anxiety and get
this part of her life back. If she didn’t go back, she would always be afraid.
“Okay, now I
want a straight answer,” her mother said. “The Baby Jesus is missing from the
crèche on the table in the living room, which one of you jokers took it.”
“Ma, I
didn’t touch it,” Tom replied. “Maybe it was the cat.”
“We don’t
have a cat, Thomas O’Reilly,” her mother said. “Now who’s responsible?”
“Maybe it
was one of the voices that Mary keeps hearing,” Art teased.
Her father’s
face turned in Art’s direction. “You’re joking about your sister’s condition?”
he snapped. “I don’t think that’s funny. I don’t think that’s funny at all.”
Remorseful,
Art immediately looked down. “You’re right, Da,” he said. “I apologize. I
didn’t mean anything by it. I’m…”
Stepping
into the kitchen, the conversation stopped and all eyes were on her. “Good
morning,” she said with a smile. “Everything smells delicious, Ma.”
Walking over
to the table, she poured herself a glass of orange juice and sat down at her
usual place.
“How are you
feeling, darling?” her father asked.
“Just
great,” she replied quickly, as she reached for a piece of toast.
“You know,
you don’t have to go back yet,” Tom said. “You’ve got at least a couple more
weeks of comp time.”
She bit into
a crisp piece of bacon. “I’m good, thanks,” she murmured.
“I’d take
the comp time,” Art inserted. “You could go to Hawaii or Jamaica or someplace
warm. Hell, Mary, it’s ten below zero out there. Take a vacation.”
“I’ve always
loved Chicago in the winter,” she countered, sipping her juice. “Besides, it’s
almost Christmas; I don’t want to miss that.”
Pulling up a
chair next to her, her mother laid her hand on top of Mary’s. “Are you sure
it’s a good idea to be going out again so soon?” she asked.
Taking a
deep breath, Mary turned to her. “Ma, I have to get out there again,” she
explained, praying her mother would understand. “I can’t stay here, hiding from
my job. I can’t, won’t be able to heal until I go back.”
“But the voices…”
her father said, sitting across from her at the kitchen table. “I know you
don’t want to talk about it, but how can you do your job when you’re so distracted?”
She turned
and met his eyes. “Da, I’ve got to try,” she said. “I don’t know the answers
yet. But I’ve got to try.”
He held her
eyes. “Just don’t do anything foolish,” he stated firmly.
Smiling, she
nodded. “I promise to be very careful,” she agreed. “I just want to try patrol
again. Nothing very exciting.”
Glancing up,
she caught Sean’s eyes on her. He had
been quietly leaning against the kitchen wall studying her interaction with the
rest of the family with hooded eyes. Pushing away from the wall, he walked over to her. “And just what does
Gracie think about this idea?” he asked.
Mary averted
her eyes. Gracie had not been excited about Mary’s desire to return to
patrolling so soon. She wanted Mary to
take several more weeks before she went out again.
“She was
fine with it,” she lied.
“That’s not
what she told me,” Sean disputed. “She told me she wanted you to wait for a
couple more weeks.”
“She isn’t
supposed to talk to you about my condition,” Mary snapped. “There are laws that
are supposed to protect my privacy, even from meddling brothers.”
“I’m not only
your meddling brother, I’m your Sergeant now,” he stated. “And so I get access
to your files if they are relevant to you being able to perform your duties.”
“What?” she asked, astonished.
“You are now
one of my officers in the Special Victims Unit,” he said.
“But I
didn’t ask to be transferred,” she argued. “I was doing fine in Narcotics.”
“Well, you
can go back to Narcotics after I’m sure you’re really fine,” he replied,
crossing his arms
this part of her life back. If she didn’t go back, she would always be afraid.
“Okay, now I
want a straight answer,” her mother said. “The Baby Jesus is missing from the
crèche on the table in the living room, which one of you jokers took it.”
“Ma, I
didn’t touch it,” Tom replied. “Maybe it was the cat.”
“We don’t
have a cat, Thomas O’Reilly,” her mother said. “Now who’s responsible?”
“Maybe it
was one of the voices that Mary keeps hearing,” Art teased.
Her father’s
face turned in Art’s direction. “You’re joking about your sister’s condition?”
he snapped. “I don’t think that’s funny. I don’t think that’s funny at all.”
Remorseful,
Art immediately looked down. “You’re right, Da,” he said. “I apologize. I
didn’t mean anything by it. I’m…”
Stepping
into the kitchen, the conversation stopped and all eyes were on her. “Good
morning,” she said with a smile. “Everything smells delicious, Ma.”
Walking over
to the table, she poured herself a glass of orange juice and sat down at her
usual place.
“How are you
feeling, darling?” her father asked.
“Just
great,” she replied quickly, as she reached for a piece of toast.
“You know,
you don’t have to go back yet,” Tom said. “You’ve got at least a couple more
weeks of comp time.”
She bit into
a crisp piece of bacon. “I’m good, thanks,” she murmured.
“I’d take
the comp time,” Art inserted. “You could go to Hawaii or Jamaica or someplace
warm. Hell, Mary, it’s ten below zero out there. Take a vacation.”
“I’ve always
loved Chicago in the winter,” she countered, sipping her juice. “Besides, it’s
almost Christmas; I don’t want to miss that.”
Pulling up a
chair next to her, her mother laid her hand on top of Mary’s. “Are you sure
it’s a good idea to be going out again so soon?” she asked.
Taking a
deep breath, Mary turned to her. “Ma, I have to get out there again,” she
explained, praying her mother would understand. “I can’t stay here, hiding from
my job. I can’t, won’t be able to heal until I go back.”
“But the voices…”
her father said, sitting across from her at the kitchen table. “I know you
don’t want to talk about it, but how can you do your job when you’re so distracted?”
She turned
and met his eyes. “Da, I’ve got to try,” she said. “I don’t know the answers
yet. But I’ve got to try.”
He held her
eyes. “Just don’t do anything foolish,” he stated firmly.
Smiling, she
nodded. “I promise to be very careful,” she agreed. “I just want to try patrol
again. Nothing very exciting.”
Glancing up,
she caught Sean’s eyes on her. He had
been quietly leaning against the kitchen wall studying her interaction with the
rest of the family with hooded eyes. Pushing away from the wall, he walked over to her. “And just what does
Gracie think about this idea?” he asked.
Mary averted
her eyes. Gracie had not been excited about Mary’s desire to return to
patrolling so soon. She wanted Mary to
take several more weeks before she went out again.
“She was
fine with it,” she lied.
“That’s not
what she told me,” Sean disputed. “She told me she wanted you to wait for a
couple more weeks.”
“She isn’t
supposed to talk to you about my condition,” Mary snapped. “There are laws that
are supposed to protect my privacy, even from meddling brothers.”
“I’m not only
your meddling brother, I’m your Sergeant now,” he stated. “And so I get access
to your files if they are relevant to you being able to perform your duties.”
“What?” she asked, astonished.
“You are now
one of my officers in the Special Victims Unit,” he said.
“But I
didn’t ask to be transferred,” she argued. “I was doing fine in Narcotics.”
“Well, you
can go back to Narcotics after I’m sure you’re really fine,” he replied,
crossing his arms
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