Castillo Linda - Outsider

I’d seen my family just once since leaving Painters Mill, and though my life was full and I’d made a slew of new friends, I was secretly lonely. I didn’t talk about it, didn’t tell a soul, in fact. But I missed my family with a desperation I’d never known. Though I was doing exactly what I wanted to do, fulfilling dreams that had seemed out of reach for so long, my parents and two siblings were still the center of my universe.

Some days I felt as if the world was spinning too fast, not always in the right direction, and no matter how hard I tried, I’d never be able to keep up. Late at night, when I was sleepless and reflective, the loneliness a bottomless ache, I acknowledged that I had failed my parents. I was afraid I’d never see my brother, Jacob, or my sister, Sarah, ever again. I’d committed a serious transgression in the eyes of the Lord, and there was no question in my mind He had abandoned me. While those dark moments were usually pretty short-lived, they were part of the Kate Burkholder I had become.

Because Gina and I were rookies with no seniority, we were assigned the graveyard shift, which runs from midnight to eight A.M. I worked in the Patrol North Subdivision, Zone 1, which basically covered the north part of the city. Gina was assigned the Patrol South Subdivision, Zone 5, which encompassed the central part of the city, including the downtown area. Graveyard shift was tough, not only because of the odd hours and resultant sleep deprivation, but because it was also a busy shift in terms of calls and incidents, especially after the drinking establishments close. While there were fewer people on the street overnight, the ones who were awake during those wee hours were oftentimes up to no good.

After a few tumultuous and stressful months of settling into our new routines and getting a feel for police work, Gina and I started meeting for breakfast on occasion, taking an hour or so to wind down before calling it a day and heading back to the apartment to sleep. One rainy spring morning, we met for coffee at an all-night diner called The Spoon, which was located in the zone Gina patrolled. As usual we were tired, glad to be off duty, and still in uniform.

I wore that uniform with a great sense of pride in those early days; I still do. But back then, it was a big deal. When I walked into a public place and felt the eyes on me, my chest swelled. That morning was no different.

The Spoon was like a dozen other flagging mom-and-pop diners in the downtown area. It had changed hands several times over the years, never quite reclaiming the grace or success of its heyday. The redbrick building was built in the 1920s and wore every decade like a scar. The interior was narrow with dirty windows facing the street, red Naugahyde booths replete with the occasional bulge of stuffing, and a Formica-topped bar that ran the length of the room. The aromas of frying bacon, coffee, and toast caressed my senses with the promise of comfort food and the company of a friend who’d become more like a sister in the last three years.

I felt the eyes on me as I made my way toward the rear booth where Gina and I usually sat. I smiled at the uniform-clad waitress, who all but snarled back. I was used to that, too, and I’d learned to take it in stride. I found Gina sitting at our booth, coffee cup and saucer in front of her. She looked up as I approached. I took in the mussed hair, the stain on the sleeve of her uniform, a red scrape on her chin, and the frazzled persona.

“Rough night?” I ask.

“Nothing an omelet and toast won’t cure. I’m starving.”

I slid into the booth opposite her and set my hat on the seat next to me. “You involved in that hit-skip over in Franklinton?”

“That guy ran like a damn cheetah and then proceeded to maul me.”

I told her about an unusual traffic stop involving chickens and a house cat, a situation that turned out to be more humorous than serious. But this morning, Gina didn’t laugh. She seemed agitated, looking around with impatience, giving me only a fraction of her attention.

“You’re distracted,” I said.

“Waitress is slow.”

“Probably just busy.”

“Yeah, well, she can be busy on someone else’s time,” she told me. “I gotta get back to work.”

“You working a double?” I asked, trying not to let my disappointment show.

“I’ve only got about twenty minutes.”

It wasn’t unusual for us to put in extra hours or even a double shift for the overtime pay. I was in the process of checking messages on my cell when the waitress hustled up to our table, pad in hand. The name tag fastened to the collar of her uniform told us her name was Cheryl.

“You girls ready to order?” she asked.

“Cheese omelet and toast,” Gina told her.

I ordered pancakes. “And coffee.”

“You got it.” Her hand flew across her order pad. “You can pay at the register when you’re ready.” The waitress motioned absently toward a small electronic register.

Gina passed her the menu she’d been looking at. The waitress started to take it, but Gina didn’t relinquish it and the two women made eye contact. “Cops who get free food have faster response times.”

I spat out a laugh before realizing the smile on Gina’s face wasn’t sincere. The waitress wasn’t smiling, either. I nudged Gina with my boot beneath the table, but she didn’t look at me, didn’t take her eyes off the waitress.

“Just kidding,” Gina said after a moment.

The waitress’s eyes swept from Gina to me and back to Gina. “Your food’ll be out in just a minute.”

When I asked Gina about the incident later, she said she’d been kidding. The comment was some ongoing joke between her and the waitress. That was the first time she lied to me, but it wasn’t the last.

After Gina left for her shift, I went to pay for our meals. The young hostess at the cash register told me my money was no good at The Spoon. “All cops get their meals for free here,” she said.

CHAPTER 15

The snow stops at noon. Sunshine slashes down between cumulus clouds the color of a bruise, reflecting off the snow with an intensity that blinds. The outside world has been transformed. Everything glitters with the brilliance of a diamond sheen. Drifts are piled six feet high in places. The north wind scours the surface, moving layers of undulating crystal sand. It’s a stunning scene, but with the windchill hovering somewhere around thirty below, I don’t think the sun is going to do much in terms of melting.

Kids making lunch is not a silent ordeal, even when said children are Amish. I’m restless from being cooped up, and cold because the three wood and propane stoves are ill equipped to heat a farmhouse this size. I’m also tired, because I spent most of the night sleepless, trying to work through a situation that simply doesn’t have a good resolution no matter how many times I rearrange all the pieces. My past relationship with Gina, both good and bad, is ever present, all of it tainted by the knowledge that she is guilty of serious wrongdoing—and I face a slew of difficult decisions in the coming days.

I’m curled on the sofa, cell in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other when I become aware of a presence. I look up to see Sammy standing a few feet away, watching me tap the screen as if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever witnessed.

“ Guder nammidaag, ” I tell him. Good afternoon.

“What are you doing, Chief Katie?”

“Checking my email.”

He makes a face that tells me he’s never heard the term before. “You mean there’s a letter in your phone?”

“Lots of them.”

“Can I see?”

“No.” I soften the blow with a smile.

He grins back. He’s got a smear of peanut butter at the corner of his mouth. Bread crumbs on the front of his shirt. Cheeks chapped from being out in the cold. In that moment he looks so much like Adam when he was a youngster, I feel a little piece of my heart melt.