he could recite the list from memory. Anything he ate would sit in his stomach like a hunk of granite, but the sooner he shoved it down, the sooner he could go home and wrestle in private with the memories tonight’s events had unearthed.
“What will it be?” Dion asked.
Jamie turned to find Sarah standing right behind him, the starched white apron of her pink cliché uniform nearly brushing his chair. She shot a quick glance toward the front door, as she often did, and then set a cup and saucer to his right.
“Decaf?” she asked, already tipping the carafe.
“Never know. He might be in the mood for orange soda tonight,” Vinnie quipped.
“Oh.” She stopped mid pour and cleared her throat. “Sorry.”
“Don’t pay attention to him. Decaf’s fine.” In fact, decaf was the only choice for his insomnia.
“You guys.” She tipped the carafe again. “You ready to order?”
“Oh. Right.” He chose the same hamburger he ordered at least once a week.
She jotted down the information on the pad inside her black binder, and then she disappeared into the kitchen behind the swinging door.
Suddenly, Jamie wished Sarah, or any of them, had seen through his act as he’d pretended that that nothing was out of the ordinary tonight. It didn’t seem right that a human life could have been snuffed out a few hours before and their days would just rumble forward as if nothing had happened. Just another Western burger, medium-well. Another round of coffee refills and jokes they’d all heard before. As if that life had never mattered at all.
“What did you think about that rain?” Trevor Cole asked from the seat to his left.
Jamie rested his forearms on the table edge. “A little early for swimming.”
“Right about that,” Trevor said. “Lucky it wasn’t snowing like it did last week. It’s going to be a while before I take my boat out on Kent Lake.”
“At least you’ve got a boat.”
“As much work as old Esmerelda is, I think she’s got me rather than the other way around.” But then Trevor leaned close and spoke to Jamie in a low, stiff voice. “You doing okay? Because if you need someone to talk—”
“I’m good,” Jamie whispered. A white lie wasn’t so bad when they both needed for him to say it.
Vinnie reached over to poke Trevor’s shoulder. “You mean Esmerelda’s still floating?”
Jamie tried to settle back in his chair. At least they were talking about inane things like Trevor’s boat and the big-top theme for Ben and Delia’s nursery. The regular stuff of life instead of the tragic consequences of unfortunate decisions and mental distress that played equal roles in their working lives.
“There’s some speedy service for you,” Vinnie said, as Sarah returned to the table, carrying a tray laden with plates.
“Hope you know we won’t be waiting for you to eat.” Nick stuffed a French fry in his mouth.
“No. Go ahead. Eat while it’s hot.”
Vinnie took a big bite of his hamburger and then spoke with a full mouth. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
Jamie laced his fingers together and rested his wrists on the table. At least no one was watching him now. He’d only assumed that the others would make a big deal out of his investigation tonight. Most of them didn’t even know about Mark’s suicide. Didn’t know about the guilt Jamie carried over the things a big brother should have noticed but hadn’t.
No, he couldn’t think about that. Not when his senses were still filled with the pungent scents of a discharged weapon and blood, and the dark images of a crime scene. Not when he needed his coworkers to see that he could shake this off. Needed to believe it himself.
Sarah appeared again, with Ted, one of the owners, trailing behind her. Both carried trays full of food. The other officers ate their meals, their conversations ending or limited to those seated closest to them.
In the cacophony of plates scratching, silverware clinking and ice cubes tinkling, Jamie let his thoughts slip back to that night’s grisly discovery. Then further. Even nine years later, he couldn’t think of his funny, smiling brother without seeing Mark’s lifeless body dangling in the garage.
Regret, the kind that only someone who has known true loss could understand, covered him, filling every crevice with emptiness, hopelessness and damnation. He’d tried to stop reliving the day of Mark’s death, but that night’s events had cued up the scene again.
“I got this out here as soon as I could.”
The soft, feminine voice from behind him startled him from his daze.
Sarah held another tray and indicated the other diners with a shift of her head. “They’re nearly finished.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
He wished he had something clever to say, but as usual, he came up empty. Dion beat him to it.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready for dessert,” Dion announced. “What kind of pies have you been baking today, Miss Sarah?”
“A bit of chocolate heaven or blueberry rapture?” Vinnie suggested hopefully.
Jamie didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that Sarah’s face would be as pink as her uniform. She seemed so uncomfortable whenever anyone mentioned her baking. He wished Ted hadn’t let them in on the secret that she was responsible for all the new pies, cakes and breads on the menu.
She cleared her throat. “We have eclair cake with chocolate ganache and just one piece left of the lemon cake with whipped frosting and—”
“Stop right there,” Nick interrupted. “Sold. Both.”
She bent her head to jot a note. “And for pies, we have apple amaretto, strawberry rhubarb and lemon meringue.”
Several of Jamie’s colleagues placed orders, and a few declined in defense of their waistlines. When she reached him, he shook his head. “I shouldn’t.”
“No, you should,” Trevor said. “Give him his favorite. The apple. On my ticket.”
Jamie didn’t bother arguing. It would be too obvious if he turned down free pie. Even if his slice was Trevor’s second clumsy attempt to comfort him.
“Sorry. I owed him,” Trevor said, as Sarah returned to the kitchen. “And no, I don’t owe any of the rest of you anything.”
When the waitress rested the dessert plate next to his barely touched burger, Jamie could only stare. Whoever had cut the pies must have flunked division in math because that slice made all the other pieces look like slivers. Had Sarah picked up on Trevor’s pity-pie ploy and decided to stuff Jamie in sympathy? He glanced right and left, but the others were too busy inhaling their own desserts to notice his.
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