mouth drooping at the corners. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. It is as bad as that, isn’t it?” She kept her hand over his. “I wish there was something I could do, but short of having Kit stay with me as much as possible, I can’t see how I can help.”
Breck shook his head. “He’s my kid. It’s my responsibility.”
From his tone he may as well have said, “So butt out.”
Some perverse gene in her makeup forced her to continue. “Have you considered another branch of police work?”
Listen to yourself, Ingrid. What the hell would you know about police work? Fleetingly she thought it was a pity she’d lost contact with her father. He might have helped. He’d definitely still be a cop, probably in the top echelon too, if her mother was to be believed. Then again, over the years Ingrid had come to realize that her mother’s recollections of her first husband had gotten a little skewed. Her father might not have been as wedded to the job as Marla insisted. Perhaps he’d used work as an excuse to avoid confrontations at home. God knows, Ingrid had learned to use similar excuses. And then had to listen to: “You’re just like your father.”
She watched Breck as he dragged himself to his feet. She wanted to help him, dammit, even if he didn’t want her help. She steeled herself for rejection. “Breck, have you thought about applying for the detective division? Sure, there’d be shift work, but there’d be a roster, wouldn’t there? Or doesn’t it work that way?”
“ Me? A detective? ” He snorted. “Don’t wanna hurt your feelings, Ingrid, but that’s the best joke I’ve heard all day.” He gave a half-hearted laugh that turned into a sneer.
She swallowed her annoyance. “Why not? It makes sense.”
“It might make sense to you, maybe, but nobody who knows me could imagine me passing exams as tough as that.”
So she didn’t know him well, huh? And whose fault was that? She leapt to her feet and banged the dishwasher door shut.
“I don’t know what that bee in your bonnet is about, but you got into the police force and then into AOS. You must have passed a bunch of exams. What’s different about applying to the detective division?”
The words seemed to be forced out of him. “I had help passing those exams. I’m no good at paperwork.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How did you get to be a senior constable?” Then she realized she’d given herself away. Would he notice she’d been checking up on him?
But he was too depressed to notice her slip. “Fourteen years’ experience and a superintendent’s approval is all it takes.”
“ Fourteen years? And you’re worried about a measly bunch of detective exams! For God’s sake, Breck, surely they’d take that into account?”
“Dunno. Never thought about it. Actually, it was only eleven.”
“So you got promoted on merit.” Before she could control her mouth, she offered, “I’ll help you with your application if you want.”
He looked at her out of weary, disillusioned eyes. “Sometimes help is not enough, Ingrid. I’m very, very grateful for the offer, but it’s all so…unachievable.” He leaned against the kitchen counter. “It’s a pipedream, Ingrid. I think I told you I couldn’t read until I was eight years old. Well, you can imagine how hard study is for someone like me. But hey! I’ll get by.”
His arms hung loose but his fingers clenched. God, the big lunkhead was ashamed . Like not being able to read until he was eight actually counted in the great scheme of things.
“Good heavens, Breck! The world is full of people who have dyslexia or are barely literate or are late bloomers. It hasn’t stopped them from becoming valuable citizens! Erin Brokovich, Steve Jobs, Orlando Bloom—”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, sweetie. I’ve got the picture.” Then he propped his hands on the kitchen counter behind him and looked down at his feet. He and Kit had taken their shoes off at the door as
Breck shook his head. “He’s my kid. It’s my responsibility.”
From his tone he may as well have said, “So butt out.”
Some perverse gene in her makeup forced her to continue. “Have you considered another branch of police work?”
Listen to yourself, Ingrid. What the hell would you know about police work? Fleetingly she thought it was a pity she’d lost contact with her father. He might have helped. He’d definitely still be a cop, probably in the top echelon too, if her mother was to be believed. Then again, over the years Ingrid had come to realize that her mother’s recollections of her first husband had gotten a little skewed. Her father might not have been as wedded to the job as Marla insisted. Perhaps he’d used work as an excuse to avoid confrontations at home. God knows, Ingrid had learned to use similar excuses. And then had to listen to: “You’re just like your father.”
She watched Breck as he dragged himself to his feet. She wanted to help him, dammit, even if he didn’t want her help. She steeled herself for rejection. “Breck, have you thought about applying for the detective division? Sure, there’d be shift work, but there’d be a roster, wouldn’t there? Or doesn’t it work that way?”
“ Me? A detective? ” He snorted. “Don’t wanna hurt your feelings, Ingrid, but that’s the best joke I’ve heard all day.” He gave a half-hearted laugh that turned into a sneer.
She swallowed her annoyance. “Why not? It makes sense.”
“It might make sense to you, maybe, but nobody who knows me could imagine me passing exams as tough as that.”
So she didn’t know him well, huh? And whose fault was that? She leapt to her feet and banged the dishwasher door shut.
“I don’t know what that bee in your bonnet is about, but you got into the police force and then into AOS. You must have passed a bunch of exams. What’s different about applying to the detective division?”
The words seemed to be forced out of him. “I had help passing those exams. I’m no good at paperwork.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How did you get to be a senior constable?” Then she realized she’d given herself away. Would he notice she’d been checking up on him?
But he was too depressed to notice her slip. “Fourteen years’ experience and a superintendent’s approval is all it takes.”
“ Fourteen years? And you’re worried about a measly bunch of detective exams! For God’s sake, Breck, surely they’d take that into account?”
“Dunno. Never thought about it. Actually, it was only eleven.”
“So you got promoted on merit.” Before she could control her mouth, she offered, “I’ll help you with your application if you want.”
He looked at her out of weary, disillusioned eyes. “Sometimes help is not enough, Ingrid. I’m very, very grateful for the offer, but it’s all so…unachievable.” He leaned against the kitchen counter. “It’s a pipedream, Ingrid. I think I told you I couldn’t read until I was eight years old. Well, you can imagine how hard study is for someone like me. But hey! I’ll get by.”
His arms hung loose but his fingers clenched. God, the big lunkhead was ashamed . Like not being able to read until he was eight actually counted in the great scheme of things.
“Good heavens, Breck! The world is full of people who have dyslexia or are barely literate or are late bloomers. It hasn’t stopped them from becoming valuable citizens! Erin Brokovich, Steve Jobs, Orlando Bloom—”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, sweetie. I’ve got the picture.” Then he propped his hands on the kitchen counter behind him and looked down at his feet. He and Kit had taken their shoes off at the door as
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