Page 22 of Justice for Radar

She looked thoughtful, dropping her eyes to her hands for a moment before looking back up.

“Doyouwant to talk about it?” she asked softly, almost hesitantly.

I stirred the hot chocolate in the making with a wooden spoon and then leaned on the edge of the stove heavily, looking her in her lovely eyes, contemplating her for a moment. Finally, I gave a nod.

“That’d be nice,” I said and cleared my throat. “We were picking up a bond jumper for drug and possession charges, burglary, all the things related to hardcore addiction, you know? Had to camp out in the van outside this super shitty super seedy hotel that a dealer was operating out of.” I shook my head. “Just stirs up a whole bunch of shit about the girls’ bio mom, you know?”

She nodded and looked empathetic.

“Always does,” I said.

“What can I do?” she asked.

I smiled and said, “You just did it. You listened. Didn’t have to hold it in for a change.” I felt my smile grow. “I feel better already.”

She gave an echoing ghost of a smile and looked pleased, and I was glad for it.

I got down two mugs and went to the freezer, pulling out the bottle of good dark rum and adding a little to each one. I topped it off with the scalding hot chocolate, the alcohol cooling it off a bit and dropped a spoon into each one.

“Give that a stir,” I told her, and she obliged and raised it to her lips. She took a tentative sip and smiled.

“Good?” I asked.

“Very,” she answered, licking a fleck of foam off her top lip.

“Good,” I answered, and we sat up and sipped our hot chocolate in comfortable silence.

8

Justice…

We talked, softly, about simple things as we sipped our boozy hot chocolate in the quiet, air-conditioned hush of his kitchen. Of art and music, television shows and movies, just staying off the heavy topics for a change. It was nice, calm, and too soon the hot chocolate, heavy with milk and booze started to work its magic. My eyelids grew heavy and my muscles a little more languid.

“Come on,” he said and slid off his seat. He held out his hand to me and I took it and got to my own feet.

He led me gently up the hall by my hand and into my borrowed room, pulling back the blankets on the bed.

“Are you tucking me in?” I asked with a slight laugh.

“Indulge me,” he said, and I sat down on the edge of the bed. He kneeled and cupped my heels with his hand, lifting my legs and twisting me to settle them on the bed. I giggled and let him do what he wanted and weirdly, I trusted him. Trusted him to this simple act of kindness and to not get fresh or inappropriate with me. He pulled the blankets up to my chin and I wriggled, settling in.

He brushed his lips against my forehead and my eyes closed even as I froze, my breath stilling in my lungs.

“Get some good sleep,” he breathed, murmuring against my skin and then he pulled back, straightening, and the door was swinging shut behind him.

I blinked stupidly into the dark and wondered at this lurching, falling, sense of… I don’t know… but I liked it.

* * *

I workedthrough the morning and into the mid-afternoon the next day until finally, my stomach would not be ignored.

I got up and stretched, went through my things, and found something clean, or at least cleaner and took myself into the bathroom for a shower. I stayed under the hot spray for an inordinate amount of time letting it soothe sore muscles in my neck and back from my poor posture at the too small desk where I’d been working. I was powering through as many commissions as I could in a blind cash grab. The more covers I did, the more money I made, and I could use the boost.

I made really good money, the problem was where I lived was on the expensive side and I was still paying down debt from my marriage; most of it Rodney’s but I was too proud to declare bankruptcy. Some months, I just did the bare minimum for survival, other times, when I felt like too much was too far outside my control – like now – I threw myself into it whole heartedly in an effort to regain some semblance of control in another sector of my life, so I didn’t feel like I was so completely going to come apart.

Yeah, I know it wasn’t the healthiest of coping mechanisms but it did put out some healthy returns, so I guess there was that.

Once out of the shower and dried, I slid my denim cutoffs up my legs, the strings tickling my thighs. I always had an urge to cut them off but resisted until they no longer bothered me. I threw on my racer back bra and my racer back tank and sighed, looking at myself in the mirror. I looked tired, and I felt tired, but it wasn’t the type of tired that a nap would fix.

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