Sergeant Janet Matheson sat alone in the small Sommerfield police station, her surroundings quiet save for the hum of the coffee maker. She poured herself another cup, well aware that this was her third for the night, a ritual she found hard to break. The sudden jingle of the front bell as the station's doors swung open caught her attention. It was an unusual time for visitors, and even more unusual were the faces she recognized leading the way—Ted and Sally who she knew as a well respected couple of the community.
The Sergeant had often exchanged friendly conversations with Sally and Ted at their grocery store. The couple had always been a strong presence in the town, known for looking out for their fellow residents with genuine warmth and care. The Sergeant couldn't help but wonder what might have prompted this late-night visit, hoping it wasn't something unpleasant that had happened to them.
Setting down her half-empty cup, she approached the counter with a welcoming smile, ready to hear what the visitors had to say.
"Evening folks." she began, her voice friendly. "How can I be of assistance? Or did you just drop by for a chat?"
Emily, looking anxious and on edge, stepped forward, attempting to voice the words she had rehearsed, but she stumbled on the first syllables, her anxiety momentarily silencing her. The Sergeant's brow furrowed in concern as she turned to Sally and Ted, silently seeking clarification.
Seeing Emily's distress, Sally quickly enveloped her in a comforting embrace, offering the much-needed warmth and reassurance that Emily sought.
"Sergeant," Sally began, addressing the Sergeant with a seriousness that belied her usual friendly demeanor, "Emily here would like to file a report regarding some damage done to her pastry shop by her husband, Steve Williams."
The Sergeant felt a wave of bewilderment. While she wasn't intimately familiar with the details of Emily's relationship, she had always known them as a seemingly loving couple who were active in the community. Memories of seeing them joking with each other during Sunday church services and at Emily's pastry shop flashed in the Sergeant's mind, making the situation all the more perplexing.
Maintaining her professional composure, the Sergeant started asking for specifics, trying to piece together the incident.
"Could you provide more details about the incident? When did this happen and what was the extent of the damage?" the Sergeant inquired, focusing her questions towards Sally, who appeared to be more prepared to discuss the matter.
However, Mike stepped up, taking the initiative.
"I was there in the aftermath of the incident and I saw firsthand the damage that Steve caused." he stated confidently. "I've got photos of the damage, as well as a cost estimate for the repairs and cleanup." Mike took out his phone, waving it in front of him.
The Sergeant regarded Mike with a seriousness that briefly flickered with recognition, recalling past encounters when the teenaged Mike who had been summoned to the police station to answer for and to explain his involvement with several acts of misconduct. Quickly pushing aside those memories, she turned her attention back to Emily.
"Emily, I would like to talk to you in my office to get all the information about the incident." she explained, sensitive to Emily's emotional state. "Emily, are you able to do that?"
Emily, tightly clutching her shawl, looked up at the Sergeant, her eyes trembling but filled with a fragile resolve.
"Yes, I can." she managed to say, her voice soft but determined.
The Sergeant nodded, then turned to address Sally, Ted, and Mike.
"You folks should wait outside while I talk to Emily." the Sergeant instructed. She then directed her words towards Mike. "If I need to ask you anything, I'll come out to get you. Please don't go too far from the waiting room."
Mike nodded eagerly, showing his willingness to assist Emily in any way he could.
The Sergeant began leading Emily towards her office, but Emily hesitated, casting a pleading look back at Sally. Without hesitation, Sally rushed forward to comfort her, their hands finding solace in each other's grasp. Sally then turned to the Sergeant.
"Sergeant, would it be okay if I accompany Emily during the interview? I promise I won't be disruptive to your questions." Sally inquired, her gaze determined and hopeful.
The Sergeant glanced at Emily and Sally, their united defiance evident in their unflinching expressions. The Sergeant let out a soft sigh, offering a reserved smile in response.
"Yes, I'll allow it."
The two women followed the Sergeant into her office, Sally casting one final glance back at Ted as they shared a wordless, reassuring exchange just as the heavy door of the Sergeant's spartan office closed behind her.
—
Ted and Mike sat down in the stark waiting room, occupying adjacent plastic chairs, their gazes seemingly fixed on nothing, lost in a mix of worry and anticipation. The room, adorned with pale beige walls, lacked any semblance of comfort, and a haphazard pile of outdated homemaking magazines lay scattered across the low coffee table before them. Mike aimlessly fiddled with his phone, but the usual video games and sport news felt hollow today.
His eyes scanned the room, familiar yet slightly altered since his last visit—a vending machine now perched on the opposite wall, standing beside a neglected potted plant. The last time he had occupied the very same seat was during his high school years, an unpleasant memory of being falsely accused of shoplifting from the Sommerfield pharmacy. That experience still ignited a storm of anxiety within him.
A sudden surge of restless agitation surged through Mike, prompting him to rise abruptly from his seat, narrowly avoiding knocking his shins against the coffee table. He stomped over to the vending machine, his hand pressing hard against the glass as he scrutinized the subpar chocolate bars and jerky that seemed to be coated in salt rather than flavor.
Ted observed Mike, noticing the tension building within him, manifested in his clenched fist.
"You want something from there, Mike? I've got some spare change in my wallet." Ted gently inquired.
Mike shot a quick look at Ted, shaking his head in apparent disinterest.
"Nah, there's nothing good in there," he muttered, his tone tinged with annoyance. "Why can't they stock something decent like, some pop or juice."
"You thirsty? I've got a bottle of water in my pickup if you want it."
Mike declined once more, his agitation evident in his rapid, uneven breathing.
"I'm not thirsty, I'm just so fucking frustrated. I wish there was more I could do." Mike confessed.
Ted's hand rested on the back of the chair next to him.
"Come here, take a seat," Ted encouraged, his voice kind but firm. "We're exactly where we need to be, doing what we need to be doing. We can't rush this process, it's not up to us. We're here for Emily, and she will decide how this plays out."
Mike complied, sinking back onto the chair, his head hanging low, overwhelmed by the weight of the circumstances.
"We are exactly where we need to be. Patience is a virtue." Ted reaffirmed.
Mike, with his emotions near the surface, reacted passionately, his voice raised with frustration.
"I'm sorry Mr Jones, but that is a load of bullshit." he muttered, regret tinged in his voice. "I really failed Emily by not pushing her to go to the police earlier. I excused Steve's actions, thinking it would all go away. I'm such an idiot."
Ted's hand found its way to Mike's back, a genuine attempt to offer comfort and understanding.
"It's alright Mike, we all make mistakes. That's how we learn." Ted's voice carried a hint of bittersweet recollection.
Mike looked at Ted with confusion on his face, unsure of what to make of Ted's chastisement.
Ted, sensing a misunderstanding, quickly spoke to clarify.
"I'm sorry Mike, I didn't mean to call you out at all. Let me share a story with you."
Ted leaned in, his voice taking on a gentle tone as he began to share a tale from his past. In his mind's eye, Ted conjured up memories of events that had shaped him, of people and moments that had come and gone in his life.
"When I was around your age, maybe a little younger, back when my father was still alive, I was just the apprentice at the grocery store," Ted began, his words weighed down by the burdens of the past. "I used to handle the late shifts, you know, due to school, baseball, and because my dad preferred the tavern over spending time with me."
Mike listened intently, sensing the weight of bitter memories that colored Ted's words. Empathy welled up within him as he saw the pain etched onto Ted's face.
Ted's gaze seemed to pierce through time as he continued to speak. "You know, my mother wasn't around when I was growing up," Ted began, his tone reflective. "She passed away before I even started school. It was just me and my dad, and let me tell you, my dad was one mean son of a bitch."
Mike struggled to find the right words to respond to Ted's revelations, but he could see a mix of pain and fondness in Ted's expression, a testament to the complex nature of their shared histories.
"One evening, just about five minutes before closing time, a group of older youths came into the store," Ted recounted. "I could smell trouble from a mile away. Their demeanor was off, posture slouched, eyes avoiding contact, too eager to look nonchalant. I noticed their driver waiting right outside, engine still running."
"That's trouble, Mr. Jones." Mike interjected, speaking from his own experience.
Ted nodded in agreement, his face reflecting the weight of the situation.
"It was like fielding a bad hop in a game," Ted continued, his voice tinged with frustration. "I felt overwhelmed and helpless, trouble barrelling towards me. And you know what? It all played out exactly as I expected. Those boys grabbed a case of beer without paying and sauntered right out of the store. I was fucking livid."
Mike's eyes widened in astonishment.
"They were disrespecting my store. My father's store," Ted corrected himself. "That store was our livelihood, the embodiment of my mother's hard work before she died from bowel cancer. You bet I was goddamn angry. I grabbed the last guy, thinking I'd give him a piece of my mind."
Ted shifted in his seat to face Mike directly, his fingers drawing an invisible line down the center of his face.
"Do you see this?" Ted asked, indicating the slightly crooked alignment of his nose. "The guy sucker-punched me and broke my nose. It's never going to be straight ever again."
Mike leaned in closer, finally noticing the subtle misalignment of Ted's nose. A small smile crept across Mike's face as he took in the anecdote, appreciating the shared experience.
Ted playfully adjusted his own nose as if trying to straighten it.
"But you know what the worst part was, apart from getting an impromptu rhinoplasty? It was the shame, the fear I felt." Ted confessed, his voice carrying the weight of that long-ago night. "I thought that I was a failure for not stopping those guys from stealing from the store. And that's exactly what they are, a bunch of low life thieves. But in my infinite wisdom, I decided not to mention a word of it to my father. I couldn't bear the shame of being violated in such a reckless way, I felt that he wouldn't understand me. I was worried I would actually get into more trouble with my father if I told him. So I cleaned up the mess, put twenty bucks in the till to cover the theft, and pretended nothing had happened."
"But your nose..." Mike started to say.
"I told my dad I got hit with a baseball playing with my friends," Ted replied with a chuckle.
Mike laughed, imagining how unbelievable that excuse must have sounded.
Ted's laughter joined Mike's. "Well, back in the day, baseball was a violent sport, not too dissimilar to football. It was pretty common for everyone to break their ribs and noses even when playing a casual game of baseball with friends." Ted winked knowingly. He cherished the faint smile that he could see creep upon Mike's face.
"And you know what, Mike?" Ted added, his tone reflecting a sense of closure. "The incident did pass, swept neatly under the rug, and everyone else moved on. But I felt like a complete schmuck, taking a broken nose and being out of pocket twenty bucks for my trouble. That's the regret I've carried with me all this time. I just hope I can pass on a sliver of experience to those closest to me."
"Thanks Mr. Jones, definitely appreciate the yarn and the lesson." Mike said, his voice sincere. "I'm a simple, seat-of-the-pants kind of guy, and I've crashed and burned more than a few times."
"Hey, what did I say about living and learning?" Ted responded, his tone gentle, "You've gotta make the occasional mistake to really learn. But it's also good to listen to those who've made the mistakes before. You're a good kid Mike. You've got your head in the right place, and that goes a long way. Your dad's a good man too who's been around the block a few times. Don't be afraid to ask him for guidance. He's always got your six."
Ted stood up and walked over to the vending machine, his curiosity getting the better of him. Like Mike had done previously, Ted surveyed the snacks, but he passed over the usual junk food at the top rows. His eyes finally settled on something intriguing, tucked away in the very bottom left corner. With a childlike excitement, Ted fished out a few coins from his old jeans and fed them into the machine. The machine whirred, dropping its treasure – a packet of Old Dutch potato chips. Ted triumphantly showed the packet to Mike, as if he'd just won a jackpot.
"Want a chip?" Ted offered, his enthusiasm infectious. "These ones are the real McCoy, the kind you write home about."
Mike couldn't help but laugh at Ted's childlike excitement. He reached into the packet, pulling out a perfectly golden chip, its surface the same size as a large potato. Mike raised an eyebrow, trying hard not to appear overly impressed, but as he bit into it, his skepticism vanished. He nodded in approval, acknowledging that Ted's enthusiasm was well-founded.
Ted was pleased that his recommendation had hit the mark. He sat back down next to Mike, savoring a chip from the packet himself.
"Really good, isn't it?" Ted asked, a satisfied grin on his face. "It's definitely something to write home about," Ted muttered to himself, his voice full of contentment. "The only time I've had a better potato chip was the ones Sally's mother used to make when I was still dating her, a long time before Becky was born. Every chip Sally's mother cooked was a slice of potato heaven."
With an exaggerated chef's kiss motion, Ted punctuated his memory. Mike laughed once more, feeling grateful for Ted's ability to bring a touch of lightness to the cold and unwelcome atmosphere of the police waiting room.
Time seemed to fly by as Mike and Ted finished all but a final chip that both men were too polite to take. The moment of shared enjoyment was comforting to the both of them yet it was all too brief.
Ted turned to Mike, his mind shifting from snacks to a different matter. He sought advice and ideas for a home project he had in mind, the conversion of the spare bedroom into a study for Sally, a place where she could conduct her writing. Just as Mike began to offer his ideas about the sort of setup Sally might find helpful to organize and inspire her writing, the doors to the Sergeant's office opened with a hesitant nudge.
The sergeant held the door open as Emily emerged, stumbling back into the waiting room. Her eyes were swollen from tears and her hand clutching a crumpled tissue. Sally was right by her side, supporting her with an arm around her shoulder as she led Emily to a nearby chair.
Ted looked at Sally, his brows silently asking for an update on what had transpired. Sally responded with a subtle head tilt and closed lips, signaling that she didn't want to discuss it at the moment.
The Sergeant leaned against the doorframe, her attention now focused on Mike.
"Mike Sullivan, can you come into my office?" she called out gravely, "I want to ask you a few questions about the photos and your assessment of the damage."
Mike's gaze shifted over to Emily who was sobbing rhythmically. Emily managed to lift her head, locking eyes with Mike. Mike's presence and the knowledge that he would provide corroborating evidence to her account of the damage caused to her shop gave her comfort. A faint glimmer of strength returning to Emily's expression as she gratefully nodded at Mike, urging him on. With a reassuring smile, Mike stood up, taking a deep breath as he prepared to face the questioning.
Before Mike made his way towards the office, Ted called out to him, catching his attention.
"Mike, you're going to be okay?" Ted asked.
"Yes sir, I believe I'm gonna be fine." With those words, he headed towards the doorway, disappearing into the Sergeant's office. Sergeant Matheson cast one final look at Emily, before closing the door behind her.
Ted moved to sit back down next to Emily, with Sally on the other side, surrounding Emily with the solidarity that she silently yearned for.
Ted extended the packet with the final potato chip towards Emily, offering a small distraction. Emily sniffed and shook her head, a look of gratitude in her eyes, even though she couldn't express it fully in the moment. Ted then turned to Sally, offering her the chip. As Sally saw the Old Dutch packet, it reminded her of the earlier picnic with Becky, bringing a warm smile to her face. She too quietly declined the chip, her appreciation however was evident in her expression.
Sally felt a warmth deep within her, triggered by her connection with Ted that seemed to radiate from their very souls. She was grateful for the bond they shared, the kind of closeness that allowed them to be there for each other for all their difficult moments, and now, to extend that love and support to someone as dear to them as Emily.