He was silent for so long I thought maybe he’d hung up. It was only the noise of people talking in the background that told me he was still on the line. “Okay, baby,” he finally said. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I choked out.
Then the background noise cut off, and I knew he’d hung up.
I sat there with my head in my hands for several minutes, then called the jail up and asked to have my number blocked from the inmate phone system. He’d get out eventually, but I wasn’t going to help. And I couldn’t take any more calls like this.
Go me, I thought dully. I’m not that victim.
Chapter 20
I was starting to figure out that Derrel had a sixth sense-thing going on, where he knew exactly what to say to make people feel better. Even if sometimes that something was absolutely nothing. Not even an “I’m here if you need someone to talk to”—which is usually even more unhelpful than staying out of it completely. And that old “If you need anything, let me know,” is also a total crock. You hear people say it all the time, but then you never see anyone actually call up the person who said it and say, “Hey, remember when you said to let you know if I needed anything? Well, I’m feeling really overwhelmed. Could you please come clean my kitchen, because if I could have a clean kitchen, I’d feel like I had a bit of a head start.” You’ll never hear someone say that, because then the person asking the other person to clean their kitchen is seen as a helpless, incompetent dick.
What would be so much better would be for the person who spouted the useless “if you need anything just ask” platitude to fucking go over to the person’s house and clean their goddamn kitchen without being asked. Go over and say, “Hey, you go take care of your kid or your work, or go take a fucking nap. And when you get done, you’ll have a clean kitchen. And, no, you don’t owe me a goddamn thing. Someday the shoe will be on the other foot, okay?”
And that was the sort of shit that Derrel did all the time. He never breathed a word or a hint, but he was too tapped in to the gossip to not know what was going on with my dad. He didn’t ask me why I was so quiet, which was more of a relief that I could have possibly expressed. And no, he didn’t come over and clean my kitchen, but when I met him at a death scene later in the morning, he stopped me before we went inside the condo and handed me an insulated cup full of hot chocolate and a paper bag with an egg and bacon biscuit in it.
“You’re too skinny,” he told me. “And if you don’t eat it willingly, I’ll hold you down and make you eat it.”
I took the bag from him. I had absolutely no doubt that he would do exactly that.
“Besides,” he added with a wicked smile, “you should always be well fed going into a death scene. There’s nothing worse then puking on an empty stomach.”
“I have never and will never puke on a death scene,” I informed him around mouthfuls of bacon and egg biscuit.
He grinned. “I’m beginning to think this is true. You’re getting to be pretty damn hardcore. Amazing the stuff we can survive, isn’t it?”
It was the closest he ever came to saying something meant to be comforting. Yet I was more comforted and reassured and all that than I would have been if he’d given me a big ol’ hug or anything weird and touchy-feely like that. Actually, if he’d given me a hug I’d have probably freaked the hell out, because, well, that would have been seriously weird. But then again, I was about as far from touchy-feely as you could get. Unless you’re fucking me, don’t put your hands on me.>“Um, lucky I guess. And I, uh, put ice on it.”
He grimaced at my stilted response. “Sorry, I’m doing that ‘insensitive dick’ thing again. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
I shrugged. “Nah, it’s okay. Shit happens, y’know?” An awkward silence fell and I flicked off another maggot that had managed to make it up to my forearm.
He chuckled. “I bet you never thought you’d ever be casually flinging maggots around.”
I had to laugh. “Oh my god, no kidding. I used to gag if someone spit on the sidewalk in front of me.”
“You know . . .” Marcus paused, and it looked as if he was getting up the nerve to say something. I waited, and a few seconds later he continued, “I was the Resource Officer at your high school for a short time. I’d only been a cop for a few years and usually those assignments are given to the guys with a lot more experience, but the department went through a phase where they were shuffling everyone around.”
I had an odd feeling I knew where he was going with this, but I went ahead and said, “Oh?”
His smile looked slightly abashed. “It was about five years ago. I, uh, remember you.”
It was tough but I forced myself to not look away. “You remember when I left?”
He gave a slow nod.
I made a face. “Not one of my better moments.” I didn’t mention the time he’d arrested me. So far that incident was unspoken between us. Taboo. I far preferred it that way.
He shrugged. “Maybe so. But, at the risk of sounding like a pompous condescending ass, you’re doing a good job of getting over it.”
“Took me a while.” And dying.
He smiled. “I mean it. It’s like you’re not the same person you used to be.”
God, if he only knew. “I’m not. I mean, I am . . . it’s, well, um, I’m trying to figure out who I am.” I winced. Holy shit, that sounded kooky. “Uh, you know what I mean.”
“I do,” he said with a slow nod. “I think we all have to go through that at some point.”