'Va-va-voom,' Sophie echoed.
'So, tell me something, young lady.'
'What?'
'How did you get so pretty?'
'My mom's pretty.' They both looked at Jessica. This was their routine when she was feeling a little down.
Oh God, Jessica thought. Her chest felt like it was going to rumble right off her body. Her lower lip quivered.
'Yes, she is,' Vincent said. 'One of the two prettiest girls in the world.'
'Who's the other girl?' Sophie asked.
Vincent winked.
'Dad,' Sophie said.
'Let's finish our breakfast.'
Sophie sat back down.
Vincent sipped his coffee. 'Are you looking forward to visiting the school?'
'Oh, yes.' Sophie spooned a blob of milk-sodden Cheerios into her mouth.
'Where's your backpack?'
Sophie stopped chewing. How could she get through the day without her backpack? It all but defined her as a person. Two weeks earlier she had tried on more than a dozen, finally settling on a Strawberry Shortcake model. For Jessica it had been like watching Paris Hilton at a Jean Paul Gaultier trunk show. A minute later Sophie finished eating, brought her bowl to the sink, and rocketed back to her room.
Vincent then turned his attention to his suddenly fragile wife, the same woman who once punched out a thug in a Port Richmond bar for putting his arm around her waist, the woman who once went four full victorious rounds on ESPN2 with a monstrous gal from Cleveland, Ohio, a heavily muscled nineteen-year-old nicknamed 'Cinder Block' Jackson.
'Come here, you big baby,' he said.
Jessica crossed the room. Vincent patted his lap. Jessica sat. 'What?' she asked.
'You're not dealing with this too well, are you?'
'No.' Jessica felt the emotions well up again, a hot coal burning behind her breastbone. Big brute of a Philly homicide detective was she.
'It's only an orientation thing, I thought,' Vincent said.
'It is. But it's going to orient her to school.'
'I thought that was the point.'
'She's not ready for school.'
'News flash, Jess.'
'What?'
'She is ready for school.'
'Yeah but… but that means she'll be ready to wear makeup, and get her license, and start dating, and-'
'What, in first grade?'
'You know what I mean.'
It was obvious. God help her and save the republic she wanted another baby. Ever since she had rolled the odometer to thirty, she'd thought about it. Most of her friends were on bundle number three. Every time she saw a swaddled baby in a stroller, or in a papoose, or in a car seat, or even in a stupid television commercial for Pampers, she felt the pang.
'Hold me tight,' she said.
Vincent did. As tough as Jessica thought she was-in addition to her life as a police officer, she was also a professional boxer, not to mention a South Philly girl, born and raised at Sixth and Catharine-she never felt safer than at moments like this.
She pulled back, looked into her husband's eyes. She kissed him. Deep and serious and let's-make-a-baby big-time.
'Wow,' Vincent said, his lips smeared with lipstick. 'We should send her to school more often.'
'There's a lot more where that came from, Detective,' she said, probably a little too seductively for seven in the morning. Vincent was, after all, Italian. She slid off his lap. He pulled her right back. He kissed her again, and then they both looked at the wall clock.
The bus was coming for Sophie in five minutes. After that Jessica didn't have to meet her partner for almost an hour.
Plenty of time.
Kevin Byrne had been off for a week, and although Jessica had had enough on her plate to keep her busy, the week without him had dragged. Byrne had been scheduled to return three days ago, but there had been that horrible incident at the diner. She'd read the accounts in the Inquirer and Daily News, read the official reports. A nightmare scenario for a police officer.
Byrne had been put on a brief administrative leave. There would be a review in the next day or two. They hadn't talked about the episode in depth yet.
They would.
When she turned the corner, she saw him standing in front of the coffee shop, two cups in hand. Their first stop of the day would be to visit a ten-year-old crime scene in Juniata Park, the location of a 1997 double drug- homicide, followed by an interview with an elderly gentleman who had been a potential witness. It was day one of a cold case to which they had been assigned.
There were three sections in the homicide unit-the Line Squad, which handled new cases; the Fugitive Squad, which tracked down wanted suspects; and SIU, the Special Investigation Unit, which, among other things, handled cold cases. The roster of detectives was generally set in stone, but sometimes when all hell broke loose, which happened all too often in Philly, detectives on any given shift could work the line.
'Excuse me, I was supposed to meet my partner here,' Jessica said. 'Tall, clean-shaven guy. Looks like a cop. Have you seen him?'
'What, you don't like the beard?' Byrne handed her a cup. 'I spent an hour shaping it.'
'Shaping?'
'Well, you know, trimming around the edges so it doesn't look ragged.'
'Ah.'
'What do you think?'
Jessica leaned back, scrutinized his face. 'Well, to be honest, I think it makes you look…'
'Distinguished?'
She was going to say homeless. 'Yeah. That.'
Byrne stroked his beard. It hadn't grown fully in, but Jessica could see that when it did it would be mostly gray. As long as he didn't go Just For Men on her, she could probably handle it.
As they headed to the Taurus, Byrne's cell phone rang. He flipped it open, listened, pulled out his notebook, made a few notes. He glanced at his watch. 'Twenty minutes.' He folded his phone, pocketed it.
'Job?' Jessica asked.
'Job.'
The cold case would stay cold a while longer. They continued up the street. After a full block, Jessica broke the silence.
'You okay?' she asked.
'Me? Oh, yeah,' Byrne said. 'Never better. Sciatica's acting up a little, but other than that.'
'Kevin.'
'I'm telling you, I'm a hundred percent,' Byrne said. 'Hand to God.'
He was lying, but that's what friends did for each other when they wanted you to know the truth.
'We'll talk later?' Jessica asked.
'We'll talk,' Byrne said. 'By the way, why are you so happy?'
'I look happy?'
'Let me put it this way. Your face could open a smile outlet in Jersey.'
