?” Danny slid into the passenger side of the car and pulled the door shut. “It’s too damn cold to be out here tonight,” he said vigorously rubbing his hands together to emphasize that point.

“Did it ever occur to you that your hands wouldn’t be so cold if you’d just break down and buy yourself a pair of gloves? Look, I wouldn’t have called you out if I didn’t think it was important. And this is important.” He turned to face his partner. “Danny, Alex didn’t jump. She was thrown from that bridge.”

“Shit, Dunbar, you brought me all the way out here on a night like this to tell me that? Is this another one of your hunches we’re playing out here?”

“No, Danny, this is not a hunch. I know she didn’t kill herself,” he said with certainty.

“Alright, Jim, I’ll take that leap. You know that how? We haven’t got anything to go on, other than the old homeless guy and we know he saw shit.”

“No, that’s where you’re wrong, Danny. We do have something to go on.” He shifted his weight so he could slide his hand into his coat pocket and retrieve the envelope. “She wrote me a letter.”

“She wrote you a letter?” Danny asked, his expression, like his voice, full of skepticism.

“We were friends once, Bellamy, good friends,” Jim responded firmly, handing his partner the letter. “I think she knew she could trust me.”

“Trust you with what?”

“Just read it, Danny.” He sat silently, watching for the reaction he knew would come.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Dunbar.” The note slid out of Danny’s hand and came to rest on the seat between them. Jim picked it up, folded it and slipped it back into the confines of his coat pocket.

“Christ, this is unbelievable. How the hell do you suppose she found out about any of it?”

“Come on, Danny, put two and two together. She was a public defender...she had to have access to an awful lot of street information.”

“But, Jimmy, something like this is way too big for us to handle on our own. You’ve got to let the Lieutenant know about this.”

“Yeah, I know and I will, tomorrow. I wanted you to see it first and,” he hesitated knowing his partner’s penchant for logic and doing things by the book, “I want to go take a look, see if there’s any action over there.”

“We’ll be out of jurisdiction, Dunbar. You know that.”

“I’m not saying we’re going to do anything. I just want to have a look around.”

“I don’t know, Jimmy.”

“Danny, it’s not open for debate. You come with me, or your don’t. Either way, I’m going.”

*****

He wheeled the car up onto the access ramp for the Brooklyn Bridge and crossed the East River, exiting onto Prospect Avenue.

This area of Brooklyn had long been defined by an assortment of abandoned warehouses, a haven for the vagrant population, especially on a night like this. Benefiting from a recent resurgence of interest in its prime waterfront location and an influx of new money, the old warehouses were rapidly rezoned for multi-use commercial and residential complexes. The revitalization project ensured the preservation of the warehouse’s exterior shells, years of soot, grime and graffiti were acid washed from their red bricks, the old multi-paned windows perfectly replicated, the big wooden doors replaced with sleek glass and metal. Even the white washed names of the original proprietors, dulled through the years, were left for posterity sake, labels from another time in their history.

The redevelopment process was slow; while new life was breathed into one street, a few streets away, the buildings were still caught in a virtual time warp, industrial leftovers waiting for that same metamorphosis. Turning onto Gold Street, one of those streets where transition had not yet begun, Jim distanced the car from the dull glow of an overhead street lamp, drifted over to the curb and killed the engine. The world around them was silent, unmoving, except for the condensed puffs of warm air rising through the manhole covers.

“Now what?” Danny asked, already beginning to shiver.

“Now we wait,” Jim replied. Slouching down in the seat, he drew his coat closer to him to fend off the advancing cold. “We can’t risk running the engine, Danny boy, so there won't be any heat. Do what you can to stay warm.”

“Christ, Jimmy, I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. On a night like this, even the rats are smart enough to be some place warm.”

Jim shook his head and shrugged. “Not the kind we’re looking for.”

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Twenty-Four

Jim raised the cuff of his coat sleeve and glanced at the luminescent numbers on the face of his watch; 12:42 a.m. Cocking his head methodically from side to side, he worked to loosen the small knot forming at the base of his neck. His back and shoulders were just beginning to pronounce their displeasure at remaining inert for so long.


Four hours had passed without a solitary sign of activity in the vicinity of the building. Maybe Danny had been right after all; the impending threat of the season’s first real accumulation of snow and the thermostat dipping well below the freezing mark meant the rats wouldn’t be leaving the comforts of home on this night.

Intricate frost etchings splintered web-like across the windshield and glistened in fractured patterns, silvery white against the dark hood of the car. With the air inside nearing what Jim likened to that of a meat locker, his own immunity to the cold was waning; his feet were numb in his boots, his nose and ears frozen, the chill finally penetrating through the protective layers of his clothing. He flexed his gloved hands to encourage circulation back to his numbing fingertips.

Danny had drifted off to sleep shortly before midnight, the occasional snore a most welcome substitute to his persistent commentary about the falling temperatures. Still, Jim thought, it was good of him to come; he could just as easily have told Jim to screw it. Their day had ended hours ago, the next one now only a few short hours away. But, Jim had no doubt when he indicated what it was he wanted to do that he wouldn’t be doing it alone, that Danny would be here with him. In the eighteen months since they’d partnered up, he had never given Jim cause to question his level of commitment to the job or his sense of loyalty to his partner.

He wasn’t sure exactly where or when the turning point in Danny’s confidence had occurred, only that it had, until Jim recognized that he could count on him without question; Danny would have his back no matter what. And that was such a good feeling. If that anticipated application to transfer did come through, Jim knew full well that finding a replacement for him wouldn’t be an easy task.

He reached over and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Hey, Bellamy, wake up.”

“What? What is it?” he stammered to the unexpected intrusion.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jim said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Looks like the playground’s going to be quiet tonight.”

“I tried to tell you, Dunbar, it’s too freaking cold.” Danny said, yawning widely and stretching his cramped limbs. “Hey, what time is it anyway?”

“Going on one o’clock,” Jim responded with a yawn of his own. “We get out of here now we can still catch a couple of hours before that alarm goes off.”

He slipped the key in the ignition and would have turned it, but Danny’s arm slammed against his chest, stopping him short and knocking him back against the seat.

“Get down, Jimmy ” he hissed, throwing himself sideways. “Looks like we might have some company after all.”

Slumping behind the wheel, as low as his bulky frame would allow, Jim peered over the dash as a small box truck rumbled past and pulled over to the curb, maneuvering up and back until the rear of the cargo compartment was situated conveniently close to the front entrance of the old warehouse, blocking it entirely from their view.

“Stay down, Danny. Looks like we’ve got one more,” Jim whispered, the approaching headlights of a second vehicle illuminating the car’s interior. A sedan, dark and nondescript, the type driven by old men in Florida and task force officers, pulled in directly behind the truck. “Shit,” he said acridly, “that’s unmarked NYPD. Alex was absolutely right.”

Exiting both vehicles, the occupants congregated in a circle, their seemingly intense discussion accentuated by vaporous clouds against the night’s blackness. He wondered silently if Alex’s demise was occupying any portion of that conversation.

“How many are there?” Danny asked from his prone position.

“Three; two from the truck, one from the car.”

“Can you make anyone out, Dunbar?”

“Not from this distance. There isn’t enough light to say for sure,” he answered, craning forward as far as he dared, “but I’d say the build on our driver is just about right for Vince Basillio”

“Then he is more than just a name to you?”

“I guess,” he said, with a shrug of his chin. “ I’d see him around every once in a while, talk to him, you know. We didn’t have many occasions to cross paths outside of the job that often back then. And it’s been a while since I’ve seen him.”

“But you knew him?”

“Knew of him would be more like it….even so, Danny, I don’t remember anything to suggest he was dirty or hearing anything to indicate he’d go that way either.”

“Funny what greed does to a person, huh? And, you know what they say, Jimmy, it’s always the least expected ones.”

Anger bit at his words. “That son of a bitch I can’t believe how many man hours we put in clearing guns off the streets in my day with the three-four and now he’s running them? He shook his head, “I’ll tell you what, Danny, this is one case I shouldn’t be working from so many angles. My old squad, Alex’s murder….Jesus, the world just got a whole lot smaller.”

“Yeah, and if they succeed in moving that stash out of there, it’s going to get a whole lot bigger, Dunbar, and a lot more violent,” Danny answered. “And since they’ve got the truck, it looks like that’s exactly what they’re here to do.”

“No doubt,” Jim said, watching as the small circle dispersed and disappeared from his line of sight. “We can try to get them on the guns first and then we’ll see if we can make one of them sing. Are you with me?”

“Let’s do it,” Danny responded without hesitation.

*********

Moving swiftly across the barren street, Jim kept a light step against the frozen pavement. He ducked into the sanctuary of the recessed entrance to the adjacent building and peered cautiously around the corner. Sure that his arrival had gone undetected, he advanced to the cover of the truck cab, crouching, gun drawn, beside its wide-toothed grill. With a quick wave of his hand, he motioned Danny over.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered, inching forward to take stock of their situation. The side door of the box was wide open, secured in place with a heavy latch, a wooden ramp linking the elevated cargo hold with the sidewalk below. From his angle it was apparent that the box was vacant and unguarded. “All clear.”

Danny crept forward, positioning himself within ear shot of his partner. “Now what?” he whispered.

“If they intend to empty that place out tonight, they’re going to have to move fast,” Jim responded, keeping his voice hushed. “We wait.”

“What about back-up?”

“Once we know for sure what it is we’re up against. Alex has been right about everything so far but I want to make damn sure we have what we need to nail these guys before we make that call.” Crawling forward, he peered around the swell of the wheel well and pulled back immediately. “We’ve got some movement, Danny.”

The thud of wheels, bumping over the rough wooden ramp, catching against the uneven joints, signaled the transfer of the first load of merchandise to the truck. Jim listened intently to the sound of footsteps, determining exactly how many had accompanied that load. He raised two fingers in confirmation.

They crouched in that position, silence holding between them, through three loads, until they were absolutely certain that only one person was in the truck at any given time, the other returning with the empty cart for the next haul.

As the empty cart bumped down the ramp for a third time, Jim turned to Danny. “We need to take them down systematically, one at a time, agreed? As soon as we know our guy in the truck is alone again, I’m going in.”

“Where do you want me?”

“Right here. Just stay down” he said handing him the phone. “Wait for my signal, then you call for back-up. We’ll take the second one together and grab the inside guy last.”

“I don’t know, Jimmy.. I think that’s taking a mighty big risk.”

"Look, Danny, it’s just one guy. I can handle it, okay?”

“Okay," he said hesitantly, "you’re the boss.”

*******

Jim motioned to Danny with a forward wave of his hand and moved to the side of the truck, pinning himself as tight as possible to the vehicle. Reaching the bottom of the ramp, he glanced upward at the box, noting that the occupant had his back to the door and was engaged with the cargo, sliding it across the floor and stacking it, one carton on top of the other, in rows against the far wall. Jim stayed back, until his perp had his hands full with the next carton, then gun drawn, he advanced, keeping his eyes locked on the target inside.

He progressed up the ramp with calm, deliberate steps, confident as he moved closer to the target, that this was going to go down exactly as planned, an easy pin. He never saw what hit him; it caught him from behind, landing a heavy blow to the side of his head that sent him spiraling into the blackness and tumbling from the ramp to the hard ground below.

Coming to, he found himself flat on his back, a small pool of congealed blood coloring the concrete floor beside him. A dull beam of light from a distant bulb sliced through the haze in his head. He struggled to roll over and with considerable effort, managed to get himself up on all fours. Bringing a hand to his head, he gingerly searched for and found a sizeable lump just above his left temple. There was a noticeable ringing in his ears, a symptom he was sure, of whatever it was that had sent him tumbling into the darkness in the first place. He shook his head and sat upright on his knees, closing his eyes against the whirling room.

“Well, well, well, Jimmy Dunbar.” A strong foot connected with his torso, sending him sprawling to the floor again. Balling his body into a fetal position, he pressed his hands to his bruised ribs and fought to reclaim his breath.

“Basillio, you don’t want to do this,” he managed.

“Get up,” he snarled, lunging for Jim. Grabbing hold of his coat collar, he forced him to his feet. “You haven’t left me with a choice, Dunbar.”

Jim steadied himself on weak legs and sized up his situation. From what he could make out through a left eye that was already swelling shut and a right eye not quite in focus, they were alone in the warehouse, the remainder of the booty stacked up around them, waiting to be lifted and loaded.

At any other time he would have fought back, but the man standing in front of him now had him at an obvious disadvantage.

“Why, Vince?”

“Why what? Why am I going to kill you?” he said, aiming the barrel of the gun at Jim’s chest. “Why couldn’t you just keep your nose out of it? Huh? You’re not even in jurisdiction for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m a cop,” he said matter of factly. “It’s what I do.”

“You always were too damn smart for your own good, Dunbar. But you can’t tell me that given the right price, you wouldn’t turn.”

Jim shook his head. “No way, you’re wrong.” He struggled to stay upright, the pain in his head equaled only by the sharp ache in his side. Glancing up at Vincent Basillio, he smiled wryly. “Is that what happened to Alex D’Ambrosia? Huh? Was she too smart for you, Vince?”

“Alex?” He glared at Jim, his mouth drawn into a hardened line. “What does she have to do with this?”

“How the hell do you think I found you? I know names, I know dates, I know it all, Vince.” Jim wasn’t sure what he saw cross that face, panic or contempt.

He drew an anxious sleeve across his brow. “Well, that’s what’s going to cost you, Dunbar. Once we get this warehouse cleaned out, you and me are going to go take a nice ride. And then you’re going to go for a little swim. You do swim, don’t you, Jim?”

“We won’t be going anywhere,” Jim responded, smartly. “You, on the other hand....” The gun handle met squarely with his jaw, dropping him to his knees again.

“I guess you’re not as smart as you used to be, Dunbar,” he sneered. “What made you think you could do this alone, huh?” He buried his hand in Jim’s hair and jerked his head back, forcing him to look squarely into his eyes. “You don’t have a hope in hell of stopping us now.”

“We’ll see about that,” he spit through clenched teeth. Jesus, he thought, if he thinks I’m alone, Danny has to be alright. He closed his one good eye. “We’ll see.”

“Basillio!” A voice boomed through the warehouse and echoed in Jim’s aching head. “I don’t see no one. Come on, man, we got to move.”

Yanking Jim’s arms violently behind his back, enough to glaze his eyes with tears, he secured them there with multiple wraps of duct tape. Planting a foot squarely into Jim’s chest, he shoved him against the wall. “You be good, Dunbar and stay put. We’ll finish this later.”

He wasn’t exactly sure how long he remained there; time enough for two additional trips to and from the truck and another meeting with the barrel of the gun. Beaten and bloody, his left eye now completely swollen shut, he leaned back against the wall and allowed himself to drift into that state between awareness and sleep, too tired and bruised to fight the urge any longer.

More awake than not, he heard it; a wail somewhere in the distance, pulling him back to full consciousness. It took a minute or two for him to realize that the sound was real, growing stronger, louder, until it was right there, just beyond the brick wall, the red and blue flash of lights strobing across the dusty window panes. Multiple gun shots ripped through the night before the silence settled again. He waited with bated breath.

“Dunbar !”

Bellamy. He leaned his head back against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. “Over here.”

“Jesus Christ, Jimmy, you look like hell,” Bellamy said, crouching in front of his partner. “Are you hurt?” He reached behind Jim’s back and sliced through the duct tape, freeing his hands.

“I’m fine.” Jim managed a weak smile and winced, pain shooting through his jaw. “Did you get them?”

“Yeah. We got them, Jimmy. One dead. Basillio’s in custody.”

“Good... that’s good.” He held out a hand. “Hey, help me up.”

Bellamy grasped his hand and gently pulled his partner upright. “You’re going to look great on your wedding day, Jimmy,” he said with a light-hearted slap on the back. “I think Christie’s going to kill you.”

“Better her than Basillio,” he said quietly, acutely aware of what might have happened. “Hey, Danny.....”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

************

He slid into the warmth of his bed and carefully squirmed his way over to where she lay sleeping. Burying his nose against the softness of her hair, he breathed deep.

She stirred lightly beside him. “Jimmy?”

“Shhhhhhhhhh. I’m home.”

“Everything okay?” she asked sleepily.

“It is now,” he answered quietly, drawing her closer to him and draping an arm around her waist. “I’ll tell you about it in the morning.”

[Duchess of Lashes]

Part Twenty-Five

“Jimmy…….” her voice was a breath in his ear, her arm a nudge against his back, summoning him from a deep sleep. “Come on, Jimmy….” she whispered again, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. “Jimmy…….”

“Mmm…...” He shrugged her hand away.

“Hey, sleepy head, it’s five thirty-five; time to get up.”

“I’m awake,” he mumbled drowsily.

“Then why didn’t you turn the alarm off, sweetie?”

“It didn’t ring,” he answered, certain he would have reacted to its obtrusive sound, just as he did every morning.

“That clock rang until it shut itself off. What’s the matter with you this morning?”

“I’m fine. I guess I just didn’t hear it.”

“That’s not like you,” she said, her hand gently stroking the back of his head.

Annoyance crept into his tone. “Yeah, well it was a long night……” He shuddered inwardly at the double connotation of that statement.

“It must have been. So, how did it go?” Her fingers tangled in a patch of matted hair behind his left ear, tugging at his tender scalp. He flinched, drawing in a sharp breath.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she apologized, pulling her hand back. “Jimmy, what’s in your hair? It’s like hardened glue.”

“No, it’s not glue.” He knew there was absolutely no point in delaying the inevitable any longer. Rolling cautiously onto his back, he stifled a groan as a sharp pain knifed through his side. “It’s blood.”

“Blood? Your blood?” She bolted upright and reached for the lamp on the bedside table, it’s abrupt light piercing the pitch dark of the room and sending shockwaves through his head.

“Christie!" Holding a hand in front of his face, he shielded his one good eye from the unwelcome intrusion. "Turn it off... please."

He heard her breath catch and she muffled a sob. “Oh, my God, Jimmy! What happened? Who did this to you?”

“That’s a long story …” he said with a faint shake of his head, “and I’m just not sure I’m ready to talk about it right now.”

“Come on,” she pleaded. “You can shut me out of a lot of things, but you have to let me in on this. I’ve got time….”

“Well, I don’t,” he responded emphatically. “I have to go to work.” Throwing the comforter back, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and immediately doubled over, hands pressed to his midsection.

“Jimmy,” she crawled across the bed, each bounce of her knees on the mattress a jolt to his side, “you’re not going anywhere except to the Doctor.”

“I’m fine, baby, really,” he replied, hoping she might find a measure of truth in his voice.

“It’s obvious you’re not or you wouldn’t be in pain like that. Let me see, please.” He straightened up and reluctantly allowed her to lift his shirt, exposing the ugly bruise coloring his torso. “Oh, that doesn’t look good. I think you might have broken a rib.”

Leaning closer, she turned his chin toward her, exploring his wounded face, her fingers lightly examining the myriad of abrasions and bruises scarring his cheek and jaw, settling finally on a deep gash slicing across his left eye brow.

“What does the other guy look like?” she asked with a forced smile.

“Last time I saw him, he was cuffed in the back of a cruiser. He didn’t look any worse for the wear. Hey,” he forced a smile of his own, “don’t worry. I’m fine, okay?”

“Honestly, I don’t know how you can say that,” she said, unable to check her growing frustration. “Do you have any idea what you look like right now? Have you seen yourself in the mirror?”

“No….but I don’t need to to know how bad it is,” he said quietly, recollections of the hours before still uncomfortably fresh. “I was there.” He stood cautiously, waited for the ache to subside and willed those thoughts from his mind. “Now, if you will excuse me,” he shuffled his way to the bathroom door, “I have to get ready.”

*****

“Sweet Mother Mary!” Danny glanced up from his desk, an incomplete report in front of him. “Not like you don't already know this, but can I just say that you look like shit? You sure you should be here?”

“Of course I should be here, Bellamy,” Jim barked back sharply. “Where else would I be?” He laid his coat across the back of his chair and eased himself slowly into it.

“Maybe the hospital? I tried to tell you last night to let them take you to get checked out. But no, you didn’t want anything to do with that. Has anyone ever told you you’re a stubborn ass, Dunbar?”

A sarcastic smirk turned the corner of Jim’s mouth. “You think I reserved a place for you at the head of that line?” He shook his head, “You’re as bad as Christie.”

“Well, Jesus, Jim,” he said, staring at his partner’s almost unrecognizable features, “did it ever occur to you she might have a point?”

“Yeah, actually, Danny, it did,” he admitted, with a restrained grimace, “but I wasn’t about to give her that satisfaction. I think I might have a couple of cracked ribs.”

“So, like I said, what the hell are you doing here?”

“That’s a good question, Bellamy.” Lieutenant Brian Carlson strolled into the squad room and planted himself on the corner of Danny’s desk, his gaze fixed on his wounded detective. “What are you doing here, Jim? If what I just overheard is true, I suggest you sign yourself out of here now and go get it checked out.”

“Nah, I’m good, Boss,” Jim postured. “It’s nothing.”

“The hell it isn’t, Dunbar! Look at you! You’re lucky you've caught me on a day when my tender side is showing because you were this close,” a finger and thumb held a hairs breath from each other emphasized just how close, “to getting your ass hauled into my office so I could level the ass kicking I have no doubt you deserve. Push me any further this morning with that invincible attitude of yours and I just might be inclined to give it to you anyway.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim replied meekly.

“I’d say, though, that you already have some pretty strong reminders of what could have happened last night,” he said, the authoritative tone softening slightly. “You don’t need to hear anymore from me." He strode across the floor and slipped the key into his locked office door. "Oh, and we're not done here, Jim. At some point, we’re going to have to sit down and talk about these risks you seem so intent on taking.”

“Yes sir.”

“But maybe this will ease a little of the sting for you. Basillio sang. He confessed to all of it, including Alex D’Ambrosia’s murder. He’s going down for a long time. As much as it pains me to say it, good job…Now, get the hell out of here, Dunbar,” he snapped, “or you’ll be going in the back of a squad car!”

*****

“Christ, those winter boots of Basillo’s packed a mighty painful wallop,” Jim thought, shifting his weight again, seeking some solace from the ache radiating through his rib cage. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed her number.

“Hey, baby,” he said wearily, closing his eyes and leaning back in the seat. “I’m done...I sound tired? Yeah, I guess I am……nah, a couple of cracked ribs and a few stitches in my left eyebrow….” He tuned her out while she vented her obvious displeasure at the stubbornness of a man, bringing the phone back to his ear as her voice steadied and her tone calmed. “Hey, you got anything on the calendar this afternoon? Do you think maybe you can get out of there...No, nothing really; you know, I just thought it would be nice to have some time alone…”

An hour later, she was there, sliding in beside him, leaning over to give him a tender kiss on the cheek, her fingers lightly brushing the butterfly bandage covering the freshly stitched wound above his left eye. “You sure you’re okay, Jimmy?”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” he signaled and wheeled the unmarked SUV out into the fray of mid-afternoon Madison Avenue. Weaving in and out of the slow moving city traffic, he seemed miles away, unaware of and unaffected by the bustle around him. Making his way up onto the bridge and over the river, he exited where he had traveled just a few short hours before.

Christie sighed deeply, penetraing the uneasy silence that seemed to hang between them. “So, where exactly are we going?” she asked as he signaled and turned into a quiet cobbled street. It was all unfamiliar to her.

“Right here,” he said finally, pulling over and killing the
engine. “Come on."

Christie stared in disbelief at the disarray of tangled weeds, empty booze bottles, broken glass, rusted shells of long abandoned machinery, all of it scattered across the expanse of vacant lot before her.

Wrapping her coat a little tighter against the biting winter wind, she followed him. “Hey, Jimmy,” she called, raising her voice above the rumble of a subway passing overhead, “What exactly is this? What are we doing here?”

“This is where we were going,” he said, his gaze fixated on the towering edifices of the World Trade Center, the sterile, angled exteriors shimmering in the late-afternoon sun. Even the wretched, dark water of the East River seemed somehow warmer under the influence of its fading light.

She shot him a puzzled glance. “And just what is this?”

“I don’t know really,” he said. “I was thinking maybe we were home?”

“Home?” she repeated. “Where? Jimmy, are you out of your mind?”

“No, not that,” he grinned as she surveyed the trash filled lot. Taking her arm, he guided her round so she was finally facing what it was he brought her to see. "That."

The old red brick warehouse building stood proudly at the corner, 7 stories of sandblasted brick, shadowed under the expanse of the Manhattan Bridge, its gleaming windows affording a magnificent view of what was no doubt still two bottles short of an eyesore. Jim was certain it wouldn’t take much, just a little imagination and vision on Christie’s part. If she could, if she had the ability to overlook that lot, to the potential of what it someday might be, she would see it too; just as he had. He had known it, felt it, the first time he had laid eyes on it from across the water. How ironic, he thought, that the death of a piece to my past would bring me so close to home.

“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s beautiful, definitely has character,” she answered, “ and there's no doubt that the view from those windows must be incredible. But can we do this? Are you being serious?”

“Yeah, I think I am,” he responded with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I just thought it would be nice to start off on a fresh foot, you know, in a place of our own, not yours or mine, ours.”

“Jimmy,” her voice was quiet, her eyes fixed on his, “I would love to start our marriage off on a fresh foot...but to do that, it's going to take more than a new house. We really need to talk."

He bowed his head and pulled his lower lip between his teeth. "I know what you're going to ask, Christie and I'm just not sure..."

"Please, Jimmy, I need to know. Where were you last night? What happened?”

“Christie, if you are going to be a cop's wife, then you have to know that there are things I won’t be able to talk about, things I can’t share, not even with you.”

“Yes,” she answered with obvious irritation, “I do understand that, believe me. I also think I’ve learned by being around you for the last year, when I can and can’t ask questions. And I’m not asking you to break this one down for me, Jimmy. I’m simply asking you to drop the bravado and tell me what happened. Who beat you?”

He drew in a deep sigh and winced, at once mindful of the effects of expanded lungs on his tender ribs. “It was all in her letter,” he said, quietly. “Everything we needed, names, dates, addresses...she had it all, and she gave it to me. Christie, she knew they were going to kill her..." he stopped to breathe. "Shit, all I kept thinking is that she had to be so scared….. anyway, me and Danny went to check it out, things moved a little fast, and I don’t know….maybe I was too close to it….I just wanted to get that son of a bitch so bad for her murder... maybe I didn't play it right.”

“Who? Is it the same guy who did this to you?”

“Yeah, a dirty cop,” he spat vehemently. “But he’s going down….for gun running, for assault and battery on a cop and for murdering Alex.”

“So you got him? I'm glad, really I am, for Alex and for you." She moved closer, wrapped her arm around him, touched his battered face. "But Jimmy, promise me you won’t put yourself in danger like that again? When I saw what you looked like this morning, all I could think was how close I might have come to……”

“No more chances,” he said, pulling her to him and wrapping a protective arm around her.

She gazed up at him. “I love you, I don’t necessarily love what you do. Truthfully, it scares me. I don’t want to be one of those wives who sits around waiting for that phone call.”

“Yeah, but it’s my job, Christie, it’s what I do, it's who I am. You know that; you bought the package deal.”

“I did, and I'm not asking you to change who you are...this is something I have to come to terms with...on my own. I’m just asking you to be careful, okay? I want you around, Jimmy Dunbar."

"I'll try, that's all I can promise," he said, pulling her close. "So, are we okay?"

"Yeah," she replied without pause, "we're good, Jimmy."

"So now what?"

"So now,” she said, looking over his shoulder at the majestic old building, firm on its foundation, somehow beginning to understand the importance of it all, she took his hand in hers. "Let’s go home.”

[Duchess of Lashes]

Chapter Twenty-Six
The Wedding
Conclusion to BTWD

Dabbing a perfectly pressed linen handkerchief to the corner of his eye, Stewart Sullivan sighed heavily. “Kitten,” he said, clearing his throat of the rasp emotion had planted in his voice. “I always thought you were so beautiful. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on you, but today…wow...today you take my breath away.”

His daughter, resplendent in a winter white designer gown, laid a gloved hand on her father’s shoulder and gave it a delicate squeeze. “I hope those are happy tears, Daddy,” she teased, “and you’re not crying because you still disapprove of Jimmy.”

“In my own defense,” he said, a frown creasing his forehead, “I never said I disapproved of Jim…we’ve had so little time to get to know him. I just…I said it before…I guess I always pictured something more for my little girl.”

“Daddy,” she answered quietly, “I wish I could make you understand that I don’t need anything more. That was your vision, it always has been. I found what I was looking for and he’s right out there, waiting for me.”

“I know you say that now, Christine, but I wish you would try to understand my point of view too. The truth is I’m not convinced you’re cut out to be a cop’s wife...it’s a gritty, blue collar kind of life and whether you believe it or not, you’re not a blue collar kind of girl. That’s certainly not what I see in the woman standing before me now. You weren’t raised that way and Jim wasn’t raised with the same monetary benefits you enjoyed. Those social differences will…let’s just say that this won’t be easy, for either one of you. I hope you know that if things don’t work out….”

“Daddy, stop,” she said, indignation in her voice, “please! Believe me; I’ve had so much time to think about this, especially after what happened to Jimmy last week. I’m not going to lie to you; his being a cop still frightens me, but it’s who he is and he loves what he does. I accepted that a long time ago. I don’t question any of it because I know in my heart this is where I’m meant to be…and because he’s…..because he’s worth it. Now,” she said, her tone softening, “I asked you to give me away on my wedding day to the man I love because you’re my father and I love you dearly too. But if you keep this up, I will walk down that aisle without you. Please don’t make me choose between you.”

“Oh, Kitten, I’m not trying to make you choose,” he said, pulling her to him and wrapping her in a fatherly hug. “It’s obvious that your mind is made up and nothing your mother or I say or do will change that. I guess what it all boils down to is a matter of love and I can see it’s one you seem to be very sure of. So be it.” He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before releasing her from his embrace. “I’m sorry…maybe I’m the one who’s not ready for this day. I just want my baby to be happy.”

“And I will be,” she said without hesitation, a radiant smile finding its way to her lips. “This is my big day and I want to be able to enjoy it, Daddy, every minute of it, including these last few minutes with you. You do understand don’t you that this is it? Things will never be the same again.”

Stewart hesitated, an expression of contemplation on his face. “No…you’re right….they won’t. You’ll always be my baby but you’re not your Daddy’s little girl anymore. Somebody else has your heart now.” Snuffling back a fresh bout of sentimentality, he smiled adoringly at his daughter. “This is really it, isn’t it? The day every father looks forward to and the day every father dreads. It’s time to let you go,” he said, holding his arm out to her.

She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Yes, it is, Daddy,” she said. “It’s time for you to give me away.”

* * * * * * *

“Damn!” Jim cursed in frustration at the reflection of his latest effort to master a simple bow. Tugging at both ends of the black tie tucked neatly under his shirt collar, he watched it unravel and prepared to give it another go. “What can possibly be so difficult? I solve homicides but I can’t figure this out?”

A light rap interrupted his thoughts. “Jimmy,” a friendly voice called out, “you decent?”

He dropped the tie mid-knot and reached for the door. “Hey, Walter!” He greeted his friend with a genial hug. “Am I glad to see you!”

“What’s up?” the older man answered with an affectionate slap on the back. “Wedding day jitters finally starting to get to you?”

“Nah,” Jim sighed, clutching an end of the tie in his hand. “I just can’t seem to get this damn thing to cooperate.”

Walter grinned. “Oh, is that the problem? It’s been a few years for me, but I think I remember how this is done,” he said, taking the dangling tie in hand and tightening the loose knot.

“I hope so ‘cause I’m running out of options here,” Jim replied, lifting his chin in response to a nudge by the little man. He stood quietly while Walter concentrated on bringing the errant tie under control, the uncooperative nature of which Jim was sure had less to do with nerves and everything to do with impatience.

“There, that’s got it,” Walter said in short order, making a final adjustment. “You know, Jimmy, for someone who’s about to take the big step, you seem to be pretty calm. It wasn’t until I heard Dottie finally say I do that I stopped shaking.”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Jim said. “Honestly, I think I was more nervous the day I asked her to marry me. Today, I’m just ready to get it done, you know?”

“I do,” the older man acknowledged. “It’s been a lot of years for me, but I remember it all like it was yesterday.” He glanced at Jim. “What happened last week change your perspective on things a little?”

“Maybe,” Jim replied with a shrug. “I know it scared the shit out of Christie…and I’m not too proud to say I had a couple of minutes there when I wondered how it was going to shake down for me. But, you know….it worked out.”

“No doubt it did – this time. But, from what I’m hearing, this little incident could have gone down a whole lot worse. You might not want to hear me say this, but I’m going to say it anyhow. This time you were lucky, Jimmy. Next time you might not be.”

“I know that,” he said, quietly. “I did get lucky Danny played it like he did. But you know, Walter, if I had it to do all over again….I think I’d do it exactly the same way. Sometimes the end doesn’t justify the means but in this case I think we did a hell of a job.”

“Yeah,” Walter said, nodding his head in agreement, “but not before they did a hell of a job on you first, Jimmy.”

“You won’t get any argument from me. I’m still feeling like it and according to my wife to be, still looking like it.” He grinned, “And that is exactly why Christie decided to have the wedding pictures shot in black and white.”

“All kidding aside, Jimmy, I’m just glad it’s a wedding I’m here for,” he said, placing a concerned hand on his shoulder. “And I’m sorry your brothers couldn’t make it. You okay with that?”

“Hey, that’s life, right?” Jim said lightly, the regret he had been grappling with masked by a guise of nonchalance.

“It’s me you’re talking to here,” Walter said. “I know how important that was to you.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Jim drew his chin down in an accompanying shrug. “Maybe if we had a little more time, you know, pushed this out ‘til spring, maybe it would have been different. They’d be here if they could; I know that. But Walter,” he said, gazing down at the man who had come to symbolize so much in his life, his mentor and his friend, “sometimes I think things work out the way they do for a reason. You wouldn’t be here if they were and….it means a lot to me, you standing up with me today.”

Walter nodded. “You know, Jimmy, you’ve grown so much since that first time we talked. Some days it seems like it was just yesterday,” he said, reminiscently, “but I’ve watched you become a hell of a cop, and a hell of a man. And I couldn’t be prouder if you were my own son.” He wrapped Jim in a powerful hug. “It’s my honor to stand up with you.”

Emotion choked his voice. “Walter…” he replied haltingly, “I...”

“Yeah, I know,” said his friend, “me too….Dot and me.” With an affectionate pat on the back, Walter released him and reached up to smooth the fall of the jacket and to readjust his tie. “All right, Big Man…”

“Hey, Walter,” Jim interrupted, noting the sudden maturing of a moniker he had worn since the older man had first pinned it on him, “what happened to Kid?”

“Not today,” Walter said, shaking his head. “The kid I knew is gone…the nickname has to go too.” He pulled the door open and motioned Jim through. “As I was about to say, Big Man, if you're ready...”

“What are we waiting for?” Jim replied, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. “Let’s roll.”

* * * * * * * *

The melodious sound of the string quartet flowed over the hushed voices of friends and family gathered in the elegantly appointed Park Room. Beyond its curved windowed wall, a velvet grey evening sky heightened a wonderland panorama. A fresh blanket of powdery snow shimmered under the magical spell of white fairy lights, thousands of them laced through the barren branches and wrapped snugly around the tree trunks.

Inside, fluted columns lined the bridal aisle, flaunting urns of deep red and cream roses cradled in cascading boughs of evergreen and holly. At its end, a simple table, set before the majesty of the park’s magnificent backdrop, was draped in creamy winter white and simply adorned by a candelabrum nestled in a companion bouquet of red, white and green.

With the park setting at his back, Walter at his side, and the wedding guests seated before him, Jim was suddenly acutely aware of his nerves. The tie that Walter had managed to bring under control at once seemed to be limiting his ability to take a breath, his palms were sweaty, his knees shaky. He sighed and glanced over at Walter, shooting him an anxious smile.

As the first notes signaling the entrance of the bridal party lifted over the whispered conversations, the room grew silent, all eyes fixed on the grand entrance. Erica appeared at the door, stunning in a rich evergreen floor length gown, a bouquet of deep red roses clutched tightly in her hand. She floated up the aisle, acknowledging familiar faces with a discrete wave and a smile. She offered Jim a flirty wink on her way by.

Then the music dipped and swelled again with the passion of Pachabel’s Canon in D, announcing Christie’s arrival. Jim felt a strong surge of emotion as he caught sight of his bride for the first time, radiant on her father’s arm. The seconds that should have marked her journey to his side seemed to pass in slow motion, much like Stewart’s progression. Jim wondered if he was making one last ploy to delay the inevitable.

Justice Maynard Scolari, an old friend of the Sullivan family who had been honored to be asked to perform the ceremony, waited for their arrival. “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” the Justice questioned as Stewart delivered his daughter to him.

In a clear and certain voice Stewart answered, “Her mother and I do.” He leaned over and kissed his daughters cheek, then turned to Jim and gripped his hand in a strong grasp. “That’s my baby, Jim. Promise me you’ll take care of her.”

Jim nodded. “I will, Stewart.”

“Good, that’s good. You know I’m going to hold you to that.” He placed his daughter’s hand in Jims and retreated to the vacant seat beside his wife, the linen handkerchief finding its way back to his hand.

“Family and friends,” the Justice announced, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of these two hearts. Christine Sullivan and James Dunbar have come here of their own free will and with a common desire to state their pledge of love for each other, and to venture forth from this day forward as husband and wife. I understand that this next announcement is no more than a mere technicality, but it’s one that still must be addressed and it’s one that I do occasionally get the unexpected answer to. I ask you now, if there is anyone here amongst you disbelieving in this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Jim waited for the only voice of dissension he had heard in the past month, but it wasn’t forthcoming. The silence in the room his answer, the Justice turned his attention to the couple waiting before him. “And now, James, if it is your intent to join your heart with this woman’s heart, please so state before these witnesses.”

Clearing his throat, he answered in a voice sure and strong, “I, James Dunbar, take you Christine Sullivan to be my partner in life. I will cherish our union and promise to love you more tomorrow than I do today. I will trust you, respect you, honor you, protect you, laugh with you, cry with you, live with you and die with you. I give you my hand, my heart, and my solemn promise to take you with me on this journey regardless of the obstacles life may put in our way…..if you’ll come,” he said, slipping an eternity band on her ring finger.

“And now, Christine, if it is your intent to join your heart with this man’s heart, please so state that intention here before these witnesses.”

Taking Jim’s hands in hers, eyes fixated on his, and in a voice equally clear and confident, she said, “I, Christine Sullivan, take you, James Dunbar, to be my partner, loving what I know of you today, and trusting what I do not yet know. I eagerly await all of our tomorrows, to wake beside you each morning, to grow old with you, to know the man you will become, falling in love with you a little more each day. I promise to love and cherish you, whatever life may bring us and where ever life may take us.” She slid a simple platinum band on his finger.

Jim swallowed hard, fighting the lump that had risen to sit at the back of his throat, and reached over to wipe a solitary tear drifting slowly down her cheek. A tender smile turned at the corners of his mouth.

With her hand tucked safely in his hand, her eyes captured by the adoration in his eyes, he affirmed his intention in unison with her. “I will.”

“Then by the power vested in me by the State of New York, I pronounce you husband and wife. James Dunbar, you may now kiss your bride.”

* * * * * *

Christie snuggled her head against Jim’s shoulder and drew the blanket a little tighter to her chin. “I can’t believe it’s really over, the day every little girl dreams about her whole life and in the blink of an eyes, it’s gone.”

“Was it everything you thought it would be?” Jim wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him as the horse drawn carriage rounded a bend in the road.

“Everything and more; it was the fairytale I always wanted, Jimmy. I even got the horse and buggy. And it was so special because your mother was there and I finally had a chance to meet Walter and some of the people who mean the most to you. I’m so happy they could share this day us. Did you happen to notice that Daddy was having a harder time with this than your mom or mine?”

“You know,” Jim said lightly, “I think he might actually be starting to like me.”

Christie grinned. “I think you’re right but you’ll never hear him say it, Jimmy.” Settling back into the comfort of his arms, she sighed. “So, where do we go from here, Mr. Dunbar? Any ideas?”

“Yeah, I do, Mrs. Dunbar,” he said, “but we’ve got a whole lifetime to figure it all out. Let’s just take it a day at a time and enjoy the ride.”