Page 80 of Finally Mine
“Hmm,” Jamilah said, eyeing the flowers.
He revealed the tray of coffee and the bakery bag he’d hidden in his other hand.
“If there’s a raspberry tart in there, you can consider yourself mostly forgiven,” she sniffed.
Aldo crossed to her, uncomfortably conscious of his slight limp. The race yesterday, while feeling like a tremendous personal accomplishment, had also served as a reminder that he wasn’t who he once was. Yet.
He dropped the tray and bag on her table and handed her the flowers.
“I was an asshole,” he began. He felt as if he’d been starting most of his sentences that way lately. At least he never had to apologize to his mother. She was a bigger asshole than he was, and they accepted each other’s assholery.
“Yes. You were,” Jamilah said, without a hint of forgiveness. “And if you think you’re going to use that shiny new limb you’re hiding under a nice pair of Dockers as an excuse to be a dick around here, you are sadly mistaken.”
“Excuse me, Jam?” A kid with shaggy bangs that hung in his eyes requiring repeated head tosses to clear his vision piped up from the desk inside the door.
“Yeah, Monty?”
“I’ve got Dave from Kleiborn Associates on line two. He’s shouting and maybe crying a little.”
“We’ve got a receptionist now?” Aldo asked.
“I can’t do my work, your work,andanswer the phones,” Jamilah said, shooting him a pointed look.
Aldo shoved his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t great at begging. “I’m here now, and I promise not to be a dick. Or at least, not much of one.”
She rolled her dark eyes. “Fine. You can start by familiarizing yourself with the Jonestown Bridge Project in the OneDrive. They want to add a second lane of traffic and a pedestrian walkway. It’s in downtown Jonestown and will be a huge pain in our ass.”
Jamilah swiveled in her chair and picked up her phone. “Dave,” she said in a sing-song voice. “How can I make your day better?”
Dismissed and properly shamed, Aldo took his coffee, his messenger bag, and his pride back to his desk. It, unlike every other flat surface in the office, was clean. Jam and their little band of associates had been busy picking up his slack. Granted, he wasn’t scheduled to return until his deployment ended in November. However, he should have come back to work as soon as he was able.
Aldo sat down, relieved to be taking the weight off his leg, and booted up his computer. They’d be fine, he and Jamilah. They had a solid relationship that couldn’t be derailed by either of them being a dick to the other for a few weeks.
There was a coating of dust on his monitors. He wiped them clean and took a breath. It was always hard coming back. To shift gears from life and death and monotony of a war zone to pushing papers and dealing with the whims of an aggressively creative architect or wading into the murkiness of township ordinances. Always hard. Always surreal.
But this was the first time he’d sat down at his desk in his office with only one leg. The scars were on the outside this time.
His thoughts drifted to Gloria. To the confrontation last night. Her scars were on the outside now, too, in the form of public embarrassment.
His hackles rose again, recalling Glenn’s mother spewing her abuse in Gloria’s face. He closed a fist around the arm of his chair. That family had their chance to tear her down for ten years. Enough was enough.
Mind made up, Aldo clicked on the icon for the network and got back to work.
* * *
Aldo glancedup from his monitor when a whistling uniformed deputy strolled into the office.
“Ya ready for lunch?” Ty called, his thumbs tucked into his belt.
“Bring me back a pastrami,” Jamilah called from her desk.
Aldo shot her the pistol fingers on the way out. Together, he and Ty tromped down the stairs, and Aldo was suddenly grateful his injury hadn’t been worse. He could still manage stairs, still access his office, his home.
He had a lot to be grateful for these days.
“So, what’s with the lunch date?” Ty asked, slipping his sunglasses on as they stepped outside into the summer heat. The man might talk slow and be affable as hell, but there was still a cop brain under the nice.
“Mrs. Diller,” Aldo said.
