Momentary Lapse

Excerpt

When I was done with the eucalyptus patch, I moved to the hydrangea bed.  They had a beautiful habit of evolving from a beautiful raspberry pink to a brilliant crimson as they matured in the fall.  They had accomplished about half of their transformation, and I dug up the weeds, which may choke and destroy them before their journey was complete.

My hands were wrist-high in soil when Angela’s voice swept over the breeze, “Mom.  Phone.”

Panic seized.  Was it Ron?  Would he actually fire me over the phone?  In front of my children?

“Could you ask who it is, honey?”

I thought I detected a heavy sigh.  Then again, it could’ve been the wind; I’d give Angela and her salty attitude the benefit of the doubt.  Then her voice again, “It’s Bob.”

Bob.  I wonder why he’s calling again.  Have a thing for women going through the worst times of their lives?  At least, since he was identified before I arrived at the phone, we wouldn’t have to go through the Bob?  Officer Bob?  Bob Dunne? routine again.

I pulled off my gloves, wiped my hands on my pants and went in the house.  “Hi, Bob?”

“Oh, hi Lydia.”  I’d startled him.  “I’m not calling to bug you, but I’d read in the court notes that Angela was released home on Monday.”

“Yes, thank God.”

“No kidding.  How is it going?”

“Fine, just fine.”

“Great.  Is Angela adjusting to her old routine again?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good.  Is she back in school?”

“Yes, she went back today.”

“Super.  And how is her arm feeling?  Her throat?”

“Fine.  No problems.”

There was a pause.  “Okay, Lydia.  I just thought I’d check in.  I won’t interrupt your evening anymore.”

In just a second, he would hang up.  My curtness would chase him away.  He’d be gone.  And with him, a concerned, interested ear.  And shoulder, if I needed it.

“Bob?”   I kicked myself for sounding so anxious, so desperate. 

But he didn’t seem to notice.  He returned calmly, “Yes?”

“I’m sorry.  Would you be interested in meeting me for a cup of coffee??

“I’d love to.”

“You’ve been so nice, and I really need someone to talk to.  Well, unload on.  It hasn’t been a stellar week.”

He chuckled and said, “When and where?”

“Actually, would you be able to make lunch together tomorrow during the workday?  Then I won’t have to worry about childcare.”

We worked out the details and hung up.  I squeezed the phone handle and drew a deep breath.  I had a lunchdate with Officer Bob.

The Media Inn, at one time, way back in the Revolutionary War days, was just that – an inn – where weary travelers would take advantage of a room for a night or two, while their horses rested and prepared themselves for the next leg of their journey.  Sometime in the last fifty years, it had been converted to a casual dining place, serving a modest crowd at the lunch hour, and the majority of its business at dinner.  I walked in, and immediately felt a wave of regret. 

Why had I suggested this place? I wondered as I pulled into the parking lot.  It was pricey, and I just now recalled that.  I certainly couldn’t afford an expensive lunch, on top of my newly acquired attorney fees that were due, and I knew a policeman’s salary probably didn’t allow a great deal of splurging as well.

Plus, what would Bob think of me when he saw the prices here?  Would he assume . . . something because I’d picked this place as our first “date?”  Wait a minute – date?  I suppose the argument could be made that I’d asked him out on a date.  Did that mean I was expected to pay for both our meals?

I hadn’t even seen the man yet, and I was already in an internal dither.

When I entered the building, it was clear that I had arrived first.  As I glanced around the dining room, I noticed only two tables occupied with diners.  One couple, and another table with two women sitting together.  I wondered if I should sit alone and wait for Bob to come or simply stand by the door and watch for him.  Which would make me look less desperate?  I opted for being seated, and alerted the hostess.

Only moments after I’d been seated, I was sipping my water, concentrating on not letting my hands shake while bringing the full glass to my lips, when he walked in.  I spotted him before the hostess did, so I had the opportunity to watch him incognito for a few seconds. 

He wore his uniform. 

His clothing, in combination with his easy stance and gliding stride, gave him a confident air.  He was in charge – of himself, of others – it was obvious to anyone who watched him.

Or at least it was obvious to me.

I’d never felt an attraction to a policeman before.  A military man, yes.  Give me a Marine or Air Force officer in my dreams anytime.  But a policeman – it had never occurred to me to fantasize about one.

But the moment I spent gazing at Officer Bob Dunne across the room in the Media Inn that day, evolved into one of the most satisfying daydreams I’d had in quite some time.

My spike-heeled shoe pressed the brake slowly and eventually my fire-engine-red convertible slowed from its previous speed of 100 mph to an insolent stop.  The flashing lights, which had tailed me the last ten miles, pulled in behind me.  I heard a door slam and I looked in my rearview mirror.  A lean, hard policeman walked towards my car, and knocked on my window.  I rolled it down and looked up at his face.  He had ice-blue eyes.  He motioned for me to get out of the car.  I opened the door slowly and snaked a bare, tanned and glistening leg out, planting one stiletto heel on the cement, followed by another.  I stood facing him on the highway.  He took my shoulders in his hands and firmly turned me around so my back was towards him.

“Spread ‘em, ma’am.”

“Who, me?  Sir?”

“Lydia?”

It took me a second to realize that the voice came from the flesh-and-blood man who stood by my table, not the dream-cop in my fantasy.  Would it be uncouth of me to stick my fingers in my iced water and flick some cool liquid on my heated face?

I cleared my throat.  “Oh!  Hi, Bob.  I didn’t see you come in!  Please sit down.”

He didn’t sit.  He leaned closer to me and looked.  “Your eyes look a little glassy.  Are you feeling okay?”  I didn’t respond, and he continued, “Did something else happen?”

I stood and pulled his chair out a little.  I pointed to it with my open palm.   “No.  I’m fine.  I’m sorry, I was just spacing out a little.”

He smiled and sat.  “Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“No, really, it was fine.”

We ordered club sandwiches and I tried to focus on the actual man.  In all fairness, he wasn’t too far off from the policeman in my fantasy.  Except he talked more.  He told me about a nude jaywalker he’d taken in last week because he was so drunk, he didn’t realize he was nude.  When the sandwiches arrived, I was laughing at his story of the time the local police force volunteered to staff the Salvation Army’s ringing Santas for an afternoon in December, and his costume arrived without a hat or beard.  He tried to cover by not shaving that morning, and plopping a red Cardinals baseball cap on his head.

“It’s so good to talk to you,” he said as he took a bite.

“You’ve missed your calling.  You should do stand-up,” I said, my eyes flashing from the laughter.

“I guess I miss the opportunities to make a pretty woman laugh.”

I almost drowned in those unforgettable eyes.  I nearly complimented him on their color.  “So tell me about yourself, Bob.  I assume you’re not married.”

He snickered and shook his head.  “Not anymore, anyway.  I was once, and divorced after a year.”

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.

“Yeah, me too.  My young wife couldn’t take being married to a cop.  There’s a lot of funny stuff that happens on the job, but it’s not all fun and games.”

“I can imagine.”

“She got tired of the wondering.”

When the sandwiches were done, and we were drinking coffee, Bob said, “So what about you, Lydia?  I got the impression on the phone last night that you could use someone to talk to.  About Angela, I’m guessing.  How’s it going?”

My first impulse, to say, “Fine” and go on, I squashed.  Sure, I had only spent an hour with him, but I had an overwhelming feeling that I could trust him.  And who else did I have to talk to, other than my mother?

“Things are tough, to be honest, Bob.”

He nodded silently.  His eyes issued an invitation to continue.

“She’s not happy.  Not that she was ever an openly joyful child, but she’s even more withdrawn than ever.  She doesn’t talk much, and when she does, it’s from one extreme to the other.  Yelling or mumbling.  Sullen is her middle name.  She’s mad at me. I really think she hates me.”

I drew a deep breath and let my hands drop in my lap.

He didn’t say anything for one full minute.  When I looked at him he stared straight ahead, not focusing on anything in the room.  Finally, he said, “You need to take her out and do something fun.  She probably just needs to do something to snap her out of her bad mood.  Something out of the ordinary.”

I nodded.  “I suppose I haven’t made the effort to take her out and do something that she’s thought was fun in the past.  I know!  Isn’t there one of those traveling carnivals over at the mall parking lot?”

Bob nodded.

“She loves going on the carnival rides.  Maybe that is just what she needs.”

As if to spare us any uncomfortable moments, when the waitress arrived with the bill, she presented us each with one – separate checks.  Bob walked me to my car.

“It was really nice, Lydia.  Thanks.  Could we do it again?”

“Yes, sure.  I had fun.”  I smiled.

He did too.  “Could I be promoted?”

I looked at him, a crease between my eyebrows.  “Huh?”

“I was hoping for a promotion from lunch to dinner next time.”

“Are you ready for primetime?”

“I’ll let you decide.”

I laughed and said, “I better run.  I escaped being fired this morning, but I don’t want to push it by being late returning from lunch.  But give me a call and we’ll discuss your promotion.”

He gave me a thumbs-up and turned away.

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