Hard Job Page 8
Sutton wanted to change the world. His own family was noted for supporting various liberal causes and he argued passionately with their circle of friends about the need for affordable healthcare and programs to benefit the poor. He was a champion for the disadvantaged in those early days and she aligned her thinking with his own until she convinced herself that his causes had always been hers.
They dated seriously for a number of months until March of that year, when Sutton asked her to marry him. After joyfully accepting, she phoned home and broke the news to her family. The discussion had not gone well.
“What do you mean, you’re getting married?” her mother asked.
Christina explained how she’d met Sutton and enthusiastically pointed out all of his excellent qualities. Her mother listened patiently until Christina reached the end of her situation, and then cut to the chase.
“Your father is not going to be happy about this, Christina. After all, you did promise you’d come back her after college and help rebuild the act.”
“But mama, that’s not what I want anymore. I know that papa’s going to be disappointed, but that’s not the kind of life I see for myself.”
“What’s wrong with our life?” Antonia Martelli asked with a sharp edge to her voice.
“Nothing’s wrong with it, mama! It’s just that I can’t see myself as a circus performer.”
“And what do you see yourself as, young lady? A stay at home mother?”
“No! But would that be so awful if it was what I wanted?”
Antonia sighed into the phone. “No. If that was what you really wanted it wouldn’t be so bad, Christina. But I had such hopes for you. We all did. I wonder if this isn’t just a passing fancy.”
When Christina assured her that it wasn’t, her mother sighed again.
“So be it, Christina. But you’ll have to be the one to break the news to your father. I think it would be best for you to bring this man home this weekend and let us all have a look at him. If he passes muster with the family it will make things easier in the long run.”
“You’ll help me with papa?”
“I’ll make you no promises until I’ve met this Sutton Dameron character. If he’s everything you say, you won’t need my help.
Christina hung up the phone feeling a little better, but knew the hard part was still ahead of her.
That weekend, she and Dameron drove down to Florida to visit her family. She carefully coached him on what to say and how to act and hoped for the best. It didn’t take long for her to realize her family wasn’t at all impressed with the man she’d chosen to spend the rest of her life with.
“He’s weak!” he father shouted after dinner. Sutton had been taken out to see the sights by her two brothers, leaving her alone with her father and mother.
“He’s not weak! I know he looks small compared to this family but he’s not weak.”
Her father shook his head in disgust and had turned away from her.
“Your papa doesn’t mean weak in that way, Christina.” Her mother spoke from her place on the sofa. “He means that his character is not strong.”
“How can he tell that?” Christina retorted. “You only met him four hours ago!”
“Sometimes it doesn’t take long to tell,” her mother had responded gently. “He is not the kind of man we want for you. This one is not for you, Christina. You need someone who will be a true partner and won’t change his position every time the wind blows.”
Christina was confused by her mother’s words. “What do you mean mama?”
“What I mean is this man refused to hold his own with any of the family when they challenged his position. Instead, he adjusted his words and demeanor to make a more favorable impression.”
“But, he just wanted you all to like him.”
“I know. But how can we even begin to like him if we have no idea of who he really is?”
They’d discussed and argued for another hour before her father finally put a stop to it all.
“Enough!” he told her forcefully. “I have listened to everything you have to say and it makes no difference to what I feel. You may not marry this man and throw away your future.”
“I will marry him, papa.”
“Not if you want the support of this family,” he informed her matter-of-factly. “Not if you want to continue on with your education. Not if you want to be welcome here.”
Christina was shocked by his pronouncement. “You’d force me out of the family over this?”
He was silent for a moment as he considered his next words. “Christina, I would do more than that to keep you from making what I know will be a terrible mistake.”
She turned to her mother with an incredulous look in her eyes. “Mama?”
Antonia looked toward her husband and then back to her daughter. “I’m sorry, but in this I agree with your father. This man is not for you. It would hurt me terribly to lose my daughter, but that would eventually happen anyway if you marry this man. Choose carefully, Christina.”
Christina could tell by her mother’s tone and the set of her father’s jaw that there was nothing to be gained by further discussion – at least for tonight. Thankfully, they hadn’t demanded that she stop seeing Dameron. She decided she just needed more time for them to get to know her future husband and was certain she would eventually change their minds. After all, they’d never denied her anything before.
For the remainder of the weekend, Christina acted like the conversation had never occurred. Her family was cordial and pleasant. Not realizing that this was not normal Martelli behavior, Sutton never knew anything was wrong, and never suspected that their polite social engagement disguised their absolute loathing. People loved and accepted by the Martelli’s knew they were in favor by their inclusion in the constant barrage of loud, boisterous arguments and the inevitable feuds that sprang up at a moment’s notice. They were never treated the way they treated him. On the drive back, he even remarked that he thought he’d made a good impression. Unwilling to disappoint him, she’d simply agreed and set about making her plan.
For the next year she was a dutiful daughter and joined in on every family occasion. She took every opportunity to include Sutton, although she knew her parents disapproved. She even decided to spend the summer back in Florida helping out with the flying school. In her spare time she agreed to help fundraise for a local charity, hoping to make useful contacts for the future. She needed to learn the ropes in order to support Sutton’s ambitions when the time came. Before leaving for school to start her senior year, she once again broached the topic of her marriage and was once again disappointed.
“I’ve already said all I have to say on the topic,” her father informed her, as he checked the rigging in the practice arena of the school. “My opinion hasn’t changed. If anything, I’m more certain than every that he is not the man for you.”
Christina was forced to accept the reality of the situation and after some serious soul searching and weighing the consequences, she made her own decision. She was as stubborn as her parents – it was a Martelli trait. That Christmas, against her family’s objections, Christina became Mrs. Sutton Dameron. Her family resigned themselves to the loss of their daughter and her father even paid for the wedding so as not to lose face within the community.
However, the moment they were pronounced man and wife, her father cut off her funds as promised and she found she was not welcomed back home for any reason. Sutton was bewildered, but didn’t say much. Christina had kept her family’s real feelings from him for this long, and would continue on with the deception. Sometimes, Sutton just wasn’t very bright, and she suspected he really didn’t care anyway. As long as she was there to shield him from disagreeable things, Sutton was perfectly content.
It didn’t take long for Christina to realize just how difficult it was to make ends meet without the generous check her father had provided. She took on a series of part-time jobs and somehow managed to make ends meet although
circumstances were very strained. All those things she had taken for granted when her papa was footing the bill were now out of reach. She learned to take care of her own grooming needs and shopped sales and online bargain sites for her clothing. She cultivated a no-nonsense, streamlined style that eventually became her signature. It helped that her lithe, toned body – honed from the combination of a lifetime of exercise and her mother’s good genes – was the perfect showcase for no-frills clothing.
The Dameron’s first child was born a year later. Christina hoped that would soften her parent’s resolve and to some extent, it did. She and the baby were allowed back home for the occasional visit –as long as Sutton didn’t accompany them. Eighteen months later, a second child was born, but there was no change in her family’s attitudes.
Things were a little better on the home front. Sutton secured a job with a local life insurance firm specializing in mutual funds and a steady income stream significantly eased some of the financial strain. A year later he decided to run for city council and to her surprise, won on a liberal platform. She ignored his frequent late evenings and occasional overnight business trips, rationalizing to herself that he was simply working to make contacts. She even adjusted her thinking again, aligning with the more conservative attitude Sutton had gradually adopted. He’d rationalized that there was more money to be had from conservative donors than from the inconsistent liberals. After a few passionate arguments, Christina laid her principles on the altar of greed and ambition and got with the program. She would be the perfect, supporting wife, and make certain that there was no crack in the façade she carefully constructed. Then one day while sorting his clothes for the dry cleaners, she stumbled upon something that changed her life.
She’d been in a hurry as she quickly checked the pockets of his dress slacks for anything that might ruin the clothing and had simply placed the small handful of items on the edge of the dresser. She turned to place the trousers on the rest of the pile, when her mind caught up with what she had found. “Why are there condoms in his pockets?” she wondered. When she finally discovered the answer, she decided her mother and father had been right after all. Sutton was weak.
But she’d married him and had hitched her star to his. For good or bad, Christina was determined to make things work no matter how hurt she was. She wouldn’t allow anything to spoil the future she envisioned for herself. She and Sutton were destined for great things and she wasn’t about to let anything get in her way. After a few months passed, she wondered why she’d even thought it was a big deal. It wasn’t like he was seeing other women.
As she started her car and drove back home, Christina Dameron firmed her resolve. If anything or anyone tried to take away what she’d worked so hard for, they’d be sorry. For a moment her fingers toyed with the large solitaire pendant Sutton had given her a few years ago. Regretfully, it would have to go. It really didn’t matter to her. It was just another sacrifice she was willing to make on the path to glory. And besides, the matching earrings were already lost.
Melba stood in front of the cheap full-length mirror tacked to the back of her bedroom door and looked at her reflection critically. It’d been at least a year since she’d worn a dress of any kind, and this dress was totally different from anything which had ever taken up space in her closet
The dress in question was made of black linen, and seemed to drink in all of the light in her bedroom. It sounded awful, but somehow, it wasn’t. “Maybe it’s the thin black silk trim or maybe it’s the cut,” she considered. Whatever it was, the black dress was as far from awful as she could imagine, even though the occasion which warranted her purchase was a terrible one. As she balanced herself against the door to put on her sensible, low heeled black shoes, she thought about Moon’s comments from the day before, when she’d modeled her final selection for Zhou Li and the shopkeeper.
“This dress captures perfectly the doleful and sorrow-filled state in which we approach the ritual of mourning, and yet, with the right accessories, it would be a perfectly elegant tribute to a sophisticated celebration of culture, possibility and the absoluteness of refined good taste.”
Melba didn’t know about all of that, but she did know she looked better than she’d looked in as long as she could remember.
Moon had urged her to purchase a hat to complete her ensemble, but Melba had demurred, knowing she was already pushing things as far as the reaction from her co-workers was concerned. She might live down a dress, since it was being worn as an expression of respect for the man who’d been her friend and partner for the past several years, but she’d never, ever recover from showing up anywhere – even Sam’s funeral – in a hat.
“At least the weather’s not too hot today,” she consoled herself. An early season cold front had dropped down from the north, bringing evening rain showers and a breath of cooler air. It was almost bearable, even with the high humidity. Melba gave one last brush to her hair, checked her lipstick and picked up the smallish purse Moon had convinced her to buy.
“While possessing a weathered, functional usefulness – which is in fact a style acceptable for a busy career woman going about her normal daily business,” Moon had declaimed, “for a funeral, your everyday purse simply will…not…do.”
Melba transferred a few items into the small black bag, telling herself she could probably survive a few hours without her trusty sidekick of a purse. “At least this one’s lighter.” She picked up the sleeker accessory and loaded it with a handkerchief. She gave herself one more look in the mirror, straightening her shoulders as she did. “Here we go, Reightman. Keep yourself together and get through it. If you do that, you’ll have done great.”
Sam Jackson’s funeral was the city at its finest. From the honor guard of uniformed police officers on gleaming motorcycles which escorted his body to the church where generations of his family had worshiped, to the four members of the mounted equestrian officers who had stood vigil beside the hearse and accompanied the cortege as it made its slow progress to the city’s oldest cemetery, the force turned out in its finest to honor one of their own.
The simple service in the church was more of a remembrance than a goodbye, and the pews filled with family, friends, co-workers and city dignitaries spoke to the love, affection and respect in which Sam had been held. On the steps of the church, the Mayor had presented the city’s highest honor to Alice Jackson. The quiet, graceful lady who had been Sam's wife carried herself with calm, mournful dignity. Melba could see the telltale signs of grief etched on Alice Jackson’s face, but she could also see the strength of will and the deep faith every spouse of a serving police officer found to sustain themselves as their loved ones went into danger to protect the city and its citizens.
Melba managed through the service better than she’d feared, but the burial itself was more difficult. It was there she realized her partner was gone for good. A chapter of her life closed as Sam Jackson’s mortal remains were lowered into the earth. Alice Jackson stood by the grave until the coffin finished its descent, and then took a covered, box-shaped structure from her eldest son. When its draping cloth was removed, Melba realized it was a small wicker cage. Alice gently removed a single dove. After closing her eyes in silent prayer, Alice flung her hands toward the sky and watched as the dove winged its way upward with an eerie rustle of fluttering wings.
Melba followed the dove’s progress with tear streaming eyes until she could no longer make out its form. “Goodbye, Sam,” she whispered. “Put in a good word for me when you get there.”
She drove herself home and took off her black dress and hung it carefully in her small closet, then removed her shoes and got dressed again in one of her usual outfits. She transferred the items from her black purse into her large, heavy bag. She added her badge and her weapon and went back to work to solve Geraldo Guzman’s murder, and in the process, find the man who had gunned down Detective Sam Jackson
Detective J
ones arrived back at headquarters thirty minutes after Reightman had seated herself at her desk with a mug of fragrant tea. He stood by the side of desk for a minute, taking in the clear surface that had held Jackson’s odds and ends only the day before.
“I figured you’d appreciate not having to work around that stuff,” Reightman said as soon as she realized he didn’t know how to react. “If you’re going to be hanging here around bothering me every day, I guess you’d better have a desk you can call your own.”
“I have my own desk, or at least one I can share,” he said gruffly, trying to hide the fact he knew how hard clearing away Jackson’s things had been for her. He knew, without a doubt, that it had been Reightman who’d boxed up the items. She would’ve never allowed anyone else to remove even a single pencil or pen until she herself decided it was time.
She shrugged at his comment and took a sip of tea. “Well, if you don’t want to use it, someone else will. Eventually, I’ll be assigned a new partner.”
Jones sat down in the chair and ran his hands over the desk’s clean, uncluttered surface. “Any idea who it’ll be?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure Chief Kelly will take my recommendation into account before he makes the decision,” she said. “I kind of thought I’d ask if you might know anyone who’d be interested in moving from another unit over to homicide – even if it does mean they’d have to put up with me.”
She could see a spark of interest in his hazel eyes.
“Well, the last part’s a really hard sale,” he said, keeping his face free of expression. “I might know one guy, though. He’s a pain in the ass himself, so it might be a good fit.”
“I think I might know who you’re talking about,” Reightman said, mirroring his expression, “and he is a real pain in the ass. I hear he’s a pretty good detective though, so I could probably put up with his crap – not much mind you – but I might be able to handle just a tiny bit.” She looked over at him, sitting behind the desk which used to be Jackson’s. “Seriously, would you be interested?”