CHAPTER 44 - Rita

CHAPTER 44RitaAS DUSK EDGES OUT THE WINTER LIGHT, WE WRAP UP FOR THE DAY. Chase has left for home, and Agent Metz has gone to meet up with friends, so Joe and I head across the street to Mac’s. The lights are comfortably low, and no cops are sitting at the bar. We take a seat in a booth in the corner. Joe slips out of his leather jacket and tosses it beside him.The case we’d worked on together was only a few years ago, and while at first Joe and I had stayed in touch, that contact diminished over the last couple of years. We both got busy, but I remember the case clearly. A man had killed his wife in Maine and fled to Graybridge, where his grandmother lived. He’d left a trail of crimes in his wake, and Joe came in to help us. We got the collar, and Joe and I celebrated at Mac’s with a couple bottles of chardonnay.Our server comes over and drops menus on the table, takes our drink order.I search my mind for small talk, which isn’t my specialty. “You still running?”“Yeah. Not so much anymore, but enough to keep me in some kind of shape.” He looks good. Definitely in shape. I remember he used to hit the gym regularly too, and it looks like that’s still part of his routine. Joe’s tall, but not too. Six feet maybe. His hair is still thick, mostly gray, but it suits him. His eyes are the same as I remember. He’s got the kind of eyes with irises so dark they meld with the pupils, giving him an intense look that’s eked confessions out of hundreds of bad guys. His cheeks are slightly sunken, though—too much work and worry as well as years, I guess. A thin scar runs from his ear to nearly the corner of his mouth. He mentioned last time we were together something about a knife fight years ago, but he didn’t seem to want to elaborate. Still, he’s a handsome man.At the time of our last meeting, he’d been divorced about six months. Ed and I’d split up years earlier. Joe and I’d spent the evening drinking, and I’d spent the night in his hotel room. Not professional, I admit, but things sometimes happen. The memory brings another blush to my face, and I’m glad it’s dark in here.Our drinks arrive, which is timely, a pinot noir for me and a draft for Joe. I lower my eyes and sip. “How are your kids?” I ask.“Great. My daughter got married last summer.” He smiles. “She’s a nurse. They live in Stowe. Both big-time skiers. She’s happy.”“Great.” I remember him talking about his daughter.“My son’s a finance executive in New York.” Joe raises his eyebrows. “Neither kid was interested in law enforcement.”“I wonder why?” I smirk and take another big sip of my wine.Joe scratches the back of his neck. Sighs. He’d seldom been home when his kids were little, and his wife had finally had it, a common enough story in our line of work. “It’s been a whirlwind, hasn’t it?” he says. “When I started as a rookie cop almost forty years ago, I could never have imagined lasting this long.”“Me neither,” I say. But that’s not true. From the moment I put on the uniform, I knew I’d found my home. My brother Jimmy had wanted to be a cop. He, Danny, and I were the youngest of the McMahon kids and spent a lot of time playing together. Cops and robbers was one of our favorite pastimes. They always made me be the robber, and I’ve probably been arrested more times than your average real criminal. Anyway, Jimmy died before he was old enough for the dream to become a reality, and I kind of picked up the mantle. I sometimes feel as if I’m living life for both of us.“I’ll be sixty-two in August,” Joe says, as though he’s amazed such a thing could happen. I know how he feels.“I was sixty last November.”He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You look great, Rita,” he says, and smiles. “Any thoughts of retiring?”“No,” I say quickly. “What would I do with my time?”“No man in your life?”“Not presently.” It’s been a while, but I don’t tell him that. Despite Collin’s efforts to find me a date, I’ve been in a lull lately. Don’t know why exactly. I fiddle with my collar and change the subject. “Besides, Joe. I like what I do. I don’t feel sixty, do you?”He shakes his head, takes a long sip of his beer. “Not most days.”I stretch my legs under the table and feel a small ache in my hip. “I had a big case last fall. I had to kick in a door. Hostage situation.”He grins. “No shit?”“Well, the door was pretty well rotted, but I kicked the fucker in.”We laugh. He salutes me with his beer. I pick up my wine and drain my glass.* * *When I get back to my place, enter the foyer, Collin is just about to head upstairs, a small Tupperware in his hand.“Hey, Rita.” He looks guilty, of what I have no idea.“What you got there?” Usually he’s coming down the stairs with a Tupperware full of food for me.“Oh, this. Uh, Mrs. Antonelli invited me for dinner. André’s out of town this week, that convention I was telling you about.”“Thought you were going with him? Catch some rays in Miami?”He sighs. “I was, but Margo got the flu.”She’s their café manager. “Huh, so you had to stay behind.”“Yeah. Anyway, Mrs. A’s son canceled on her, and she had all this gnocchi.” He raises the container.“Good?” I feel a dart of jealousy. Never had kids, and since Collin and André have lived upstairs, Collin and I have gotten close.“Yes. Amazing. I asked her for her recipe, but she yelled at me. I guess old Italian ladies don’t use recipes.” He smiles. “She told me she’d teach me to make it, though.”“Well, that’s nice. But I’ve had your gnocchi. I don’t think she can teach you anything.”He tips his head. “It’s better than mine, Rita. I was so bummed.” His brow furls. “Where were you? Working late on that psychologist case?”I fish my keys out of my purse, turn to my door. “Yeah. It’s gotten pretty complicated.”“It’s really late. I keep telling you, you work too hard. Oh, I met Mrs. Antonelli’s son, Leo, the other day. He’s about your age. Pretty handsome, Rita, and he’s divorced.”I try not to laugh. “I don’t need you and André fixing me up, Collin. I told you that.”“Everybody can use some help now and then.”I glance back at him. “We’ll see.”“Hey, André made a lemon cream cake before he left. You want me to run some down?”I take a deep breath. I could use a little dessert to absorb the wine. “Yeah. That would be great.”“Be right back,” he says, and runs up the stairs.