Harmonized by Mary Behre

mood.”
    Karma glanced around the sparsely decorated living room. The sturdy brown micro-suede couch was the only color in the space. There were no pictures on the walls, no knickknacks, just a simple floor lamp and a coffee table. Only the flat-screen television on the wall offered any hint that Zig might use this room for more than a few minutes a week. But it was spotless. Not a speck of dust anywhere.
    â€œYeah, I can see that you really needed to rush here and straighten up.” She gestured to the space. “It’s a pigsty in here. A real wonder you can find the door every morning.”
    â€œI have dishes in the sink.” Zig cocked his head at her, mock offense in his tone. “I should make you wait outside while I wash them up. Wouldn’t want you to be offended by my messiness.”
    The dishes in the sink consisted of a plate, a fork, and a glass. All previously rinsed.
    â€œYou are ever the slob.” Karma arched an eyebrow at him. “Tell me, how long have you lived here?”
    â€œAbout four years. I signed the lease after graduating the police academy.” Zig spoke as he washed the three dishes.
    Karma again was struck by the meager attempt at personalizing the space. The kitchen didn’t even have a clock on the wall. “Don’t spend much time here?”
    Zig dried the plate and glass then put them in the cabinet. “Not really. I do a lot of shift work; mostly I use this place to sleep and eat. Except on Sundays. I still go to my folks’ for Sunday dinners.”
    Memories of big dinners, loud laughter, and romantic stolen kisses in his mother’s pantry tugged at her. Something inside her chest swelled, forcing a lump of regret into her throat. She swallowed hard, determined not to let past mistakes dampen the lightened mood they’d only begun to experience. “That’s wonderful. Sunday dinners at their place were always the best part of the week when we were in college.”
    A strange emotion flickered across his face before his expression darkened.
Madre de Dios
, she’d managed to screw up their tacit truce after all. Karma struggled to think of something, anything else to discuss that could bring back their semi-comfortable state. Nothing came to mind. Instead, she stood in the kitchen, vaguely aware of some weird tap-tap-tapping sound.
    Zig stared at her right knee, which was currently jiggling up and down and tapping the heel of her satin shoe on his kitchen floor. Karma stilled her knee. “Sorry.”
    He stared at her for another silent moment then strode to the fridge. “Can I get you a drink? Don’t have much, got diet soda or water. I can make you some sweet tea.”
    â€œWater’s great. Thanks.” She slipped out of his coat, carefully laying it over the back of one of the two metal table chairs. “What’s the plan for working on Gwyn’s case?”
    He pulled out two bottles of water and handed her one. “Officially, I can’t do anything. Unofficially, I told you I’d help and I will. I called a friend on the drive over here. He’s agreed to discuss the case notes from the incident at the bridge. Until he arrives, we wait. And talk. I figure after eight years, we might have some catching up to do.”
    Karma rolled the blue plastic bottle between her hands before setting it aside without taking a sip. She wasn’t sure she was ready to talk about their past, about her mistakes. But she owed him an explanation. Hearing he wanted one gave her a glimmer of hope that he could forgive her. She lifted her head to say that, only to realize Zig had left the kitchen.
    She found him sitting on the couch. His feet propped up on the aged coffee table, his unopened water bottle dangling from his right hand. His head back and his eyes closed. He looked exhausted. So much older than his twenty-seven years.
    Had she caused the weariness to smudge shadows under his eyes? Probably.