Page 52 of Love Always

“That’s harsh.”

“Yeah. Just drop me at the station on the way back. I don’t know why they don’t interview her at the apartment. This is weird.”

Bryce glances at me. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Or they’re beginning to think she had something to do with it.”

΅

The Rockland Police Department is tucked around the corner and below The Lighthouse Museum. I told Bryce I’d drive back with Laurel and to just drop me. I enter through the steel double doors, check-in at the front desk, and immediately start looking for Laurel.

Though clearly a professional office, it doesn’t look like any police station I’ve ever been in. For one thing, it’s not an open floor design. There’s a lot of halls and offices and pictures and photographs of things like police carving pumpkins, awards, and some beautiful woodwork inside the building. It has the feel of a welcome center not a police station.

When I spot Carlson speaking with Laurel it’s clear, however, that though homey in feel, everyone here is a professional—including him.

She’s wearing the same outfit as this morning but with a purplish jacket hanging off the back of her chair. Her arms are crossed, her dark hair is glossy, but the color is drained from her face again. My heart aches. I don’t want her to have to go through this again, but I know it’s necessary. She’s hunched over, tight, but when she meets my gaze, she straightens and pulls her shoulders back, and cracks her neck from side to side to get the kinks out.

Carlson follows her gaze to me, stands from his chair, grabs another and places it next to her and gestures for me to sit down. The good news is he doesn’t have her in a separate interrogation room, isolated. The bad news is she still looks terrified.

She shivers as I start to sit down, so I grab the jacket and hand it to her. She slips on this older, high-waisted, plum jacket with a faux fur rimmed hood, but leaves the hood down. When she stuffs her hands into the high seated pockets, she just looks adorable. I wish I could tell her. I wish I could tell her right here, and slip my arms around her, and feel her warm mouth on mine, her breath on my face.

But I can’t. I can’t offer a simple compliment. Instead of seeing this as a character flaw on my part, I decide it’s because of the context, the setting. I promise myself to find the right moment.

“I’m just wrapping up,” says Carlson. “Right?”

She nods. Other than her first pleading glance, she hasn’t made eye contact with me and when she gets up to go to the restroom, I turn to him. He’s just finishing up notes in a computer.

“She didn’t have to look at any pictures, right?”

Carlson shakes his head. “No. Not yet anyway. I’ve got the D.A. breathing down my neck though. That gun in her car is trouble.”

“Have you seen her? It was planted.”

“The question,” he says, hitting the save button and putting both hands behind his head, “is why.”

Chapter Eleven

Laurel

I feel such a rush of relief when I see Mateus walk down the hall at the police station, but at the same time, I’m a little annoyed with myself. I had let go of needing somebody a long, long time ago, ever since Cory’s birth. Then I realized it wasn’t that I needed him there, it was that I wanted him there, and that was terrifying. I can’t figure the need versus want thing.

I’m also slightly confused as to why he’s following me out to the car. I know he wanted to talk to Detective Carlson, who I barely recognized, but I’m exhausted and sick of being exhausted. Bryce, it turns out, dropped him off and he’s driving home with me.

I’m stiff and sore and I walk to the car like an old lady. Then I think of how he walks every day and immediately feel guilty.

“I’ll drive,” he says with such authority it doesn’t even occur to me to argue. Then the situation hits me: he is going to drive me home. This means I either have to change the appointment to meet with Ms. Kram or cancel all together or have Mateus wait in the car. The first two options don’t seem very mature but making him wait in the car for God knows how long is presumptuous on my part.

I decide to just fess up. “I didn’t know you were coming with me. I have to stop by the school again and meet with Cory’s teacher. And the principal.”

“Tell me where to go,” he says and spreads his hands wide on the steering wheel.

I point us out into traffic.

Rockland’s a working harbor, with ferries to Vinalhaven, Matinicus and North Haven, a fish wholesaler, several fish retailers, lots of shops and an art museum. I have him continue on Route 1 down through Thomaston and turn into a small, clapboard white schoolhouse.

“This won’t take long, at least I hope it doesn’t,” I say and slam the car door. I can tell part of him wants to follow me. It’s in his training, I’m sure, but this is not his business. It’s why I can’t have other people in my life right now.

As I step up onto the sidewalk, the Lexus window slides down.