Second Chance

Chapter 52

MARTY BOXER rolled onto his back and groaned, the air squeezed out of his lungs. He still had a glimmer of the rugged handsomeness I remembered, but it was different - older, leaner, worn. His hair had thinned and the once-lively blue eyes seemed washed out.

I hadn't seen him in ten years. I hadn't spoken to him in twenty-two years.

“What are you doing here?” I wanted to know.

“Right now,” he gasped, rolling onto his side, “having the shit beat out of me by my daughter.”

I felt a hard slab jutting out of his jacket pocket. I pulled out an old department-issued Smith & Wesson.40 caliber.

“What the hell is this? How you say hello?”

“It's a dangerous world out there.” He groaned again.

I rolled off him. The sight of him was an affront, a sudden illumination of memories I'd shut off years ago. I didn't offer to help him up. “What were you doing? Following me?”

Slowly, he edged himself into a sitting position. “I'm gonna pretend you didn't know it was your old man dropping in, Buttercup.”

“Please don't call me that,” I shot back at him.

Buttercup was his pet name for me when I was about seven and he was still at home. My sister, Cat, was Horsefly; I was Buttercup. Hearing that name brought a surge of bitter memories. “You think you can drop in here after all these years, scare the shit out of me, and get away with it by calling me Buttercup? I'm not your little girl. I'm a homicide lieutenant.”

“I know that. And you deliver a hell of a takedown, baby.” “Consider yourself lucky,” I said, clicking my Glock onto safety.

“Who the hell were you expecting, anyway?” he said as he massaged his ribs. “The Rock?”

“That doesn't matter. What does matter is just what you're doing here.”

He sniffed guiltily. “I'm definitely starting to pick up, Buttercup, that you might not be entirely thrilled to see me?”

“I don't know that I am. Are you sick?”

His blue eyes sparkled. “Can't a guy check up on his firstborn without his motives being called into account?”

I studied the lines on his face. “I haven't seen you in ten years, and you act like it's been a week. You want an update? I was married, now I'm divorced. I got into Homicide. Now I'm lieutenant. I know that's a bit sketchy but it brings you up to date, Dad.”

“You think so much time has passed that I can't look at you as a father?”

“I don't know how you look at me,” I said.

My father's eyes suddenly warmed, and he smiled. “God, you do look beautiful... Lindsay.”

His expression was that same twinkling, guiltless mug I had seen a thousand times as a kid. I shook my head in frustration. “Marty, just answer my question.”

“Look.” He swallowed. “I know sneaking up on you didn't win me any style points, but do you think I could at least talk my way into a cup of coffee?”

I stared incredulously at the man who had left our family when I was thirteen. Who had stayed away all the time my mother was sick. Whom I had thought of as a coward or a cad or even worse for most of my adult life. I hadn't seen my father since he'd sat in the back row on the day I was sworn in as a cop. I didn't know if I wanted to slug him or take him in my arms and give him a hug.

“just one... ” I said, holding out a hand and hoisting him up. I brushed some loose gravel from his lapel. You talked yourself into one cup of coffee, Buttercup."