Page 88 of Feel Me

She glances up, realizing my family is standing just a few feet away. “I need to talk to you, privately,” she says.

“Fine,” I say.

I follow her to a small seating area just around the corner. The space is nothing more than a small cubby, unlike the larger waiting rooms at the end of each hall. Two chairs and a table, just enough for two people to speak quietly. I have a view of the main hallway, and of the staff and visitors rushing past. But it affords a pocket of peace, away from the hustle of the busy hospital.

I want to say this bit of space is what Mel needs. Yet as I take in her emotionally battered exterior, I know she needs a lot more than that.

She remains standing, her hand gliding over the back of the chair beside her.

I move closer, grazing my thumb along her cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong,” I say.

She swallows hard. “I’m taking a leave of absence so I can take care of my dad when he’s discharged. Julia Wall will serve in my position while I’m gone.”

I lower my hand slowly. She doesn’t think Miles has much time left. “Take as much time as you need,” I tell her. “Come back when you’re ready.”

At first she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even look at me. When she finally glances up, what she says knocks me on my ass. “I may not be coming back.”

“You’re quitting?” That can’t be right. Her work means everything to her.

“I’m going to need a fresh start if . . .” She crosses her arms and averts her gaze. “My dad isn’t doing well,” she adds, quietly.

The noise around us fades eerily away and it’s as if we’re the only ones left in the world. “I know he’s not, baby. But what do you mean you need ‘a fresh start’?”

She takes her time, gathering her words, each moment that passes making me think the worst. I’ll be honest, she doesn’t disappoint.

“Sylvia Albright, the head of Victim Services for the nation, has been trying to recruit me for the past year.” Her voice splinters. “If my dad doesn’t make it, I’m going to take her up on the offer and move to D.C.”

The air stills. I’m not sure I can move. “What about us?”

She doesn’t answer, but her eyes pooling with tears inform me there is no “us”.

Anger builds deep inside me, pulling me out of my shock. “You’re not even going to discuss this with me, are you? After all we’ve been through, I don’t even get a say?”

A tear falls, streaking down her cheek as she lifts her chin. “You want a say, when you didn’t even discuss leaving SACU with me, or bother telling me you appointed yourself Head of Homicide.”

The truth hits me at once, and motherfucker, I don’t like what it shows me. “Is this the reason you haven’t stayed with me all week? Why you’ve barely spoken to me?” All this time, despite my doubts, I’ve been giving her the benefit of the doubt?giving her space and not pushing her because I was sure she was sick over her father and grieving for Rosana.

Forget shock. I’m beyond pissed. “If this is what you’re so angry about, you should have told me.”

“I’m not angry, Declan,” she fires back. “I’m disappointed. You turned your back on all those victims you were supposed to help.”

She’s acting like I lied and somehow betrayed her, fueling the rage already singeing my chest. I inch closer. “No. I didn’t,” I snap. “I’m looking out for Rosana and guaranteeing she gets justice.”

In the silence that follows, three other people pass by with flowers and a giant “It’s a Girl” balloon trailing behind them, similar to the one Finnie and Sol bought for Clodagh.

Mel doesn’t say anything. She’s done talking, but I’m not. “If you think this is about me getting what I want or purposely keeping things from you, you’re wrong.”

“No. I’m not,” she tells me, straightening to her full height. “If I hadn’t shown up at that press conference, I would have found out about your self-appointed promotion second hand.”

“That’s not true.”

She tugs on the hem of the thick sweater she’s wearing over her jeans, but it’s not a nervous gesture. She’s fired up and fighting to stay calm. “I wish I could believe you, but I can’t.”

“Why?” I don’t realize how loud I’m getting until a volunteer carrying a tray slows her pace as she passes me.

Melissa shakes her head. “Because regardless of what you claim, youdidget everything you wanted, including leading Homicide.”

“I did it for Rosana,” I repeat because that’s the God damn truth. A truth she doesn’t accept. No, not the way she squares her stance. “Call me an arrogant son of a bitch, but no way was I giving this case to another D.A., not after what that pathetic excuse for a man did to that little girl, and not when Zabrinski?the only guy with enough experience to handle this clusterfuck was all but begging me to retire.”

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