Page 51 of Into These Eyes
Checking my watch, I discover my long-time mentor is now fifteen minutes late, no doubt held up by the investigation he’s working on.
Tonight, I need to pick his brain on next steps for Gavin. Then, when I return to work after the weekend, I’ll be armed with the knowledge I need to approach my boss.
As I wait, I think of the bereavement leave I’ve just taken. As lovely as it is to know that society views the loss of a close relative worthy of two whole days off work, I can’t actually pinpoint what I’ve been doing during that time. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to grieve for a man I apparently never knew.
However I spent those past few days, I don’t want to push it when it comes to work. The firm has always frowned upon any sort of leave. Criminals don’t take days off, so neither should we, no matter what’s going on in our personal lives.
Pulling up a brief on my phone, I soon discover I can’t concentrate. Not when I feel empty about going back to work. Cringing at the thought, I push it aside as a gentle hand squeezes my shoulder.
Pete stands beside me, that sympathetic expression he gave me when I told him of my father’s cancer diagnosis plastered on his usually happy features.
He indicates for me to get up, so I slide out of the booth and into his embrace. I suppose the occasion calls for it, because he’s never hugged me before. Unlike the other day when Gavin Lake held me, I don't feel any overwhelming surge of emotion. I suppose I might be numb, but I have no interest in mulling that over. There are more important things to worry about.
Pete pats me on the back, releases me and looks into my eyes. “I’m sorry, Jamie. It’s a big loss.”
“Thanks,” I mumble as I slip back into the booth. Pete plonks down across from me, rubs his belly and lets a ghost of a grin touch his mouth.
Although he never met my father, I’d often talked about him when Pete and I got together. I’d always meant to introduce them. Now, I’m glad they never met. That’ll make this much easier.
“Hope you’ve already ordered. I’m starving,” he says.
“You’re always starving,” I point out.
He shrugs. “You got me there.”
“Well, never fear. Your favourite’s on the way.”
He sighs heavily, taking me in. “You’re a good person, Jamie. I think your only fault is that you work too hard.”
I scoff and take a sip of water. “You work way more hours than I do.”
“That’s because I’m an old fart with nothing else to do with my time.”
“So, the only difference between us is that I’m a young fart. What’s the problem with that?”
He takes a sip of the diet coke I ordered for him earlier. “Ugh, still trying to poison me with that artificial sweetener, I see.”
“Of course,” I grin. Ever since my father’s decline, I’ve been a thorn in Pete’s side every time we see each other and food is involved. That belly of his hasn’t shrunk one bit, so my efforts to keep him healthy are clearly futile, but that won’t stop me trying.
“Anyway, the problem with you working too much, is you’re not leaving any time for the important things in life. Things I’m sure your father would want you to have.”
“What’s more important than putting away criminals?”
“Family … Love,” he says so matter-of-factly, I take another sip of water and pointlessly move the cutlery back and forth. When I don’t respond, he continues, “Don’t you now wish you’dtaken some leave to spend more time with your father before he passed?”
“Nope,” I say, meeting his gaze.
“Nope?” He leans back and folds his arms across his chest, resting them on his protruding belly. “Why the hell would you say that?”
“That’s why I asked you here. So you’ll understand why. And because, as usual, I need your advice.”
As he opens his mouth, the waitress places salads in front of us. Pete stares down at it, then across to mine, assessing.
“Let’s trade,” he says, reaching for my bowl.
I hold on tight. “Nice try.” We have the same thing, only his is sans bacon, croutons and only half the usual amount of dressing.
“Well, I guess I could just leave, go to KFC and not worry about what it is you need from me.”
