Today, I'm going to the station to meet Caleb on his lunch break so he can help me shop for Brett’s Christmas present. I'm buying him size fifteen bowling shoes. Every time we hit the lanes he always limps for days afterward. They don't offer rental shoes that big so he crams his feet in a size too small. Caleb agreed to help me pick them out. At least this way if he hates them, I can blame it on Caleb.
"Hey, baby girl." I hear Caleb say as walk into the front of the police station.
He’s sitting on the desk flirting with the sixty year old receptionist. I look around equally hoping to catch a glimpse and trying to avoid Brett. I'd love to see him in his work element, but I don't want him to know I'm going shopping with his best friend.
"You can relax, he's not here."
"Oh, um...okay," I say disappointed. "You ready to go?"
"Yeah come on back, I need to grab my jacket." He leads me around a surprisingly quiet police station.
He stops on one side of two desks pushed together. "Give me just a minute, I need to send out this email and close out my computer." He nods to the desk facing his, "That one is Brett's. Have a seat."
I slowly walk over trying not to look too eager, but inside I'm dying to see what pictures are inside the two frames propped on his desk. I feel a rush of relief when neither of them are of Sarah. One is a family photo of a herd of beautiful people. Caleb wasn't wrong, that is a good gene pool. The other is a picture of him with his parents at his graduation from the police academy. God, he looks so young, but he's way better looking now. He's filled out and looks more like a man than the boy in the picture.
I sit in his chair and study his workspace. He's a pretty neat guy. His apartment isn't immaculate, but it's always tidy. His desk is no different. All the papers are in stacked baskets, pens all stored in a Chicago Bears mug, and his paper clips cling to a magnet next to his keyboard. I want to open all his draws and get a closer look at this professional side of Brett Sharp, but I'm relatively sure digging through a detective’s desk is frowned upon in the eyes of the law.
Out of the corner of my eye, something under his keyboard catches my attention. I can tell it’s the edge of a photo and my heart drops. Ah, this must be where he hides the picture of Sarah I so feared he would have. Unable to stop myself, I reach forward uncovering it.
My breath hitches with what's revealed. If finding the picture hadn't already stolen my breath, the beautiful image in front of me would. It's a picture of us at the police ball. I have no idea who took this. It's not posed. It's just us standing talking. I'm staring up at him, and he must be saying something dirty because my cheeks are flushed-his thumb caressing the red. He's wearing a sexy smirk, and my face is glowing. I don't remember standing there with him, but I can feel a rush of the million emotions captured with one click of a camera.
The corner of the picture is slightly worn where someone frequently handles it. It may have been hidden, but it's obvious he looks at it often. I get an idea and quickly slide it into my purse.
"You okay, Jess?" Caleb draws my attention away from grand-theft-photo.
"Yeah, I'm great. Why do you ask?" I try to be smooth.
"Because I just watched you steal Brett's prize possession."
"I...I just..." I stumble over my words.
"It's okay, baby girl. I don't blame you. It's a really good picture. We'll get some copies made while we're out. He'll lose his shit if that thing's missing for more than thirty seconds. I'll put it back for you later."
"Thank you," I rush out a breath.
"Let's go, we have some ugly non-scuffing shoes to buy!" he mocks excitement, and I punch him in the shoulder.
CALEB AND I must have gone to every store in town that offered bowling accessories. They either didn't have size fifteen shoes or the selection was beyond hideous. It got to the point where Caleb would walk into a store and say, "Show me what you have in a size fifteen." They would bring us two or three pairs and we would sneak a peek, then move on. Two hours later, we finally hit the last athletic store in a fifty mile radius.
"That's them!" I scream as the sales girl holds out a kick-butt pair of black and blue checkered shoes. "Please say you like them?" I turn to Caleb waiting for the final verdict.
"Sold!" He slams his hand down on the counter.
Exhausted by the day, I jump around thrilled we finally found something. I only have five days left until Christmas, so ordering online was out of the question. I should have planned this better, but I was waiting for my most recent paycheck to spend on Brett's big Christmas gift. Fortunately for me, these are way better than any shoes I would have picked out from just a picture online.
I launch myself into Caleb's arms, ecstatic and grateful for his help, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
"Jesse, I didn't make them."
"I know, but I probably would have given up four stores ago if you hadn't been here to help."
"Alright, alright. You’re welcome. Now let’s get out of here, I need to get back to work."
"Wait, we still have to stop and get the pictures."
"I couldn't forget that," he winks.