Leaving the caterers to their work, I climbed the stairs.
“Mom?” I found her in the bedroom, staring at the television mounted on the wall. She was watching a cooking show. Oh, the irony. This woman used to be so busy cooking that she didn’t watch TV. “Mom? Let’s go. You have to get dressed for the party.”
She clicked mute. “What shall I wear?”
I didn’t bother withholding my sigh. My mother remained just functional enough to fake it. If she drooled on herself or spoke in tongues, it would be easier to force her to get some professional help. “The green Christmas sweater and black slacks?” I went over to her closet and found the sweater in question. “You have thirty minutes.” After thrusting the sweater into her hands, I left her alone.
Showering left me with just fifteen minutes until the guests would arrive. So my big act of rebellion was to don my favorite pair of jeans. Usually I’d put on tights and a dress, but tonight I just didn’t fucking feel like it. As a compromise, I pulled on a pretty sweater and shimmery earrings. And then I slicked on some red lip gloss and a generous coat of black mascara.
Good enough.
Downstairs in the dining room, caterers did laps to and from the kitchen. My father stood drinking a glass of scotch in their midst, oblivious to the frantic pace around him. He looked me up and down when I walked into the room. “That’s what you’re wearing?”
My mouth gaped open. “Seriously? Why do you care?”
He stirred his ice cubes with a finger. “Don’t think you’ve met Nelligan yet, right?”
I shook my head. But I knew the name—he was my father’s youngest officer.
“I think you’d like him,” he said. “He’s single.”
“Um, that’s nice?”
The doorbell rang, ending our conversation. I snagged a glass of wine off one table and a miniature pig-in-a-blanket off another. My father wanted to set me up with a cop? That was new. And now I couldn’t wait to meet this guy. If my father thought he was suitable, I was betting on some pasty dude with tape on his glasses and a stutter.
*
Officer Nelligan wasn’t all that bad. Sure, he was wearing a sweater vest. I didn’t know anyone still wore those. And he kept calling me “Miss Sophie,” which made me feel as though I were trapped in an old movie. But he was friendly and unassuming. He was like Denny with a southern accent and a gun on his hip.
“May I get you another drink, Miss Sophie?” he asked, his blue eyes wide over his freckled nose.
“That would be lovely. Thank you.” I’d already made the rounds, greeting everyone once. I’d eaten my weight in little hors d'oeuvres. Now the final hours of the evening needed only to be endured.
While Nelligan trotted off to refresh my cabernet, I decided there was a question I should ask him. So far we’d stuck to the safest of topics. I’d assured him that even a southern boy could learn to snowboard. And he’d assured me that even a northerner could get to like grits.
“So,” I said when he brought me a fresh glass of the inexpensive hooch that my father served his officers’ wives. (The cops were all drinking beer, because no cop would be caught dead drinking cabernet.) “I suppose you’ve heard all the gossip about me.”
The guy’s eyes widened only slightly. “I don’t listen much to gossip.”
“I’m sure you’re a good boy,” I said, tilting my head in a way that could only be described as seductive. “But you can’t live in this county and work for my father and not hear all the shit that went down here before.”
“I heard y’all went through a bad time,” he said diplomatically.
“Truth,” I said, touching my wine glass to his beer bottle. “And I’d really like to move on, but it’s not easy.” I held his eyes while I said it. They absolutely warmed. If I wasn’t mistaken, Nelligan liked the idea of me moving on.
“Well.” He gave me a shy smile. “If there’s any way I can help, maybe you’ll let me know.”
“Actually—” I smiled back at him, feeling like the most evil troll in the world. “—there is something I’ve been meaning to ask for. And I think you could help.”
“Name it,” he said.
“I would like to read the police report from the night of my brother’s accident. Nobody ever showed it to me.” I understood why, I really did. We were all so raw and devastated at the time. But I’d assumed we’d pull together enough at some point to have an honest discussion of what happened that night. Even now, the questions I asked were shot down immediately.
Clearly my new pal Nelligan was not expecting this request. “Um…” he fumbled. “I shouldn’t really do that without your father’s permission.”
“Really?” I said, tossing my hair in a way that was less than subtle. “It’s a public document. If I file a request, I can get it anyway. Do you really want to make me do that?”
His expression turned sheepish. “I guess not.”