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“How was your weekend?” I mutter mindlessly while taking my seat.
Jackson answers me, but I’m not paying attention to what he’s saying. The last call slip is for one of the sophomore girls who has spent more time in my office this year than any other student in the school. Because of her behavior, all of her teachers agree something is going on with her, but none of us can figure out what. It’s hard to tell what’s normal teenage angst and what’s cause for concern these days.
“Then we picked up a few hookers and some Molly. You know, just a typical weekend around these parts.” I look up from the slip of paper and blink at Jackson. “Welcome back to the conversation. I knew hookers and drugs would reel you in.”
“Sorry, I saw this student’s name and got preoccupied. When you go back to the station today, can you look into something for me?”
Jackson is our unofficial resource officer here at the school. He’s here most days and usually stays until third period. Then he checks in with my dad and the other officers at the station before going about his actual job.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Will you see if there’s any record of emergency calls or anything suspicious regarding the Baucom’s? You know, the family over on Tall Oaks?”
“What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. The daughter, Anabelle, there’s something up with her. I’m just trying to figure out what.”
Jackson pulls out his notebook and writes down the information I’ve just given him.
“I’ll text you if I find anything.”
“Thank you.”
Jackson’s phone goes off, and I watch him intently as he checks it. My eyes fall to his left arm, which is almost completely covered in colorful ink. On his bicep, almost hidden amongst the swirls of black and the scarlet wings of a phoenix, is a fine line drawing of two hands connected in a pinky promise. The artist did an amazing job of blending it in with the background. So good, in fact, that if you didn’t know to look for it, you’d never see it. But I do, because I have an identical tattoo on my hip bone. Only mine is bigger and surrounded by orchids.
For the second time today, a wave of sadness rushes over me. Jackson has been a constant in my life for such a long time. Since moving to Hawk Bend, the only time we’ve been apart is when I went to college. But even then, I was home most weekends to visit my dad and, of course, Jackson. I hate the fact that soon I won’t be seeing him every day. The familiar heaviness settles on my chest for the second time today and almost makes me doubt the decisions I’ve made.
“Want to grab dinner tonight? I’ve been craving Chinese.” Jackson places his phone into his front pocket and leans back in the chair.
“Can’t. I’m making dinner for my dad tonight. You’re more than welcome to join us. You know I always make enough to send him home with leftovers.”
“Sounds good to me. We can go out for Chinese food another night this week.”
“Ms. Monroe.” Looking up, I see a student standing in the doorway. “Sorry, the door was open, and I thought it might be rude to knock while you were talking. We have a meeting to go over my college admissions.”
“Of course, Elizabeth. I’m sorry, come in.”
The young girl shyly looks between me and Jackson before blushing a dark crimson over her cheeks and neck. “Hi, Officer Nash,” she squeaks with a small giggle.
Jackson stands up and gives the girl a smile. “College admissions, exciting stuff,” he cheers, holding up his hand up to give her a high five. She blushes an even deeper shade of red before lightly tapping her palm to his. “See you later, Rory,” he says, stepping out of my office.
* * *
From the kitchenI can hear the front door of my townhome open and close. “Aurora, it’s me,” my dad announces. I look up at the clock, early as usual.
“Back here.”
His heavy footsteps make it sound as if he’s storming through to raid the place, and I can’t help but smile. To me, that sound is comforting because it means he’s home and safe. When I was younger, there were nights I couldn’t fall asleep until I heard those big, heavy footsteps trudging through the house.
“Smells good kid.” He leans over the pot and inhales deeply. “What are you making?”
“Sancocho. I thought you could take the leftovers home. With as cold as it’s been the last couple of weeks, we could all use some hot comfort food.”
My dad opens the drawer and grabs a spoon. Dipping it into the pot, he scoops a little out and blows to cool it before placing it in his mouth. I look up at him and wait to see his reaction. This is one of my mother’s recipes, and I’ve only made it once or twice before.
“Mmm, it’s perfect. Just like your mom’s always was.” He smiles down at me.
Despite how many years it’s been since her passing, the sadness is still there behind his pale blue eyes. He rubs the heel of his palm against his chest, which he does unknowingly every time he mentions her. Dad takes a few steps away from me, braces himself against the table, and slowly sits down on the kitchen chair. He looks tired, the lines on his face more prominent than I’ve previously noticed. He brushes his hand through his thinning gray hair and clears his throat.
