Page 61 of Words On Candy Hearts

Just when I thought our adventures for the day were through.

With great reluctance, I let go of Clara’s warm breast. It wasn’t easy. I hadn’t had a woman in eight months, and Clara was no ordinary woman. It goes without saying that I’d sprouted another hard-on the second her fingers touched my cheek.

While Clara politely turned to discreetly slip back into her bra and shirt, I rolled down the window and smiled at the old man.

“Is there some kind of problem, Officer Walsh?” I said, reading his name off his shirt. Technically I knew that getting a near-hand job from a topless woman on the side of a public thoroughfare counted as “some kind of a problem.” On a legal basis, at least. On a personal basis, I obviously didn’t have an issue with it. But instinct told me to take my cue from every movie and TV show I’d ever seen and deliver the standard line, complete with a polite smile and, if appropriate, a friendly bribe.

“The problem is a Class B misdemeanor,” Officer Walsh said. “Public indecency. Punishable by up to six months in prison or a thousand-dollar fine. For each of you. Get out of the car. Now.”

I rolled up the window. “I’ll get us out of this,” I whispered to Clara as I buttoned up my shirt. “Just play nice.”

“Trust me,” Clara whispered as she combed out her hair with her fingers. “My mother made sure I know what to do in the extremely likely event of a sex-related arrest. My entire life has been leading up to this moment.”

God, I hoped I wasn’t understanding her correctly. “You’re going to have sex with him?”

“Oh, gross!” she said. “No. I’m going to be a nice old-fashioned girl.”

“Did you get a good look at the guy?” I said. “I’m pretty surehewas the sheriff during Andy Griffith’s rookie year on the force. I don’t think there’s any way to persuade anyone from his generation that what you were just doing is old-fashioned.”

“Men from his generation refer to what I was doing as ‘dutiful,’” she said. “You’re my fiancé, you had a tough week at work, and I was fulfilling my womanly duties and relieving you of your stress in the best way a good woman knows how. I’m sure Great Great Grandpa here will understand.”

There was a bang on the window. “I said move your keisters!”

“Ourwhat?” I said.

“Keisters,” she explained. “It’s Geezer-ese for ‘ass.’”

We stepped out of the Santa Fe and followed the officer to the back of his patrol car. He didn’t handcuff us, but he did do that weird thing where he put his hand on top of my head so I didn’t hit it on the doorframe.

As he started driving us north, presumably to the station, I sat without protest, not speaking until spoken to like the proper boarding-school boy I was. Clara, on the other hand, sprung straight into action.

“So,” she said, leaning toward the grate, “have you been a police officer your entire career?”

Officer Walsh did not respond.

“My father didn’t join the force until he was twenty-eight,” she said. “Just after he finished his tour of duty in Iraq. He retired last year. He wasn’t ready yet, but he didn’t really have a choice, what with the bullet wound and all.”

She was really laying it on thick, and not doing nearly as good a job of it as she apparently thought she was. Walsh wasn’t biting.

She sat back and focused her attention on me. “I’ve been thinking about yellow for the nursery. I know you said we should wait until we find out if it’s a boy or a girl, but I just can’t wait to start decorating!” She clapped her hands together beneath her chin. “I’m so excited!”

I wasn’t biting either. Clara wasn’t the only one whose single parent had taught them how to behave. I knew the rules when it came to sex-related crimes and proposals of marriage: Don’t say a word until you’ve talked to a lawyer.

“Any plans for Memorial Day, Officer Walsh?” Clara continued. “Having the kids or grandkids over for dinner?”

Dead silence.

“Ian and I are going to a potluck at the VFW. Special ceremony to honor his late grandfather’s memory. I’m bringing my famous cheddar-bacon mashed potatoes.” She turned her attention to me. “They were always Granddad’s favorite, weren’t they, hon?” she said, wiping away a non-existent tear. “Remember that Christmas after we first had the wheelchair ramp installed? He practically ate the whole bowl of potatoes himself!” Sniff, sniff.

An hour later, we were sitting side by side in a jail cell.

I decided I would be the one to break the prolonged silence. “At least you tried.”

“I don’t get it,” she said. “I did everything my mother told me to do. I played the mashed-potato card and everything.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

She looked over at me. “Why are you so calm? You actually look kind of happy.”

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