Page 28 of Somewhere Along The Line
The officer decides I’m not a threat and I wait for James to walk through so we can approach the desk together. I’m standing, fidgeting, as he comes up behind me, wrapping his arms across my chest and lowering his mouth to my ear.
“Time to be married, P.”
The whisper leaves goosebumps on my neck, tiny artifacts that he kisses away with light brushes of his lips near the start of my jaw. I tally another point for this man’s distraction game because whatever I was worried about three seconds ago? It escapes me completely. The only thing on my mind is the tickle of his breath and the softness of his mouth against my skin.
“We’re here to give statements for the smoke bomb incident?” He moves himself to my right and drops an arm to my waist, pulling me tightly against him as he signs us in. “Piper and James Newhouse.”
I don’t miss his purposeful arrangement of our names—how he interjects his first name to separate mine from his last.
The officer gestures for us to sit down and we claim two seats under a window on the far wall. I realize I have no idea how else a person might end up in a police station waiting room or what sort of people may join us this morning. My body scooches closer to James.
“You’re doing great,” he murmurs, the heat behind his words warming the side of my face. He nudges his nose into the hollow of my cheek. “Keep it up.”
Do I have a thing for praise? Apparently I do because my stomach tumbles to my feet. James moves his arm to my shoulder and gives it a squeeze before rubbing his hand up and down tenderly, stopping to knead the muscle at points before resuming his path.
“Why is this so easy for you?” I whisper, in awe of the way he exists in this space, his confidence and deftness in contrast with our environment.
“Because, Piper, pretending to be into you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” The chuckle that accompanies this statement surprises me. Is it because he just made a joke or because the answer is so obvious he can’t believe he had to say it?
“James Newhouse?” An officer appears at a door in the corner of the room with a clipboard in hand. James stands, pulling his hand from my arm and leaving me strikingly aware of its absence.
“Please come with me.” The officer glances down at his notes before turning my way. “Ma’am, my partner, Officer Wyndham, will be with you shortly. Giving your statements should take thirty minutes tops and then you can be on your way.”
James bends down and presses a kiss to my cheek, his hand sliding behind my ear as he grips my jaw gently. “See you soon, P. You’re going to be fine.”
And with that, he disappears and takes every bit of distraction with him.
Was it always this cold in the waiting room? That must be the reason for my shaking hands—not my nerves.
Officer Wyndham approaches the door two minutes later and leads me back to a small room, barren except for a table in the center. She pulls out a chair and I take a seat, grateful I’m not here to defend myself. I’d fold in a second.
My mind pulls up the image of James in the other room, undoubtedly sitting back and talking calmly like he’s a guest on a late-night show. I try to channel his energy, and it helps slightly.
“Alright, can you confirm your name?”
Shit.“Piper Paulson.”
The officer writes it on the form and doesn’t glance up, unconcerned or unknowledgeable about my supposed union. “Can you tell me about the events of Thursday, September twenty-eighth in your own words?”
Her eyes search mine as I talk. She nods and writes between glances at my face.
The whole story spills out in one breath, about boarding the train, taking a seat, talking with James, how normal it all felt, how nothing seemed weird until the ear-splitting noise and the smoke. I don’t know how helpful this account will be given I spent the rest of the ride curled up in a ball with my eyes closed.
I affirm that I didn’t notice any movement in the car after the smoke deployed and that nothing of mine was missing when I took stock of my bag.
Officer Wyndham asks a few questions about other people on the train that morning, and I couldn’t remotely have less information for her. My focus was on James the entire ride, both before and after the incident.
When we’re done (!!!!), I sign to attest that the information provided is true and the officer thanks me for my time. The waiting area is empty when I return, understandably so given James (who was not pseudo-paralyzed during the incident) likely has more to say than I did.
He emerges ten minutes later and greets me with a soft smile before mouthing the words, “You did it,” and grabbing my hand to pull me up from my seat. Our fingers stay linked as we sign out and leave the station.
A rush of endorphins buzzes beneath my skin—the kind, I imagine, a runner experiences when they finish a marathon. Frankly, I also feel like I could collapse on the sidewalk right now, so the analogy tracks.
While the weather is threatening, dark clouds cluttering the sky, it doesn't dampen my mood. James knew I could handle giving a statement this morning and I did. Pride expands to all corners of my limbs.
“And that, Mrs. Newhouse, is how it’s done.” He smirks as he unhooks our hands and wraps his arm around my waist. My stomach flutters beneath his fingertips.
While I’ll never believe omitting the truth about our ruse was an ethical choice, I’m glad we decided to go for it.
