For several weeks after I saw Amber at the bar, I spent a lot of time contemplating everything my father had said to me later that night. I went back and forth between agreeing with my dad that Amber was as much to blame as I was, and thinking his explanation of the biological imperative behind male-female sexual interaction was totally insane, a weak rationalization that had allowed him to treat women like shit over the years. But I couldn’t deny it was good to feel like I had someone in my corner, especially one cold evening the first week of November as I climbed out of my truck and headed inside the station to begin my shift. I’d long run out of Valium, and while I knew that I hadn’t taken enough of the medication since swiping the pills from the junkie mother’s stash to be physically addicted, I still craved the chemical peace of mind the drug gave me. I often thought about where I could get more—the doctor, a psychiatrist, or our rig—but no option was ideal. If I talked to a medical professional, a diagnosis of an anxiety disorder would go on my insurance record and I might lose my job. If I slipped a few pills every now and then from the stock we kept for the victims Mason and I treated in the field, my partner would surely notice the discrepancy when he did inventory. The parameters were too tight, so I was basically out of luck. I’d have to find another way to cope.
Now, shivering from the bite of winter in the air, I greeted a few firemen as I entered the garage, where I knew my partner would already be, making sure the ambulance was properly stocked. Sure enough, as I approached the vehicle, I saw the back doors were open, and Mason sat with a clipboard in his lap, making note of what we had.
“Hey,” I said. “Can I help?”
“Thanks, but I’m good,” he said in the same clipped tone he’d been using with me for months.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” He hung the clipboard in its designated spot behind the driver’s seat, and then looked at me. “You got a minute to go talk with the captain?”
“Uh, sure,” I said, instantly feeling the muscles in my chest tense. “What’s up?”
“I’d rather discuss it with him,” Mason said as he climbed out of the rig and closed the doors. “He’s expecting us.”
“Oh.” This can’t be good, I thought, as I followed him up the stairs to the captain’s office, which was adjacent to the kitchen, where most of the other men and women on shift were hanging out. Did Mason report what had happened at the party? Am I going to get a black mark on my record for conduct unbecoming? Am I going to lose my job?
Mason opened the office door, and Captain Duncan, who was sitting at his large oak desk, welcomed us in. “Have a seat,” he said, fiddling with one thin end of his black handlebar mustache. Other than his eyebrows, it was the only hair on his entire head; the pink skin of his scalp reflected the fluorescent lighting above us. His uniform was perfectly pressed; he’d told us that his wife took pride in making sure his creases were straight as plumb lines.
Mason and I both sat down, and I noticed that my partner inched his chair slightly away from me. In a space so small, the motion seemed significant.
“So, Hicks,” Captain Duncan said. “I need to inform you that Mason has requested a transfer to another station.”
“What?” I said, swinging my gaze to my partner. I knew things were strained between us, but I had assumed that, with time, we’d go back to the way we were.
Mason didn’t look at me; instead, he sat ramrod straight and kept his eyes on the captain.
“I know it’s a hard thing, when a partnership doesn’t work out,” Captain Duncan said, “but it happens, and we all just have to learn how to deal with it.” He looked at Mason. “I hate to lose you, but I’ve made your request official. As soon as an opening comes up, you can make the move.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mason said.
“Wait,” I said. “Do I not get a say in this?”
“No,” Captain Duncan said. “You don’t. Just as Mason wouldn’t have a say if you requested it.” He paused, glancing back and forth between us. “I’m not going to have to deal with any bullshit between you two, am I? You can work together peacefully, for now?”
“Of course, sir,” Mason said.
The captain turned toward me. “Hicks?”
I nodded, feeling the muscles along my jaws working as I clenched my teeth.
“Good,” Captain Duncan said. He opened his mouth, about to speak again, but the radio behind him crackled, requesting units be dispatched to the corner of Eldridge and Meridian, where a traffic accident had occurred. “You heard them,” the captain said, pointing to the doorway. “Get to it.”
Mason and I made our way back down to the garage and climbed into our rig, where he flipped on the lights and siren while I let dispatch know we were on our way to the accident. The air between us was thick and heavy as a rock; I had the futile urge to pick it up and toss it out the window.
“Am I really that bad?” I asked, keeping my eyes straightforward.
“I don’t think we should talk about this right now,” he said.
“I saw Amber at the Royal a few weeks ago,” I told him. “She was making out with some disgusting old guy in a dark hallway.” Mason didn’t say anything, so I went on. “What I can’t figure out is, if she’s the kind of girl who grinds her body against her best friend, who kisses him and goes upstairs to a bedroom at a party with him, and then searches out a stranger at a bar, all while she’s engaged to someone else, how can what happened with us be rape?”
“Dude,” Mason said, shooting an angry glance my way, his dark eyes flashing. “You do not want to have this conversation with me.”
“Yeah, actually,” I said, “I do. Because seriously. How is a guy supposed to let a girl get him all turned on, make him believe that she really wants to have sex with him, and then just be okay with her suddenly changing her mind at the last second? If she’s out at bars now, cheating on Daniel and making out with strangers, she can’t be the girl I thought she was. She can’t be the girl you thought she was.” I felt desperate. If I could just get Mason to agree with me, to concede that Amber was guilty of at least part of what happened that night, I might be able to live with myself.
Mason jerked the steering wheel to get around a long string of cars that weren’t pulling out of our way. “Is that you talking, or your dad?” he asked. “Because you sound like a stupid frat boy, trying to rationalize his way out of taking advantage of a wasted girl. You going to make a video, like those assholes at Yale, chanting, ‘No means yes, yes means anal’?”