Dennis insisted on following Agatha home. She didn’t live far from work and wasn’t a bit concerned about driving alone late in the evening, but after three hours of talking, a couple of drinks and a good cry, Dennis said he’d feel better seeing her home. If she didn’t mind.

Mind? She thought it very chivalrous indeed. She had quite forgotten how nice it was to be in the company of a gentleman.

It was just after eleven when they both pulled up in front of Agatha’s little house. It was in old Sacramento, in a section only a couple of miles from Dennis’s own house. Young moderns had revisited the neighborhoods, rebuilding and improving. She’d been renting the place for that past year and it looked something like a gingerbread house. It was sweet, tiny, and surrounded by shrubs, trees, vines and flower beds. There was a winding walk up to the porch; a light shone warmly from inside.

Dennis got out of his car. “Agatha, this is priceless. Did I tell you that I live in an older home not far from here?” he asked her, staring appreciatively at the house. “I renovated it myself.”

“You think of this as an older home?” she asked, laughing. “I would consider it a newer model. I find it quite hard to live in anything under four hundred years old,” she said. “I suppose the polite thing to do would be to offer you coffee or tea to make the remainder of your drive less taxing. After all you’ve put up with tonight.”

“And I think I’ll accept,” he said, and walked up on the porch.

Once inside, there was even more for Dennis to appreciate, particularly the homey touches she had provided—old English mixed in with American. It immediately struck him how much more comfortable he was in a house like this than in a new, starkly white, modern construction. Charlene liked the bright, clean look of newer styles; he thought of them as cold. “This reminds me so much of my mother’s house,” he said. “I’m drawn to these classic neighborhoods. They have so much more character.”

“The neighborhood might be old but my neighbors are mostly young. Career couples, small children and singles. My parents’ cottage was similar to this house. It too had a porch, fenced garden, outbuilding and attic with dormer. Well, I’ll set the kettle to boil. Do look around as much as you like.”

The furniture was old but sturdy, decorated with hand-tatted doilies and antique antimacassars. The Oriental carpet was threadbare around the edges, but that didn’t detract from its rich color and texture; in its day it must have been beautiful. The wood was dark, stressed and highly polished, and a faint smell of lemon oil hung in the air. There was a dry sink in the small dining room upon which she had placed a crystal decanter set and glasses. Dennis lifted one of the decanters, uncorked it and whiffed a very fine brandy. Agatha had such excellent taste.

“I rented the house, furnished, from a gentleman whose elderly mother had to be moved into an assisted-living facility,” she called to him from the kitchen. He could hear the water running behind her voice. “The decanters are mine, the crystal from Ireland, the linen and lace also. I didn’t bring much, but there were some things I couldn’t leave behind.”

“Will you buy the house eventually?” he asked her.

The water stopped. She stood in the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on a towel. “I’ll go home to England…eventually.”

This hit him with sudden, unmistakable sadness. When he looked at her, he knew he couldn’t hide that emotion from showing in his eyes. She was lit from behind by the kitchen light and seemed almost ethereal. Mystical. There was a glow behind her hair, almost like a halo. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was in a trance.

She cleared her throat and broke his spell. “There have been so many times I’ve wondered if I’d ever find someone special again, after all I’ve been through. It was hard for me to believe people get two chances.” She smiled wistfully. “Just knowing your story, Dennis, knowing about you and Charlene gives me so much hope. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

He nodded toward a picture on the buffet of a family of four. He suspected a relative or close friend. “Who is that?” he asked.

“My family. Me. Martin and the children. It was taken five years ago, not long before they died.”

He frowned. “It doesn’t look anything like you,” he said.

She took off her glasses and placed them on the dark cherry table. “I try to project a much quieter image for the work I do. It’s very important I cater to the brides, you see. They’re my bread and butter.”

He stared at her with his mouth slightly open. “Damn shame,” he said. There was nothing homely about Agatha in her present incarnation; she was lovely. But the woman in the family portrait was much more provocative, with her fiery-red hair, all ablaze in long curls, a mischievous twinkle in her eye and a come-hither tilt to her smile. She was a vixen. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll have a brandy rather than tea or coffee.”

“It’s entirely as you wish, but I’m concerned about your driving. I understand the laws in this country are very strict.”

He smiled, poured himself a small draft in the snifter. “I’m not driving anytime soon,” he said softly. He extended the glass toward her. “Will you join me, Agatha?”

He could see a very slight movement, as though she started to accept, then withdrew. “I’ve had my doubts about dinner and ice cream…and of course, I’ve had second thoughts about you following me home to be sure I’m safely tucked away. There’s no question about it, having you in at this late hour is inviting gossip. But joining you in a brandy…? Dennis, I know that eventually Ms. Dugan is going to disapprove. Strongly.”

“Has it escaped your notice, Agatha, that Charlene hasn’t called? Her ex-husband has called her out on an emergency and I haven’t heard a word from her all evening.”

“She can’t help but notice the empty bed.”

“We don’t live together.”

“Really? In these modern times? Astonishing!” Then it crossed her mind that the fact did put a slightly different stamp on it.

“Charlene likes her independence,” he said, and even he noticed there was an edge to his voice. “I didn’t mean to sound annoyed. I’m not. Oh, I was annoyed earlier this evening, before I stopped by the shop to cancel our appointment. Since then, I’m afraid my fiancée hasn’t even crossed my mind. I should probably be ashamed of that.”

“I should say so,” she said. But it was then that she accepted the glass.

“It must have occurred to you by now that this has nothing to do with the bridal business.”

“Oh?”

“Or with Charlene.”

“She is your fiancée.”

“But this—me being here, having a brandy with you—is only about you and me.”

Well, at least he was the first to say it. Over the past three weeks her affection for him had grown proportionally. She found herself hoping against hope that he would come, and Charlene would fail him, stand him up yet another time. Agatha’s meager protests against dinner, dessert, the lateness of the hour they dallied together at her house were halfhearted. She wanted nothing more than for him to stay.

As for Dennis, he was growing more and more attracted to her by the day, by the moment. He found himself driving by the Bridal Boutique on his way home from work, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. While he’d been more than a little put out with Charlene’s many schedule conflicts, at this point he was not a bit unhappy that she was elsewhere.

Still, neither of them knew what they were going to do with the situation.

Agatha walked into her small living room and chose to sit in a chair with an ottoman. She didn’t trust herself otherwise. This was becoming very tense. She knew the remainder of the night could answer some questions—and she welcomed his attention. Yet this could not possibly be more wrong. He belonged to someone else! She was the wedding planner!

Dennis took the corner of the sofa nearest her. He sat forward, his elbows resting comfortably on his knees. “Agatha—”

“Dennis, I must be frank,” she said, interrupting him. “You have me at a disadvantage. I’m completely unprepared for this…this…situation. Since losing my husband five years ago, I don’t know that I’ve been alone with a man, unless it was on an elevator.”

“I apologize if I make you nervous, Agatha.”

“But, you see, I’m not in the least nervous. In fact, I haven’t enjoyed myself this much since my husband was alive. I’m rather embarrassed to admit, I don’t want you to leave.”

“And I didn’t follow you home to be sure you were safe. I just couldn’t stand to see the evening end.”

“But if you stay any longer, someone might do something he or she will live to regret.”

He seemed to think about this for a moment, then put his brandy on the coffee table. He half rose, leaned across the short distance that separated them and gently touched his lips to hers. She met his kiss, though hesitantly. Her eyes slowly closed and he moved over her mouth softly but purposefully. Her lips parted slightly, and with a tenderness that promised future tempest, he probed the inside of her mouth with his tongue. He gave her lips a delicate nibble, then withdrew and returned to his seat.

“Well now,” she murmured, shaken to her core.

He smiled handsomely. “I’m not going to do anything tonight that could prove regrettable,” he said. “I wouldn’t put you in a position like that. But I’m not leaving either. Not until you ask me to. Because, Agatha, I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in a long time either.”

“But you’re to be married, Dennis!”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“Well, blimey,” she said. “Looks like I’ve lost myself a perfectly good client!”

 

Long before Agatha finished weeping through the story of the loss of her family, long before Dennis insisted on following her home and long before Stephanie disconnected her phone and answering machine, Charlene was left to follow Jake away from the Jersynski house. She found herself parked behind him in the driveway of his small house. She wasn’t entirely surprised. Jake wasn’t in a mood conducive to a public gathering.

He didn’t bother to wait for her, to escort her up the walk and to his door. He got out of his car, slammed the door, let himself in the house, flicked on the porch light, and was out of sight before she’d even gathered up her purse and coat. By the time she entered his house she could hear him talking on the phone in the kitchen. “What time was that? And they said what? Oh, that’s beautiful! Fucking beautiful!” He paced in the small kitchen. “Okay, I’ve got a pen, give me the number. Got it. How are the kids holding up? Okay, I’ll be in touch. And Sam…is her story still—Never mind, never mind. I’m going to talk to her myself, tomorrow.” He turned off the phone and slammed it onto the counter just as Charlene entered the kitchen.

“You can catch more flies with honey,” she said, throwing her coat over the back of a kitchen chair and her purse on the table.

“Imbeciles. Doesn’t anyone care about keeping this woman safe?”

“Jake, stop it, please. I’m exhausted and I’m starving,” she said, and sank into a chair.

“I am way too old for this shit,” he said, running a hand through his errant, curly hair. He leaned wearily against the kitchen cabinet. “The medical secretary in the E.R. went on break and someone from a ward upstairs relieved her. Someone called and asked if Meredith Jersynski had been brought to the emergency room and was she all right. The stand-in receptionist said she’d been discharged.”

“He was one up on you.”

“Fools. This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said. “We were on top of it. We had her covered.”

“I know,” she said, sympathetic. And now they didn’t know anything again.

“She’s a good kid, Charlie, I’m sure of it. Just a simpleminded little girl from Odessa. I mean, she might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but there’s not a mean bone in her body. And she loves those kids. She’d do anything for those kids…and she was only a kid herself when she had ’em.”

“Jake, this isn’t your fault. This can still work out for her.”

He hung his head for a minute. “I should’ve never gone over there. Now he’s on to us and knows we’re on to him.”

“Well, you could have waited a little while….”

“I’m a screwup.”

“You’re not a screwup,” she protested. “I said you were a hothead. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, not much.”

“Yes, much. You’re one of the best cops I know, with one of the worst tempers. You’d think in twenty-five years you’d have mellowed out.”

“I am mellowed out! Can’t you tell?”

She actually thought about this for a moment, frowning. It was possible. She looked around the kitchen. “Your house is in really good shape, Jake. I’m not sticking to the floor or anything. And there’s fresh fruit in the fruit bowl. Since when do you eat things that are good for you?”

“Since I got a cleaning lady,” he said. Charlene picked up an apple. “I have beer and Jack Daniel’s.”

“No Château Ste. Michelle Chardonnay?”

“Not hardly.”

She rubbed the apple on her skirt, shining it up, and bit into it. He poured himself two fingers of Jack, neat.

“I’ll have one of those,” she said. He gave her a look, his eyebrow raised. “Long day,” she said. “Long month.”

“Your funeral,” he obliged doubtfully.

“So, when did you decide to have a clean house?”

“Don’t start pushing my buttons, Charlene. I’ve had a long day, too.”

“I’m not trying to push your buttons,” she said, chewing the apple. He handed her a drink. She handed it back. “Could I have a little ice and water?”

“Sure. Wimp.”

“I’m genuinely curious. What happened?”

“Nothing happened. There’s a list of people about four miles long who need a second chance, a little work, a break. So, I have this girl who cleans the house and washes the clothes once a week, and I have this kid who does the yard. What’s the big deal?”

“Oh, no big deal. It’s just that I never knew you to notice anything was messy. The Jake I know would be glad to help someone with work, if he had any work to be done, but he’d never imagine that he—”

“See, now that was a button,” he said, interrupting her.

“Jake, I thought the girl…Meredith…I thought she was someone you were dating.”

He laughed at that, threw down his Jack and poured himself another. “Get serious.” He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat in it wearily. He was looking a little worn. Tired. He gave her a lopsided smile and shook his head. “Does she look like my type? She’s about Stephanie’s age.”

“Men never seem to be bothered by those silly age things. They date and marry girls younger than their daughters all the time.” She sipped. “And you’ve had many types.”

He scrunched his eyes up and peered at her through slits. “Button?”

She took another big bite of apple, put it on the table, stood up and shrugged off her suit jacket. She sat back down and sipped her drink. “Tell me how you got started in this little rehabilitation program of yours?”

“I don’t know,” he said, stretching. “Accidentally.”

“Come on,” she said. “Hardly anything is an accident with you.”

“Well, I didn’t start it up, if that’s what you mean. It was a fluke. Remember that old joke? Guy is sitting in a bar and a hooker walks up to him and says, ‘I’ll do anything you want me to do for a hundred bucks, but you have to tell me what you want in three words or less.’ And he says, ‘Paint my house.”’ She laughed at him. No surprise. He had always made her laugh. “That’s about how I got started in this program. There was this hooker, just a young thing. Jesus, she was a kid. Anyway, she wanted to get away from her pimp, but she couldn’t support herself. And even if she’d tried, he’d have found her and knocked her around again, put her back on the street. So, I rounded up six guys who needed their houses cleaned.”

“Young? How old is young?” she asked.

“Oh, Charlie, you don’t want to know. We were taking a big chance here. This kid was not legal. The ‘right’ thing would have been Social Services, but y’know…” He rubbed a hand through his hair again. The long day was showing on him—five o’clock shadow, rumpled clothes. But once he started talking about this project of his, a spark lit behind his eyes. A fire. “I just didn’t think the system could keep her safe.”

“You thought you could keep her safe better than the system.”

“Okay, so don’t hold that against me. We did, when it was said and done. We had work for her, cleaning, then we had to find a place for her to stay. One of the married guys offered to take her in, give her a bed in the basement rec room. His wife taught school and it was summer break and she was a toughie. If she could manage the thugs she had in the classroom, we figured she could manage Nicole if she gave them any trouble. But Nicole didn’t give them any trouble. Man, she wanted out.”

“What about the girl’s parents?”

He gave a huff of laughter. “You know that story.” He rubbed the rim of his now-empty glass with a fingertip. “I’m a father, Charlie. You think I’d take on this little pro if I thought there was any chance she had decent parents who would protect her? It was pretty obvious her situation at home put her on the streets. And I put my job on the line. So did the other guys.”

“So…it started with her?”

“Sort of. The thing is, word leaked out, like it always does. And we found out that there was a bunch of people getting themselves way too involved with these second-chancers. There were a couple of women cops who were giving shelter to battered women, moving them in and out of their houses like they were running bed-and-breakfasts. We had the homeless living in garages, doing odd jobs. We even had a kid washing dishes and busing tables, living in the back of Coppers.” He gave his head a sharp nod and smiled crookedly. “It’s been working out real well.”

“Sam says you’re organized.”

“In a way. We got an accountant, just to keep us out of trouble. Every once in a blue moon we’ll throw a picnic or dance, and put the money in the pot.”

She watched his face while he described what was completely selfless charity work, but with no ego. If he was proud, it was of the program; he wasn’t boastful.

“Jake,” she said, smiling, shaking her head.

“What?”

She laughed at him. “I so frequently think about why I divorced you that I hardly ever remember why I married you in the first place.”

“Yeah?” He puffed up. “I thought you said it was the length of my—”

She hit his hand, shutting him up, but she laughed. “Believe me, it wasn’t that.” She grew more serious, wistful. “I sometimes forget how inherently good you are.”

“Yeah, baby,” he joked.

She touched his hand. “You shouldn’t listen to me when I say you’re a bad role model. I’m glad you’re Stephie’s dad.”

“Don’t get goopy, Charlie. I’m just an average guy doing a below-average job.”

“No. You’re way above average, going the extra mile.” She drained her glass and put it on the table. “I have to go. I’m absolutely exhausted.”

“You sure? I could order a pizza.”

“No thanks,” she said, standing. She picked up her suit jacket to put it on and she wobbled a little.

“Whoa there,” he said, standing. “That drink go straight to your head?”

“It wasn’t the drink. I think I stood up too fast.”

He held her jacket for her to put on. “I don’t know, Charlie. I don’t know if I want you driving just yet. Maybe I should take you home.”

“Ha! You’ve had twice as much to drink.” She put an arm through a sleeve.

“Yeah, but I’m better at it.” He turned for her to put in the other arm.

“So you’d like to think. You—”

Both arms in, she found herself facing him, standing almost unbearably close. He was grasping the front of her jacket. Neither of them moved. In her heels, she was almost his height, and she could feel his breath on her face. Slowly, so slowly she was barely aware of it, his hand let go of one of her lapels and rose, a bit awkwardly, to her face. He lay his palm against her cheek; his hand was rough and calloused. His fingers, fanned, reached into her hair. She closed her eyes and turned her face into his hand, kissing the palm.

“Aw, Charlie,” he said, his voice raspy. “You’re gonna hate yourself…”

She lifted her lips from his palm and looked deeply into his eyes; his, moist and green and steamy as jungle grass, and hers, hot as fire.

His arm circled her waist and he devoured her mouth. She met him with her own and opened her lips under his, a taste coming to her that she recognized, that she knew well, that she remembered and on occasion longed for.

Jake’s hands immediately moved from her waist to her rib cage and up, moving over her underarms to the front of her shoulders and over the top, slipping her jacket off, down her arms. She let it drop to the floor. Her hands came together behind his head and she pulled him harder against her lips while she kicked off her pumps. With one arm around her waist, Jake moved the other under her legs and lifted her into his arms just as her second shoe fell. And he carried her to bed, where they tore at each other’s clothing, throwing it every which way.

It was perfectly choreographed, smooth as a ballet, from touch to kiss to lift to the gentle tumble onto the bed.

This had happened before. And not just twenty-five years ago.

It was complicated, but then, when was it not? Charlene had great passion for Jake. She always had—at least since their third date. There were issues and emotions upon which they were as melded as soul mates. When it came to police work, law, right versus wrong, the underdog, Charlene and Jake could stand side by side and provide a united front against injustice. Also in the area of sex. Their bodies fit together as if they were made for that purpose alone. Since their very first coupling, each had known instinctively how to please the other—what to touch, how much pressure to bear, whether to hold back or forge ahead.

They also knew when to speak and when to shut up. In bed, at least.

The moment they were naked, skin against hot skin, they came together like long-starved lovers. He was inside of her in seconds and she was ready for him in less time. He held himself above her and she pulled him into her. With her legs wrapped around him, they rocked together, erupting into a mutual orgasm that left them shuddering and panting. It was as though neither of them had been sexually satisfied in so long they were like overripe plums that fell from the same tree at the same time and exploded on impact with the ground.

Then they collapsed into grateful relief. Jake rolled over, next to her, and drew her close with one arm while he reached down to the foot of the bed with the other, and pulled the quilt over them.

“We didn’t even make it under the bedspread,” she whispered.

“That happens sometimes,” he said. And, beneath the quilt, he gently caressed her. Patiently and softly. Because he knew, when they recovered a little, they would do it again, but this time slowly. Carefully. Taking their leisure of each other.

But, most of all, not talking about it.

“It” was the difficult and complicated relationship they had shared for over twenty-five years. Though Charlie had passion for Jake, undeniable passion, she couldn’t stand being married to him. Couldn’t live with his mess, his childishness and high energy, his short fuse. He didn’t ever turn his short fuse on her, but it detonated all around her. Something on the job would work him up and he would slam around for hours, maybe days. It was impossible. He called himself “flexible,” but the truth was, he couldn’t stick to a plan. He was almost never on time, was easily distracted and forgot important things, like meeting her at the hospital when she was about to give birth. And he took too many risks, personally and professionally. He was just a big, dumb kid in a man’s body. He spit, went to boxing matches and never read books. Of any kind.

As for Jake, he was in love with Charlie and always had been. Desperately, passionately, hopelessly. But he couldn’t please her, except when he hunted down criminals or made love to her. In those two things she could find no fault. But she was rigid and had been set in her ways since she was twenty. She had this thing with being perfect—if she said dinner at six, she didn’t mean 6:03. From the day he met her she had had her life mapped out, exactly the way everything was going to happen for her, from college to law school to interning to her practice. She even had the date she was going to pass the bar written in her diary. Jake knew he wanted to be a cop, but beyond that he wasn’t sure of anything.

Stephanie. Now, there was something she hadn’t planned on. But then, neither had he. Despite the fact that Charlene and Jake couldn’t get along for five minutes, they’d done all right with Stephanie. It seemed there was one thing that gave them the impetus to compromise…and they both loved her more than life.

He touched her breast and kissed her neck. “I’m getting too old for this, Charlie.”

“Oh? You could’ve fooled me.”

He raised himself up on an elbow and looked down at her. “Y’know, this has happened to us from time to time, and we kind of go along with it because—”

“Shh,” she implored.

“No, this time I have to say something here. This is the first time either one of us let this happen when we were in a…you know…committed relationship.”

“Please, Jake, can we talk about this later?”

He kissed her below the ear. “If you promise. I have to talk about it this time.”

“I promise,” she said, and there was such a sound of sadness in her voice, such a dark liquid swell in her eyes, that he let it go and instead kissed her neck. Then her shoulder. Then her breast. He feasted gently on a nipple until he heard her sigh. Jake might not be a Rhodes scholar, but he knew how to take Charlie’s mind off her troubles. Obviously, something was wrong in Dennyland.

She couldn’t see him smile because it was dark and he was using his mouth to rouse incredible, breathtaking sensations in her.

By the time he came into her for the second time that night, they were once again starving for each other. It was spectacular. It always was. It never failed, even when there was anger between them. That was the hardest part about failing at everything else. Charlie had opted to go it alone. She rarely had a man in her life and Jake strongly suspected she hadn’t been in bed with one until Dennis, while Jake had kept trying to find a woman with whom he had this kind of incredible chemistry.

Charlie curled up next to him like a kitten, all soft and small and innocent. She sighed deeply, sleepily. She wasn’t going to be talking tonight. So, what else was new.

Jake knew better than anyone that there was no getting Charlie to do anything she didn’t want to do. So he decided to just enjoy the moment, holding her silky skin against him, her even breathing telling him that for once she wasn’t tense or sleepless, for once she was completely relaxed and he had done that for her. There was plenty of time for talk later. He’d get up early—it was unlikely he’d sleep much—and put on a pot of coffee and they would talk about it. “It.” The way they never did, in a quarter of a century, quite finish with each other. Their marriage, such as it was, was like a car wreck. They got behind the wheel of their union, neither of them experienced enough, patient enough, nor willing enough to keep it on the road. They ran it into a ditch and abandoned it.

At least they hadn’t abandoned Stephanie. He smiled at that thought. Pain-in-the-ass spoiled though she was, she was also bright, beautiful, compassionate and definitely good down to her last polished little toenail.

He pulled Charlene closer. Maybe now, mellowed, they could try this again. He’d do anything. Anything. Take Prozac and calm down; stay tidy and timely. He could do it. God, he loved her, had always loved her so much….

It was the phone that woke him, and his very first urgent thought was, Please don’t let anything have happened to Merrie, please. He swung his legs over the side of the bed; he thought better sitting up. The clock said midnight. He picked up.

“Hello? Yeah, honey, what’s the matter? Oh, really? Explain it to me. Slowly. Take a breath.” Charlene sat up behind him. He looked over his shoulder and gave her the shush sign. “Well, you’re in luck. We’ve been working together on a domestic thing. Your mom is doing the custody part for the woman and I’m trying to get evidence on the ex-husband, so, we put on the coffeepot and mapped out our joint investigation. Your mom was just getting ready to go…she’s in the bathroom. No, no, let me be the one to tell her…and explain. Okay? We’ll come right away. You got your phone? Good. She’ll call you from the car.”

“Jesus,” Charlene said. “What is it?”

“It’s Peaches, honey. She’s in the hospital.”