Hazard and Somerset Off Duty Read online

  “It’s fine.”

  “I totally forgot.”

  “It’s fine, John.”

  “I’ll leave you alone.”

  Hazard settled back against the sofa.

  Instead of leaving, though, Somers stayed in the doorway, fiddling with his phone. Hazard waited a moment and then pressed play. The documentary continued, zooming in on Virginia, and then the image slowly dissolved into video footage of Monticello, stately brick and white timber. A narrator said, “Jefferson’s election in 1800 was, in many ways, a revolution.”

  “Revolution my ass,” Hazard muttered. “He was just peddling watered-down Rousseauian populism.”

  Somers yawned. A very loud yawn. And stretched. A very big stretch. So big, in fact, that it carried him up onto tiptoes, his arms curling over his head, his lean frame drawn tight by the pose.

  Hazard bit the inside of his cheek and dragged his gaze back to the documentary. Think about Alexander Hamilton’s support in the contingent election, he told himself. Think about federal appointees under the spoils system. Think about yeoman farmers, for the love of God.

  “I think I’m going to bed,” Somers said.

  Hazard punched the volume up again.

  “I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” Somers said.

  The narrator blathered on about the Alien and Sedition Acts.

  “Unless, maybe, you want to come to bed too.” Somers worked his thumb along the waistband of his pajama pants. “Ree?”

  Hazard had to clear his throat. “I’m going to finish this first.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Ok.”

  “Ok, John.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” Hazard said. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

  “You want me to leave you alone. Message received.”

  Hazard grunted and turned up the volume again.

  “I love you.”

  Feeling a strangled noise building in his throat, Hazard punched the pause button. “John.”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  Somers smiled. “That’s so sweet.”

  “But I’m going to kill you.”

  “Oh. Right. The documentary.”

  “Yes. The documentary. The thing I’ve been trying to watch for the past ten minutes.”

  “Do you want me to make you some popcorn?”

  “No. Thank you.” The words came out in controlled explosions.

  “Do you want a beer?”

  “I want to watch my documentary.”

  “Got it. Totally understand. I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Hazard waited.

  Somers blew a kiss.

  “John.” The name slid out of Hazard’s mouth, rising in pitch. Hazard wasn’t sure if it sounded more like a threat or a whine; he couldn’t seem to stop it.

  Somers was grinning openly now.

  Then from the other room came the sound of Evie crying.

  “It’s probably because you turned your show up so loud,” Somers said with a shrug.

  “I wouldn’t have—if you hadn’t—if I could have—” And then, with that same escalating pitch, “John.”

  “Don’t look at me; I’ve got work in the morning. In fact, I should have been in bed a while ago, but you kept me up gabbing.”

  “I don’t gab. I didn’t—John, don’t you dare leave. John!”

  He disappeared into the bedroom. Hazard stared after him. Then, with a sigh, he dropped the remote on the sofa and stood. Maybe Evie wanted to learn about Jeffersonian expansionism too; it wouldn’t hurt her to get a solid foundation in early anti-Federalist history.

  The door to the bedroom creaked open, and Somers emerged, another grin plastered on his face. He crossed the room, kissed Hazard on the cheek, and pushed him back down onto the sofa.

  “Watch your show,” he said, limping toward Evie’s room. “You make it too easy sometimes.”

  IV

  SEPTEMBER 22

  SATURDAY

  3:13 PM

  SOMERS AND HAZARD had chosen the house together, although Somers would have admitted, if anyone pressed him, that he had probably had more to say in the matter than Hazard. Hazard had very few requirements: a fenced yard, two bedrooms, and no cracks in the foundation. The house Somers had settled on met all those requirements and, at least with regard to the number of bedrooms, exceeded them. The purchase had gone through quickly.

  The move, on the other hand, was going much less quickly. Hazard insisted they didn’t need to hire anyone. Under normal conditions, he might have been right, but his arm was still healing, and Somers was back at work, which meant everything was taking longer than it should have—and the move was steadily eating up Somers’s nights and weekends.

  On one of those weekends, on a hot afternoon in late September, they wrangled the sofa through the front door and got it set up in the living room, which was easily twice the size of the space back at their apartment. Then they sat together on the sofa, Hazard with a bottle of Guinness, Somers with water.

  “A/C might need work,” Hazard said, turning into his shoulder to wipe sweat from his forehead.

  “It’s fine. It just hasn’t been on all day.”

  “We should have somebody come out and take a look at it.”

  “The inspector said it looked pretty new.”

  “Those guys don’t know shit. I’ll call someone tomorrow.”

  “Let’s wait until we actually run it for a few days in a row and see how it does.”

  Hazard shrugged, tipping the Guinness back and taking a long pull.

  A knock came at the front door. Somers looked at Hazard.

  “No way,” Hazard said.

  “I got shot in the leg.”

  “No fucking way.”

  “I’m working a full-time job.”

  “Nobody says you have to answer the door. Let them knock.”

  Groaning, Somers got to his feet and limped down the hall. He opened the door and found himself face to face with a woman he didn’t know. She stood so close to the door that Somers actually stepped back.

  “Well, hi there, Mr. New Neighbor,” she laughed, a trilling little noise like something out of a cocktail-party training guide. She was blond, with neatly pressed slacks and a blouse that needed at least one more button done up. She had enough makeup on for an entire counter at Macy’s. “I’m Janice Kasperick. And I know who you are, Mr. Somerset.” That same cocktail-perfect laugh. “We’re all just so excited to have you in the neighborhood.”

  “Hi,” Somers said. He had the feeling he didn’t need to say much else; Janice Kasperick had probably read the cocktail-party training guide cover to cover, and she could handle the rest of the conversation.

  “I made you a pie.” She produced it out of nowhere, like a magician, and said, “Really, I made you three pies. I kept bringing them over when I saw the truck in the driveway, and I knocked and knocked, but no one ever answered the door. Aren’t you just so naughty, making me work my tail off like that. Naughty, naughty, naughty. I have half a mind to tell your mother.” Another trilling laugh. “Here you go. It’s cherry.”

  Somers smiled and accepted the pie.

  Janice didn’t quite get up on tiptoes, but she did try to peer over Somers’s shoulder. “I don’t suppose—I thought I heard you, well—”

  Somers felt his smile slide into a grin. “Ree, we’ve got a visitor.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “He’s not really busy.” Then, to Hazard: “You’re not really busy.”

  “I’m unpacking.”

  “It can wait. Our neighbor wants to meet you.”

  The answer was an audible, “Aw, fuck.”

  “He’s the naughty one,” Somers said, jerking his thumb towards the back of the house.

  Bright red spots colored Janice’s cheeks. “Is he—”

  “He’ll be right here.” Then, calling over his shoulder, “Ree, it’s not polite to keep people waiting.”

  Hazard’s steps shook the old house. “What do I smell?”

  “Pie,” Somers said, sliding aside so Hazard could join him at the doorway. “Janice made it for us. Technically, she made three of them.”

  “Bullshit,” Hazard said, casting a quick glance at Janice and then examining the pie more closely.

  Janice’s cocktail-party laugh had rougher edges this time, and the color in her cheeks was bleeding out to the rest of her face. “I really did, but no one answered the door when I knocked. You must not have heard me.”

  “I heard you,” Hazard said, taking the pie from Somers, rotating it, tilting it to examine the tin.

  “I told you he’s naughty,” Somers said.

  Janice took a breath and rallied. “Well, I completely understand. You must have been busy.”

  “Not that busy.” Hazard was still inspecting the pie. “I just didn’t want to answer the door.”

  “Yes, well, I only stopped by because I wanted to tell you how happy we are that you’re here. I heard you’ve done some wonderful things to the house, and I’d love to see the inside.” She offered a bright smile. “I was such good friends with Margaret—she lived here before you, poor thing, all alone, and she passed away so suddenly. She told me I was her only comfort. Isn’t that sweet? And I know this house inside and out. I’d just love to see what you’ve done with it.”

  “Bullshit,” Hazard said again, and before Janice seemed to realize what was happening, he shoved the pie back into her hands. “No one told you we did anything to the inside of the house. You just want to come inside and snoop. You’re probably hoping you’ll find somethin
g you can squeal about to the other women in your lunch group. Maybe you just want confirmation that we’re a couple of fags sharing the same bed.”

  “Well, I don’t—” Janice tried. “I mean I’ve never—”

  “I told you he was naughty,” Somers said again. “For the record, though, we really are huge homos. And we do share a bed. Although he takes up most of the space.” He lowered his voice, as though sharing a secret. “He hogs the covers too.”

  “I do not hog the covers,” Hazard snapped.

  Somers offered Janice his best put-upon expression and sighed.

  “I cannot believe—” Janice tried again.

  “She didn’t make those pies,” Hazard said, turning and heading back to the living room. “They’re Marie Callender’s. Frozen.”

  Janice’s face was a riot of emotions.

  “Men,” Somers said in a long-suffering voice. “Am I right? Nice to meet you, Janice.”

  He shut the door while Janice was still staring after Hazard.

  When Somers reached the living room, Hazard gave him a quick once-over and said, “You didn’t take the pie?”

  “It was kind of hard after you shoved it back into her hands.”

  Hazard thought this over and then rolled his big shoulders. Standing, he bounced his keys and said, “Let’s go.”

  “What? Where?”

  “Do they have cherry pie at the Wahredua Family Bakery?”

  V

  SEPTEMBER 26

  WEDNESDAY

  5:48 PM

  SOMERS STARED at his daughter, matching her dark eyes, refusing to back down. Evie crossed her arms. She lowered her head until her chin rested on her pudgy neck. She gave a single, furious shake of her head. But her eyes didn’t leave Somers’s. He didn’t trust himself to blink. He didn’t trust himself to breathe. Wild creatures had been known to attack for less.

  Then she screamed, swinging one arm out.

  “No,” Somers said, reaching to catch the bowl.

  Too late. Her elbow caught it, and the pink plastic dish sailed off the table and struck the wall. Roasted broccoli and chicken spattered the fresh paint before sliding to the floor. In their wake, they left long, oily streaks.

  Hazard had painted the entire kitchen the day before.

  “Evie.” Somers managed not to yell. He managed to sound, in his own opinion, relatively sane, which was a miracle for a man who hadn’t slept in two nights and couldn’t call in sick to work because he’d used up all his leave after being shot. “No. That’s not nice.”

  “Milk.”

  “You need solid food. Real food.”

  “Milk.”

  “You need—”

  “Milk!”

  Somers checked his ears to see if they were bleeding.

  “No milk. You can have broccoli. Or you can have chicken. Or you can have both. But you need to eat something solid. You can’t just—”

  “Milk!” This time, the word became a screech that echoed through the whole house.

  Floorboards creaked under Hazard’s weight, and Somers bit his lip. A moment later, Hazard’s dark, shaggy head poked into the kitchen.

  “I’m fine,” Somers said. “We’re fine.”

  Hazard blinked slowly, and then those scarecrow eyes flitted over the kitchen. “There’s chicken on the wall. And broccoli.”

  “Oh, really? I didn’t notice.”

  “I just painted that wall.”

  “That’s what I told her.”

  Hazard must have caught something in Somers’s tone because he cocked his head. “I’ll clean it up.”

  “No, leave it.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “No. It’s a new art installation. I’m calling it Angry Toddler.”

  “Why don’t I—”

  “Ree.” Somers had to stop. Put on the brakes. Gather himself. “Just go watch TV or something, ok?”

  Hazard didn’t answer, but a moment later, he withdrew from the kitchen. His heavy tread moved deeper into the house.

  “Milk,” Evie demanded. Her eyes were red now. Her cheeks were red. Her whole face was contracting. “Milk!”

  Somers got up. He crossed to the cabinet, collected a new bowl, and placed fresh broccoli and chicken in it. He cut it up. He stood at the counter. He placed his hands flat on the quartz. He could feel himself losing it no matter how hard he tried to reel himself in.

  Taking a deep breath, Somers returned to the table. He set the bowl in front of Evie. “Sweetie, you’re two years old. You need to eat two pieces of chicken and two pieces of broccoli. Because you’re two.”

  “No.” That pudgy chin dropped again. “Milk.”

  “You can’t just have milk, baby. You need other food so you grow up strong and healthy. Two bites—”

  Evie’s arm swung out again, catching the bowl and sending it crashing against the wall. Angry Toddler 2.

  Before Somers knew it, he had shot up from his seat. “That’s enough,” he said, barely recognizing his voice.

  Evie started bawling.

  “Ok,” Hazard said. Somehow he had returned to the kitchen without Somers hearing him. He slid an arm around Somers’s waist and tugged him toward the door. “Time to tag out.”

  “No.” Somers grappled with Hazard’s arm, trying to pry himself loose. “This is stupid, Ree. She’s two years old. I’ve fed her, Jesus, I don’t know how many times. She’s my daughter, and I can make sure she eats one meal, ok?”

  “Sure,” Hazard said, but he didn’t release Somers. No matter how hard Somers tried to dislodge Hazard, that arm around his waist didn’t shift, and Somers found himself slowly being dragged from the kitchen.

  “Ree, stop it.”

  “Of course.”

  “Let me go.”

  “Absolutely.”

  And then Somers stumbled into the living room, suddenly free of Hazard. He turned back to the kitchen, but Hazard’s bulk blocked him.

  “Take five,” Hazard said.

  “You’re being ridiculous. I’m not upset. I’m fine.”

  Hazard raised one dark eyebrow.

  And then Somers could hear the ragged edge in his own voice. He scrubbed at his face. “Maybe I’ll go use the bathroom.”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  Behind him, as he walked away from the kitchen, he could make out the low rumble of Hazard’s voice mixing with Evie’s wailing.

  Somers locked himself in the bathroom, in the dark, smelling the lavender air freshener Hazard had bought the week before. Somers pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then he flicked on the light, peed, and washed his hands. Things got better, right? Two-year-olds didn’t stay two forever. Jesus, they didn’t, did they?

  When Somers left the bathroom, the house was quiet. Then Hazard’s deep voice filtered through the silence, and a shriek from Evie followed. But not an angry shriek. A happy shriek. Somers followed the noises and found them in the kitchen. Evie was out of her booster seat, running back and forth across the kitchen, her toddler legs pumping like crazy. She paused at the table long enough to grab a piece of broccoli and wave it in Somers’s direction. “Daddy,” she squealed. “Broccoli good.”

  Then she devoured the piece of broccoli and took off running again.

  Hazard was sitting at the table, and he glanced at Somers. “Come here.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Just come over here.”

  “What kind of witchcraft is this?”

  “John, come here.”

  “No, I need to know. Did you watch some documentary on, I don’t know, prisoner psychology? Did you read a million articles and synthesize the scientific research on toddler insanity?”

  Hazard raised an eyebrow. Then he patted his leg.

  With a sigh, Somers stomped across the tile and dropped to sit on Hazard’s lap. Hazard’s arms came around his waist. He was warm, and he smelled like the coconut hair gel he’d taken to using.

  “I’m a shit dad,” Somers said, watching his daughter laugh as she plucked another piece of broccoli from the bowl.

  “No,” Hazard said.

  “I am. I’m a shit dad. I couldn’t even get her to eat her dinner. And then I lost my mind and yelled at her. And she’s two. I mean, it’s not her fault. I know that. But I’m a piece of shit.”

  Hazard’s big hand moved up and down Somers’s back. “You haven’t slept for two nights.”