meaning the reporter, a blonde with perfect hair who goes by Jill and works for the local eleven o’clock news. And “that shit” meaning the case that brought us both here five years ago.
We were both in deep, both devastated when every lead gave us nothing and the one man we could track down ended up dead. There was nothing left that we could do. The murders stopped and the evidence didn’t lead to anyone still living.
“It’s fine, Walsh,” I say, shutting down his anger with a flat tone of my own and reach for my wine again, but I don’t drink it. “She’s not a lawyer or a detective. She has no idea what she’s talking about.”
“No,” he answers and waits for my gaze to meet his. My chest hollows but somehow feels full just the same when I see his steely blue eyes. “It’s not fine.” His last statement is almost a murmur. He’s the one who breaks our stare to look down into his full glass and then empty in a second when he throws it all back.
I don’t look back at him, even though I can feel somebody’s eyes on me. Someone else is watching me. There’s a prick that travels up the base of my neck, making the small hairs there stand on edge. I can feel it. But not a soul is looking at me when I glance around the room. A shiver rolls down my spine.
The chilling sensation doesn’t stop and I have to turn around toward the small window near our table to check there too, but no one’s there either.
“I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Cody’s somber tone forces me to look back at him and I do what I haven’t done even once in the years I’ve known him; I lay my hand on his. The touch is hot, smoldering even, sending a tingle up my arm that jolts me. It’s only a fraction of a second before I realize what I’ve done and I quickly move to pat his hand, but from the look in his eyes I know that he knows a friendly pat wasn’t my intention.
“It’s really,” I say then clear my throat and clasp my hands together in my lap before continuing. “It’s fine, I promise you. I can take her criticism when I know I did everything I could.”
The first thing I learned in this field is the truest statement: everyone wants someone to blame. If Cody doesn’t catch the bad guy or if I don’t get him convicted … well, then it’s one of the two of us who gets blamed.
Cody’s gaze drifts to my lips for just a moment; I know it’s brought on because I snag my bottom lip between my teeth and maybe he notices the lipstick.
He clears his throat like I did and sits up straighter, the empty glass in his hand staying where it is since the place is busier now and Sandy is nowhere to be seen. With his broad shoulders squared, he looks straight ahead rather than at me when he speaks. “It’s not your fault we didn’t catch the bastard,” he murmurs and for a moment I question if he meant those words for me or himself.
“You want another?” I offer him, not liking this conversation and wanting the easy air between us again.
Tapping the base of the glass on the bar, Cody pauses and then glances up at me, a boyish smirk crossing his face. “Only if you have it with me.”
Just like that, all the tension is gone and the smile I had for him when he first sat down comes back.
I tell myself that I’m not like my mother. I don’t forget. I don’t pretend. I’m aware of my reality.
I’m simply making the best with what I’ve got.
Right now, that’s a tall glass of chardonnay and a handsome man to keep me company. Even if I go home alone to an empty apartment and a too-hard mattress that makes the tight muscles in my back even tighter, I’m doing all right for what I’ve been through.
Delilah
Some days you’re the dog. Some days you’re the hydrant. My auntie Lindie told me that one when I was young. A student in my freshman high school class pulled my hair. So I pulled hers back. I was the one that the teacher saw and the only one who got in trouble. Both my mother and auntie had things to say about that, but