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The woman had seemed to sense Sheila's deep-rooted sorrow—a sorrow that stemmed from losing Natalie. A wave of emotion washed over her, and for a moment, she felt like she was drowning in her grief.
Her eyes flickered to a nearby convenience store, its neon sign beckoning like a siren call. It would be so easy to walk in, buy a drink, and numb the pain that threatened to consume her. She shook her head, trying to banish the thought, but the temptation lingered like a stubborn itch.
It was a warm, mostly sunny morning. Puffy white clouds dotted the sky, and seagulls drifted lazily through the air. It should have been a peaceful scene, but Sheila found no solace in it.
As she debated whether or not to give in to her desire for a drink, a knock on her car window startled her. She glanced up to see Finn standing there, his expression concerned. He looked disheveled, his copper hair tousled and dark circles under his blue eyes. His black jacket hung open, revealing the badge on his belt.
Sheila rolled down her window.
"Hey, Sheila," he said. "I was just on my way in when I noticed you sitting here. Everything alright?"
"Fine," Sheila lied, attempting to divert Finn's attention from her emotional state. "I found something interesting at the palm reading earlier." She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "I got a list of names—palm readers in the area. I think we should investigate them."
Finn's gaze lingered on her face for a few seconds before he took the list from her. His eyes scanned the names thoughtfully. "I wasn't really asking about the investigation, you know," he said gently, looking back up at her. "I wanted to know how the palm reading affected you personally."
Before Sheila could respond, a pair of police officers walked by, their laughter ringing through the air like a bell. "Man, did you see the look on that perp's face?" one of the officers guffawed, slapping his partner on the back. "He must have thought he was in some action movie!"
"Yep, it was priceless!" his partner agreed, shaking his head in amusement.
The sound of their laughter seemed to mock Sheila's inner turmoil, making her feel even more isolated and vulnerable.
She took a deep breath, drawing in the courage to be vulnerable with Finn. The laughter of the other officers faded into the background, leaving only the two of them.
"I'm not doing all that great, okay?" she said, avoiding Finn's eyes. "I had a really unsettling nightmare about Natalie last night, and the palm reading didn't help. All I can think about is how much I want a drink right now." She looked down at her shoes, feeling the weight of her confession settle over her. "I've had a problem with alcohol since Natalie's death."
Finn nodded, his expression one of understanding rather than judgment. "I know you've struggled with it," he said gently, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
Sheila looked up at him in surprise. "How do you know?"
"Because I'm a recovering alcoholic myself," he replied. "I know the signs. I've seen the way your hands shake when you're stressed, the smell of alcohol on your breath some mornings, the dark circles under your eyes that aren't just from working too hard." He paused, giving her a small, sad smile. "You're not as good at hiding it as you think you are."
Her heart sank, embarrassment and fear twisting together in her gut. If Finn knew, who else did? Would her secret cost her this job—this chance at redemption?
"Listen, Sheila," Finn continued. "We all have our demons. But we don't have to face them alone. Let me help you, okay?"
She met his gaze, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, and felt a glimmer of hope flicker to life within her. Maybe, just maybe, she could trust him.
"I have something that might help," he said, "something that always works for me when I crave a drink." He gestured toward the precinct. "Come on, let's get inside."
Sheila hesitated but decided to trust him. They exited the car and made their way into the bustling Coldwater County Sheriff's Department. The chaos seemed to mirror her own internal turmoil. Officers rushed about, answering phones, typing at keyboards, and discussing cases with furrowed brows.
"Stone!" a cheerful voice called out. Sheila turned to see a fellow officer walking toward her, a smile on his face. "How was your first day on the job?"
She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, keenly aware of her disheveled appearance and the raw emotions roiling beneath the surface. She opened her mouth to respond, but Finn stepped in.
"Sorry, we're in a bit of a hurry right now," he said, his tone polite but firm. "We'll catch up later, all right?" The officer nodded, looking slightly disappointed, before continuing on his way.
"Thanks," Sheila murmured, grateful for Finn's intervention.
"No problem," he replied, guiding her through the busy precinct. They passed rows of desks cluttered with paperwork and evidence bags before reaching a smaller, quieter office tucked away near the back.
The quiet office felt like a sanctuary to Sheila. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with case files and law enforcement manuals, while a single window allowed sunlight to filter in, casting soft shadows across the worn wooden desk and chairs. It was a stark contrast to the bustling precinct outside, where officers hurried to and fro, their voices a constant hum of activity.
"Stay here," Finn said gently, his eyes full of understanding. "I'll be back in a minute."
Sheila nodded, feeling like a wreck as he left the room. Her heart was heavy with the weight of her grief for Natalie, mixed with the embarrassment of Finn seeing her so vulnerable. She sank into one of the chairs, fighting back tears and wondering if she had the strength to carry on.
As her thoughts threatened to pull her under, the door opened, and Finn returned, holding a steaming bowl of soup. It was a simple, hearty concoction; chunks of tender vegetables and meat mingling with aromatic herbs and broth. The sight of it brought a small, grateful smile to her lips.
