Chapter 8

Copyright 2003 by Elizabeth Delayne



Kuzcos was pumping with energy. People skirted between crowded tables, balancing treys and colas. Lights from the stage flashed colors, choreographed with music from the mix of songs while the band took a break.

As Amy knew the lead guitarist, she chatted with him until he went up for a set. Having little to do besides hang for a while, she settled at one of the back tables with a group she knew from church and the half-pipe down from the station. Their skateboards were propped against or tucked under the table, as much a part of their style and look as their clothing choices.

Baggy jeans, cargo shorts, ragged long sleeved tees and plaid shirts open over t-shirts. The beanies, thin, knitted caps, screen printed with mad faces were still on their heads, tucked into their pockets, or on the table near their hands and were just as much a part of their wardrobe as hemp necklaces and earrings. When the weather cooled, the cargo shorts became cargo pants and they dawned somewhat similar fleece hooded pullovers.

“You heard from Mitch?” Joe asked. He was not just a friend, but he'd known her brother. No one would guess that he was an advertising exec by day, but his faith was something he carried with him, something he road, as vital to him as his custom-built skateboard. On the top, the deck of the board, were the words “To live is Christ.” For Joe, they were more than a Bible verse or decoration.

“Last night,” Amy admitted, though their conversation had been brief before she’d passed the phone to Chloe. Their conversation had not been brief, or public.

It was neither a fact Joe needed to know, nor something Mitch would appreciate him knowing at this point. “You know Mitch. It’s a challenge, so he’s thriving.”

“Not to mention he’ll get to snow board more than I will this season.”

“And I bet you’re going to join him.”

“As soon as the season starts.”

He knew her Uncle Pete, the one who owned a ski resort near Upper Springs. They talked generally of going, making vague plans, both knowing they would follow through at some point over the winter. They had lived in the Springs area their entire life. It was part of their being.

Amy glance up as Chloe stepped through the doors, which surprised her for once as her roommate had taken to her classes and books more seriously. It was as if she had been living day by day before.

Their eyes locked and Amy understood.

“I’ve got to go, guys.”

“See you Sunday, Amy,” Joe said and their hands slid palm to finger, then knocked fist against fist in a casual goodbye.

The music changed into a driving, thriving beat. People were up at the pit, shouting lyrics word for word. Amy made her way across the room to Chloe. “What’s up?”

“Andrea dropped by.”

Amy winced. The look on Chloe’s face was telling. Andrea rarely got angry, but when she did it was almost as if she had gained some supernatural force. She had grown up with parents who were exceptional lawyers. She was blessed with patience. She knew how to hold onto her anger and when to let it out. She respected the power of silence.

“How did she find out?”

“She didn’t say. She’s a little ticked at me for bringing it up in the first place. I only suggested we come find you together because she was prowling the apartment. If we had anything to throw she might have done it.”

“All right,” Amy said and gave Chloe’s arm a squeeze. “I did nothing wrong but play the game using Andrea’s rules. She’s just going to have to deal with that.”

“She’s waiting for us at the station. I’ll drive. You think.”

It did not surprise Amy that Chloe drove Buster, and it helped to have the wind in her face and the sky overhead. She did more than think. She prayed, and recognized that she had stepped over the line.

But she’s my best friend, Amy thought. She refused to feel guilty for defending that friendship.

Andrea waited for her in front of the station house, the lights illuminating the place she stood, her arms crossed as she faced the ocean. She wore jeans and the type of designer shirt that was just Andrea. Her hair pulled, back into a ponytail, lifted under the breeze. She looked alone and steady. Though thin, sometimes frightfully so, Andrea rarely seemed weak.

Amy carried her flip-flops in her hand, the familiar feeling of warm sand in between her toes as she walked. It comforted. Chloe stayed behind and Amy sensed the peace that her words in prayer were bringing to her.

“You’re angry with me,” Amy said, and stopped several feet behind her. “I’m sorry you’re angry.”

“But you’re not sorry you invaded my business. It’s my personal life.”

“No I’m not sorry for that—” Amy stated, “because you would have done the same thing. You have done the same thing.”

“I’ve never stepped in and negotiated your love life, or your lack of one. Besides, you get angry at anyone who tries to do something for you.”

“Oh, so for me it’s an invasion of your precious private love life, but when you do it for me it’s something to be done. Andrea, I didn’t go to Eric because I wanted to be nosey, or interfere in your so called love life, which is just as lacking as mine. You get involved because you care-and I point out that you went to Derek months ago for the same reason.”

“I went to Derek because you wouldn’t protect your own back.”

“And I went to Eric to protect your back myself. Same thing.”

Andrea turned around, her eyes wet from prior tears, but currently sparking fire. “In what way?”

“Because if he was here to hurt you I would be the first person to stand in front of you. I wanted to make the first offensive move just in case.”

She looked away, toward the ocean, the waves passive, but strong as they rolled onto the coast. Even so, it didn’t sooth.

“From the time you came back, you refused to say anything about Eric. Now you’re panicking. You would not panic if he was not an important part of your past.”

Amy took a deep breath and said her own prayer. Maybe it was time.

“The year you went away to get your masters was the hardest year of my rehab. I wanted to drink, I wanted to do everything that had gotten me into trouble in the first place. I nearly broke my probation and went out to the Back Bends to get it all out of my system, driving the curves. Not because I was lonely, but because I knew when you went away that you did so with the intention of starting a new life. Maybe not without me, but I wasn't in it.”

“I never broke off our friendship,” Andrea murmured.

“No, not intentionally,” Amy murmured. “You were distant the few times you came back. Your phone calls were short, your e-mails sporadic and usually in response to mine, but for awhile there your were as lonely as I was ... so you stayed in touch.”

“I was wrong,” she was no longer angry, Amy thought, but just as distant.

“Not necessarily—I thought you needed a new life. I wanted you to have it. Maybe we both needed to get apart so we could work through things. I don't know. But maybe it’s time we talked about it.”

Andrea turned her head and looked at her without saying anything. Her eyes were sad, but not in denial.

“Something changed that last year when you met Eric. It became easy for you to pull away. I knew he was someone special in your life, but you wouldn’t tell me. Your tone changed. Then you came home, sick.”

Andrea chuckled with out humor. “I make it a habit, don’t I, around finals?”

“Maybe you have,” Amy agreed, much more willing to laugh it off. “I knew you had been in the hospital. I wanted to believe it was the only reason you were pale and sad, and that’s my fault. I didn’t want him to be part of your future because I had almost lost you to him before. It was selfish of me. As your friend I should have pushed you. I should have forced you to face up to what you’re feeling.”

“Everyone thinks that they know what I’ve feeling. You, my mom, my dad, Eric. I didn’t need to face up to anything.”

“Maybe not, but I understand more now that Eric explained things. He cared, Andrea—and he wouldn’t have said anything if he didn’t know I cared about you first. Don’t get angry about it, because this is more important to me then it could ever be to you.”

“You see, what I didn’t know about that time for you in Boston was that you didn’t leave our friendship behind. I always thought you did,” Amy stopped and swallowed past the emotion in her throat. “I know now I was wrong. Eric wouldn’t understand our friendship if it hadn’t been important to you. So I know you took it with you. I always thought it was easy for you to walk away. My dad did.”

Andrea looked up in surprise, “I didn’t want to leave your friendship behind.”

“No, you wanted to leave your life behind, and now I think I understand. It wasn’t like I thought. It wasn’t because of Jenny. It was because in this life you’ve been sick. In this one, the diabetes has controlled a part of who you are. Even when Jenny died, people were focused on you. You hated it. They needed it. They needed somewhere to turn their grief.”

“You are God’s child, Andrea, not just a diabetic. He has blessed you with the most amazing heart, with love, with patience. You understand what it is to be sick, and you support those in need, those who are sick. You understand what it is to be thrust unwillingly and shamefully into the limelight, then you step right in so they don’t have to stand alone. If you had not of been a diabetic, severely, you may not have been able to understand.”

The tears had pooled in Andrea’s eyes and suddenly released. Amy took a step forward and hugged her friend, her sister.

Andrea laughed, the sound rough with emotion, “Those lines sound familiar. Aren’t they mine?”

“They’re more yours than mine. I’m sure I borrowed a few from you,” Amy said and laughed as she stepped back. Other words could be said, but some things were for Eric and Eric alone. “Chloe probably wondered inside by now. We should find her and let her know we’re okay.”

Andrea winced. “She was reading a textbook when I got to your place. It nearly knocked the anger right out of me. Then Mitch called and she cut the conversation short.”

“They’ll talk again.”



Inside, Chloe was the center of attention as usual. Someone had given her a red lifeguard jacket, as she was usually cold in any room with air conditioning. She had a diet cola at her disposal. Amy and Andrea shook their heads as they walked over. Two-on duty officers Paul and Laura were watching the computer screen with her as she laughed.

Chloe’s eyes sparkled when she spotted Amy, “It’s Mitch. We’re Messaging.”

“Does he know this conversation’s not private?” Andrea asked when Laura laughed at something he sent.

“Yes.”

“And isn’t this a police line?”

“It’s an open line to the Internet,” Amy muttered and leaned over Chloe to type in her own message. “Besides, what else are you going to do on the night shift in Basin Springs?”

It’s Amy. She typed. Saw Joe at Kuzcos. Hope you plan on having a roommate all winter.

She laughed as Mitch responded back. No worries. Joe doesn’t stay any place long. Miss Kuzcos.

Kuzcos? As much as me and your surf board?

Nearly as much as I miss Chloe.

You’re such a sap. And you only said it because you know she’s sitting right here.

Andrea okay?

Andrea’s fine. And you were right about something else. I’ll tell you later.

Amy leaned back, giving Chloe room to resume her conversation.

“You think this shift was boring? You guys obviously haven’t seen the evening news. If you had been here two hours ago, you would have known why the night shift sucks,” Laura said and stood to go refill her cup of coffee. “A fight broke out near the b-ball courts at dusk. It took five officers to settle things down enough to cart several kids off to jail. We’ve been spending most of our duty filling out the paperwork.”

“Who’s we?” Paul asked Laura. “She’s been downtown for most of the night—“

“Filing reports. Dealing with the media.” “There were cameras next door interviewing this guy about his record collection or something when they heard someone scream. They were out the door, cameras rolling. Someone finally thought to call the police. One of the guys had gotten stupid with a knife—” He broke off and glanced at Chloe. Her fingers faltered on the keyboard. “The action carried over from the fight into the condos. Derek and Laura were downtown for most of the evening.”

“He’s still there,” Laura said and glanced at her watch. “The reporters followed us. By the time he got in to the station to see how things were going, he’d given an impromptu press conference. He’s had a long day.”

Amy looked at her own watch. It was nearly nine o’clock. Derek had been on shift since before six in the morning.

Andrea sat down at the computer and typed in her own message. The group was still laughing a few minutes later when Derek walked in. Paul and Laura jumped up, moved into work mode. He stopped, glanced at the computer, at Chloe, lost in his own thoughts.

She looked up, her eyes dancing again and she gave him a smile. Not a smile of laughter, but a smile something like gratitude and relief. She would appreciate the stand he took. He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

He looked tired, Amy thought, and her hands itched to reach for him, to sooth the frown in his brow. She was not sure how to deal with the knowledge that she wanted to comfort, to be the one to comfort.

When he was past Chloe, near his office, he rubbed his hands over his face.

Amy stopped him. She folded her hands in front of her, then stuck them in her pockets, “You okay?”

He glanced at her, and for a moment his eyes remained unfocused, “Yeah.”

“No you’re not,” she moved to the double glass doors that opened onto the deck, “this time, step into my office.”

He glanced at her surprised, weary, then nodded.

Out on the deck, in the shadows, Derek leaned against the railing and lowered his head. His arms were ridged, the muscles defined and tense. The stress was there on his face, unmasked.

“You catch him?”

“Hmm?”

“The guy with a knife. Paul said it was on the news.”

“He was too high to know any different, didn’t care that there was a news crew and it was on camera. He went after the girl’s father and one of the technicians when they stepped in to stop it,” he looked up, met her eyes. His were dark and serious. “I had to step back, turn the questioning over. I started to see Chloe in the girl’s place.”

It warmed her that Chloe was more than a face, more than a girlfriend of his friend.

He stared out into the ocean, his thoughts deep and dark. “There were nights like this on the patrol in Willis. Many more nights. Kids stabbed by other kids. Gunshot wounds. Gangs that had at one time killed themselves out. Night after night, screaming, weeping. Four guys in homicide had heart attacks in one year.”

Amy nodded and waited in the silence.

“My first two days as Captain I was called upon to have a press conference on a fight that took place behind the school, near the cemetery. Three kids were missing. Three of them. Everybody wanted a story—to make a story. There were three lives turned into pictures on TV. Innocence, turned into questions.”

“We found the bodies. The kids ... we’d always known, but how can you say it? Murdered by kids who were their classmates. Children.”

He took a deep breath and then another. “Why are you guys here anyway? Everything all right?”

Amy nodded, watching him, “Everything’s fine. Andrea and I had an issue to work out. If you want to come to the beach at night, out of the crowds, you come here. It’s safe.”

He looked out toward the ocean, into the dark, “It’s supposed to be. We broke up a fight tonight—earlier. It was a group of mean kids. Just kids. It was the guy that got away, the guy they thought was cool, that did the most damage.”

“Derek, they need someone to remind them that there are lines,” Amy reminded him. She reached out and touched his arm. It was hard, tight, and the strain was still on his face, but he didn’t pull away.

Why did she expect that? She asked herself as she moved closer and stroked his arm in comfort. Only her father would have done so. Had she ever needed to comfort Mitch in such a way?

Had she ever seen Ham with so much weight on him?

Maybe not.

“I was one of them Derek. Before you get discouraged, before the voices of wannabe reporters get you down, remember that. Remember it was a man like you, awfully like you, that helped me find my way out. The media doesn’t always care about that.”

Derek turned toward her and studied her. She met his look, giving him something she had never completely given over before. Her trust, her respect. More had happened tonight then he could say, more than he could deal with right now.

He reached out to touch her, his hands tracing down her forearms, to her wrists, as if needing to feel the soft skin there.

“Amy...” his voice was rough and edgy. For a moment, the roaring sound of the ocean faded away.

She met his gaze, drawn by a part of herself she wanted to deny, but she did not look away. Not until his lips, rough with need met hers.

Colors shot into her mind. Beautiful, bright colors of summer—yellows, orange, red—like a sunset. She slid into the kiss, offered comfort. It was soft, sweet; a simple meeting of lips, everything the rest of his day had not been for him.

It was more.

His arms slid around her, her hands reached up and viced on his shoulders. The world seemed to tilt.

Then it all changed.

Amy stepped back. Her eyes were wide with terror, frightened by the emotion, the intensity. She was breathing hard, a rush of air against the sound of the ocean. She put her hand to her stomach.

“I’m shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean—”

He was her boss, she reminded herself, even when she wanted to meet his eyes, to lean into him, to find the comfort again.

It confused her. The comfort had been meant for him, not for her. Why did she want to lean back into the comfort, his comfort ... as if he had offered her that and more. She wanted to run, far away, into the mountains. Into the safety of the mountains.

“Amy—”

The sound of the ocean spiraled her back. She looked at him, forced her eyes to meet his. The look of concern in his eyes did not help.

Derek reached out. She had backed away. It surprised her that she had stepped so far from him. She stopped, but warded off his hand.

"I'm not that kind of girl."

"What kind of girl?" Derek asked, then held out an arm to block her way past.

"The kind of a girl that kisses a guy just to be kissed. It's not me. It will never be me."

He blocked her way a second time, this time stepping in front of her. They stood facing, her eyes blazing moving toward anger.

"I'm not your father, Amy."

"No...but I don't know who you are."



"Are you going to tell me what happened out there?" Chloe asked as she drove Amy back toward Kuzcos so she could get her truck.

Amy shrugged, her arms crossed. The wind blew against her skin and she closed her eyes finding comfort in knowing the sky was overhead.

I messed up, God. Not just my life, but Derek's. He doesn't need someone like me...

“Nothing happened," she told Chloe. "I'm just tired.”

“You should know ... You weren’t completely in the shadows.”

So Chloe knew, maybe Paul and Laura. Derek would receive their grief, if it was bestowed, but others would know, would find out.

"It was just a kiss. It was just-he had no right to kiss me."

"So you're angry at him for kissing you? Did you kiss him back?"

"I shouldn't be angry with him. But I am."

"That's no surprise. You've been angry with Derek since he moved to Basin Springs. Do you think instead of what you feel being anger, maybe it's fear. Maybe it's desire?"

"Derek Johnson is more or less my boss."

"He's not Ham."

"Of course he's not."

"So he's not old enough to be your father."

Amy sighed, "No ... look I can't explain it to you when I can't explain it to myself. It was just wrong."

Chloe pulled into the parking lot and turned to idle Mitch's rag-tag convertible behind Amy's truck. "And maybe I can understand. Trust is a big deal to me. It takes time for people who aren't used to feeling it. You were just starting to trust him. Maybe he broke that trust. Maybe you did, with yourself. Don't feel bad for feeling an emotion that's protecting your heart."

Amy looked at Chloe for several moments, then nodded before climbing out and getting into her own truck. She took her time winding her way home, thinking about Derek, about the kiss.

She would have to keep her distance, that was for sure. Her dates were casual, but she did not date casually. She went places with guys who were more friends than anything more than that. She liked to be in a group of people she trusted. Mitch, Andrea and Chloe, those from college, her surfing and skater friends. If she was somewhere it was usually with a group of people.

Is the opposite of fear trust, she wondered, or courage? If she didn't trust Derek ... why? Why not? He was certainly cute ... a California boy ... and yet straight laced and duty bound. Was she courage she lacked or ....

She turned into her apartment complex and followed the drive around back without much thought. She pushed Derek from her mind and looked out the window, tired, unwilling to concentrate on the cycle of thoughts that scattered through her mind.

In the shadows she saw the struggle and slammed on her breaks, laying on her horn as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Chloe—”

Chloe, still wearing the red lifeguard jacket, struggled with the figure in the shadows. He was tall, thin. Not Buddy. Definitely not Buddy. At the sound he looked up, his face dark, covered.

He slammed Chloe into the next car, even as Amy jumped from her truck.

“Chloe!”

Chloe cried out and crumpled to the ground.

Amy rushed to her friend. The car window was cracked where Chloe had hit. There were gashes on her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut. She struggled to breath.

“Don’t touch me—” the words were sobbed out. She curled up into a ball, shivering. She pulled the sleeves of the jacket down her arms, around herself. Gone was the laughter and delight. Gone was the freedom. Her eyes looked glassed over. She was in shock.

"I need a blanket," Amy cried out and realized that she cried out alone. The complex was quiet.



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