and shoved my hands in my pockets so they wouldn’t cross defensively over my chest. The cop they sent just had to be him.
He turned toward me as the second pair of doors swooshed back in their tracks, swept apart as if repelled from each other. His eyes were still that peculiar gray-blue, his hair still wheat gold, where it peeked out from underneath his uniform hat. The gun belt hugged hips that were still as narrow as I remembered. Something heavy weighed down the center of my chest, and I couldn't manage a greeting.
"Gen," he said with an easy smile. His left front tooth was still slightly crooked in that charming way of his. "It's good to see you."
I tried to smile politely and couldn't. The heaviness in my chest squeezed tight. Then, I remembered why all my thoughts of him were in past tense, and the squeezing began to burn. "Hello, Officer Mansfield," I managed to say coolly.
His smile faltered. His chin dipped in an almost-nod. Yes, I was still angry - would always be angry. The charming veneer fell away like chipped varnish. "I need to take your statement, Miss Walker. If you'd please sit down," he waved me toward an empty corner of the waiting area.
So we sat across from each other in those hospital chairs - the ones that looked so deceptively inviting from afar, so padded and comfortable. They weren't. They were torture devices - padded just enough to be lumpy, just enough to twist your spine just so and give you an ache. I stared at the floor and waited.
"Please try to tell me what happened," he began, taking out his pad of paper and a pen.
I shrugged. "Not much to say. The kid's grandparents asked me to find him after he'd run away. I did. I asked him to come with me so we could talk, and he got up and ran. I chased him, and in the center of the alley he collapsed. He had some sort of seizure, I think. He was shaking real hard, at least. Ria was on the com, so she called 911 for me while I tried to keep the kid from shaking apart. That's it."
"I'll need to ask a few questions," he said. My eyes flicked toward his face and then away. I shrugged. He continued, "The boy's name is Jeremy Long. Is that correct?" I nodded. "Why did the grandparents hire you and not report his running away to the police?"
"They did report it," I said, brushing my auburn hair from my eyes, tucking it behind my ear. I stared resolutely at the cracked floor tile between his feet. "Two weeks ago. But the kid had a history of running away, and the cops just shrugged and said they'd keep an eye out for him. He usually came back after a couple of days. This time, he didn't."
I felt him nod, as if that made sense. "The grandparents are the legal guardians? Where
He turned toward me as the second pair of doors swooshed back in their tracks, swept apart as if repelled from each other. His eyes were still that peculiar gray-blue, his hair still wheat gold, where it peeked out from underneath his uniform hat. The gun belt hugged hips that were still as narrow as I remembered. Something heavy weighed down the center of my chest, and I couldn't manage a greeting.
"Gen," he said with an easy smile. His left front tooth was still slightly crooked in that charming way of his. "It's good to see you."
I tried to smile politely and couldn't. The heaviness in my chest squeezed tight. Then, I remembered why all my thoughts of him were in past tense, and the squeezing began to burn. "Hello, Officer Mansfield," I managed to say coolly.
His smile faltered. His chin dipped in an almost-nod. Yes, I was still angry - would always be angry. The charming veneer fell away like chipped varnish. "I need to take your statement, Miss Walker. If you'd please sit down," he waved me toward an empty corner of the waiting area.
So we sat across from each other in those hospital chairs - the ones that looked so deceptively inviting from afar, so padded and comfortable. They weren't. They were torture devices - padded just enough to be lumpy, just enough to twist your spine just so and give you an ache. I stared at the floor and waited.
"Please try to tell me what happened," he began, taking out his pad of paper and a pen.
I shrugged. "Not much to say. The kid's grandparents asked me to find him after he'd run away. I did. I asked him to come with me so we could talk, and he got up and ran. I chased him, and in the center of the alley he collapsed. He had some sort of seizure, I think. He was shaking real hard, at least. Ria was on the com, so she called 911 for me while I tried to keep the kid from shaking apart. That's it."
"I'll need to ask a few questions," he said. My eyes flicked toward his face and then away. I shrugged. He continued, "The boy's name is Jeremy Long. Is that correct?" I nodded. "Why did the grandparents hire you and not report his running away to the police?"
"They did report it," I said, brushing my auburn hair from my eyes, tucking it behind my ear. I stared resolutely at the cracked floor tile between his feet. "Two weeks ago. But the kid had a history of running away, and the cops just shrugged and said they'd keep an eye out for him. He usually came back after a couple of days. This time, he didn't."
I felt him nod, as if that made sense. "The grandparents are the legal guardians? Where
