Love by Association

He played every card in his hand, drew more then turned three in a row from his pile and finally discarded.

“Did he tell Leslie?” Chantel asked.

“Not yet. But he’s going to as soon as she’s feeling better.”

Leslie had been sedated Saturday night. And was still, by Tuesday, feeling a bit under the weather. She’d been all alone with her secret for so many years, having to see the Smyths without letting on what David Jr. had done to her.

But she’d known who his father’s friends were. She’d known that it would be his word against hers. She’d been humiliated and embarrassed. And afraid what people would think of her.

Later, after Julie had told her what he’d done to her, and she’d seen him get away with it, she’d known she did the right thing to remain quiet. And yet, had felt the guilt of her silence in terms of Julie’s rape. Leslie also knew that if she told James, he’d lose his mind over not being able to do anything about it. And she’d been afraid of what he would do.

She was going to be getting help for her “accidents.” The hope being that now that she’d finally told the truth about what had happened, she could begin to see that it hadn’t been her fault. And that she could stop punishing herself.

Plus, she was joining one of the counseling groups at The Lemonade Stand.

The alarms sent up by Ryder’s collage had a three-fold effect. First, he’d overheard his mother having a breakdown one night with his dad and knew she’d been hurt in a really bad way at some point. Second, he’d heard his father mention getting his baseball bat out again—and had been reminded of the fact that his father would never play ball with him. And then third, he’d been frightened by all of the accidents his mother kept having. Which had come out when the family had gone to a therapist together the day before.

It was Chantel’s turn. She cleared her pile. Won the game. And asked Colin and Julie how they felt about chocolate ice cream.

* * *

COLIN PRETENDED THAT life was as per usual on Wednesday. He got up. Alone. Got dressed. Had breakfast with his sister. Drove to the office and went to work. He participated in meetings. Had a lengthy lunch that netted him a new million-dollar account. He went to a court hearing and closed on a seven-figure real-estate deal.

And every five minutes or so he glanced at his smart watch. Not to keep track of upcoming appointments. Or the time. But to see if he’d had a text from Chantel. Or about Chantel.

He didn’t hear from her at all that day, or that night, either.

Nor on Thursday.

As a friend, the least she could have done was let him know that she was safely home from her first couple of days back on the job.

Or had he now been relegated to one of those people who’d one day, out of the blue, get a call telling him someone he’d once known had been killed?

When Paul Reynolds showed up on his caller ID late Thursday afternoon, his heart stopped. Was he getting that call already? The one he was going to prevent by not marrying her?

“Paul? What’s up?” he asked, motioning his assistant out of his office with the door closed behind her.

“I’d like a meeting with you, if at all possible,” the commissioner said.

“Has something happened to Chantel?”

“What? No.” A pause on the line followed. “No, I’m sorry, Colin. I failed to see how this might appear. As far as I know, she’s on the street doing her job. She’s one our most exemplary officers, by the way.” He went on to give Chantel a glowing review that Colin didn’t need to hear.

He didn’t want to hear it. He would rather not think of her on the job.

“I need a meeting with you on another matter,” Paul said. “Today, if possible.”

He’d had his last scheduled appointment for the day.

“Name the time and place,” he said and then agreed to meet the commissioner at a beach bar half an hour down the coast.

He knew what that meant.

* * *

COLIN HAD SAID he couldn’t be in a relationship with a cop. She knew he’d meant it. Still, she’d thought he’d call—at least once—to make sure she was still alive. She thought about texting him. About a hundred times a day. But she didn’t want to rub it in that she was out on the streets risking her life without him there to protect her.

She’d had her off-duty weapon in plain view in her apartment. Had it concealed in her purse at his house, but he’d known it was there. He’d seen her put it there, and he hadn’t said a word about it. Period. Hadn’t asked how many times she’d had to shoot it during the line of duty.

Hadn’t asked her if she’d ever killed someone.