"I've got sunshiiii-iiine. On a cloudy day!"
Great.
"When it's cold outside... I've got the month of May."
Make it stop.
"I guess... you'd say! Sing it, Tommy!"
No.
"What can make me feel this way?"
I have no idea.
"My gii-iirl. Talkin' bout my girl... MY GIRL."
The obnoxious singing fades as Fitz collapses on the bench, a grin spreading across his face despite the fact that when I say bench, I'm not talking about the one on Main Street in front of his favorite flower shop.
Nope. Dude is in the holding cell at the station, sobering up while I try to finish the report.
Name? Nelson Fitzgerald.
Reason for bringing him in? Let's see...
Public intoxication and crimes against my fucking eardrums.
The day started out so well. Shit, this whole week has been a pleasant ride. I say that a lot these days though. Because when your week begins with a walk on the beach alongside a beautiful woman, who could ever complain?
Dinner at Trevor's was a near disaster with Brit spilling some unnecessary shit that was none of her business to reveal. But if the rest of the night and Sunday's walk the next day was any indication of damage done, I can say with some certainty that Brit's big mouth didn't get the best of that dinner party exchange.
It was almost like nothing had happened when Amber and I met on the sand. We picked up right where we left off and it was great.
As nice as it felt, though, I sort of wish more had happened, to be honest. I have no idea how to process and proceed with what's going on between us. Or not going on between us? Fuck, I don't even know if there's anything going on between us. All I know is that I want her and I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.
I'm not used to this level of uncertainty. In my life and in my job, things are mostly pretty cut and dry. You like a girl? Ask her out. You want to get laid? Go get fucking laid. Don't want to work in your shitty old hometown anymore? Find somewhere on the map you'd rather be and move your ass.
Step forward. Proceed.
Even on a more serious scale, like helping raise my sisters when things went to shit at home. When Dad was off doing God knows what and Mom was in too much pain to get out of bed some days. Or later, when Dad's crimes against our family trickled into those against society as well. It was no different. His actions led to one logical solution, being locked up. And that's exactly what happened.
Step forward. Proceed.
Most of my experiences have been in the realm of black and white. There was no gray area in my life growing up. Or if there was, I never noticed or entertained it. It was only step forward. Proceed.
The gray area always trips me up. That in-between space where the decisions aren't always so easy. It's ingrained so deeply into our society, rooted in free will, influenced by opinion and survival. It infiltrates the hearts and brains of every person that ever lived.
It's the type of shit that makes you question humanity's moral integrity, makes it hard to pick sides, or causes you to lend support in places you never considered before.
It's the decisions that make no sense, like being hurt but choosing to ignore it in the name of allegiance or devotion.
It's feeling compelled to say something but someone's there reminding you that it's not your life. So, you stand by and watch things that make you sick because you can't do a damn thing about them. It's knowing the truth but having to accept the lie.
Amidst the resounding theme of right and wrong, law enforcement has its fair share of gray area, too. And it can really fuck you up. I tend to push those cases as far back into the recesses of my mind as they'll go. I don't care for dwelling on them.
Step forward. Proceed.
But on a personal level, well... I haven't experienced enough of it in my adult life to know what I'm doing. And that's where Amber Hill seems to fall. No matter how hard I've tried not to dwell, she's stayed on my mind.
She's the one place where a case of gray area in my work life has merged with something I was always so sure of in my personal life. She exists where the rules of society and human decency have been broken and the agonizing consequences thereof seem to mesh with feelings and commitments, spurring loyalty despite pain. Everything gets fucking sticky when that happens and I don't know how to navigate these waters with her.
I know she got out, got away from him. But being with her in the wake of that relationship doesn't feel as easy as just asking her out, pursuing her without care, and expecting everything to fall into place. It's a bit more complicated than that, isn't it?
She's got a kid and just regained her freedom after escaping a shitty situation. Her choices have long existed in the gray area, just like my mom's did. But as for me? I've never been on the same side of the fence as them. I only watched my mom go through it, I've only witnessed Amber's version of events in small parts and pieced together assumptions from my experience on the job and what she's confided to me.
If there's anyone I relate to in this scenario the most, it's probably Mia, as odd as that sounds. And what I do know from being on the same side of the fence as her, is that the last thing she needs is some guy coming in and rustling everything up before the time is right. Before the healing has occurred in her home.
What kind of person just invades a broken family after something like what they've been through? How do I know they're ready? How long should I assume they aren't? How long can I actually keep myself away from Amber?
"I've got soo-oooo much honey, the bees envy me."
Good grief. Not again.
"Can someone please go get this man a stack of pancakes and a cup of coffee?" I call out to anyone who will listen. "I don't know how much more of this I can stand."
Melanie at the front desk laughs. "Should I call in an Uber Eats order for him, Tommy? Do you think Fitz prefers bacon or sausage?"
I shake my head, unable to hold my own laugh in. "Why can't he be like every other drunk we bring in and just pass out in there? Sleep it off for crying out loud."
"Because Officer Sallow," Fitz begins, coming to his feet. This outta be good. "The public needs me! And you know why? Because I've got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees!"
Well played.
He's on his fourth or fifth time belting out the words my girl when I walk over to the cell, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Tell me something, old man. Why don't you make yourself useful and tell me about this girl you speak of."
"Why do you ask? You lookin' for a wife, kid?"
I shrug. "Maybe."
Fitzgerald laughs. Like, really laughs. And I'm sort of offended. "Well, I'll be," he says with a deep chuckle. "There's certainly no one in the world that needs to get laid as badly as you do."
Tell me about it.
I take a good look at the old man, noticing the evidence of a full lived life on his face. Not just in his wrinkled skin but also in the twinkle of his eye, the way his mouth practically resides in the form of a smile like happiness is a muscle memory.
Tell you what, this man may give me nothing but trouble. He's been the cause of multiple black eyes and, hands down, requires more paperwork than any of our usuals at this station. But that's just from where I'm standing. He lived an entire life before he became the drunk on Main Street and I know for a fact that he was married for a long time to the girl of his dreams. The way he sings and babbles on about her in this very cell night after night has told me that.
The truth is, as fucking irritating as Fitzgerald is, this dude is probably a fountain of knowledge on love and I'm ready for a nice, long drink if he's willing to share any useful advice.
I tip my chin at him. "What's the secret to catching the perfect woman?"
"The perfect woman can't be caught," Fitz says with a sly grin, his hands gripping the bars in front of him as he beams at me. "You have to show up for her, time and time again and then, she'll come to you. And when she does, you don't let her go."
Okay, I can actually work with that.
Fitzgerald steps back, throws his arms in the air. Oh boy, here it fucking comes.
"I don't nee-eeed no money... fortune or fame... I got all the riches, baby, one man can claim."
Turns out, I don't mind it so much this time around. I stay in front of the cage, watch his performance. Shit, I'll even give him a round of applause when he's done.
"Well, I guess... you'd say... what can make me feel this way?"
I want to raise my hand, get involved in the show. Because I do actually know the answer to that question.
My girl.
._._._.
"Say something, Mom."
It's quiet on the other line. Eerily quiet.
Painfully quiet.
The last decade, she's been so loud. Once Dad got locked up, we finally got to meet a version of Mom we'd never really known before. She stripped away the layers of her shitty marriage, got her health under control, and felt free to express herself. But finding out that her ex-husband is one step closer to being released has struck her speechless.
"I don't know what to say," she whispers, barely audible over the phone receiver. I wish we were in the same room. These are the parts I wish I was home for, the things that make me want to run back to New York.
I turn off the Bluetooth connection in my car, bringing the phone to my ear so I can hear her better. "Are you worried? Scared? Tell me what's going through your head, Mom."
"I'm not scared of him," she blurts out. "I just... I worry about Harper."
"Me too."
Mom sighs. "Evelyn's a tough cookie and she doesn't remember much. Sadie has Austin to lean on. But Harper was so impressionable then. She was a baby, too, Tommy. She saw more than she ever should have and she won't talk to me. She won't tell me how any of this is making her feel."
"Does she know about the hearing?"
"I don't think so. I know she could find out in a matter of seconds what's going on but she insists she doesn't want to know anything. I just never know with her. I never know what she keeps to herself."
A frustrated groan pours from my mouth because I know damn well it's no use trying to pry thoughts and feelings from my hard-headed sister if she's not ready.
"Well, just keep me posted, okay?"
"Of course. Try not to worry about her," Mom suggests, knowing her advice will fall flat.
"I'll give it a shot," I sigh.
As the baby of the family, Evie was the one we rallied around. All of our tactics and routines growing up existed to protect her. Our shield was strong. As far as we know, it muted the arguments and crying, obscured the physical harm, and hid the nefarious activity from her eyes. Only now, we're left with the ever present reminder that you cannot, in fact, shield everyone from everything.
In protecting Evie, we let Harper slip through the cracks.
Dad was a monster and Mom was sick all the time, debilitated by this fucked up nerve disorder she's had since she was a teenager. It's the type of pain you can't see, radiating through her bones, too easily missed by the naked eye and not incapacitating enough for Dad to take pity on her when he was drunk or high off his ass.
To make matters worse, he was stressed all the time about staying in the good graces of his dealer. And then, soon enough, he became the dealer which added a bunch of fun stuff to the mix. We had too many things to keep under control at home.
Sadie and I took turns between Evie and Mom. And Harper... well, she just watched all of it go down, a silent observer.
She started middle school after Dad got put away, made friends and discovered quickly how "normal families" operate. When she figured out that ours was... different, it had detrimental effects on her behavior. We'd been mistaking her silence for strength when all along, she'd been falling apart. She started acting out, hanging out with the wrong crowds. We got it under control easily enough but not before a pretty devastating meltdown on her part, one where she blamed all of us for not doing enough.
Fuck, what was enough anyway? I can't even remember how we made it through some of those days. It was tunnel vision for survival. We've all just... adapted since, all of us in our own, mostly healthy ways. But Harper adheres to the blocking method and isn't always forthcoming about what's bothering her. Mom shoulders most of that burden as her own. But the problem is, it's not just with Harper.
Mom worries about all of us, how we're doing in the wake of everything that went down. And even if those times feel unimportant now, a lifetime ago, I know she has her fair share of regrets.
It wasn't just the dark, ruthless world of drug trafficking that we were exposed to as kids. An even more resounding theme of our childhood was watching our mother suffer physically at the hands of her husband. She blames herself for not getting out sooner. For wishing and hoping things with Dad would get better when all they ever did was get worse.
It haunts all of us. But the guilt Mom holds, the damage she takes responsibility for... shit, I'm not even sure what we actually went through is as bad as the hold that's had on her all these years.
All these dire thoughts bring me full circle, right back to Amber and the ever challenging question of where her head is at when it comes to us. If there is an us. As much as I hate the reminder of the similarities she has with my mom, I can't deny they exist.
Does she carry a burden that monumental? The kind that buries you in guilt and steers every decision you make? She has Mia and I know that's certainly a heavy aspect that hangs over her head. But what else is there? And to what degree does it affect her choices now that she's gotten away?
When I consider the solitude my mother has chosen in the wake of her crumbled marriage, the freedom from her shitty husband that she holds so dear, I wonder if Amber would ever be ready to move forward with another man. Is that why we seem to be doing a dance? Are we better suited as friends?
I don't want to believe that. I'd like to believe that our interactions so far have traveled beyond the realm of friendship. We certainly seem to enjoy one another's company more intimately than friends might. And I certainly know what I'm feeling. I just don't know when the right time is to make that move and find out if she's with me in my feelings.
The truth is, I could go around on this all day. All it does is bring me back to the reality of not being in her unique shoes on this one. I don't know what's going on in her heart and mind. But come to think of it... I do know someone who might.
"Can I ask you something, Mom?"
"Of course, baby."
I take a slow, deep breath, knowing this conversation needs my utmost care. "When did your marriage to Dad end?"
Mom surprises me with a laugh. "The moment the divorce papers were signed."
"No, I don't mean like that," I explain, the serious tone of my voice seeming to sober her amused outburst as she quiets down. "I mean... legal shit aside, when did you feel like it was over?"
She hesitates, the sound of her deep breath seeping through the phone line. "Honestly?"
"Yeah."
"The first time he hit me," she says, her voice hoarse as she goes on. "It was slow... the first hit sort of jolted everything though. I tried to convince myself it was okay, it was a one time thing. But one time turned to many and no matter how long I kept telling myself that it would stop and we would be fine... I knew it wouldn't happen. It was over for a long time."
My head nods up and down as though we're in the same room and the reality that we aren't near each other right now just re-enforces how badly I sometimes wish we were.
"Why didn't you move on after he got locked up?"
There's only a short pause before Mom answers this time, her voice clear and concise. "I did move on."
"But you didn't remarry. You never even went on a date or went out to meet anyone at all. Was it because of us? Because we would have-"
"Tommy," she cuts me off. "Keeping normalcy for you and the girls was important to me. But that's not the only reason I never remarried or put myself out there."
"Then what was it?"
"There were a lot of things," she shares softly. "It was a weird time... the stuff with Harper was out of control and that was my fault. I didn't want to shift things in our home any more than they'd already been shifted and I just... I guess I didn't see anyone else in my future that way."
It feels like a dagger shoots straight through my chest at her words. The fact that my worthless piece of shit father could have that deep of an effect on her that she didn't want to open up to anyone else, never saw a new, different future for herself. She never allowed anyone to come in and try to mend what had been broken. She never let the healed parts of her know happiness again in the arms of another man, someone who would have treated her right and because of what? She feared getting burned again? Was the weight of the risk really that high?
Is it that high for Amber?
"Tommy." Mom's voice stops my whirling thoughts.
"Yeah?"
"Did you meet someone?" Damn, how do moms do that?
I clear my throat, "Yeah, I did."
"That's good." Her smile is audible. I can hear it. What I can also somehow hear is my mom putting together all my pieces, taking the questions I just asked her and applying them to what she knows in her gut is what I really need to know.
She's always been able to do that. I used to think it was her mother's intuition, until Sadie pointed out one time, long ago, that Mom is where I got my powers of perception from. It has me hanging on her every word right now as she continues.
"Tommy, when it comes to this type of thing, it's not always the physical clock but a matter of trusting your gut and knowing when it feels right. You've always been good at that. When she's ready, I think you'll know."
Okay, I think I can work with that. Trust my gut. Yes... I can do that. Only problem is, for the first time in my fucking life, I'm having a bit of hard time figuring out what it's saying.
Maybe I shouldn't try so hard to figure it out. Is that what my gut is trying to say? Because if so, this just got either really simple or a whole lot harder.