When We Kiss

Nothing made sense anymore, and if life was so fragile, it seemed pointless to care about the expectations of my pedigreed past. It grew harder and harder to worry about the things my friends would get so hung up on.

Yeah, I probably should have gone to therapy or seen a counselor or something. Looking back now, it’s water under the bridge, a rough patch I had to walk through. Not too many visible scars.

I know the scars. I know the answers I want and will never find.

Four years and several letters of commendation later, I retired from service with my degree in psychology and criminal behavior.

Looking at my options, I wanted to get as far as possible from the place I once called home. I never wanted to hear the sound of eighteen wheelers barreling down the highway or the buzz of a Jake brake splitting the night.

I wanted to find a place where life existed like it did in those old TV shows—the ones from the 1950s, where people lived and worked and grew old in quiet towns smiling and happy, surrounded by familiar faces.

Where the worst thing that could happen was a kid stealing a baseball card from the drugstore or sneaking a cigarette under the bleachers.

Oceanside is that place.

Here, I’ve found that life.

It’s Saturday night, and I’m sitting in my cruiser off the county road leading into town. The hum of insects is the only noise, and with my windows down, the air hangs thick and damp, pushed occasionally by a stray ocean breeze.

It smells like salt and fresh fish.

I really like it here.

I like the busybody old ladies like Betty Pepper, who owns the grocery store. I like the laid back old men like Wyatt Jones, who runs the hardware store, and my boss Robbie Cole, soon to retire and hand me the reins.

Emberly Warren and Daisy Sales are the two single moms in town. They have preschool daughters, and I check on them every evening. It’s just a simple drive-by, a glance around the perimeter, before I call it a night.

This place is peaceful, idyllic. It’s an America I wanted to believe still existed when I joined the service. Saving strangers because I couldn’t save the person I

thought I knew best. Why didn’t I know she needed help? Why didn’t she let me in?

My thoughts are slipping back to the darkness when a car blasts past me, clearly speeding, windows down, radio blaring. It snatches me back to the present, and I look up in time to see a streak of yellow before red taillights illuminate the night.

The car pauses at the stop sign and turns with a screech down Oak Alley.

“That was not a complete stop,” I mutter, flipping the switch for my lights, but not turning on the siren.

Whoever it is will see the flashers, and I won’t have to disturb the whole town. It’s an unusual occurrence, but I’m not concerned.

Concern melts to a different feeling altogether as I slowly get closer and recognize the yellow Volkswagen Bug. My stomach tightens. It’s a feeling I’ve grown used to ignoring. Especially in the presence of this person.

Still, I hit the button to give the siren a little bark. Red lights illuminate the night as she slams on breaks and pulls to the side of the road. I ease onto the shoulder behind her and type in the number of her license plate, even though I know how this will go.

Switching off the ignition, I leave my lights flashing as I exit my cruiser and walk slowly to where Tabitha Green is sitting in her car in front of me.

The window is down, and I lean forward. “Where’s the fire, Miss Green?”

Red velvet lips purse briefly before she flashes emerald eyes at me. “Is something wrong, officer?”

Her voice drips with fake innocence, and I hold off a smile. Tabby and I have been circling each other for almost a year now, ever since the night I was on hand to bust her skinny dipping in Elmer Pepper’s Motel pool. The Plucky Duck… an artifact from another time.

Elmer’s cousin Betty had been keeping an eye on the place, and the minute she heard a suspicious noise, she was on the phone with Robbie.

Robbie told me to get used to it. Betty Pepper calls the station at least five times a week.

“Would you please step out of the vehicle?” My voice is level, full of authority.

“Step out?” Her brows lower, and I see her prickle against the rule of law in my tone. It’s crazy how much I like her response. “Why do I need to do that?”