Atmosphere by Michael Laimo Page B

senior officers. "My wife and I just bought a home on Long Island. Melville. Used to live in Forest Hills, but the apartment building got a little cramped when we had our daughter."
    Frank remembered when he and Diane had bought their first home, also on Long Island, in Plainview. They ended up lasting about three years there, the two of them sharing the long list of duties that came along with owning a house. Yardwork, cleaning, shopping, carpooling, maintenance, the list was endless. And although the two of them had sufficiently fulfilled their responsibilities, Diane's efforts were begrudgingly done in haste. Soon her complaints escalated unrelentingly, she tiring of the housework and the food shopping and the commute to her job in Manhattan. Eventually, after months of pleading, she insisted they move into the city.
    Frank hadn't wanted to raise Jaimie—who was only an infant at the time—in Manhattan, and he had been most assertive in his grounds against moving. Quite familiar with the public school system, with the arrests and the drugs and the crimes that popped up all too often even in the elementary schools, he didn't feel her chances for an education—much less her safety—were equaled to those in Nassau County. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he didn't know how to please Diane—whose arguments, although exceeding and cutting, were justifiable and attractive—other than to simply give in.
    So he did just that, and they moved to the upper west side into a townhouse apartment where the maintenance was virtually nil, a cleaning lady could be hired for thirty bucks a week, and the groceries could be delivered. Additionally, without the commute, Diane had three extra hours a day at home raising Jaimie, whom they eventually enrolled into a private school.
    After many initial arguments, life in the city had ended up suiting them just fine, until their separation years later.
    "Yes, Melville. Nice area," Frank said as they briskly walked along the sidewalk.
    The sun had taken refuge far behind the skyline, veiling everything in dusk. Just as Frank realized how quickly the day had turned to night, the sodium-vapor street lights lining the sidewalk came on, lending illumination to the growing darkness. A young couple approached from the opposite direction, snuggling arm in arm, both wearing leather jackets and jeans. Frank felt a chill and shivered as they passed. It seemed the evening brought along some cold weather with it.
    "You know the area?" Ernie asked.
    "Sure, used to live in Plainview—years ago."
    "Too bad. We could've been neighbors." A short plume of cool breath spewed from his smile.
    Ernie Barba reminded Frank of himself when he was that age, nice Italian kid, wife, house, kid. The young cop seemed to have a promising life ahead of him. Hopefully none of those years would be spent alone like Frank's last five had been.
    Well , Frank thought, as long as he doesn't suffer the same problem I do, his wife won't leave .   
    Frank thanked God every day that he still had Jaimie living with him, and although he didn't see her very often, her company brought a smile to his face, reminding him that someone in this world still loved him. He would have gone nuts a long time ago if she hadn't been around.
    The three of them continued their pace along the sidewalk, passing iron fences and gates riddled with ivy. Halfway up the block, Hector slowed his pace, then stopped in front of a home with a brass ' 456 ' attached to the Elizabethan eave above the doorway.
    "This is it," he said. He reached through the gate bars and pressed a button on a metal box attached to a post just within reach.
    A tinny, somber voice returned his beckon. "Yes?"
    "Captain Rodriguez, NYPD."
    After Frank and Barba had been seated in Hector's office, Hector quickly briefed Barba as to the status of the investigation, that they were going to have Patrick Racine's Parents interviewed at once before any funeral