Last Call

over hers. Think that'd fit?'

Looking more closely at Frank now than the picture, Gail says, 'Sure.'

She turns back to her computer and Frank packs up the photographs. She heads to the kitchen for a beer. Sipping it at the sink, deciding what to do with the rest of the night, she's surprised when Gail joins her.

'Baby, I know this is a hard time for you. And it's hard watching you go through this. I wish there was something I could do, but I can't. I feel like most of the time you don't even want me around. I know you've got to do your own thing, but I hate being so completely shut out.'

'You're not shut out. I'm here, aren't I?'

'Are you?'

Because Frank doesn't like the answer to that question she takes an offensive tack. 'Look. I'm sorry I'm not dealing with this the way you'd like me to. Maybe—'

'Oh, don't you dare put this on me, Frank. Don't even think about it. How you deal with this is your business and I'm trying to give you the latitude to do that, but you've got to understand how frustrating it is watching you cope by drinking and working to excess. We don't talk about anything more significant than the weather, and when I push for something more you get sarcastic and combative. I'm trying to be patient, but I don't feel like you're making any effort to deal with this.'

Frank clamps her jaws together. Her fingers whiten around the bottle but Frank is contained. 'Let me see if I understand this. I'm the one who goes to work in the building I've shared with him for fourteen years. I'm the one who passes his empty desk every day. I'm the one who spends half my time thinking of things I have to tell him, and the other half remembering I can't. I'm the one who's there for his fucking widow and his fucking kids, but I'm not making any effort to deal with it? Did I get that right?'

Gail argues, 'Staring down his memory is not the same as grieving him. You're ignoring your feelings around Noah just like you ignored Maggie. You can't brush this all under the carpet and expect it to disappear. Didn't you learn anything sitting in Clay's office? You have to talk about these things, Frank. You have to feel them to make them go away, not just bury them under piles of empties!'

Frank shouts back, 'I don't want to feel anything, Gail. Get it? And I don't want to talk about it. I'm not indulging in all this namby-pamby, touchy-feely, get-it-all-out-on-the-table bullshit. Not right now. And the bottom line is, all that Doctor Phil shit just gets you a bigger heartache. It's a waste of fucking time. I will deal with this in my own way, in my own time, and it if you can't handle that, then I will be more than happy to stay the fuck away.'

With marvelous restraint Frank tips her bottle into the sink and stalks to the front door. Gail follows.

'Oh, let me guess! This is the part where you storm out like you always do when we argue. Why don't you stay and finish this? Just this one time.'

'It's finished.'

'No, it's not. You're just running from me, too. When are you going to face life, Frank? You can't take off like a big bird every time we have a fight. For such a big, tough cop you have a remarkably wide yellow streak.'

'Oh, nice,' Frank throws over her shoulder. 'Now we've resorted to name-calling.'

'If the shoe fits...'

Wheeling, Frank demands, 'Gail, why are you making a hard situation even harder? What the hell do you want from me? Blood?'

'I want you. The real you. Not this cold, awful shell you've become. I want the Frank who laughs and talks and hurts and yes, bleeds. The real Frank. Not this morose, withdrawn carcass you drag home every night.'

'Maybe that's all I can give you right now.'

Frank watches Gail make the effort to say, 'Okay. I know that. I just miss the real Frank. I get impatient waiting for her to come back. I miss her.'

Frank fixes her eyes on Gail's, considering her options. Gail's probably right. She usually is about this sort of thing. Frank knows her emotions are overriding her intellect and she despises her lack of control. She can swallow her pride and let go of the argument, or stay mad and justify her stance. But Frank is too tired to stay mad. Her fight drains away and she concedes, 'It might be a while, Gay.'

'I know. You're going to do it your way. It's just so frustrating not being able to help.'

Frank understands. She feels that way with Tracey, wishing she could carry the hurt for her. For the kids, too. Gail holds her arms open and Frank steps into them. Into the doc's hair, she murmurs, 'Been a long day. What say we hit the hay?'

And though Frank sleeps close to Gail, she remains distant.

Chapter 10

Her office door is closed and the knock surprises her. She weighs the sound of the appeal and guesses Jill is on the other side.

'Yeah?'

The red-haired detective pops her head in. 'Is this a bad time?'

'No. Come in.'

Frank watches Jill approach her desk. She seems hesitant. Lifting a handful of papers she says, 'The sixty- day on Fuentes.'

'Fuentes?'

'The domestic battery? We're trying to find her boyfriend?'

'Right.' Frank remembers. She glances through Jill's late report, asks a couple questions. They discuss another case and the comp time Jill wants to take. 'Anything else?' Frank asks.

Jill's hesitancy returns. She's an opinionated, determined woman and this timidity is intriguing.

'Spit it out,' Frank encourages.

'Well, um, we were just, I mean I was, wondering, how, um, how you're doing and stuff. We know, I know, how close you were to No and it's, well, it's not easy.'

Jesus, Frank explodes in her head, won’t anyone give this a fucking rest? Lacing her fingers in front of her mouth, she rests her chin in her thumbs, surmising, 'So the boys sent you in to do the dirty work.'

'We're just worried, is all.'

'What's the consensus out there?'

'What consensus?'

'Do you think I'm gonna go postal and spray the squad room with a shotgun, or just eat my gun and make a helluva mess on the bedroom wall?'

'Nobody thinks that,' Jill flares, her timidity vanishing. 'It's just that you haven't been on any of the call-outs lately. That's not like you. And your door's closed all the time and you barely talk to anyone, except at brief. We're just concerned.'

'Well, you don't need to be. All you need to do—and you can pass this on to the boys—is mind your own business and do your jobs. If you spent more time worrying about your sixty-days than me, you might be able to get them in on time.'

Jill's lips purse up and she glares.

'Anything else?' Frank repeats.

Jill shakes her head, slamming Frank's door when she leaves.

'Christ, what a cabal,' Frank speaks into her fingers. Talking to herself is another recently acquired habit that Frank's beginning to notice.

She leans back with a rushing sigh, wishing everyone would disappear into a black hole and take their goddamned concern with them. She knows Jill meant well, and knows she shouldn't have shot the messenger. She'll admit things have changed around the squad room. She seems to have closed her door literally as well as metaphorically and can't get it open again. Isn't even trying. She doesn't care that she's locked it behind her and she wishes no one else did either.

And again her temper's gotten the better of her. Now she'll have to apologize to Jill, make nice to the squad. Frank's job is to maintain morale even though her own is lower than piss in a gutter. She sighs again, unable to get enough air.