I would like to thank so many people that helped with this story, the birth of this story relied on two details being absolutely correct and out of respect for the Police, I knew I just had to get that right or this story wouldn't see the light of day. So, major thanks to that very special person, who spared the time and advice. My team of editors who, too this day I still wonder how they can see through my many mistakes and come out the other end with a story. To you the reader, please enjoy your read.
*****
After six months, three days, sixteen hours the pain felt just as real. This was our bench. Well, the park owned it, but we liked to think it was our bench. It was one of many that overlooked the river that ran through the park and today was her birthday. I choked up and my eyes lost focus and watered up as my lips parted. "Happy Birthday, Becky Louise Carter."
My mind went over my life with Becky: the happy moments and the time during which cancer stole her from me. She told me I would be feeling like this and had urged me to make my grieving short so I could love again. It was one of the very few times we argued. It was difficult to stay mad at Becky when she was in a hospital bed so close to death. Our bench moved and my head turned to see why. The officer sat beside me but kept looking at the river. The body armor didn't do her any favors, other than keep her alive I suppose.
"You're gaining a reputation around here, Mister...?"
"Carter, Ma'am. Nathan Carter."
Her head didn't move. I used the opportunity to claw back some of my own curiosity. Her name badge said, "Hobbs". The sunglasses seemed to be standard issue so I couldn't see the color of her eyes, but those glasses were perched on a real cute nose.
"My partner and I have seen you sit right here almost every time we pass by, Mr. Carter and my partner is waving a brand new ten-dollar bill in the air that you're going to jump. Are you going to jump, Mr. Carter?"
How to answer that question and not walk away in handcuffs? "If she were alive, my wife would kill me for even thinking it, Officer." It was the safest answer I could give and not lie. She shifted slightly and smiled at my attempt at humor as the cold metal surrounded my wrist. The clicking sound finished her statement of intent. Her left arm came up and my arm had no choice but to follow. "Well, I can't swim, so if you're going to jump then you're going to have one heck of a dead weight helping you."
In a bizarre way, I actually found all this amusing and it did seem to bring me out of the funk I had myself in. "Well, we can't have that, officer. Not to mention the charge of attempting to murder a police officer on my up-to-this-point spotless record."
She smiled; she had the cutest dimples when she smiled. "There you go, I just knew my partner was going to lose that ten dollars."
Hell, I smiled. She was funny. "Indeed," I said.
She used the key to the handcuffs which had always been in her other hand, to unlock us. We stood and she took a step to the side so she was between me and the river.
"You have a good day, sir."
"And you, too, Officer Hobbs."
Her cruiser was parked behind my car. I looked before pulling away; she was leaning against the rail looking at the same scene that always captured my heart. A twinge of guilt pulled at me. I was staring.
I woke up the next morning with less pain in my chest, not sure if Officer Hobbs' dimples had anything to do with it. My work colleagues even did a double take when I sat at my desk and started work. The interrogation started at first break and continued throughout the day, all cheerful banter, and for that I was extremely grateful.
Maybe since I had met Officer Hobbs I was attuned to her presence because I saw her twice more that month. I was walking from my office to a restaurant that a client had picked for a more informal meeting than sitting in an office. The traffic was horrendous, so walking seemed to be the best option. The cause of the traffic jam became obvious when I heard Officer Hobbs and her partner directing traffic around a broken-down truck.
The other time was way more interesting; that was the day I discovered that Officer Hobbs is a gazelle in disguise. A week after the truck incident I was just leaving a card shop when a police cruiser sped up the street and screeched to a stop at the top end. Voices were heard, and I could assume by the tone that whoever was yelling meant business.
The next thing I knew, a man came running down the street, and the officer chasing was Officer Hobbs. With the body armor, weapon belt, and the rest of her gear, I'm sure she was glad she left the kitchen sink in the trunk of the cruiser. And yet she gained on the runner before driving her shoulder into his back, causing him to fall onto the ground and diving on top of him. Those all-too-familiar cuffs were used after a very brief scuffle. Through it all, those glasses stayed stapled to her head.
My work colleagues still continued to tease me as, day by day, my somber mood faded. The tentative steps I took to join the human race once again were done with a silent "thank you" to one of our city's finest. I even joined in with the general banter. In a roundabout way, Officer Hobbs and her actions that day at the park had pulled me back from that abyss I was staring into.
*******
It was to be three months later that our paths converged again. I settled a debt my soul thought I owed, but at such a cost.
That day, I got the call I was expecting from the police; they were still working their way through forensics, but asked me to come down to the station the next day to make a formal statement. I agreed and when I went into work, I asked for the next day off. I saw reluctance in my boss' eyes and asked to talk to him in his office. When I explained why, he of course agreed. What worried me was who he was going to tell later on. I thought it prudent to nip that idea in the bud and reminded him that all that happened was still an ongoing investigation so it would be best to just say nothing for now.
Feeling that I may have bought myself a day or two, I left his office and went back to work, but even that didn't hold my attention like it usually does. I found my thoughts would drift back to that evening and how I was going to explain everything that happened that night. Eventually I relied on my own take on the matter: "You haven't done anything wrong and what you did do, saved a life."
I got to the station at ten in the morning. Once I introduced myself to the desk sergeant, a detective made himself known and we headed upstairs. Its really odd being in an interview room, made even weirder because it looked just like those I've seen on crime shows. Someone sure did their homework.
The detective pointed to a seat and I sat facing the big darkened window. Yep, someone had done their homework.
