Moira checks her watch again and increases her pace. She doesn’t have time to mess about if she’s going to stay on track. Striding along the path she crosses the ridge and starts the descent down to the park. Every time her mind wanders back to her old team, and the last case they’d worked, she forces herself to move faster. But the memories keep coming. In her mind’s eye she sees the group of them getting ready for the takedown on the last job – Riley, Pang, Kress and McCord. The memory freeze-frames on McCord; he’s smiling, his fist bumping hers before they get into the vehicle to ride out.
She bites her lip. Forces down the wave of emotion. Clenching her fists, she lets her nails pinch into her palms, hoping the pain will be a distraction.
She can’t think about McCord right now. She just can’t.
Instead she focuses on the white archway entrance of Manatee Recreation Park and strides towards it. She knows she shouldn’t block her emotions this way; was told enough times by the police doc that she needed to face things, but it’s just too hard. If she’s honest, she feels kind of shell-shocked, like it hasn’t sunk in.
She feels like that about the retirement too.
It seems as if in one misjudged split second, everything she loved and had worked for turned to dust. It happened so fast. She used to say she was good with change, but now she knows that isn’t true.
Moira shakes her head to rid herself of the memories. Stopping under the archway, she checks her watch. She’s made the walk in seventeen minutes, fifty-three seconds. It should feel like a small triumph – a good start to chalk up on the tabula rasa – but she doesn’t feel anything but empty.
Live in the moment, she tells herself, repeating the bullshit psychobabble the police doc said to her when she’d asked for their advice on retirement. Be the change.
She takes a deep breath. Says out loud, ‘Okay then.’
Walking under the archway into the park, she follows the stone pathway past the pickleball courts and the bocce area, and heads past the splash-zone fun pools and hot tubs to the largest lap pool. Everything’s quiet. There’s no one else here, just as she’d hoped.
Focus on the positive, on every win no matter how small. That’s what the police doc had said. Maybe she should stop being so damn cynical and give it a try. Push herself more to feel something. She supposes it couldn’t hurt.
Moira forces a smile. ‘This. Is. Going. To. Be a good day.’
She feels an idiot saying it out loud.
The police doc said that she shouldn’t expect to be okay right away. Stay present, they’d said, don’t beat yourself up if things aren’t perfect.
Yeah right. She shakes her head again. One thing she’s sure as dammit learned in her fifty-eight years is that nothing is ever perfect.
She keeps walking. Up ahead there’s a blue jay sitting on the gate to the last pickleball court. Smiling at him, Moira tries again. ‘This is going to be a good day.’
It’s easier second time around; almost feels like it could be true.
Taking it as a small win, she pushes open the white gate beside the high hedge that screens the pool and fixes the latch behind her. She follows the path around the end of the hedge. The pool comes into view.
‘Oh Jesus.’ Her breath catches in her throat.
Heart pounding, she rushes forward. At the last minute she sees the blood splattered across the stone patio, and just manages to stop before she treads in it.
She takes a breath, feeling her training kicking in and her brain click into work mode. As if on autopilot, she tugs the phone from the pocket of her hoodie and dials. As the call connects she scans the scene, taking in all the details.
‘911. State your emergency.’ The female voice sounds tinny and distant.