“Is that all you have?” the officer asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“No guns, drugs?”
“No, sir.”
After Tallie turned to see the police officer slip the knife from Emmett’s pocket and heard it thunk on the top of her car, she was careful to remain perfectly still. Emmett and the officer walked toward the patrol car. On Emmett’s face: serenity. Tallie saw it before he got in. She kept crying and watching the rain, which was letting up. What else was there to do? The red and blue lights were still spinning. On the sidewalk across from them, there was an old man in a raincoat walking a dog wearing a matching raincoat—the kind of thing that would usually make Tallie squeal with joy and snap a pic to send to Aisha or Zora. But no, Tallie was still, still, still as a statue.
Would the officer come to the car and give her instructions? Check to see if she was drunk? If she could drive properly? Tow her car if she didn’t pass? She hadn’t had a speeding ticket in fifteen years. She had no clue how any of this worked.
After what felt like forever, Tallie looked in the mirror and saw the officer and Emmett shake hands before he got out of the patrol car. The officer turned off his lights and drove away, waving at them; he smiled at her as he passed. She heard Emmett get his knife from the top of the car, and he sat behind her steering wheel, stretched back so he could reclip the knife in his pocket. She was still crying.
“Hey. It’s all right. I told you it was all right,” he said, putting his hand on her arm. It began raining harder. So hard it seemed as if the rain were coming up from the ground to meet the water from the sky somewhere in the middle.
“What did you say to him? What happened? He was being such a dick, then he waves at us?”
“I told him the truth. It’s fine. Hey. It’s all right,” he said again.
Tallie directed Emmett to her place. He turned the radio back on—Motown, Four Tops—as if they didn’t have a million things to discuss. He was frustratingly calm, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Tallie wiped her eyes, tapped the radio off.
“Emmett, what the hell happened? Tell me! I was sitting here freaking out, afraid to move!” she said, raising her voice.
He put his hand on her leg and continued driving carefully. She couldn’t imagine how anxious she would’ve been if she didn’t have leftover bourbon sluicing through her bloodstream like medicine.
“I’m sorry you got so upset,” he said. Before returning his hand to the wheel, he squeezed her thigh so tenderly she wondered if she’d imagined it.
“Turn left,” she directed him. “And turn right up there.”
“I didn’t want you to get upset. The officer was nice. He asked if I’d been drinking…if we’d been drinking. I didn’t tell him the truth about that because it would’ve gotten me into trouble. I lied to him about it, but that was all. I’m not buzzed anymore. Sometimes alcohol blows straight through my system. I’m a quarter Scottish.” Emmett shrugged. “He asked me how I knew you. I told him you were a friend. He’d heard about your brother’s Halloween party, by the way.”
Tallie pointed, and Emmett pulled into her driveway, turned the engine off.
“And he let you go with what, a warning?” she asked, sniffing.
“Yes, he did. Bring it on home to me, Tallulah,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. He was so warm, so comforting, doing the perfect thing at the perfect time. They’d touched but not hugged. And she’d been correct when she imagined his smell: the forest, the river. This forever rain with a hint of coolness, an antiseptic flashing pale blue and starry white as she closed her eyes tight.
Client seems patient and relaxed, even in stressful situations. Not easily rattled or overstimulated. Comforts others.
“But I should be the one comforting you,” she mumbled into his sleeve.
“Because of yesterday?”
“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” she said.
“I would’ve given anything for a wife like you because of your openness…your sweet heart,” he said with his voice melting against her ear.
EMMETT
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: i still care about you too
Tallie, I’m glad you wrote me. You know how I feel about hoping we can still somehow be friends although like I’ve said before…I realize that’s a lot to ask. I promise not to talk too much about the baby because I know it hurts you. I am so sorry.