that man. He’s obviously a saint or he’s been blinded by your magic hoo-ha. Either way, don’t ever let him get away.”
***
“Today I’m going to have you take the lead on our calls,” I tell Cody as we approach our vehicle.
“You are?” He sounds a lot less excited about the plan than I thought he would be. He actually sounds extremely apprehensive.
“It’s the third week of your training. I think you’re ready.”
“I assume that means you want me to drive.”
“That’s why I had you study maps of the area.”
The color drains from Cody’s face. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”
“I’ll be right there with you,” I assure him.
He takes in a deep breath. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“Nope.”
For the first time since he started field training Cody gets into the driver’s seat and I take the passenger side. I have to admit that I have some apprehension about the transition myself. Not because I don’t trust Cody. It’s more about me not wanting to give up control.
But allowing him to take the wheel, both literally and figuratively, is an important part of his training.
Once he gets signed in and we’re on the road he seems to relax a little bit.
“Are you going to the recital Friday night?” he asks.
“My sister’s performing. I wouldn’t miss it.”
He doesn’t respond.
“And I heard this rumor that you’re conducting the string quartet,” I tease. “I have to see that.”
“The kids are doing a great job.”
“Hadley said you’re a decent conductor.”
He scowls. “Decent?”
“She said you’re the best music teacher they’ve ever had. Is that better?”
His face lights up. “Much.”
I have to admit that I enjoy seeing him happy. It’s not very often that he seems to be, especially on the job. His joy only seems to surface when the discussion is focused on music.
Our first call of the morning is a domestic disturbance.
“Great way to start the day,” I joke.
“As long as someone doesn’t try to hit me with a frying pan I’ll be happy.”
“You do realize that it’s not just cookware that could come flying out the door. I wouldn’t want to be at the receiving end of a soaring clothes iron. An airborne dictionary would probably hurt pretty badly too. There are a few types of women’s shoes that could do a number on you if it was the heel speeding towards your face.”
“I get your point.”
He pulls the patrol car up to a rundown bungalow.
“This is it.”
The place is just a few steps above a complete dump. We both get out of the car and approach the place with caution. The entire house is dilapidated. All of the paint is peeling off of the front door.
“I guess I have to knock on the creepy front door?”
“I’ll be right behind you,” I remind him.
He gives me the stink eye before he pounds on the door.
We wait several moments before there’s a shuffling noise on the other side of the door. When the door opens we’re greeted by an old woman in a bathrobe and slippers. She looks almost as decrepit as her house.
“Did you phone the police?” Cody asks her.
The woman gives him a shaky nod. “My husband has some rocks in his box.”
“Rocks in his box?” Cody asks. “What does that mean?”
“Bats in the belfry.”
Cody still looks confused.
“Cocoa loco.”
“I think she’s saying her husband is a little nuts,” I whisper to him. “That’s the clinical term.”
“May we come in?” he asks.
She opens the door wider to allow us entrance.
“What’s your name?” Cody asks the woman.
“Mrs. June March.”
That’s an unfortunate combination.
“He hasn’t been right since Vietnam,” she tells us as we step inside.
“That was forty years ago,” Cody replies.
She harrumphs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Where is your husband now?” he asks.
“He’s wandering around the backyard.”
We follow the old woman through the kitchen then out the backdoor. Her husband
***
“Today I’m going to have you take the lead on our calls,” I tell Cody as we approach our vehicle.
“You are?” He sounds a lot less excited about the plan than I thought he would be. He actually sounds extremely apprehensive.
“It’s the third week of your training. I think you’re ready.”
“I assume that means you want me to drive.”
“That’s why I had you study maps of the area.”
The color drains from Cody’s face. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”
“I’ll be right there with you,” I assure him.
He takes in a deep breath. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“Nope.”
For the first time since he started field training Cody gets into the driver’s seat and I take the passenger side. I have to admit that I have some apprehension about the transition myself. Not because I don’t trust Cody. It’s more about me not wanting to give up control.
But allowing him to take the wheel, both literally and figuratively, is an important part of his training.
Once he gets signed in and we’re on the road he seems to relax a little bit.
“Are you going to the recital Friday night?” he asks.
“My sister’s performing. I wouldn’t miss it.”
He doesn’t respond.
“And I heard this rumor that you’re conducting the string quartet,” I tease. “I have to see that.”
“The kids are doing a great job.”
“Hadley said you’re a decent conductor.”
He scowls. “Decent?”
“She said you’re the best music teacher they’ve ever had. Is that better?”
His face lights up. “Much.”
I have to admit that I enjoy seeing him happy. It’s not very often that he seems to be, especially on the job. His joy only seems to surface when the discussion is focused on music.
Our first call of the morning is a domestic disturbance.
“Great way to start the day,” I joke.
“As long as someone doesn’t try to hit me with a frying pan I’ll be happy.”
“You do realize that it’s not just cookware that could come flying out the door. I wouldn’t want to be at the receiving end of a soaring clothes iron. An airborne dictionary would probably hurt pretty badly too. There are a few types of women’s shoes that could do a number on you if it was the heel speeding towards your face.”
“I get your point.”
He pulls the patrol car up to a rundown bungalow.
“This is it.”
The place is just a few steps above a complete dump. We both get out of the car and approach the place with caution. The entire house is dilapidated. All of the paint is peeling off of the front door.
“I guess I have to knock on the creepy front door?”
“I’ll be right behind you,” I remind him.
He gives me the stink eye before he pounds on the door.
We wait several moments before there’s a shuffling noise on the other side of the door. When the door opens we’re greeted by an old woman in a bathrobe and slippers. She looks almost as decrepit as her house.
“Did you phone the police?” Cody asks her.
The woman gives him a shaky nod. “My husband has some rocks in his box.”
“Rocks in his box?” Cody asks. “What does that mean?”
“Bats in the belfry.”
Cody still looks confused.
“Cocoa loco.”
“I think she’s saying her husband is a little nuts,” I whisper to him. “That’s the clinical term.”
“May we come in?” he asks.
She opens the door wider to allow us entrance.
“What’s your name?” Cody asks the woman.
“Mrs. June March.”
That’s an unfortunate combination.
“He hasn’t been right since Vietnam,” she tells us as we step inside.
“That was forty years ago,” Cody replies.
She harrumphs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Where is your husband now?” he asks.
“He’s wandering around the backyard.”
We follow the old woman through the kitchen then out the backdoor. Her husband
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