The Desert Behind Me Page 12

  Grijalva took off while Patricia gave me directions. Then got confused and I ended looking it up on my phone. It was farther away than she’d thought.

  She spun around and scooted off, obviously pleased with the impromptu party.

  I climbed into the Juke, already second guessing my decision.

  It took me a while to find parking and by the time I padded onto the patio in my running shoes and shorts, Patricia was already there. The brewery nestled between tall downtown buildings but managed an open courtyard in back, shaded with palo verde trees. I settled into a metal chair and leaned on the table.

  A dark-haired waitress with snapping eyes popped over, probably a student at University of Arizona. Patricia ordered a pitcher of their IPA and two glasses and I ordered a large iced tea with extra lemon. Before the drinks arrived Grijalva joined us.

  He looked good in his uniform, but his khaki shorts and black t-shirt didn’t hurt his looks at all. He sat and poured a glass of cold beer.

  “Have you known each other a long time?” I asked.

  Patricia slapped Grijalva’s shoulder. “It’s been what, six years since we worked together? I was brand new, right? The first two years you have no idea what you’re doing, anyway.”

  We all agreed.

  Patricia continued. “I get partnered with John Wayne Franklin. What a numb nuts. He’s one of those guys who says, ‘women have no place in law enforcement.’ So you know what I’m up against.”

  Yeah, I knew.

  A hint of smile surfaced on Grijalva’s face. “Numb Nuts retired last year. Moved to Minnesota to be near his daughter.”

  “Not far enough away, but maybe he’ll fall into a snow drift and freeze to death.” Patricia placed an arm around his shoulder and squeezed his neck. “Rafe took pity on me. Taught me everything I needed to know. His famous saying….”

  They recited it together. “Do what you gotta do so you go home tonight.”

  Grijalva raised one eyebrow. “Good thing I did. ‘Cause that training came in handy when she saved my life.”

  Patricia grinned and drank her beer.

  I waited for the story.

  Grijalva took a sip and began. “Twenty-three hundred hours and I’m driving. Matt Johnson’s riding shot gun. Sarge put him with me to keep his dumb ass out of trouble. We called him Haz Matt because he was a hazard to himself and everyone he rode with.”

  We all knew the type.

  “We get a burglary alarm call at one of those McMansions in Oro Valley. Most of these calls are false alarms. More like a welfare check. The home owner tripped the alarm by accident and we make sure everyone is okay. No big deal.”

  He took another sip. “Haz Matt and I are already on Ina Road. Pete and Numb Nuts roll in from La Canada. The dispatcher says the alarm company’s monitoring and they hear someone inside the residence. Okay, now we’re thinking this might be legit.”

  Patricia couldn’t let him go. “Yeah, and Numb Nuts tells me to stay outside and watch the front door, like I’m a golden retriever or civilian ride along. Meanwhile Rafe and Haz Matt go inside and Numb Nuts follows them.”

  Grijalva took it from there. “We surprise the burglar, some kid, maybe twenty-two. He’s in the living room going through the vestibule. He complies with our commands. Numb Nuts and Haz Matt grab him, cuff him and take him out to one of the cars.”

  The story-telling felt like coming home.

  “So while Frick and Frack are arguing about who gets the collar—who even says that except TV cops, right?” Grijalva paused for a drink. “I’m inside. The house hasn’t been cleared. There may be a victim or another suspect. I’m pie-ing the corners, making my way through the other rooms. My gun’s drawn, wrists crossed, flashlight on.”

  Patricia sat up. “And I’ve had enough of the boys arguing. I see Rafe’s flashlight going from room to room. And then I see a pin prick, like a penlight, in what I think is the master bedroom upstairs.”

  Grijalva tagged her. “So instead of staying outside, like her partner ordered, she runs inside.”

  Patricia rushed on. “I don’t know how I ran up the stairs without making a sound. It was all Mexican tile, but I was a frickin’ ninja. I couldn’t say anything to Rafe for fear of alerting the second suspect.”

  Grijalva, talking faster: “I’m grumbling to myself about Numb Nuts and Haz Matt, while clearing rooms. I should have been paying more attention, but man, that first guy convinced us all that he was working alone.”

  Patricia continued with her eyes bright. “I cleared the master bedroom and all that’s left is the bathroom when Rafe barges in. He’s not anywhere near as ninja as I am.”

  They told a good story. A jolt hit my heart and I remembered Cali. Was she okay? I forced the voices into silence and told them what Rafe had said. She wasn’t my business. Guilt dropped heavy in my gut. How could we be laughing when Zoey Clark was out there somewhere, her mother suffering in a dark haze?

  Maggie sounded insistent, repeating words she said to me often. “Life goes on. You must go with it.”

  Patricia said, “The guy in the bathroom lunges out, gun up. And I’m yelling, ‘Gun. Gun. Gun.’ And he fires at Rafe.”

  They both paused and I got the feeling they’d told this story together before.

  Grijalva continued. “Pete shoots him center mass, two hits and the asshole goes down.” He winks at me. “Exactly like I trained her.”

  She added the last bit. “His bullet missed Rafe by a pubic hair.”

  They drained their glasses and split the rest of the pitcher.

  “After I finished training I had the best partner.” Was I really jumping in? “Kari. We hit it off. Had the same rhythm, you know?”

  They nodded, eager to hear more.

  “It was that thing where we could almost read each other’s thoughts.” Kari. Where was she now?

  “One night, maybe three o’clock in the morning, we were cruising around Buffalo, and we get this domestic.” I couldn’t help grinning. “We go inside, get the husband and wife separated. He claims she’s been cheating on him. She’s denying it and accusing him of drinking too much and imagining things. Finally, Kari asks the guy how he knows she’s been unfaithful.”

  I took a sip of iced tea, not even minding it wasn’t beer. “And he says, ‘Do it, do it.’ Very insistent. The wife is refusing. Finally the guy pleads with her. ‘Show ‘em. Show ‘em the rug burns on your knees.”

  Patricia laughed and patted the table. “Unbelievable. Oh my God, do you remember responding to the fire on Craycroft?”

  Grijalva chuckled, probably what passed for cracking up for most people.

  Patricia could hardly keep from laughing. “We get there and all these people in this second story apartment are screaming and trying to hand a baby out the window. Rafe dashes upstairs, ‘cause he’s gonna be a hero.”

  Again, they passed off and he said, “I force the door open and race inside. But there’s no smoke. No flames. Just all these idiots screaming at the window.”

  Patricia laughed so hard she snorted.

  Grijalva kept a straight face. “So I look around and see the toaster oven on the kitchen counter and there’s a piece of toast inside with a little flame.”

  Patricia got a little control. “Funniest thing I ever saw. Rafe opens the door and blows the flame out.”

  Now we were on a roll I thought of another. “Kari had more street savvy than I did. Even though my mother was a cop, she was overprotective. I knew how to take care of myself, like self-defense and being aware of my surroundings, but down and dirty went past me. So another domestic, we arrive and the guy is sitting on his porch, his head bleeding. When we asked him what happened, he said, ‘I was tryin’ to get me some stank on my hang down and she hit me upside the head with a smoothie.’”

  Grijalva’s mouth ticked up.

  Patricia grinned but she was working it out. “I get ‘the stank on his hang down,’ but you lost me with the rest.”

  I no
dded. “Me, too. I looked at Kari and she was barely keeping it together. She motioned like this.” I held my hand up and pantomimed ironing. “An iron. It smooths out wrinkles.”

  The stories went back and forth and then turned more personal.

  They made an effort to include me while they caught up with each other. I knew some about Patricia from our shifts together. But I learned she’d miscarried her second child and spent several months in therapy before feeling good enough to have another. Grijalva shared how his divorce stretched on for years while they wrangled custody of his son and daughter and the rights to his pension.

  When they took a breath, I butted in. “Rafe is an unusual name.”

  He sipped his beer. “Not really. It’s short for Raphael. I didn’t want to be known as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.”

  “Plus,” Patricia said, “We’ve already established you’re no ninja.”

  Rafe seemed genuinely interested. “Jamie. Is that a family name?”

  My walls crumbled a little more. “No. Not that she’d ever say, but I think my mother wanted a boy. At least, she never tolerated any girly stuff from me. No pink dresses, no frilly bedspreads or fairy princess Halloween costumes.”

  Patricia waggled her perfect almond-shaped nails in a delicate peach color. “The last expense to go if we’re broke is my weekly manicure.”

  Rafe rolled his eyes at her, then focused back on me. “What about your father? Didn’t he want you to be his princess?”

  The Chorus surged into a noisy wave. “I don’t think Dad cared. My whole childhood was kind of me and Mom. He didn’t pay much attention to me.”

  The beer made Patricia a little louder than usual. “That sucks. My husband doesn’t do puke at night or those stupid school plays, but he’s all over tea parties and homework help.”

  Rafe frowned at me. “I’m sorry.”

  I shrugged. “To tell the truth, I didn’t miss it. Mom did a great job raising me so I’ve got no complaints.”

  Patricia slapped the table. “Recess is over. It’s movie night at our house and if I don’t get home to monitor the pizza order they’ll get pineapple and chicken or some hideous thing. It’s my job to teach my kids pepperoni is the only pizza worth eating.”

  We crossed the parking lot together. The sun must have kicked into double time because it hung much lower than I’d have thought. Or maybe, for the first time in a century, I’d had fun and lost track.

  Patricia banged on the roof of her minivan two cars away. “Now we’ve popped your cherry, you can start calling me Pete like every other soul on Earth.”

  Nobody bothered me on my drive home. The peace prompted me to add a few extra minutes to take Gates Pass from downtown over the Tucson Mountains. I parked in a pullout near the top and watched the sun slip over the Baboquivari range.

  Rafe said they were looking into Cali. That should end it. Except Frank kept growling at me and even the Chorus pitched and muttered. The voices didn’t always speak truth. Rafe was right, though. It wasn’t my case. I could barely handle my own life.

  “You’re too stupid to save some kid,” Frank repeated.

  Dusk sent long shadows and relief from the heat when I puttered down my street and pushed the button to open my garage. Two blonde heads bobbed in the driveway across from me. They scribbled with chalk on hands and knees.

  I started for the door into the house and made a U-turn. What harm could it do to say hello to my neighbors?

  Before I made it to the street, the gray sedan rolled past. Keeping that slow pace. A chill cascaded down my spine and the noises in my head rose. “I’m Jamie Butler.” And I’ve had a good day, I continued to myself. You all be quiet and go away.

  Each step across the street required conscious effort. The voices rumbled, but at a low level. No one shouted warning and Frank hadn’t uttered a word since the get-together at the brewery.

  Sherilyn scurried around the garage, pulling items from the dozens of boxes and stacking them on shelves. She didn’t hear me walk up the driveway toward the girls. It would be so easy for anyone to harm her children.

  Kaycee glanced up. She dropped her pink stick of chalk and bounded up, a happy grin revealing her perfect pearls of teeth.

  Her movement caught Cheyenne’s attention and she shouted. “Jamie!” As if I were some long lost relative. She beat Kaycee to me and before I could protect myself, she threw her arms around my hips.

  Kaycee circled hers around my knees and I was trapped. “Those are beautiful drawings.”

  Cheyenne stepped back and surveyed their work. Kaycee held on a few more seconds, then, with eyes on Cheyenne, took the same critical pose.

  Sherilyn brushed her hands together and hurried from the garage. “How’s it going?”

  “I stopped over to see what these budding da Vinci’s were up to.” It seemed almost effortless to start a conversation.

  Sherilyn opened her mouth but Cheyenne hollered first. Overcome with excitement, it seemed she’d lost her inside voice. “We could decorate your driveway. We’ll do a really great job. Kaycee makes perfect suns and I am the best at flowers.”

  “How can I say no to such an offer?” The two girls scooped up their chubby chunks of chalk.

  Sherilyn wiped her hands on her cutoffs. “It doesn’t rain here enough to wash that off. You’re likely to have scribbles until the monsoon.”

  “It’ll add to the charm.”

  The memory came at me without warning.

  Grime is ground-in on the knees of her jeans and it’s going to take some work to get it out. Her hands, elbows, and t-shirt are covered in a kaleidoscope of dusty chalk. A proud grin shows off braces. On the driveway, written in balloon letters from one side to the other, blue outlined with pink, it says, “Welcome Home!”

  I can’t wait to park and get her in a squeeze. I’d been gone for three days at a law enforcement conference.

  Larry steps from the side of the garage, all smiles and waves. I’m confused because he’s supposed to be at a software seminar and Mom was scheduled to babysit.

  My stomach churns at the idea of him being home alone with her for three days and I’m only half aware of her squeals and hugs.

  Larry is tickled with his surprise and says he’d decided to cancel out on the training so he could have some daddy/daughter time.

  He hadn’t told me and I immediately blow up. I don’t know why it enrages me, so I can’t explain it to him.

  I apologized. But it wasn’t enough to stop the pit growing between us.

  Now they had their supplies, their little legs sent them flying toward my house. “Wait!” I caught them by their t-shirts and reined them in. “I’ll walk with you across the street.”

  They allowed me to keep hold of them until one foot hit my driveway, then they pulled away.

  Sherilyn shouted, “Mind if I keep at this while Jackson sleeps?”

  I waved her off. “Go ahead.”

  I knew the girls were safe with me, but what assurances did Sherilyn have? She’d seen me all freaked out, talking to people only I could hear. She needed to pay more attention. Protect the precious gifts she seemed to take for granted.

  I eased myself to the pavement and picked up a piece of chalk. My crude drawing of a dog delighted them, so I drew an equally bad cat. They looked the same to me, but the girls named them Ruff and Mewy. I complimented their artwork.

  We checked on the baby birds. How they’d survived this long seemed a miracle, and I didn’t believe in those. Some wily coyote was probably letting them get big enough so they’d make a meal instead of a snack.

  By the time Jackson woke up and Sherilyn had to quit, I’d turned on the driveway lights. I walked the girls safely across the street, we said our good nights, I survived more hugs, then traipsed through my garage and into my house.

  I had an urge to call Tara. She’d been pushing me to “make connections,” as she called it. She’d be proud of me. But it was nearly eight o’clock; she had a right to her pr
ivate time. Besides, this was the opposite of a crisis.

  What a turn-around from this morning. A surge of confidence buoyed my steps. I’d get through Mother’s Day and maybe even reclaim something of my life. Yes, I could do it.

  The glow of my kitchen light shimmered on the pool, inviting me for a swim. On the patio, I stripped off my shorts and shirt and jumped in, loving the splash, cool relief, and freedom. I floated and swam until I felt all the tension wash away. Wet footprints puddled on the Saltillo tile as I made my way to the bedroom for dry clothes.

  I stopped, listened. The air conditioner kicked on. Whispers, far away chatter, like the soft tinkled of wind chimes. No Frank. No soft sobs from Peanut. Even Maggie seemed to be taking the night off.

  Hunger punched my stomach. I munched while I chopped veggies and ham for my salad. Before I dug in, it occurred to me I’d left my clothes in a heap on the patio. I collected them and dumped them in the laundry room, retrieving my phone from the shorts pocket.

  That’s when I saw the missed call from Mom. I carried my food outside and sat poolside. My feet cooled in the water as I perched on the edge with my plate on my lap. A black and white roadrunner engaged in a stare-off with me, clearly wanting his evening drink, not appreciating my interference. I forked a crispy, cold bite into my mouth while waiting for the call to connect.

  Without greeting, she rushed on. “Where were you?”

  “I went for a short swim. I just saw you’d called. You said you weren’t going to call so I didn’t expect it.” I swallowed and before she answered, I rushed on, like Cheyenne might. “I had a really good day. After my shift at the tournament I went out for drinks with another Ranger and a friend. Then when I got home, the two little girls from across the street came over and drew all over my driveway with chalk.”

  Mom didn’t share my enthusiasm. “Honey, you’re not supposed to be drinking with your medication. You didn’t drive afterward, did you?”

  “I had iced tea. But the point is, maybe I’m making friends.”