Page 64 of Text Appeal

“Can we really call an hour or so hard time?” I ask.

He flashes a smile at me. Then flinches again. Ouch.

“Ma’am, you’re blocking the door,” says the lieutenant.

I step back. “Sorry.”

“What’s going on?” He turns to the lieutenant and asks, “Grace, is she in trouble?”

“No.” Grace unlocks the cell door. “She’s telling the truth. You’re getting out.”

“What about the assault charge?”

“You’re not up on any charges,” she says. “You’re free to go.”

His eyes widen. “Thank fuck for that. What happened?”

“Your mother tore Chief Larry to shreds,” I say.

He blinks. “No shit?”

“Did you know they dated in high school?”

There’s a patch of dry blood on his white tee. He grabs his jacket off the uncomfortable-looking bed before stepping out of his cage. His smile is small and lopsided in due deference to facial injuries. But the relief in his whole body is immense. Little lines around his eyes relax and his shoulders sink down to a more manageable level. He takes hold of my hand and gives it a squeeze.

That’s the moment when I can finally breathe again.

Connor lives a ten-minute drive away on the other side of the peninsula. We head to his place since he has ice packs in his freezer while I only have ice cream. The A-frame cottage is built on a rise with views of the water and the distant mountains during the day. Towering fir trees surround the buildings. Night birds and bugs and the distant crashing of waves fill the air. The place is magic. Just like something out of a fairy tale. Give or take the big four-bay garage and another shiny vintage muscle car parked in the front of the property.

He didn’t lie about the size of the place. It is cozy. An open, airy space with wood paneling and decks in both the front and back of the building. The front and rear are made of glass. During the day there’d be so much natural light. In the interior, on the main floor is a combined lounge and dining area, which leads into a galley kitchen. Then there’s the bedroom with a walk-in closet, bathroom, and laundry room. The loft upstairs is set up as an office and has a private veranda.

It is fascinating to be in his home. To search for hints about who this man is deep down. Not that there’s much to see. As far as décor goes, he’s a minimalist and scrupulously neat. There’s acool old wood stove, a big comfortable-looking tan leather sofa and a solid wood dining table with bench chairs. Upstairs there are some family photos on the office desk along with a tangle of devil’s ivy growing out of an old bottle. But that’s about it. And there are no shoes in the house, so we’re both barefoot.

“Let me see.” I get between him and the mirror in the small plain white bathroom. A box of medical supplies sits on the counter.

“Finished snooping?”

“For now. You gave me permission to look around. Therefore it’s not exactly snooping, is it?”

“If you say so. Did you find anything interesting?” he asks with amusement in his gaze. His jacket is gone and his hair is in disarray. About what you’d expect after the night we’ve had.

“No. As anticipated, you’re very dull.” I shift his hand, moving the ice pack so I can inspect the abrasion on his cheek. There’re a few inches at most between our bodies. It’s a tight space. “Has this been cleaned?”

“Grace took a look at me at the station.”

“Let’s make sure.”

“I’m sorry tonight turned out the way it did,” he says. “It’s not something that usually happens. The last time I got in a fight was over five years ago. One of the bartenders at the Lighthouse had broken up with this guy. A big dude, used to be a wrestler. He came in and started hassling her. It took a group of us to throw his ass out.”

I douse a cotton pad in alcohol and carefully pat his poor sore cheek. Then I do the same to the cut on his lip.

He winces as I work.

“You’re being very brave, Connor. I will definitely give you a sticker for participation after this.”

“Thanks.”

I go back to playing nurse. “Is there something on my face?”

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