Home Sweet Home Ch. 03

Tilly woke up in the morning, and found Riley working in his office. It didn't appear he had gone to sleep the previous night. Riley was wearing the same clothing, and his hair which usually held a fresh sheen was dull from lack of a shower. Instead of looking ragged, Riley paradoxically looked the most energized she had seen him in their short relationship.

Riley had been awake all night but was not tired. His creative constipation had passed, allowing that creative energy to flow without obstruction. The desk space surrounding the keyboard was covered in microwavable food containers and a napkin stained with coffee from the mug resting on it.

Tilly wanted to give him a morning greeting but decided not to unintentionally destroy his train of thought. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot and spit the coffee back into the cup. It tasted like he had rerun water through the same grounds more than once.

"Good morning," Riley said from behind her, and she instinctually stepped out of his way, but accidently stepped into him. "Sorry."

"Getting work done?" Tilly asked.

"One hundred and eleven pages, still going," Riley said as he refilled his cup. He placed a stack of papers next to the coffee pot. He took a large gulp, then poured the same amount back in. Tilly was deeply shocked at his low standard for caffeinated beverages.

"You were working when I got home, have you been going at it all night?" Tilly asked.

"When it hits you, it hits you," Riley replied, and prepared another instant meal.

"I can cook you something. Call it part of my rent," Tilly offered, but Riley politely declined. "When was the last time you cooked?"

"Long time ago. My wife didn't cook, and I never learned. Old habits from my sixteen-hour workdays as a welder. Never had the time," Riley explained. He started the timer on the microwave and watched his meal do circles for a moment.

It was mildly amusing to Tilly how often he brought up the fact he was once a welder. As if he felt a need to keep himself grounded, and not let his success get to his head. A badge he wore to let people know he was still at his core, a struggling tradesman.

"You have time now. Of course, when you're done doing your thing, I'm not saying what you're doing right now is nothing..." Tilly stammered, catching her tone and trying to walk back her initial comment.

"I make shit up for a living, no offense taken," Riley said with a grin, and she slowly smiled back. He turned around and canceled the meal. "How do I not mess up hard-boiled eggs. Let's start super basic."

"Let's start with coffee. What in the holy hell is this?" Tilly asked, holding her cup to his eyelevel.

"You too?" Riley asked.

"So, you've been told already?" Tilly asked playfully.

Riley quietly admired how well she was handling recent events. He knew what she was displaying to him, was not how she truly felt emotionally. Howie was a little guy, but his absence turned the house into a void. Riley knew moods were contagious, and they were feeding off the other's positive energy.

"Back off my coffee, and let's focus on some eggs," Riley said.

Tilly ensured a clear, and clean, preparation space for all the ingredients. She stated this will always be the first step of any recipe.

"Keep your station clear. Have all your ingredients and tools ready to go. This prevents accidents, burns, cuts, and generally fumbling around for stuff," Tilly said as she put the ingredients and tools in their proper places. She then opened the fridge and looked at the two cartons of eggs and picked the one with the closest expiration date.

"Fresh eggs? Or not as fresh eggs?" Tilly asked. Riley didn't believe there was a wrong answer, but her tone expressed that there was.

"Fresh?" Riley asked.

"Nope. For hard-boiled eggs, you want eggs that are not as fresh. There is a thin membrane attached to the shell, which has an air pocket toward the bottom. This pocket expands as the egg ages. The wider that pocket, the easier it will be to peel the egg after it is boiled."

"I did not know that," Riley said.

"Eggs are set. Pour the water in the pot and put the eggs in before you put on the heat. Now we let it get to the boil, uncovered," Tilly said, pointing at him with her index finger to stress the parts she felt were the most important. She pointed as she said 'before' and 'uncovered'.

While they waited for the water, the kitchen became quiet. Neither was sure how to fill the gap of silence. Riley wanted to discuss recent events, especially her court hearing, but he felt that would harm the current atmosphere. His reluctance to start that conversation washed over his face, and she sensed it.

"We can talk about it," Tilly said, and Riley slowly nodded. "I'm okay. Promise. One step at a time. I need to play by the rules and get Howie back the right way."

"When is your hearing?" Riley asked.

"Two days. The lawyer said she'll argue for family reunification, but not to get my hopes up that it will happen that fast. Someone will examine the house for living conditions, all the rest, and I'll agree to take a court mandated parenting class. She said I may even be able to get my community service time shortened because it's an undue hardship. I'll get a supervised visit next week. Step one is finding employment. I'm meeting with Mr. Hartman later today at the restaurant."

Riley was happy to hear that Tilly had paid attention to what the lawyer advised her to do. Tilly appeared to have accepted her circumstance, and was now making the hard, but necessary, decisions to move forward. It was progress.

"Good to hear," Riley said, and the water began to boil. "Now what?"

"Take the pot off the heat, and cover for fifteen minutes," Tilly said, and did what she had just explained. "Do not lift that lid."

"Got it," Riley said with a smile.

A knock came from the door, and they both turned their bodies toward the sound. Riley moved first, and Tilly started a timer for the eggs. Looking through the peephole, Riley saw it was who he expected, and let her in.

"You said you got some work done finally?" the woman said as she stepped into the house.

"I did, making breakfast right now. Coffee?" Riley asked.

"Don't do it. It's a trap," Tilly teased from the kitchen.

The woman looked older than Riley, but not significantly. Late forties at most. Her light-brown hair was curled into ribbons that bobbed like springs as she walked. She dressed like a professional going to a board meeting in a charcoal suit with silver jewelry. Her gray eyes always made direct, but soft, contact with whomever she was addressing. Completing the look was her cellphone superglued to her hand. Riley was not her only client. Just her favorite.

"Hello," the woman said with a small wave at Tilly. "Debra. Debbie."

"Tilly," she replied, but neither closed the distance to shake hands. "Friend of Riley's?"

"She's my agent," Riley said. He walked into the kitchen and picked up his coffee mug. "I told her last night I was working again."

"When he says that, I know it's good. He goes through these cycles of creative constipation, but eventually shits out a best seller," Debbie said without changing her expression. "Did you print it?"

"What I have so far. It's not the book yet," Riley said. He picked up the stack of papers next to the coffee pot and extended them out to Debbie.

"You did this in one night? You're a messy writer too. Trey has a long day ahead of him," Debbie said, reading the first page a little, then looking up at Tilly. "Trey is my editor. Riley's editor, I just pay him."

"Couldn't email it to him?" Tilly asked?

"Trey is old school. He prefers a hard copy manuscript," Riley explained. Tilly wanted to ask why the man couldn't print it himself but decided not to.

Debbie turned her eyes to him and asked, "How much longer is it going to be?"

"I'll hit a speed bump, I always do, but I think I got another two hundred pages before I hit it," Riley said, Debbie nodding in acceptance.

"After a year of nothing, I'll take it," Debbie said and checked her phone, then looked back up to him. "Hate to snatch and run, but I gotta go. Let me know when you get more. Do you want notes early or when you're done?"

"When I'm done. We'll bend the kinks back after the first draft," Riley said. Notes in the middle of his work tended to derail his momentum.

"I'll be waiting for them," Debbie said, and then looked at Tilly. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too," Tilly said politely, and Debbie saw herself out.

Riley and Tilly made conversation while they waited for the eggs to finish. When three minutes were left, she prepared a bowl of ice water, and when the timer finished, she scooped the eggs out and put them in the bowl. She explained it was to stop the eggs from continuing to cook.

"You ever have a hard-boiled egg smell like sulfur?" Tilly asked, and Riley nodded. "It means it was overcooked. Still edible, but not quite the same. Kind of like your coffee."

"Lay off my coffee," Riley said.

Tilly waited a few minutes before drying the eggs with a cloth, then handed the first completed egg to Riley. It peeled easily. He took a bite and enjoyed the yoke that was perfectly yellow and fully cooked.

"Seriously, this is probably the best egg I've ever had," Riley said, and was not just being nice. "Thanks."

"That concludes today's lesson," Tilly said. She pulled her phone from her back pocket, then returned it after a brief check. "I need to start getting ready."

"Do what you gotta do," Riley said. He took a second egg and coffee mug into his office. Before he sat down, he saw the mess around his computer, and remembered the first lesson. "Keep your station clear."

--

Years had passed since the last time Diana remembered preparing to leave work early. Her schedule typically saw her leaving the office at six in the evening. Today, she was completing a few emails and leaving the rest for tomorrow morning. Tonight, she had a date. It had been years since she went on one of those too.

Staff Sergeant Gerald Hopper leaned into her office. He softly tapped on her door while standing at the threshold. His face didn't mask his surprise to see her in the process of clocking out.

"Going somewhere?" Gerald asked.

"I am," she said. Diana shut down her computer, stood up from her chair, then tucked the chair under the desk. "I have a date tonight."

"Look at you. Still got it," Gerald said with a chuckle that dissipated when he remembered why he was at her door. "I'd hate to keep you. If it weren't so important, I'd give it to you tomorrow."

Diana noticed he had a file tucked under his arm. She recognized the cover as being from the county Public Accountability Office. Ferry Grove Police Department does not investigate their own people for obvious conflict of interest concerns. The only investigation she was aware of, regarded the incident with Riley Blake.

"How bad?" Diana asked, and Gerald stepped into her office and held the file out to her.

"Joey's story isn't adding up," Gerald said, and Diana placed the file on her desk to open it. "He'll be here in about twenty minutes with Matthews. Should give you enough time to read over the findings of the investigation."

Diana read the conclusions of the investigation in ten minutes. She needed the additional ten to bottle her anger into something productive before Officer Joey Ballard arrived with his supervisor. When they arrived, she instructed them to close the door.

Joey started to take a seat, but Diana firmly stated she never told him to sit, and to continue standing.

"Officer Ballard. The investigation from that night is back. You got anything you want to say before we start?" Diana asked, giving him the rope to hang himself with. He chose to wrap it around his neck and jump.

"I don't," Joey said.

"Chief," Mathews corrected, and Joey's face formed an expression that set Diana off.

"I'm sorry Officer Ballard, but does your supervisor reminding you how the chain of command works piss you off?" Diana asked, and Joey remained silent.

Diana walked around her desk and leaned against the front of it. There was nothing but air between the two of them now. Only a few steps and a thousand-yard stare.

"You see this face?" Diana asked while pointing with one finger to herself. Joey didn't respond. "The last time we spoke, you lied to this face."

"I was as forthcoming as I was capable of being," Joey said.

"Chief," Mathews said, his voice more intense than the first time.

"Chief," Joey said, his attitude too close to insubordination for his leadership to tolerate.

"You were on thin ice before you walked into this room Officer, tread carefully," Diana said, and watched Joey's breathing elevate.

"When I asked you if you had any reason to suspect the man was the owner of the house, you said no. Did you forget your body cam was on? You asked him, yourself, if he was the one who called you," Diana said, and Joey's lips pursed for a moment.

"I forgot. Chief," Joey said.

"Did you also forget to tell the investigator you knew the woman?" Diana asked, and Joey looked away, then slowly tilted his head back to her.

"I went to high school with her, that doesn't mean I knew her. Chief," Joey explained.

"I would fully agree that would make you more likely to believe her side. Someone you know as a resident, and someone you don't know. I get that. But you knew the house wasn't her house," Diana said.

"I couldn't know that Chief."

"Really? You put in a bid for the house during the probate auction," Diana said, reaching behind her and picking up the court documents his lawyer submitted to the judge about the house. "You knew the Aberdeen family was dead because you were trying to buy the house. Under market value, I can understand that, but that's not what we're talking about. You knew the probate auction happened because their daughter never claimed it. You knew the man owned the house. You fucking knew."

"I didn't know who bought it," Joey said, and paused before adding, "Chief."

"You knew it wasn't her Officer. You unlawfully arrested a man because you were pissed, he bought the house you wanted," Diana said, and Joey looked down, and kept his head there. "Pick your head up Officer."

Joey lifted his head up, and his face showed no attempt to evade his guilt.

"Joey, what the fuck?" Diana said, deciding to relax the tone by using his first name. "You lied to the people in this room. Over something petty. You abused your authority."

Joey said nothing in his defense, and stood silently, waiting for something worse to hit him.

"I'd suspend you for a few months without pay, but you got two kids and a pregnant wife. Punishments should not cause your family to suffer too, so I'm not going to do that. But you fucked up, and you need to feel it."

"Yes Chief," Joey said, resisting the urge to look away, or to thank her for taking his family situation into consideration.

"Sergeant, does the county circuit DMV office still need an officer?" Diana asked, and Mathews said they did. "Three months DMV, and a formal apology to Mr. Blake."

"Understood Chief," Joey said, and Diana dismissed just Joey who followed the order to shut the door behind him.

Mathews was told he could sit, but he chose to remain standing.

"Doesn't the DMV duty get ten extra an hour?" Mathews asked.

"You want that job?" Diana joked.

"Fuck no," Mathews replied.

"He was an asshole to someone. Now he gets to spend three months forced to grin and bear people being an asshole to him," Diana said as she retrieved her hat from between the picture frames behind her desk.

"Interesting punishment. I hope he understands how lenient that was," Mathews said, and watched her walk around her desk and toward the door.

"He will. Maybe not today, but he will in a few years. Maybe he gets a supervisor position in the future. He'll know how lucky he got when he's in the position to dole out the punishments. It's not about playing whack-a-mole, because the problems always come back. I want him to learn, but not be bitter," Diana explained and opened her door to leave. Mathew walked out ahead of her, and she closed the door after stepping out.

Mathews was loyal to Diana to a fault, but she still found ways to further impress him. A lesser leader would have taken his pay without a moment to consider the second and third order effects of that punishment. Her punishment was balanced, made sense within the context of his offense, didn't harm his family, and even put a few extra bucks in his paycheck to support his incoming baby. Mathews knew she only had a few minutes to come up with it.

"I got a date to get to," Diana announced as she marched down the hall with him.

"Who's the poor fuck who asked you?" Mathews jested.

"The guy that Joey's dumbass arrested."

--

Riley stepped out of his bedroom dressed in blue jeans with a wrinkled baby blue button up shirt tucked in with a black belt. His shoes were nice, and unblemished because he rarely wore them. The only time he wore the dress shoes was when he was going to a meeting with the publisher. Considering he hadn't published in over a year, they were still shiny as if they just came out of the box.

"Going out. Don't know when I'll be back," Riley said to Tilly who he heard in the kitchen. Her day with Mr. Hartman went well, and it turned out one of the line cooks had to take the position of sous-chef. The former one had been offered head chef at a restaurant in Chicago. She would spend next week learning how the kitchen was run to test her compatibility with the staff.

"Okay, have fun," Tilly said, and stepped out of the kitchen. "You are not wearing that shirt on a date."

"What?" Riley asked, looking at himself. "Wrong color?"

"I like the color, but it's wrinkled," Tilly said, and Riley sighed, finding it a rather silly thing to address. "It matters. You show up wearing a wrinkled shirt and she wonders what else you don't care about."

"Oh, come on," Riley said.

"Dead serious. Women notice that stuff. Do you have ten minutes?" she asked, and Riley checked his watch. Diana did send him a text message to let him know she might be a little late herself.

"I got time. Why?" Riley asked.

Tilly jogged across the bottom floor and hastily went upstairs. Riley heard doors opening and shutting, and then the sounds of her coming downstairs again. She was carefully maneuvering an ironing board while clasping the iron with her fingers. Placing the iron on the counter, she unfolded the ironing board and asked for his shirt.

"Really?" Riley asked.

"You're worse than my brother was, hand it over," she said. Riley groaned, but still complied. "Would you walk into a board meeting with your publisher wearing a wrinkled shirt?"

"I get it. No," Riley said as she turned on the iron to let it heat up. She double checked the tag to check the material, then reset the knob to the correct temperature setting. "I can do it."

"Do you know how?" Tilly asked.

"Press hot thing on somewhat moist shirt, repeat," Riley said and stepped to the iron. The iron was ready, and he started in a manner than immediately annoyed Tilly.

"Wow, holy shit. How old are you again?" Tilly said with a giggle.

"Thirty-seven. Old," Riley said, and she told him to stop. "What now?"

'Collar, cuffs, sleeves, buttons, back, front," Tilly chanted, and then took over, much to his irritation and relief.

Tilly explained as she ironed, and in about five minutes, handed it back to him. Riley looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't want to admit he looked much better than he did five minutes ago. The small details aren't that small.

"Now you look presentable," Tilly said as she folded the iron board up and leaned it against the wall.