But Joe was wide awake. He said, “Let’s talk about this again, Linds. I think in this case I know what’s best for you better than you do.”
I yawned, fluffed my pillow.
“I can’t go back yet, Joe. I’m only going to be thinking about you and Julie, anyway.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the oldest of seven. I have burped and changed a lot of nephews and nieces, and w
hile it might hurt your feelings, I’m good with Julie. I can take fine care of her.”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Okay, yes. I’ll go back to work.”
“Wait.”
“What am I waiting for?”
“I had some persuasive arguments I haven’t used yet.”
I started laughing. “I’m persuaded. You did a good job, Joe.”
“But you said you didn’t want to go back to work.”
“You won, sweetie. Don’t be a spoilsport.”
He laughed and I fell asleep without saying another word. I woke up at seven, snuck out of bed, and showered. After that, I felt around in the dark for my blue blazer; I found it and my trousers in plastic wrap on hangers in the closet.
Since my trousers seemed to have shrunk, I picked out a big shirt—one with pink pinstripes—and hung it out over my waistband, which I would have to do until I was a size 10 again.
Get used to it, everyone.
I buckled on my shoulder holster, got my gun out of the nightstand, then hung the chain holding my badge around my neck.
I air-kissed Joe and Julie so that neither of them woke up, carried my shoes out to the hallway, and put them on as Martha did a happy dance.
I took my dog for a short walk. I mean short. As soon as she did what she needed to do, I took her back home, then went back out to the street and looked for my car.
Did I feel guilty leaving Julie?
You bet I did. I thought of my baby girl, and it was like an umbilical bungee cord was connecting us, pulling me back toward home.
But I had gotten a compelling, nearly irresistible call from my former partner, Warren Jacobi, now chief of police. He had said, “I’m not saying drop-kick the baby and come in right away. It’s like this. Brady is short-staffed and over-whelmed. He needs your help.”
My old blue Explorer was parked a half block down from our apartment. I got in, turned the key in the ignition, and the engine started right up, almost as if it had been waiting for me.
I pulled out onto Lake Street and the car shot away from the curb, tires screeching. I could not wait to get to the Hall.
Chapter 20
BRADY’S GLASS-WALLED OFFICE is about the size and shape of a votive candleholder. He was sitting at his desk, dwarfing it with his bulk, his head bowed over an open file, phone clapped to his ear.
I no longer felt steamed that this once was my office when I was squad lieutenant. I had wanted to work hands-on, on the street, and I wanted that badly enough to ask for a demotion to sergeant. I rarely regretted that decision.
I knocked on the glass door and Brady looked up, said into the phone, “I’ll call you later.” He hung up, got to his feet, reached across the desk, and shook my hand.
“Good to have you back, Boxer. You feel okay? Want desk work for a couple of weeks? Kind of ease back into things?”