The Bitterest Pill

Thirty-four

That night, after attending an AA meeting in Salem, Jesse went home, wondering about the odd conversation he’d had with Brian Lundquist about Cole. Jesse wasn’t even aware that Cole and Lundquist were acquainted. Still, Jesse supposed it was good that Cole was making friends and contacts in town. It had been a little claustrophobic, just the two of them living in Jesse’s condo. It wasn’t that Cole never went out, but for a while there it had been a struggle.

Cole was in his usual position, on the sofa, watching some show on TV. But Cole seemed antsier than usual. He wasn’t normally a fidgety person, but as soon as Jesse came into the apartment, Cole began shifting his position on the sofa.

“I got the mail,” Cole said, reaching over and handing the pile to Jesse.

Jesse shuffled through the mail. It was the usual stuff: bills, ads, flyers. There was something else, an open envelope addressed not to Jesse but to Cole Slayton. Jesse’s heart thumped harder when he saw the return addressee was the Massachusetts State Police.

“There’s something here for you,” Jesse said, voice steady, holding the open envelope out to Cole.

“No, why don’t you read it.”

He had a notion of what it would be, but when he actually read the letter stating that Cole Slayton had passed all requirements and had been accepted into the next class of trainees at the State Police Academy in New Braintree, Jesse was simultaneously filled with pride and worry. Pride was the stronger of the two emotions.

The next thing he knew, Jesse was hugging Cole, pushing him back, shaking his hand, and hugging him again.

“Easy, Dad, easy,” Cole said.

“‘Dad’? You sure you want to call me that?”

“For the time being. I reserve the right to change my mind.”

“It’s times like these I wish I still drank.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You’d be surprised,” Jesse said. “The desire comes and goes, but I don’t think it ever truly just goes. Anyway, we should go celebrate. Come on, we’ll go to the Gull or the Lobster Claw.”

Cole waved for Jesse to calm down. “We can celebrate soon. I may even let you throw me a party before I go in next month.”

“Why all the secrecy?”

“I didn’t want you to try to talk me out of it. I’ve seen up close how dangerous this profession can be, and though I know deep down you love what you do, it’s taken a toll.”

“Can’t deny that.”

“And I didn’t want you to think I was doing this to prove myself to you,” Cole said.

“You’re sure this is what you want?”

“It is.”

“Then do it the best you can.”

Cole asked, “So you’re okay with this?”

“Truth?”

“Yeah.”

“I would have rather you wanted to play shortstop for the Dodgers, but, yes, I’m good with your decision.”

“I hate baseball, especially the Dodgers.”

“So you’ve said. C’mon, get dressed. I’m taking you for a drink, whether you want one or not. I’m in the mood for a tall club soda on the rocks with a twist.”

Cole hesitated but realized he wasn’t going to win this one. He went into his bedroom to throw on some clothes.

Twenty minutes later they were seated at the bar at the Lobster Claw, a beer in front of Cole and that tall glass of club soda in front of Jesse. Jesse toasted his son. Afterward, Cole shared some things with Jesse that he’d never spoken about with him.

“I’ve lived in Massachusetts for over a year now,” Cole said. “It took me a long time to work up the nerve to confront you. I think that if I hadn’t lost my job in Boston and wasn’t nearly broke, I may never have come to Paradise. I was mad at you, mad at Mom for dying, mad at the world.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You say ‘uh-huh’ a lot.”

“Uh-huh.” But Jesse couldn’t keep a straight face. “I don’t want to get in your way, but if you ever need any advice about being a cop...”

“Advice like what?”

Jesse debated with himself about how to answer that question. In the end, Jesse shook his head. “No, Cole, you’ll figure this stuff out for yourself. When you have trouble doing that, come to me.”

“Okay.”

“So who introduced you to Lundquist?” Jesse asked.

“Captain Healy. Both Captain Healy and Brian were great. They both think a lot of you.”

“This isn’t about me tonight. This is about you. Congratulations.”

After that, they sat in silence, finishing their drinks. But unlike the silences between them over the last couple months, silences that were often awkward and strained, this one was comfortable.

“C’mon, Statie,” Jesse said finally, clapping his son on the shoulder, “let’s go home.”