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– 1
It’s a quiet day in Los Angeles. Well, as quiet as it can be for a metropolitan city; the honking of horns and chattering birds fills the gap of silence as Tim cruises down Wilshire Boulevard. While he didn’t get to do so often as a Sergeant, he quite liked riding alone. The detectives had stolen his go-fer for the day, meaning he practically had the day to himself.
Though, something about today just seemed… off. He couldn’t exactly put his finger on it, but a sense of uneasiness had begun to brew deep in his stomach from the moment he climbed into the shop. And each moment passed by without a call, it only grew.
Maybe crime decided we need a day off, he chuckles to himself while flipping his signal. But when he maneuvers the steering wheel to the right, he finally receives some communication from dispatch. “Seven-Adam-One Hundred, we just had a call about a possible suicide attempt near your location.”
It’s as if his mind is sent into autopilot: he responds to dispatch within a matter of seconds and swerves his vehicle; the warbags in the back go sliding across the trunk. He isn’t quite sure exactly what he’s looking for. But he knows he’s found it the moment he approaches the edge of the highway, where a young boy sat over the guardrail, peering over the city below him.
Tim parks the shop a fair distance away, making sure not to startle the young boy. Though, his footsteps inevitably give him away when he nears the guardrail. The boy snaps his neck around; he doesn’t look a day over twenty. Behind the shaggy hair and bags under his eyes, he looks like a kid.
It’s not his first time on a call like this; it sure as hell won’t be his last, either. And if the past decade has taught him anything, it’s that time doesn’t make it any easier.
“Hey,” Tim begins gently, taking one single step forward. It’s now that he realizes he doesn’t know anything about the boy before him. “What’s your name?”
He opens his mouth, but closes it before turning back to the open city. “Brandon.”
“Nice to meet you, Brandon. My name is Tim.”
Their proximity to the water causes the harsh LA wind to screech past them; Tim feels as if he’s yelling against the breeze, but refrains from moving closer.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Brandon says aloud, his voice so low that Tim can barely make the words out. “I have so much to live for, there are people who love me, blah blah blah.”
Tim considers interjecting, but he doesn’t believe Brandon is quite done yet.
“But I’m a twenty-two year old veteran with no family. I was discharged after a grenade took the hearing in my left ear. I spent my formative years watching innocent people die. You don’t get it.”
“Actually…” Tim decides to take a leap of faith, or step, rather. He paces up next to Brandon and leans against the guardrail. “I did two tours in my twenties. Before I became a police officer.”
At this, Brandom cranes his neck with interest. “You did?”
“Yeah,” Tim huffs. His military days weren’t exactly sunny ones; they were full of tragedy and horror, not exactly something he liked to think about. “I know how you feel.”
The boy scoffs. “There’s just… there’s nothing here for me.”
“That’s not true.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because there was a time where I was the one sitting over the guardrail,” Tim reveals through a deep breath. “When I came back from Afghanistan, I felt like I deserved… well, like I deserved to be dead. I thought that I’d never find something that fulfilled me, that I’d spend the rest of my life lying awake at night because closing my eyes meant revisiting the battlefield.”
Brandon nods. “And it went away?”
“Well…” the officer clicks his tongue, “I learned to deal with it.”
“And how’d you manage to do that?”
His answer is so quick, thoughtless. It flies out of his mouth faster than it enters his mouth. “Lucy.” Once he catches Brandon's furrowed brows, he chuckles. “Lucy is my fiance. And the reason I’m still here today.”
“That’s great for you,” Brandon huffs. “But no one is ever going to want to be with a traumatized veteran like me.”
Tim nods in understanding. He knew exactly how Brandon felt. Broken, like a deformed toy at the factory. Something waiting to be thrown away while the shiny new products were rolled out onto the shelves. “I thought so too. But I was wrong.” He clears his throat. “I’m not going to lie to you: your life is never going to be the same. It’s going to feel like you’re fighting a constant war in your head. But there are ways you can quiet that noise.” He pauses, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a small business card and holds it out for Brandon.
“Lucy found this support group for veterans. There are a few guys around your age who come,” he explains with a shrug. “It’s worth a shot.”
Brandon grabs the cardstock, albeit hesitantly. “And if it doesn’t work?” he asks.
A question Tim had asked himself, and Lucy, about a million times before his first meeting. And the second. “Maybe it won’t,” he answers honestly. He’d be lying if he said he never considered surrendering, becoming just another sad statistic to add to a chart. But now… he’s glad he stuck around. He’s got a job that he finds joy in, a herd of incredibly kind people surrounding (and bothering, most of the time) him. A sister and nephews who absolutely adored his presence. And best of all, a beautiful woman he was about to marry. He truly had it all in life: something he’d almost given up decades ago. And there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let Brandon make that mistake.
“There are dozens of other groups. Free therapists at the VA clinic if you’d prefer that. I know other retired veterans looking for someone to work for them. Any industry you could dream of. And hey,” he smiles, “if you ever think about joining the LAPD, you’ve got a shining reference. Once you’re better, of course.”
Brandon nods, his shoulders relaxing just a little bit. He stuffs the card into the pocket of his washed out jeans. “Thanks,” he murmurs.
“You’re gonna be okay, Brandon,” Tim remarks sincerely. He’s mostly talking to the boy. But there’s a small part of him talking to twenty-five year old Tim who couldn’t have fathomed he life he had now.
The boy scoffs. “Maybe I will. Or maybe I’ll die of heat exhaustion on the streets.”
“You don’t have a place to live?”
“Nope,” Brandon puckers his lips. “Sold my apartment before I left. Needed the money, and there was no promise I was coming back.”
And then Tim does something he swore he’d never do. Something he’d teased Lucy about when she first met Tamara – and still never let her live down. “I’ve got an open couch. You can crash there while we find you a bed in a shelter, and some transitional housing.”
The boys eyes widen. “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course,” he shrugs. He tries not to think about the endless taunting Lucy was (rightfully) about to throw in his direction.
Though, truthfully, the act was slightly selfish. When he looked at Brandon he saw a version of himself he’d almost forgotten – a version so formative, yet so far away. The scared, broken Tim who contemplated his existence every single night made him into the police officer, friend, and fiance he was today. And he knew the same would come of Brandon; the kid just needed someone to remind him every once in a while.
Without another word, Tim holds out his hand. Reluctantly, Brandon places his own atop of the officers and leans on it while jumping down. “Thanks,” he murmurs under his breath.
Tim simply chuckles. “I feel like I should be thanking you.”
Brandom cranes his neck. “For what?”
For reminding me of the beautiful life I have, he thinks to himself. But he shakes his head. “Nevermind. Let’s just get you home. You can meet Lucy, take a warm shower while we cook.”
“I’d like that,” Brandon affirms with a weak smile. “So tell me more about Lucy.”
Tim smiles. A subject he could go on forever about. And he does, throughout the entire car ride home. He worries he’s intimidating Brandon, but it seems to do the complete opposite. Every story he shares, memory he recounts seems to fill the young boy with a sense of hope. A gentle reminder that something more is out there.
- 2
Lucy hates long nights. During the beginning of her career they were simply a way to make an extra buck; but now, they kept her away from her home, and her husband, for far too long.
The sight of her front door is blissful; her shoulders only relax the moment her hand gently pushes down on golden handle. As the door creaks open, though, she’s hit with an unfamiliar silence – the house spotlessly clean, as if no one had lived here for years. This, she knows, couldn’t be farther from the truth. When her and Tim had rushed out of the door this morning they’d left the place a complete mess: shoes laying out in the entryway, unclean dishes piled up in the sink. However, remnants of their poorly-timed exit seemed to have vanished.
She smiles to herself. Tim must have cleaned it all up. I didn’t want you to worry about it, she can just imagine him saying. He made it easy to remember why she’d married him.
“Baby,” she yells out into the living room, her voice traveling down the hallway. “I’m home.”
No response.
“Huh,” she purses her lips. Lucy turns back and peers out the window, confirming the presence of his truck in the driveway. She opens her mouth to call out again, maybe he was in the shower, or dead asleep. But she’s cut off by the sound of clattering from the bedroom. In worry of injury she throws her bag down and runs into the bedroom – which was empty, though the connected bathroom light was shining bright.
“Tim, are you okay?” she sputters breathlessly. It takes a couple of blinks for her to register the scene in front of her: Tim is sitting on the floor with a rather large wrench in his hand; the pipes from their sink lay sprawled out on their bathroom floor.
“I’m fine,” he gruffs while aggressively throwing the tool onto the counter, hoisting himself back up to Lucy’s level.
“Is something wrong? Is there is a leak?”
Tim shakes his head. “No, I-” He stops, leaning against the counter in defeat. His head is tilted down in shame, as if he were hiding from Lucy's gaze.
“Honey, what happened?’ she asks again, softly, as she places her hand on his shoulder. She gives him a quick squeeze, as if to say it’s okay, before even knowing what the matter was.
He takes a deep breath before revealing, “I was trying to clean around the counter and I…” he pauses, biting his lip. “I accidentally knocked your wedding ring down the sink drain.”
His eyes remain locked on the ground, scared that if he meets Lucy’s eyes he’ll feel her anger. But he’s startled by the sound of her… stifling laughter?
“Wha-” he sputters, confused. “What’s so funny?”
Lucy shakes her head while taking a deep breath. “It’s not funny, I’m sorry,” she corrects herself while standing up a tad bit straighter. “It’s just… you took apart our entire sink for an inch-long piece of jewelry?”
“Of course I did. That ring was a symbol of our marriage. It’s important, and I feel terrible.”
Lucy reaches down and grabs his hand, which she notices is covered in soot. She doesn’t care. “Baby, that stupid little ring doesn’t mean anything. Sure,” she shrugs, “it’s a beautiful artifact from an important day, but losing it doesn’t make our relationship any less special, does it?”
He shakes his head. “I guess not. But it meant a lot to you, and now it’s probably ruined.”
“I didn’t marry you for some piece of jewelry. I married you because you’re kind, and smart, and dedicated. I married you because I love you. We love each other. With or without a ring to show for it. And that’s what’s means a lot to me,” she corrects him.
“Are you sure?”
She laughs gently. “Sure that I don’t want you to somehow cause our entire house to explode over a piece of metal? Absolutely.” She pauses. “But we should probably call Nolan to find the ring before it causes some sewage leak. He’s probably done this a million times.”
Finally, Tim softens. “Yeah. That’s a good idea. And I promise, I’m going to replace the ring.”
“Tim,” Lucy remarks, half-lightheartedly and half-sternly. “I can’t even wear it to work – hence why it sits on the bathroom counter every day. I don’t care if it got a tad bit rusted. I’m still married to you. That’s what I care about.”
“Okay,” he breathes, albeit reluctantly.
“However…” Lucy begins with a smirk. “I won’t say no to an apology meal."
He chuckles. “Now that one I can do.”
- 3
Vanilla. A scent so incredibly familiar, so distinctive. It hits him before he’s even crossed the threshold of the front door. As he steps into the house it becomes ever-so-slightly more complex: a hint of rose, a slight citrus peeking through the sweetness. Tim sets his bag down onto the floor – not the counter, a habit Lucy constantly chastises him for.
He follows the scent down through the living room. He chuckles silently at the sight of blankets and pillows awry: a sign that a movie night had taken place within the last few hours. He makes a mental note to joke about the lack of invitation his way. He forgoes reaching for the half-eaten bowl of popcorn – he’ll certainly revisit it on his way back.
As he steps further down the hallway, a set of voices becomes distinct, though still soft.
“Is Daddy almost home?”
He identifies his youngest daughter almost immediately. Her voice was sharp, higher pitched compared to their eldest.
“I’m sure he’s close, Ivie.” Lucy reassures the young girl gently.
Tim is unsurprised that they missed the beeping of his car, or rustling through the front door. He quite liked surprising them with his presence, anyway. Once he approaches the door to the girls’ bedroom, he pauses. Listening in was one of his favorite pastimes.
“What story do you girls want me to read?”
The blanket rustles, presumably their eldest jolting with excitement – she loved reading, or rather, being read to by her parents. From the moment she was born, Andie’s nose had been in a book: at first it was entranced from vibrant pictures and graphics. However the older she grew, the more she began to enjoy the nuanced nature of literature – the dazzling stories, embellished details, out-of-this-world descriptions.
“I want to read the one about the scientist!” Andie exclaims clearly, the excitement simply bursting through her sweet voice.
In response, Ivie lets out a long, dramatic groan. “That one is boring!”
“It’s not boring,” her elder sister huffs with an attitude – the same one carried by her headstrong mother. “It’s educational.”
Before the girls could carry on, Lucy interjects. “If you girls are going to fight, then maybe we don’t need a bedtime story tonight.”
“No!” they both exclaim in unison, the synchronization slightly scary.
The mother laughs. “That’s what I thought.”
Suddenly, Tim decides that his time of listening from the outer side of the door is over; he wants to become a part of the action. He was never one to suffer from FOMO; he much preferred his alone time, especially throughout the early days of his career. After all, he already spends the entire working day surrounded by a bustling city full of too-talkative people. But when it comes to his wife and daughters, he wants to be included in everything. He attends every one of Ivie’s dance recitals, every soccer game of Andie’s. He’s been to every open-house at the elementary school. Lucy had even convinced him to volunteer as “room parent” with her for one year. There was nothing he felt inclined to miss, and that was fairly indicative. It confirmed every decision he’d made that brought him to this point.
The handle barely makes it five degrees before both Andie and Ivie begin to squeal. “Daddy!” they yell in their own variations. Ivie raises herself immediately, barely allowing her father to step into the bedroom before jumping onto his leg.
“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” he chuckles as she clutches onto him. Andie follows in a more gentle manner, her steps quieter as she approaches. Tim reaches down and runs his hands through her thick curls. “Hi, baby.”
“For the record,” Lucy begins as their daughters begin to settle, “they did not greet me like this when I picked them up from school.”
Tim shrugs with a smirk. “I thought we had established that I’m the favorite.”
“Mhm,” Lucy hums. “Just remember, I’m the one who packs the lunches in this house.”
“Ooh,” he breathes, shaking his head. “You win.”
“Of course I do,” she gloats as Tim (forcefully) detached Ivie from his leg. He slides his hands under her arms and hoists her up in the air, shaking her as she giggles the entire way to the bed. And since no child is left behind in the Bradford household, he turns back for Andie – she doesn’t vocalize her enjoyment as much as her younger sister. But the tight lips hiding her smile tell her parents that she quite likes being treated like a kid – regardless of what her classmates deem as “cool.”
“So,” Tim begins once he (miraculously) finds an open spot on the bed. “I heard that we’re having a little dilemma about bedtime stories.”
Ivie passionately crosses her hands in front of her chest and releases an angry breath. “Andie wants another boring story.”
“It’s not boring!”
“Okay, okay,” Tim chimes in before they enter an all-out war. “I have a better idea. Instead of a book, what if Mommy and I tell you a story from before you girls were born?”
And at this, both Andie and Ivie light up brighter than the morning sky. Ivie nods aggressively while Andie holds her thumb up, each paired with a bright smile.
Even Lucy finds herself intrigued by this switch of routine. She loves to talk about her past with Tim; while it wasn’t all sunshines and rainbows, they have an abundance of positive memories that bring tears of gratitude to her eyes. And it’s an easy choice of which to share today. “Have we ever told you about the time that your Dad and I lost a little boy in the station?”
Tim watches silently as Lucy artistically retells the horror of the time they lost Jordy, a participant from the Make-A-Dream program that Lucy had signed Tim up for as revenge. They never let the other live that day down – it was certainly not a reflection of how they were as parents, but rather a statute of how much they’ve grown together. How they’ve gained responsibility and understanding, become clever and quick on their feet while raising two hyper little girls.
And sitting on this bright pink bed, Tim realizes that he has everything he could have wished for in life. His world has transformed into something so particular, so perfect. And there wasn’t a phenomenon on this earth that he’d trade it for.