Free SK01 - Waist Deep by Frank Zafiro Page A

page and scanned through national and international news that barely held my interest. I read them anyway.
    When I finished my meal, Phyllis took my plate and re-filled my coffee and called me “hon.”
    The Region section of the newspaper was the part I always hated when I was a police officer. All the local stories not worthy of front page status were printed in that section, along with editorials and letters to the editor. After the initial shootout at the Circle K , which had been front page material, most of the potshots the newspaper took had been in the Region section.
    Today’s section was fairly mild, however. A few letters in favor of the President and a few opposed took up most of the letters to the editor section. The Police Beat detailed a few arrests and a search warrant executed by the Sheriff’s Department.
    I flipped to the c lassified s and reviewed what people were selling without much interest. My mind kept catching on the past. Snapshots of moments and small pulses of emotion distracted me from the tiny words on the newspaper page.
    The Circle K shooting. Me getting loaded into the back of an ambulance. Katie there, refusing to let go of my hand even as the medics worked on me.
    That year together . That wonderful year where the world seemed right. Even with the pain of rehabbing the shoulder and the knee, things were the best I could remember. Mostly because of Katie.
    Then, when it was my turn to be there for her, I wasn’t able to do it. She had faced an impossible situation and lost, but I was too caught up in my own self-pity over the Amy Dugger affair that I pushed her away. I chose painkillers and booze over her. When the painkillers ran out, I chose the booze because she wasn’t willing to listen to my bullshit anymore. Looking back, I couldn’t blame her.
    Never let it be said that the universe doesn’t offer second chances. I had my shot at redemption with her. When she ran up against an event every bit as bit as tragic as Amy Dugger, she surprised me by calling. I was probably the only one who could understand what she was going through. That’s what she said, anyway. And I grasped at that chance. For a while, it worked. But I was still a drunk, and drunks are clumsy.
    I blew it.
    The last time I saw her, she had an expression on her face that I don’t think has a word to describe it. Part anger, part disappointment, part hurt. But where her expression was mixed, her words were clear.
    “Leave.”
    I did. I left and I went on a bender for the ages. I still don’t remember parts of those days and weeks that followed. And when the dust settled and I tried to call her a few weeks later, her number was changed.
    Like I said, who can blame her?
    I stopped trying to read half-way through the c lassified and turned instead to the comics. At least Snoopy made sense. And he was a hockey player. Maybe the Flyers should offer both him and Woodstock a contract. Charlie Brown could coach.
    “This is how you spend your retirement now ?”
    I jolted upright. Katie stood next to my table , a cautious smile on her face. A frantic flutter raced through my stomach. I cleared my throat. “How’s that?”
    She motioned toward the newspaper with her hand. She held a manila folder . “Drinking coffee and reading the funny papers?”
    I swallowed. I’d forgotten how beautiful she was. “Just waiting for you,” I said, and instantly cringed at how stupid I sounded.
    She motioned to the empty booth across from me. “May I?”
    “Yeah, please,” I said. I scrambled to fold the p aper and set it aside. Why did she still have this effect on me?
    Katie slid into the booth. She set the thin manila folder next to her on the table, but I barely noticed it.
    I was watching her eyes.

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    They were guarded, her eyes, and her smile didn’t completely touch them. I sat still, words caught in my throat. Katie watched me and waited.
    Phyllis appeared at the table and Katie asked if they made lattés. I