Free Burying Ben by Ellen Kirschman Page B

the roo m , out of m i nd. No one talks about hi m , much less mentions his na m e. It’s only been a m o nth, but as f ar as I kno w , no one else’s heart aches at his m e m ory. No one else wakes up in the m i ddle of the night thinking about him and feeling sick at the sto m ach.
    “I’ve heard good things about you. E ven w e nt to the library to read your book. W i sh I’d had that book twenty years ago. They should give it to all the newbies and their wives.” She sips her coffee. “Mind if I ask you so m ething? It’s probably none of m y business, but it’s been on m y m i nd. You know Eddie Ri m b a uer ? ” She doesn ’ t wait for an answer. “I’ve known Eddie since he was a skinny kid who d e livered newspapers to my door hoping I’d in v ite h im in for m ilk and cookies. He’s still eating m y food, only now he’s so big I tell him he should sit on the c r ooks because he’s too fat to c h ase the m .”
    She laughs so hard coffee splashes out of her cup. She leans over the counter for a rag and then refills our cups. The s m ell of sweat and bacon grease hovers around her.
    “He was a lonely kid. Pathetic really. His parents drank and fought, drank and fought. I ’ d see him wandering around the neighborhood, late at night. He was just a baby, m i nd you, too young to be out after dark. As soon as he was old enough, he joined the police cadets. Spent all his ti m e at the pol i ce station. That was his real fa m i ly. Them and m e.” She sticks a cube of sugar on a spoon, im m erses it in her coffee, watches it turn brown and dissolve. “ T hat boy has changed. In more ways than getting fat.”
    “Police work changes p eople.”
    “Not everyone. My B.G. was as sweet a guy when he died as he was when he started. He used to tell m e how lucky we were. He saw so m a ny awful things it m ade him grateful for our good fortune. He had a big heart, always felt bad he couldn’t do m ore for people, especially kids.”
    “So what changed Eddie ? ”
    There is a l o ud crash in the kitc h en followed by a howl. A man appears in the doorway, gesturing frantically for Fran. “Not m y fault. Tony burned hi m self. Not m y f ault.”
    Fran gets to her feet. “Tony ’ s not supposed to go near the sto v e,” she shouts back. “So m e days this place is like a sheltered workshop. Nice to meet you, Doc. Sorry to bend your ear. I’m a worry wart. Or a busybody. Depends on who you ask.”

Chapter Thirteen
     
     
    I put the Styrofo a m box e s full of leftovers from Fran’s into my refrigerator and root around for so m e antacids. The light on m y ans w ering m achine is blinking. I push the play button. It ’ s Gary’s contractor friend, Frank.
    “Gary gave m e your phone nu m ber. He said you said to wait until the du s t settles. I’m in construction. W e m ake a lot of dust, doesn’t bother m e at all. Maybe I can help. Call when you can.”
    I go upstairs to the bedroo m . I am too full to sleep and m y pants feel tight. I change into a pair of old p a ja m as with a stretchy elastic waistband and turn on the TV. The local ni ghtti m e talk show is on. The topic f o r the e v eni n g is “Police Suicide: Epide m ic in Blue ? ”
    My very own ex - husband, the well known police psychologist, Dr. Mark Edison, is the featured guest. This does not m ake m y st o m ach f eel bett e r. I s it o n the bed. Mark looks extraordinarily well, healthy and relaxed. There was a ti m e when I thought he was the m o s t beautiful man I had ever m et and treasured the very sight of hi m .
    “Is this an epide m ic ? ” T he bony blonde host with i m possibly long legs asks. “Should the public be alar m ed ? ”
    “An epidemic of one ? ” I talk back to the television. I’ve b e en doing this a lot lat e ly.
    Mark responds. “Policing is a high stress occupation. W ithout special assistance, police officers are at risk for a host of p r oble m s – divorce, suicide and alcoholis m .”
    “ W hat