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A fist of anxiety tightened in her stomach. That same one she had felt all through childhood when she didn’t look or do exactly what was expected. She spied her mother through the beautiful wide squares of glass on the doors that led to the expansive backyard filled with flowers, trees, and bushes.
She passed a mirror, and her reflection showed her disheveled hair and pale face, like she’d seen a ghost. The terrible bruise that had upset Katie so much was visible beneath the strap of her tank top. She wore a pair of threadbare jean shorts and old leather thongs. Her mother would never be caught dead in denim or anything that resembled flip-flops.
Sara Barr, her mother, was in her early fifties but still looked like a movie star—cool, elegant, perfect California skin with an impeccable fake tan, eyes the color of dark chocolate, her long ash blonde hair looking effortlessly styled. What outward beauty God had given her, plastic surgery was preserving well. Only a hint of lines beside her eyes, none near the sharply cut mouth that was always in the most fashionable lip shade flawlessly applied. Her body was slender and hard as marble compliments of Pilates and a personal trainer.
She was in cream flats that complemented her tan linen pants and soft pink flowing top. Her attention was on a man who was setting up chairs and lounges in addition to the ones that were already neatly arranged on the patio and near the sparkling pool.
Her mother turned her head, then sharply turned back, the Ophelia double take. Ophelia suspected she was the last person her mother expected to be standing in the living room. Sara’s eyes went wide with shock as she waved the man off. With a sullen look he heaved a harassed sigh. She made a beeline for the house. Once inside, she said, “Ophelia, this is a surprise.” Her tone was anxious. Ophelia never showed up here, so when she did, her mother knew it was significant.
“Is it, Mother?” Ophelia asked. “You didn’t think Katie would come to me about your unreasonable demand. She has enough to deal with in her junior year of high school, not to mention all the dancing commitments she has. Stop pressuring her about a dress she won’t need until next year.”
“I wasn’t pressuring her.”
“Yes, you were. She needs a break, not more stress.”
“I’m only trying to be prepared.”
“You’re reacting to her being seventeen and rebelling like I did. This is your anxiety and a way to relieve it by making sure Katie commits to a dress. Stop being disappointed by my failure to live up to your expectations. She’s not me, Mom.”
“Far from it,” her mother scoffed. “Look how you’re dressed.”
Wishing to be anywhere but here as her mother made her feel ten years old again, trying to shame her, Ophelia was determined to make her promise to leave Katie alone.
“Yes, stop the presses.” She threw up her hands. “Ophelia Barr is underdressed and in jeans no less. I apologize. My Chanel was at the cleaners.”
Sara narrowed her gaze, focusing on her upper chest. Her eyes widened and she swallowed hard.
Ophelia looked down, instinctively rubbing at her bruise. “I got that in the line of duty. You know, working as an LAPD SWAT officer.”
Her mother’s lips compressed, and she brought her hand to her throat. “I’ll never understand you, Ophelia.”
Ophelia sighed and shook her head. “It’s nice to see you, too, Mom,” she said with the faintest hint of sarcasm. “Don’t worry about my well-being. I had a vest on, so I only got this black and blue souvenir and a second chance at life.”
“You could have been anything—a lawyer, joining your father’s practice, a CEO, even gone into politics, but you opted to lower your standards. Even your choice of boyfriend was flawed, but all teenaged girls lack common sense.”
“Oh, do you mean Dean Teller? Yeah, he’s back in town after retiring from the Navy as a Tier One SEAL. The elite of all the elites. That Dean Teller?”
“Doesn’t change who he was,” her mother said, her voice hushed and shocked.
“You are unbelievable.” Her mother was never going to change, not that Ophelia expected she would, but it struck her hard that if she were to get involved with Dean, deeply involved like she so desperately wanted to be, her father and mother would never accept him. The thought of Dean being shunned by her parents, denigrated—an American hero, a man who served his country, putting his life on the line for everyone, including her resentful parents—hurt her physically. How could she put him through that?
Disgusted, Ophelia turned to leave, then turned back. “Lay off Katie or she will rebel. I’ll make sure she gets the most appropriate deb dress. I promise on my tarnished deb reputation.” She started for the front door.
“Are you seeing that man?” her mother demanded, her voice dripping with disapproval.
“Yes, and we’re fucking our brains out.”
Her mother’s gasp filled her with satisfaction.
“Say hi to Dad and have a great party.”
* * *
On her way into Metro for her first day back at work since the shooting, Ophelia wasn’t quite sure why she had avoided Dean yesterday. She’d made sure to be out, denying she was avoiding him and drowning out her uncertainty with chores that had to be done before she went back to work. Maybe it was because of the terrible misery visiting her mother brought back and not wanting to dump her foul mood on him. Or maybe it was because she had hurt him so much and she was feeling too guilty to see him. She couldn’t be sure.
Driving over to Metro felt cathartic. She parked in Metro’s lot, the sight of the SWAT vehicles making her breath hitch in a good way. This was what she was part of, and she loved it. No matter how much danger she was in out in the field, what she did during her time as an LAPD SWAT member was significant.
When she walked into the locker room after changing into her uniform, Randy was in there with two members from her squad.
