Benefit of the Doubt: A Novel (10 page)

“I said, aren’t you supposed to be having coffee with Alex?”

When Ben only stared back, Bernice gave him the slightest roll of her eyes and said, “I spoke with Alex on the phone this morning. She said you two were getting together for coffee. She sounded like she was looking forward to it.”

“Yes, ma’am. We were going to, but something came up.”

Bernice was like a mother to Alex. They talked on the phone every day. Usually about Lars’s progress, about Jake and school. Ben was pretty sure Alex also confided in Bernice about the ongoing issues in her marriage. He didn’t blame her. Alex needed someone to talk to and he sure wasn’t helping.

“That’s too bad.” The voice was more schoolmarm than motherly. “Perhaps you need to give some thought to your priorities, Benjamin. Remember, family comes first.”

“You’re right, Bernie.” Ben knew better than to ever argue with the woman. “Family does come first.”

Bernice gave him a concerned look. “Are you doing okay? How are things between you and the acting chief?”

Ben corrected her. “He’s not the ‘acting chief’ anymore, Bernie. He’s the new chief of police. We need to get used to that. And don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

Bernice, a slender and graceful woman, was wearing a maroon dress that fell just below her knees. Her smooth, unblemished skin gave the impression of a woman ten years younger than her actual age of fifty-eight. Her gray hair was worn in a tight bun that might have looked severe on someone else, but on Bernice it fit the image of a dignified professional woman.

“Call him what you want, but if he makes things difficult for you, I want to know. He and I will have a talk.”

“Thank you, Bernie, but I can handle Chief Jorgensen.”

Bernice straightened her shoulders and turned to leave but not without a parting comment. “Call your wife, Benjamin. And make sure you get home on time for dinner.”

Bernice walked away, and Ben stared at the empty doorway. He picked up the cell phone and saw that Alex had not left a message. He gave some thought to driving over to the coffeehouse. He could be there in five minutes. He’d be late, but maybe she was still there. It would mean a lot to her.

Or would it? Ben recalled McKenzie’s comments about Alex hanging out with the guy who ran the place.
Have your little fun,
he thought. Ben rummaged through the pile and picked up a robbery case from his desk. As he read about the details of the crime, he did his best to block out any thoughts of dead cops and a lost career, a smart-ass detective, and a wife he loved but knew he was losing.

ELEVEN

A block from the coffeehouse, Alex’s phone chimed: a text. She wasn’t surprised to see that Ben was canceling on her again. Her husband wasn’t the forgiving type. The aftereffects of their throw down still lingered, and most of the blame, she realized, fell on her. She’d said some pretty harsh things. She called him, thinking they could reschedule, but the call went straight to voice mail. She thought about leaving a message, but snapped the phone shut instead and once again settled for talking to herself.

“Shit, Ben. You have to at least try.”

No matter, she thought. She’d go anyway. Approaching the store, she noticed a new sign over the door, an old-fashioned wooden shingle that read
BOOKS AND JAVA
. The scripted lettering was pleasing, as was seeing the name she’d suggested in the first place. Louis had given Alex credit for that almost every time she visited, and each time she stopped, he had made some sort of improvement.

Today was no exception, she found as she walked into the store. Shelving had been installed on all the walls—heavy black iron brackets that supported thick shelves cut from rough wood left unfinished. Unlike a traditional bookstore display that concentrated on economy of space, each shelf held just a few hardbound works. An interesting assortment of found objects were used as bookends, like the old steel fishing reel, nearly the size of the book itself, that held a leather-bound copy of
Moby-Dick
upright.

The plaster walls had been textured and painted a deep shade of khaki. The linoleum had been stripped from the floor, and the rough, unfinished cement felt good and solid under her feet. Where there were no shelves, the walls displayed artwork—Americana in style; Alex recognized pieces by several local artists. The recessed track lighting was subtle, and the rich aromas of coffee and tea filled the air. The positioning of the half-dozen tables conveyed a sense of privacy and invited people to linger over coffee and a good read. Several patrons were doing just that, each one drinking coffee and perusing a book.

“Hey, Alex.” She turned at the greeting and saw Louis Carson step out of his small office.

“Hey, Louis. The place looks really great.”

Louis was clearly pleased with her response but didn’t say so directly. “I live right upstairs. The easy commute lets me stay late. Yesterday, I pretty much worked the whole day.” Louis looked around as he spoke and shrugged as if to say people could take it or leave it.

“It’s amazing,” Alex said. “I mean, I’ve been in some great coffeehouses in San Francisco and San Jose. I don’t know that I’ve been anywhere with a better feel than this. I’m really impressed.”

“You’ve been a big help. Lots of good suggestions. Seems like you’ve got a head for the business. Thanks again for the name idea. People seem to like it.”

“No sweat. What’s my cut of the take?”

“First there has to be a take, then I’ll let you know what you’re in for. Settle for a cup of coffee for now?”

“Sounds like you’re going to give it to me again, Louis. Knock it off. You need to take people’s money.”

“You’re such a purist. Darkest blend black?”

Alex looked at the dozen large jars of coffee beans arranged neatly on the counter. “Yeah, I really liked that last time. What do you call it again?”

“Heart of Darkness. I’ll get it.”

Alex took a seat near the window. Cool morning air mixed with the aromas of coffee, wood, and old books. Alex relaxed and felt at ease. Maybe Ben’s not making it wouldn’t be all that bad.
We all need our own space,
she thought.

Louis arrived with two steaming ceramic mugs. “If I ever get successful enough that I start running people in and out of here with Styrofoam cups, just kill me.”

“Yeah. In a place like this that would be a disappointment. My husband was going to join me, but he’s stuck at work.”

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Careful. I might just talk your ear off again.”

“How’s your dad?” Louis asked. “Did you see him yesterday like you planned?”

“Yeah, I got to spend an hour with him. He’s doing all right. Still struggling with motor skills, speech, that sort of thing.”

Alex paused to sip the hot coffee and tried to remember the last time Ben even asked about her father. “I’m enjoying the book. I’ve been reading it to him. He loved … I mean he
loves
Cather. He actually named me after Alexandra Bergson in
O Pioneers!
I think it’s good therapy for him.”

“The power of great literature, I guess,” Louis said.

They talked for an hour, only occasionally interrupted by a customer coming in for coffee.

“I wish Ben could have made it today,” Louis said at one point. “I was hoping that might get some of the local cops to start coming in. Maybe he could put in a good word for me? It’d be good for business to see cop cars out front.”

“Yeah, that could work, I guess.” Alex found herself saying more than she’d intended. “Then again, the picture at the PD isn’t all that rosy right now. If you’re thinking it’s like one big happy family of heroic cops, that ain’t happening.”

“You mean it’s not like TV?”

Alex smiled. “Not quite. A lot of cops were very loyal to my dad, but since his sudden retirement, there’s been a real power shift. Now there’s a new guy in charge, and from what Ben has told me, the new chief is not all that thrilled about the old boss’s son-in-law hanging around watching his every move. Apparently nobody is. It’s a pretty lousy work environment right now.”

“How are you and Ben holding up?”

This wasn’t the first time Louis had impressed Alex with his intuition. More than once he had keyed right in on the real issue, no matter what her words said on the surface.

“It’s been tough, but we’re hanging in there.”

She was about to say more when a woman called out, “Excuse me. Does one of you work here or what?”

Several women in leotards and sweatshirts were standing at the counter. Alex blinked, wondering how she had missed their entrance. Looking at the group, she was suddenly self-conscious of her jeans, hoodie, and ball cap. Alex noticed they all had perfect makeup and manicures.
Forget the outfits—these chicks have no plans to work out.

Louis looked at Alex with an apology in his eyes and touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Back in a minute, okay?”

He strode to the counter and quickly engaged the group, who all seemed to be around twenty-five. Alex listened as each woman ordered some foamy, sugar-laden concoction, clearly flirting with Louis the whole time. One of the group, Alex guessed she was somewhere around legal age, ordered a caramel triple-shot skinny something or other and practically undressed Louis with her eyes. Louis glanced at Alex and tried to smile an apology, but Alex couldn’t deny she was put off by the noisy intrusion and equally pissed that he was obviously enjoying the women’s attention.

When he turned away, Alex took the opportunity to leave. On the sidewalk she quickened her pace, fumbling for her keys. Unlocking the door of the eight-year-old family minivan, she tossed her purse inside, slid into the driver’s seat, and slammed the door. She caught a look at herself in the rearview mirror, her face flushed, and abruptly realized that she was experiencing the sudden flood of an emotion she hadn’t felt in a long time.

There was no denying what it was.

Jealousy.

TWELVE

Alex sat in the sunroom of Newberg Convalescent and read silently while her father dozed in his wheelchair nearby. The episode at the coffeehouse had thrown her off a bit until she reminded herself that when she and Ben were good, they were very good.
We’ll get it back,
she thought. One way or another. She remembered Ben’s comments about moving to Fresno. How maybe he would even go without her. She pushed the thoughts out of her head.
Ben would never leave me,
she told herself.

She rocked the porch swing back and forth with her stocking foot, comforted by the warmth of the sun and her father’s long, steady breaths. She watched a pair of tundra swans break the glassy surface of the nearby pond as they glided in for a spectacular landing. Any sound made by the graceful couple was covered by the wind passing through the blooming branches of the hemlock and maple trees.
Welcome home,
she thought to herself. It looked as though spring had arrived in earnest, and in Wisconsin, that was everyone’s favorite time of the year.

Newberg Convalescent was a first-rate medical rehabilitation center, and she and Ben had the debt to prove it. The family had adjusted to make the necessary sacrifices, but how much longer could they keep it up?

Alex looked at the man sleeping peacefully beside her. She knew Ben was right that substantial recovery seemed unlikely. In four months’ time her father had gone from larger-than-life local hero to slobbering invalid tucked away and forgotten in an old folks’ home.

“Wake up, Papa.”

The old man stirred, and before he was fully awake, grunted in an attempt to speak. Alex knew her father was in there—his soul, his warrior spirit trapped inside a worn shell of thin skin and brittle bones. If he could speak, he would not hesitate to let Alex know her place was by his side.

“I have to go, Papa. Ben and Jake will be home soon.”

The old man managed a scoff at the mention of her husband’s name.

“Stop it, Papa. Ben is a good man and you know it. You need to remember he is my husband and Jake’s father.”

Alex knew the pain she saw in his eyes had begun with her sudden departure for California and extended absence. A pain that had deepened with a return that came only after public humiliation. To Lars, it was all Ben’s fault, and when the old man assigned blame it wasn’t something he was quick to take away. Especially when he felt the family had been dishonored.

“Ben loves me, Papa. And I love him. You need to understand how much he means to me and to Jake.”

Another, less intense grunt and Lars looked away. His wordless method of saying he wanted to change the subject.

Lars Norgaard had always been a strong, prideful man. Robbed of his commanding voice, these days he rarely attempted to say anything. Alex assumed his grunting and slobbering humiliated him and that he preferred to suffer in silence. Sometimes she found him too proud for his own good.

“You stay out here. The sun is beautiful today. Enjoy the early spring. Shall I leave the book? Maybe one of the nurses can read to you later.”

He shook his head vigorously, and Alex got his meaning. The newspaper was one thing, but books like these were family.

“Okay. I’ll bring it tomorrow.” Alex bent down close. “Say good-bye now, Papa.”

He looked at her, his milky eyes filled with love, but made no effort to speak.

“Papa, I know you can do it. Promise me you’ll do your exercises today. Practice your sounds, okay?” Still nothing but a determined expression Alex knew meant there were parts of his life he would still control.

“I love you and I know how much you love me. This weekend I want you to come to the house, okay? See Ben and Jake. We’d all like that.”

Lars looked away. His visits outside the care home were rare and had to be carefully orchestrated. Alex knew her father resented the complexity of the arrangements. Wheelchairs, ramps, special foods. It was an endless list of indignities, and Alex was certain if Lars had the ability, he would end his life tonight and be done with it. In that way she was thankful for his physical limitations.