Page 3 of Be Mine

He eyes me for a long time, sighing and looking around my apartment, contemplating my suggestion.

“Barde,” an older cop hollers, motioning for him to come over. Barde holds up his finger to me before backing away to talk to him. They’re speaking in a hushed tone and occasionally looking over at me hunched on the couch, still running my hand up and down Cosmos’ back. I can't hear what the hell they’re saying, but something in the pit of my stomach tells me the ramifications of this is not good.

“So, here’s the deal. You go to work. You stay at a motel for a couple of nights. Just until we can get all of this straightened away.” He goes fishing in the breast pocket of his suit coat, pulling out a card and handing it to me. “If you have any concerns or anything else you can think of, anyone who comes to mind, that’s my number. If you can’t reach me, there’s a twenty-four-hour hotline on the back that will put you through to the front desk. They will put you in contact with an officer on duty.” He lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “We will do our best to get to the bottom of this, Miss Clarke.”

***

Sorting through my clothes, I grab whatever is on top. Tomorrow was laundry day, so I’m really working with slim pickings here. I hastily pack a duffle bag, stuffing enough clothing into it to get me through the weekend. Running to the bathroom, I swipe some stuff from the vanity, grabbing mybody wash, shampoo, and conditioner from the shower. I dump the toiletries and makeup on top, not bothering to separate anything.

Dropping the bag by the door, I gather up the cat food and litter box as well as enough supplies to keep Cosmos occupied and out of trouble while I’m gone.

Picking up the massive ball of fur, he twists and jerks in my arms, growling low and angry as if he senses he won’t be spending the weekend in the comfort of his own home. He’s miffed.Me too, bud.

Carrying him next door, my arms wrapped tightly under his hind legs and head. He is hell-bent this isn’t happening and protesting loud enough that he’s bound to wake the entire third floor if they weren’t already disturbed by the police being at my apartment this morning.

I knock a couple of times before Martha opens her door, dressed in her standard nightie and floral housecoat, fluffy, blue slippers adorning her feet.

“Hi, dear.” She offers me a gentle smile, the type of smile that warms your heart and makes you feel safe. Martha is an elderly woman, and a widow. She’s the type of person you would want to be your grandmother because she’s kind, and understanding. She never judges, but she’s always willing to lend an ear and give you advice if you need it.

“Hi, I’m so sorry to spring this on you.” I walk inside quickly because if I don’t, Cosmos is gonna leap from my arms and bound down the hall, and I don’t have the time or the patience to chase after him today. As soon as the door closes, I drop him into a chair before he scoots away to hide under the couch. Yeah, he’s not happy.

“It's alright. You know I enjoy his company, once he loses the attitude, of course.” She chuckles as she shuffles into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“Tea?” she asks as she pulls two cups from the cupboard, setting them on her table with a bowl of sugar and creamer. She drops a few tea bags in the little yellow, knitted, cozy-covered tea pot.

“I wish I could. I’m already late for work.” I lean against the wall separating the kitchen and living room and watch as Martha busies herself, popping a slice of bread in the toaster while she waits for the kettle to boil.

“Want to talk about what happened this morning?” she asks as she pulls the jam from her fridge. So, she heard the commotion this morning—or the police have already spoken to her. I didn’t tell her much when I called her, only that I had an emergency, asking if she could watch Cosmos for a day or two.

I look down at my uniform, at my green shirt that’s still untucked, and twist the material in my hands. It feels surreal. Like if I pinch myself hard enough, I'll wake up and realize it was all just a wicked dream and not my reality.

Sensing my hesitation, Martha turns to look at me. “It wasn’t trouble with that ex of yours, was it?”

“Myles? No, that fucker’s still in jail last time I checked.” Myles was my last boyfriend, and he came with a shit ton of baggage. He didn’t lay hands on me, but we had some verbal matches that always worried Martha. She threatened to kick his ass herself a time or two.

She walks over to where I’m standing and grabs hold of my hand, rubbing it soothingly with her thumb. “If you need anything, I’m here. And don’t worry about Cosmos. In about an hour, he will be out from under that couch and basking in the morning rays, belly up.”

“You’re an angel, you know that?”

“Ha! My sins in the seventies would prove otherwise.” She winks, and I think I love her even more.

Chapter Three

Frankie

“Jesus, Frankie, you’re going to give me a heart attack, or worse, get me fired,” Cynthia bristles. I can tell by her flushed face and the sheen of sweat on her brow she’s frazzled. Cynthia is the bakery manager at Langley's. She's a middle aged woman who used to manage the produce department before transferring here. She is a pain in the ass and most employees despise her.

“I’m so sorry, I had a bit of an issue this morning. I promise I’ll be caught up by lunch.”

“You better be, or I’ll be looking for a new cake decorator!” she yells over her shoulder.

She doesn’t mean it. She loves me. Kinda. Besides, who else would take this job that’s barely above minimum wage, has shitty benefits, and starts at an ungodly hour? No one, that’s who. I could probably apply to one of the fancier bakeries in town, or better yet, start my own business, but I’ve been here, decorating cakes since I graduated high school. I learned everything I know from Jo, who has since retired. When she first took me under her wing, I could barely ice a cake, now I can put together a two-tiered, adorned with flowers and embellishments with ease. Cake decorating gives me an opportunity to flex my creativity, and I’ve been lucky enough that the grocery storegives me the freedom to do so, as long as I produce their required cakes, as well.

Carefully, I wrap my space buns in a hair net and slip on my white apron, wiping my hands on the front to shake off the morning and sort through the order forms for the day. Most look easy enough. Pull apart cupcake bouquets, heart-shaped cakes, just as predicted.

Starting with the orders that will be picked up the earliest, I pull cake from the freezer and buckets of icing from the fridge. Quickly, I flat-ice as many as I can before I move on to decorating and personalizing them.

“So, you gonna spill what happened this morning?” Taylor eyes me over her shoulder while loading the racks of cookies into the oven. She’s been a baker here for almost as long as I’ve decorated cakes, and is basically the closest to what I would call a friend. If it wasn’t for her, I’d likely have quit by now. Our conversation and easy banter help the day go by quicker. Still, I don’t know I’m ready to divulge what transpired this morning.

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