A Mother in the Making

He let out a string of curse words—which never helped as much as he expected, he’d noticed—dived into the shirt and braced himself for going back down the stairs.

Carmen heard Jack’s footsteps overhead, making the old floorboards creak. He returned after a couple of minutes, wearing a fresh T-shirt.

Old, but fresh.

Very old, smelling of lemon detergent.

She could see the contours of his muscles clearly through the thin cotton fabric. Around his thick biceps, the edges of the shirt were frayed. Despite his wounded chest, he was dressed for hard work, and she had an instinct that he needed it. He was the kind of man who hammered out his pain far more often than he cried over it.

She handed him the water. He still looked emotional, like he was struggling, and she blurted out, “I’m sorry, if you’ve had bad news, or if you need more time, or an appointment with the police counselor you mentioned. If this isn’t a good day to start, I can wait until Cormack is better. He just has the flu.”

“I had a phone call. Would have been okay without that.”

“You mean you would have bottled up your emotions a little longer?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a strategy, I guess,” she murmured, and waited.

She didn’t want to push him on this, but maybe it would be better if he spilled a little more. Better for both of them. She hated the idea of everything hanging in the air, since it was obvious he planned to work on the house today, also.

They would be alone together for hours.

“It wasn’t bad news, it was good news, when my ex called just now.” He dropped into a kitchen chair and rubbed his wounded side again, then said abruptly, “Might as well tell you so you know, because he’ll probably be around when you’re here. I’m getting part-time custody of my son, Ryan, without having to go to court over it, after six months of battles. I wasn’t expecting it. I’m really happy.”

“Yeah, really happy, and that’s why you were crying,” Carmen drawled, before giving herself a chance to rethink the words. Some people considered her too blunt, but she had no time—literally no time, on a busy day—for playing games.

“You can cry when you’re happy, you know,” he retorted with a little spirit, “even when you’re a guy.” He paused for a moment and took several gulps of water, before more words came spilling out. “See, this whole shooting thing… It was a woman, only in her twenties. She shot me. She was crazy on ice—crystal meth—completely off her face. Don’t ever touch that stuff, it’s a terrible drug.”

“I wouldn’t,” Carmen said, but she was thinking of Kate.

Kate wouldn’t be that stupid, would she? As usual, she felt like a parent instead of an older sister, angry and worried and helpless about what to do with a rebellious teen.

“Then my partner shot her and she died,” Jack Davey said.

“Oh, no…”

“He had no choice. There was no other way to get her under control and stop her shooting more. He wasn’t aiming to kill, but the light was bad, and she was moving crazy all over the place. It was… People think it’s all in a day’s work for a cop, shooting and killing, but it’s not.”

“I’m sure it isn’t!” She couldn’t begin to imagine.

“No matter what the situation and how much you had no choice, it’s still something you live with for the rest of your life. The woman had a kid.”

“Oh, no…”

“Maybe it’s a blessing. The kid’s with her aunt and uncle now, and I was told they’re decent people, so maybe she’ll have a better life now that her mother is gone. But still.”

“When did it happen?”

“Ten days ago.”

“Ten days!” No wonder he was raw, physically and emotionally.

“Sheesh, listen to me!” he said. “I’m sorry. You signed on for my kitchen not my therapy.”

“It’s okay.”

“Like the counselor said. We’ve both been told we’ll have some strange responses to things for a while, my partner and I.” He paused for a big, slow breath. “Including babbling to strangers.” The corner of his mouth twitched wryly.

Carmen could only nod. “It sounds—”

Like a nightmare.

He cut her off. “Yeah. It was.”

She got his don’t-want-to-talk-about-it-anymore message loud and clear. “Seriously, I can start tomorrow.”

He thought about it for a moment, then said slowly, “No, please stay and get started now. I’d like the company, to be honest. The house is spooking me, on my own.”

“I like a guy who can admit he’s scared of ghosts,” she said, and scored a laugh, which brought his whole face to life. He had the most natural, joyous laugh she’d heard from a man in a while, complete with the blink-and-you-miss-it grin he’d given a couple of minutes ago.

“You got that right!” he said frankly. “Never have been scared of ’em before. I’ve been in this place three months, but it’s only since the shooting that I’ve felt—” He broke off and swore under his breath. “Don’t know why I have to keep talking about it.”

“We won’t, then. It’s a nice house,” she said quickly.

“You mean it was, about eighty years ago.”

“It will be again, with some work. You’re having more done than just the kitchen and the half bath, right?” She wanted to draw him out and distract him.

“Hoping to do a lot of it myself. The floors and the painting.” As he talked about the renovation, he began to sound as if he was treading easier ground. He didn’t look so tightly locked in embarrassment and stress. “It was my uncle’s place, but he didn’t live here, kept it as a rental. He left it to me when he died last year. How about some coffee, and we’ll take a tour, if you’d like to see the whole place?”

Carmen saw that he sincerely wanted the distraction, the change of pace and the caffeine and said, “Yes and yes, to coffee and the tour. I’d love to see the whole house. But I’m sorry about your uncle.”

“I know. He was a good guy. But he was eighty, and he’d been ill awhile.” Again he seemed uncomfortable about sharing this with a stranger. She’d really got him on a bad day. The ongoing impulse to comfort him with her touch came as an irritation.

Been there, done that today. Had the embarrassment thick in the air to prove it.

And anyhow, haven’t you done enough of that kind of thing in your life, Carmen O’Brien, with Dad and Melanie and Joe and Kate, and even Cormack on a bad day? All that family, needing hugs and needing you. Why go looking for more of it, just at a time where, if only Kate would settle down and find herself, you might be free?

Definitely, she wasn’t going to act as Jack Davey’s shoulder to cry on again today. Or, hopefully, ever.

“Want me to make the coffee?” she offered heading through the open doorway in the direction of the fridge. “Through here?”

“No, I know where I’ve put everything in this mess,” he answered, and followed her.

Most of the kitchen equipment had been moved into this adjoining sunroom and piled at random. The room looked as if it had once been an open porch but had been enclosed a long time ago. Even though it was a mess now, it would be a beautiful room if it had some work. Pull up the ugly indoor-outdoor carpeting, polish the floorboards…

Were there hardwood boards under here?