Together Alone by Barbara Delinsky

by Myra scurrying over. “Why is this police car here? Has something happened? Is something wrong? Why is Chief Davies here?”
    “It’s all right,” Emily assured her. “They’re just here about the garage.”
    Myra glanced uneasily at Brian. “What about the garage? Is there a problem with the garage?”
    “I want to look at it,” Brian said.
    “But there’s nothing there,” Myra cried. “How could there be? It’s just a shell of a place. You’d have to take up the floor to put anything there.”
    Emily touched her shoulder. “He’s looking to rent it, Myra. He’s new to John’s department.”
    “A policeman?” Myra asked, lighting up. “Oh, good . There’s never any crime on the streets where they live.” She frowned. “But Frank won’t like it.”
    Emily said softly, “You don’t have to tell him.”
    “No. I don’t. Do I?”
    Julia began to whimper.
    Brian shifted her on his hip. “She’s impatient. Her attention span is limited. Can I see the apartment?”
    Emily swallowed. His eyes were startlingly direct. They spoke of exhaustion, of needing to be somewhere but not knowing where, wanting to do something but not knowing what.
    Emily knew how that was.
    “Myra,” she said, “do me a huge favor? Go into my kitchen, pour yourself a cup of tea, and listen for the phone? I don’t want to miss Jill if she calls.”
    “But they won’t find anything in the garage,” Myra protested.
    Emily smiled and steered her off. “I’ve been telling them that, but they’ll have to see for themselves. Will you wait inside so I can take them up?”
    “If it will help you out.”
    “It will. Very much.” She waited until Myra had gone in before leading the others to the far side of the garage. The door there opened to a comfortably wide staircase. “For starters, we need new locks. These are nonfunctional.” She started up the stairs, placing her bare feet with care on the occasional rough tread. Brian followed with the whimpering Julia. John took up the rear.
    At the top, a second door opened into a large room. Kindly speaking, it had wood floors, papered walls, and a vaulted ceiling. More accurately, the floors were scuffed and dusty, the striped wallpaper was faded into spectral cords, the high ceiling was webby, and the air was stale.
    Acting on the last, Emily opened two of the windows. They were too narrow to offer much by way of relief, but they gave an illusion of openness. Not that she wanted Brian to like the place. But it was hers, and she did have pride. She also had fond memories of times she had played here with Jill, times Jill had played here with friends. Once, there had been a tiny table and chairs, a small chalkboard, a bookshelf, a bin filled with toys. Those things had long since been cleared out to allow for Jill and her friends to spend the night in sleeping bags on the floor. All that remained of those parties were panels of notes written in different colored markers for all of posterity to see, and punch stains on the floor.
    “Pretty sorry sight, huh?” she asked, brushing dust from her hands.
    Julia was whimpering more insistently, but Brian only smiled. “There’s nothing here that a little elbow grease won’t fix.”
    “A little. That’s optimistic.”
    “It’s a nice size.” He started walking around, rubbing Julia’s back as he went.
    Emily watched. Large hand, small back. Long, blunt fingers that looked like they would be all thumbs with a diaper pin but that moved in a gentle, soothing motion.
    She wondered whether he was a good cop or a bad cop, industrious or lazy, curious or bored. She wondered what kind of work he had done in New York and what kind he would be doing here.
    When he set Julia on her feet, she took off.
    He looked like a nice guy. But Emily really wasn’t ready to rent out the space. She slid another silent plea John’s way, only to find him reading the writing on the wall.
    “There’s nothing shocking there,” she said. “It’s