her instructions, they leave the boxes in Frank's office. They are filled to the top, overflowing like Christmas stockings. She ignores them until the end of the day, when she walks across the street and comes back with two more boxes. She repacks everything until she can seal each box, thinking if it's this hard for her to look at his stuff, how hard is it going to be for his wife?
She calls Tracey, asking if she'd like company for dinner. She's pleased when Tracey answers, 'Fuck, yeah. I'd love to see you.'
Having six tender ears around hasn't bled the blue from Tracey's tongue.
Frank suggests, 'How 'bout I get some Kentucky Fried Chicken? Wash it down with plastic coleslaw and watery potatoes?'
'God,' Tracey groans. 'I haven't eaten that shit in years. But the kids'll love it. And don't forget the biscuits and gravy.'
When she arrives at Noah's house—it will always be Noah's house—Tracey greets her with the usual bear hug. What it lacks in exuberance it makes up for in comfort. The women hold on to each other for a while.
'Hey, I've got some stuff in the car. From Noah's desk. Want me to put it in the garage?'
'Would you?'
'Sure.' Noah's youngest are watching TV in the living room and Frank says, 'Hey, come help me bring your dinner in.'
'Hi, Frank,' Jamie says. 'We're watching a movie.'
'Not anymore,' Tracey replies, waving the remote at the TV. 'Go help Frank.'
Frank loads the kids with bags of food, then stacks the boxes on a shelf in the garage. She brings a six-pack in from the car, but Tracey has already snapped the cap off a Bud and left it on the counter. Picking up her own bottle, she clanks it against Frank's.
She quips, 'I was going to open a delicate little Pouilly-Fuisse but thought this might have a gutsier bouquet.'
'Hear, hear,' Frank says, draining much of her bottle in one go.
Tracey wipes her lip and says, 'Thanks for coming by.'
'Thanks for letting me invite myself.'
'Well, hell, how can I refuse when you bring dinner?'
The kids aren't in the kitchen, so Frank asks, 'How's it going?'
'Horrible. I can't stand this. Waiting for him to come into the room, or call and say he's running late. I don't know how many times a day I think, oh, I've gotta tell No this, and then each time it's a fresh kick in the stomach when I remember I can't.' Tracey starts crying and yanks a paper towel off the holder. 'I talk to him anyway. I like to think he can hear me, that he can still see us and knows how much we love him. What else can I do?' she pleads.
'Nothing.'
'That's it.' She nods. 'Nothing. I cry all the time. My shirts are always wet,' she jokes, but not really.
'It'll get better, Trace. You saw me go through Maggie. If I can do it, then anyone can.'
'No kidding.'
Tracey tries a chuckle, swiping her cheeks. Frank wraps her arms around her best friend's wife and for a minute they share the load.
The spring night is balmy, so they picnic on the patio. Tracey confides that they've been eating dinner everywhere except in the dining room. She can't stand seeing Noah's chair empty. After dinner, Tracey brings fresh beers. Leslie has disappeared into her room, but Mark and Jamie color near them.
Frank tilts her head, asking so they won't hear, 'How are they?'
Tracey blows her sorrow and frustration out in a sigh. 'Markie follows me everywhere I go, and at some point during the night Jamie joins us in bed. They're so confused. But at least they're talking about it. Les just hides in her room. She answers me in monosyllables but won't volunteer anything.'
'It's harder for some people.'
'I guess.'
Frank lets Tracey study her.
'I was always amazed how you just sat and drank. You never said a word about Maggie. I used to push No to get you to talk but he'd just tell me to butt out. He said you would if you wanted to. Did you? Ever?'
Frank squints into the past. 'Couple times. When I was drunk enough.'
For almost a month after her lover had been killed Frank would come over and pass out on the Jantzens' couch. Noah would stay up with her until she fell asleep. The poor bastard had almost died trying to match her drink for drink and Tracey finally made him stop. But still he'd stayed up with Frank. They talked about little things, work and news. They shared silences interrupted only by the gurgle of Frank's bottle.
Frank asks, 'You remember the Pryce case?'
'Do I? Christ Almighty, Noah lived that case. He ate, drank and breathed it. Why? Did you get a bite on it?'
Frank's head shakes in the negative. 'I was thinking about taking a look at it.'
'Good luck,' Tracey says. 'Excuse me, but I hated those rucking kids. Noah'd obsess about them all day at work, then when he finally came home he'd go straight upstairs to watch the kids sleep. He'd fall asleep on the floor and I finally stopped waking him up. I'd just cover him with a blanket and leave him there. That's where I found him Christmas morning. He stuck around long enough to open presents then he spent the rest of the day at work. He stayed with his kids all night then went back to those goddamned dead ones in the morning.' Tracey shivers. 'I hated that case.'
'Kid cases are tough. Worse for people with their own. Joe knew he was taking it hard, but he said every cop's got to go through it. That it'd either make him or break him.'
'Yeah, well, it almost broke him. And then when the evidence came up missing? Christ, Frank, I honestly thought he was going to kill somebody. I'd never seen him that angry.'
'I remember.'
Most of the physical evidence in the Pryce case had been lost after analysis at the Scientific Investigation Division. Noah had gone on a rampage and practically instigated a lawsuit against SID.
Frank grins. 'I don't think I've ever seen him any madder. The SID techs wouldn't work his cases for months afterwards. Said they'd only work with me or his partner.'
'That's right. You'd just gotten promoted.' After a pause in which Frank again reflects on how she wasn't there for Noah, Tracey says, 'It was good to see Joe, wasn't it?'
'Yeah. Glad he came.'
'I assume you're the one who told him?'
Frank nods. The beer is mildly anesthetic. Because she fears undoing its tender effects, she focuses on someone else's pain. 'How are No's folks?'
'I don't know. His mom still can't talk on the phone, and Larry, well, Larry's Larry. 'Fine, fine, all right. Everything's just fine. Awful business, but we'll get through.' He's got that whole Leslie Howard, stiff-upper-lip thing going on. But he's right. We'll muddle through somehow, huh?'
Stretching for Tracey's hand, Frank squeezes it tight. She see herself begowned and turbaned. She has become Stoic the Magnificent, the Great Bearer of Lies sweet to the ear and a balm to the heart.
'That's right,' she assures. 'We will.'
Chapter 7
Cases are redistributed, detective teams are rearranged, and work at the nine-three proceeds over the next few weeks, albeit haltingly at times, without Noah Jantzen. The cluckhead who suffocated her baby was turned in, although not from altruism, as Frank predicted. The junkie's sister is a cluckhead too and rats her out to Lewis for a twenty. Bobby and Darcy catch a domestic grounder and close a corner slice-and-dice. Foubarelle throws make- work at Frank while hounding her for stats. It's all s-squared, d-squared—same shit, different day.
The Pryce murder books perch on a corner of Frank's desk. She's stared at them without the guts to open them. They seem like they're still Noah's. This case is the last she has of him. She doesn't want to pore over the binders without him peering over her shoulder.
