Free The Right Call by Kathy Herman Page A

do. “Trent, close the door and sit down for a minute. I want to talk to you about something.”
    Trent pulled the door closed and sat across from her, his hands folded on the table.
    She locked gazes with him. “When did you start smoking again?”
    He got that I-don’t-know-what-you-are-talking-about look on his face and then stared at his hands. “How’d you know?”
    “You reek of cigarettes.”
    He sighed. “You going to lecture me too? Because Trish is already on my back.”
    “She’d like to keep you around a long time. Whatever happened to giving up smoking for her and the kids?”
    Trent shrugged. “It’s too hard. I find myself sneaking around to have a smoke—like a schoolboy behind the barn. I’m a grown-up, for cryin’ out loud. I should be able to smoke without being made to feel guilty by the reformed smokers of the world.”
    “I never smoked, Trent. I have no idea what you’re going through. But I have some idea what Trish is feeling. They practically had to pry the cigarettes out of my grandfather’s hand, even when he had emphysema and then was diagnosed with lung cancer. I saw what it did to my grandmother—and my mom. He said he couldn’t help it.”
    “Maybe he couldn’t.”
    “Or didn’t want to badly enough.”
    “Easy for you to say. You’ve never been addicted.”
    “Fair enough. But there’s so much available now to help people who want to quit that there’s no excuse to stay addicted.”
    “I’m not looking for excuses. But not everyone can stick a Tootsie Pop in his mouth and kick the habit like Beau Jack did.”
    “So find a support group.”
    “Not my style.”
    “Try the patch.”
    “I did. It made me nauseated and made my skin itch.”
    She sighed. “Look, your doctor even has medication you can try.”
    “The truth is, I like smoking. I only tried to quit for everyone else.”
    Brill studied his face—the spittin’ image of Denzel Washington. “You’re forty-one and fit as a fiddle. Why do you want to jeopardize your future by turning your lungs black?”
    “Hey, just trying to keep all my body parts color coordinated.”
    “I didn’t laugh the first time you pulled that line on me, and I’m not laughing now. I can’t tell you what to do, and I won’t bring it up again. But as a friend, not as the chief, I’m imploring you to do everything you can to kick the habit. God gave you a healthy body. Don’t deliberately mess it up.”
    “And if I don’t quit?”
    “I’m praying you will.”
    “Hey, no fair.” Trent half smiled, lacing his fingers together. “I guess it couldn’t hurt. Trish already has her Bible-study group praying.”
    “Prayer’s not a magic wand for a habit you don’t want to break.”
    “I tried. Nothing worked.”
    “Trent, you’re one of the most disciplined cops I know. You dot every i and cross every t. Be honest with yourself. You’re a slave to cigarettes because you’re choosing to be. Okay, enough said.” Brill stood. “I thought you should know how I feel.”
    “Anything else?”
    “No, you’re free to go.”
    Trent lifted his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t exactly call this free . ”

    Ethan stood at the curb on the south end of Cherokee Valley Park and opened the passenger door for Vanessa, then reached in the backseat, unbuckled Carter, and lifted him out of the car seat.
    “Hey, big guy. You ready for a picnic?”
    Vanessa laughed. “I brought everything but the kitchen sink. All he really needs are his toys and he’ll be happy as a lark.”
    “Here, I’ll get that.” Ethan took the picnic basket from Vanessa. “Where do you want to go?”
    “Why don’t we sit under that beautiful shade tree over there? Then if Carter gets fussy we can come back and get his Pack ’n Play and put him down for a nap.”
    Ethan headed for the towering oak, Carter on his hip and Vanessa next to him, an old patchwork quilt under her arm and the toy toolbox in her hand. Was this what it felt like to be