“Jesus, Mia,” I finally say. My voice is pretty scratchy too.
“I know. I mean, I’ve worked on it in therapy and mostly forgiven myself. It was a normal reaction. I was a kid. It’s okay. But I still feel bad about it.” She stops. Then says quietly, “I’m not telling you this to make you like Scott more. I’m telling you because no one’s perfect and life’s messy and…it’s okay.”
Mia Hansen and I have a lot in common.
I can’t get past that thought that keeps pinging around in my head.
We both lost our parents about the same age. We both came to Sapphire Falls around the same age. We’re both adopted.
The silence is now much more comfortable. We both need the two minutes of saying nothing.
But finally I tell her, “I wanted to be a cop.”
“Because of what happened to your mom,” she guesses.
Correctly.
“Yes.” I feel the familiar mix of rage and anguish tighten my chest. “They never caught the guy. My mom and another guy were dead before the cops even got to the store.”
“I’m so sorry, David.”
“Thanks. But I’m telling you this because…this is why I don’t get along with your dad.”
She shifts on the couch. “Okay.”
“So, yes, I was trouble as a kid. A lot of trouble. I pushed boundaries, I acted out. I was testing Delaney and Tucker. I wanted to know that they were going to be there for me no matter what. I also had a little ‘who gives a fuck’ in me as I grew up and really understood how fucking unfair what happened to both of my parents was.”
“I get that.”
I nod. “And, I wanted someone, my parents, my teachers, your dad, to step in and say enough. You’ve stepped over the line. We care enough to stop you if you can’t stop yourself. All of that is true.”
“You wanted my dad to be harder on you?” she asks.
“Yeah. That’s what my therapist and I finally figured out.” I sigh. “I needed to know someone gave enough of a shit to lock me up to save me from myself.”
“And he never did.”
“No. Tucker and Delaney, and my brothers did. Essentially,” I tell her. “They sat me down and said if I didn’t get my shit together, they were done. Cutting me off.”
I sense her surprise. “They had an intervention.”
“Yep. And it worked. I said fine. I went to therapy. And then, several months and sessions later, I went to your dad’s office and told him that I wanted to be a cop.”
“Oh,” she says softly. “And?”
“He said he thought I’d be a terrible cop.”
“Oh shit,” she whispers.
“Yep. He said that I wanted to be a cop because I was angry at the system. I wanted to make up for what had happened to my mom, to make things right. Which he understood, but being angry wasn’t the right motivation. Angry cops are bad cops.”
“So what did you do?”
“I went to college and got a natural resources degree and a criminal justice degree, I applied to the police academy and became a cop.”
I can’t see her smile, but I sense it.
“And then?”
