Origins - Chapter 6/7
Title: Origins
Gift: Fic and Fic Song
Recipient: afrakaday
Pairing/Characters: Sharon O'Dwyer, Andrea Hobbs, Andrea/Sharon, Andy Flynn and Jackson Raydor as minor supporting characters
Rating: K for all chapters except for Chapter 3, which is MA
Word Count: 42,000 total (divided among 7 Chapters and an Epilogue)
Synopsis: Sharon O'Dwyer and Andrea Hobbs' challenging childhoods prepare them for meeting one another in college. Growing together and apart, they mature and age, up to present day.
Trigger Warning: PTSD and gun violence in Chapter 5
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show
A/N: This was written for the 3rd Annual Gift Exchange at majorcrimes. Thank you defyingnormalcy for her beta and for shepherding me through the process of writing and posting my first ever fanfic. This gift is primarily a fic, but in the Epilogue, there's a link to an original song that one character writes for the other. afrakaday, based on your requests, this is backstory, AU romantic history, and Andrea/Sharon. Happy holidays and happy new year!
CHAPTER 6
"Captain?" Detective Allie Moore knocked on the frame of Sharon's open door.
Ever since Sharon had started running the Force Investigation Division, she'd left her door open as a signal that she was available for impromptu meetings or to answer questions.
She smiled at Allie, as a form of invitation.
Detective Moore walked in, nodding at Sharon deferentially, placing a stack of mail on her boss’ desk. Sharon had never asked Allie to pick up her mail. Detective Moore had simply started doing it, as if compelled to perform some kind of tithing.
Ever since Sharon had started managing people, thirty years ago, she’d developed a knack for earning respect. She often wondered what it was that made someone into a leader of people. Sometimes, she thought it was just about setting clear direction and maintaining an unwavering course. That helped people to know what to do, so they could concentrate on doing it. Sometimes, she thought it was about noticing people as individuals, acknowledging their strengths and weaknesses, and helping them cultivate their skills. But most of the time, she understood the unspoken bond between her and her team members was something else entirely. For all of her merciless decisiveness and demanding standards, she deeply cared about the people on her team. She respected them and their chosen sacrifices. And she protected them, with everything at her disposal.
She suspected that was why her team members in the FID were devoted to her, even in a department that bred cynicism.
The first few years in the LAPD had been hard. Sexism had still been alive and well in her hometown, but it had been a small enough Police District that a few trailblazing women had been able to change the perception, if not the composition, of women in the force. When Sharon had arrived in LA, sexism was not only widely accepted, it seemed institutionally encouraged. It became clear, very quickly, that no matter the merits of her work, she would never be promoted to Lieutenant. Besides, there was a bottleneck in the promotional ladder from Sergeant to Lieutenant. And from where she stood, it looked even narrower from Lieutenant to Captain.
So, Sharon made a calculated lateral move to Internal Affairs. She missed being in the field and managing officers who had patrols. But one thing that did appeal to her, philosophically, was that IA’s ultimate mission was to manage the relationship between the force and the public. Sharon cared about both parties, deeply. The problem was, as much as she wanted to be the bearer of healing rituals and reconciliation, ninety-nine percent of the time, she was caught in the crossfire as the LAPD and the civilian populace, lobbed accusations and literal grenades, at one another. Most people didn’t have the stomach for IA careers. It was so unpopular a department in which to make your mark, that although the road to advancement was still challenging, especially for women, Sharon believed it was achievable.
When the FID was created as a subdivision within IA, as a response to increasingly strained public relations and the need for a better risk management system, Captain O’Dwyer became the commanding officer of her own specialized division.
Now, just as she always had, she took care of her people, and they looked up to her, in turn. Small gestures, like picking up her mail, seemed to be the norm around the office.
“How are you, Allie?” Sharon asked, supportively, looking up from the report she was writing.
“Fine, Captain,” Allie smiled wanly, unusually untalkative. Sharon imagined Detective Moore might be having a rough time at home. Always committed to giving people their privacy, Sharon looked back down at her report, not wanting Allie to feel pressured to talk.
Allie turned on her heals, about to walk away from her Captain’s desk, but Detective Moore felt bad for not taking the opportunity to make more conversation.
Allie looked down at the O’Dwyer mail she’d brought in. On the top of the stack was the LAPD end-of-year bulletin. It always contained exciting tidbits such as who was retiring, which departments were receiving new positions, which departments were downsizing, and the new hires in city and state government who partnered in some way with the Police Department.
Allie knew her Captain’s pet peeves. She realized she had the chance to warn her about one, in particular. "By the way, there's a new Deputy District Attorney."
"Promotion or transfer?" Sharon asked distractedly, scanning the report she’d just finished.
"Transfer."
Sharon groaned, putting down her pen and looking up. "I hate having to break in new blood. It takes so much time to learn our city and our issues. Where’d she or he come from?"
"San Francisco, I think," Allie recalled. "But before that she wasn’t even in California. How does that work, practicing law in other states?"
"Well, since each state has its own court system and rules for bar admission, when you take and pass the bar, you’re really being granted the right to practice law in that state. Some states have reciprocal agreements, but in general, you have to plan your life carefully if you’re a lawyer looking to move. Here in California, we have an exam that out-of-state lawyers can take so they don’t have to take the regular bar.”
Sharon loved an excuse to share information. It was one reason she’d been a good mother to her kids. They’d ask why and she’d oblige, with lengthy explanations. She laughed at herself, inside. She’d have to look into teaching classes at the Police Academy someday. That seemed like something she’d really enjoy. “Anyway, the system works, in my opinion. It ensures that lawyers are fully versed in state-specific laws.”
“You know so much about law. Why is that?” Allie’s initially friendly demeanor now bordered on flattery. Sharon adopted a half-frown at Allie’s obvious attempt to stroke her boss’ ego. But Sharon also adopted a half-smile, for the memory the question evoked. As Sharon had matured, especially in the decade since forty, she’d discovered that she had the ability to hold multiple conflicting emotions simultaneously, and she’d been told that complexity showed on her face. Of course, unless someone knew her well or unless a stranger was good at reading expressions, people didn’t actually know what they were looking at. This was one of those cases, since Detective Moore had no idea everything her boss was thinking. And in Sharon's mind, that was probably for the better.
“Well, Allie, I wanted to be a lawyer, a long time ago.”
“What happened?”
“Family.”
Allie nodded, understanding that they’d reached the end of their personal conversation for the day.
“Thanks for bringing in the mail, Detective.”
“No problem, mam,” Detective Moore exited with a respectful nod.
Sharon smirked to herself. She assumed there were people her age who winced and asked themselves when they'd become "mam.” But Sharon had been the oldest member of a team from the time she led her pack of brothers. So, she’d settled seamlessly into a professional reality where she was respected for her professional merit, and her years on the planet.
Sharon finished signing the report she’d just finished, then reached for her paper shredder, positioning it near her leg so she could quickly sort through her mail and find the ten percent that was actually worth looking at.
She flattened out the LAPD end of year bulletin with one hand, as she reached for her coffee mug and took a sip with her other. Her eyes scanned the page absently, speed reading and looking only for key words or phrases that interested her and impacted her department.
It took two efficient minutes to get to the last page, which announced the retirements and new hires for the force and partner agencies. Each of the incoming and outgoing were displayed with a name, headshot, and three-line bio. Sharon scribbled a name on a sticky note to remind herself to send a retirement gift to one of the force's longest serving female beat cops. Then, Sharon lifted the bulletin to put it in the shredder, but a name caused her to pause, mid-movement.
Andrea Hobbs.
"Captain, are you okay?" Allie asked from her desk just outside Sharon’s door.
Sharon realized she must have gasped aloud.
"I'm fine Detective, thank you. I just realized I have something I need to do. Can you please close my door?"
Sharon waited to hear the click of the latch before she dared looked down again. She re-flattened the last page of the bulletin with an uncharacteristically shaky hand.
Staring back at her was a grainy, black and white, government ID headshot of Andrea Hobbs.
She was thirty years older, thirty years more mature, but it was undoubtedly her. No one ever smiled in their government headshots, so it wasn't unusual to see someone unsmiling. But it did give Sharon pause. She squinted at the photo, as if the lines on Andrea's face could reveal her lifetime of stories: the loves, the losses. Without taking her eyes off the photograph, Sharon picked up the phone and pressed her speed dial to the District Attorney's office.
✢✢✢✢✢
Andrea heard her cell phone ring in the other room.
"Damn it," she mumbled, knowing that by the time she had managed to put down the box of dishes she was carrying and had run into the other room, she would have missed the call. She decided to let it ring. As she carefully put the box on the counter, the phone stopped ringing, and she waited for the voicemail beep, signifying a message had been left. She didn't hear one, so she shrugged to herself, pulled out her exacto knife, and cut through the tape holding down the cardboard flaps.
Three hours later, sweaty, dusty, and hungry, Andrea broke down eight empty boxes, stacked them by the front door, and headed in search of her phone. She needed Yelp to help her get to know her new home.
As Andrea picked up her iPhone, she noticed a missed call alert and she remembered having heard it ring earlier. Oddly, the number said "Los Angeles Police Department." Andrea pressed "call back" and after a single ring, she reached the automated directory for the LAPD switchboard. "You have reached the Los Angeles Police Department. If you know your party's extension, please press…" Andrea hung up. Maybe the call had been a wrong number. It couldn’t be work related since she hadn’t even started yet. Her first day wasn’t for another two weeks.
She leaned against the wall, not yet the proud owner of a chair, and using her phone, she looked up Thai, Vietnamese, and Cambodian restaurants in her neighborhood. She was pleased to read some satisfactory reviews. It wasn't San Francisco, she'd never really wanted to live in LA, but here she was and she was planning to make the most of it, starting with spring rolls.
As Andrea sat at the counter in the Southeast Asian themed gastropub, she found herself wondering what Avery was doing, right now. Andrea started playing with her phone in her pocket, flipping it over in her hand, rotating it one way then another, a nervous habit. Andrea didn't regret leaving SF, no, she knew from past experience that the best way for her to get over someone and move past a chapter of her life was to go to a new place and face a new challenge.
She'd first used that strategy over thirty years ago, when she and Sharon O’Dwyer ended their relationship. It's not that Andrea didn't take the time to process her emotions. She did. But she'd always been a monger for meaning, seeing symbolism and sublime moments in the smallest detail. Professionally, it was a little known fact that she was a romantic with a rich imagination. It honestly never came up. She was all business at work, known for getting a job done, quickly and well. But the truth was, she had a dreamer side to her. And because of how much poetry and how many memories she saw in every archway and cross street and bistro counter, it became too hard for her to remain in one place after a heartbreak.
Being with Sharon, then breaking up with Sharon, had taught Andrea that it wasn’t worth getting that close to someone unless it was forever.
That's why she let herself believe she and Avery were in it for the long haul.
And that's why Andrea had clung to their relationship, long after the writing was on the wall.
She and Avery had enjoyed their more than two decades together. And they'd helped each other grow, certainly. But in the last few years, it became evident that some of the ways in which they’d grown were fundamentally divergent.
Andrea wanted to grow ever more entwined, sharing life and space and time. She also wanted to embed more deeply in their community, becoming a committed member of their neighborhood on a small scale and their city on a large scale.
But Avery had an itch to travel and a desire for space. They’d been able to work with those needs in the past, and incorporate them into the rhythm of their life. But in the last few years, those needs had become all consuming.
Avery had grown up enmeshed with her mother and when her mother died a few years ago, Avery had started to go through an identity crisis that morphed into a midlife crisis. Instead of wanting the comfort and support of her partner, Avery wanted physical and emotional space to rediscover who she was. And that meant ending their relationship. Andrea respected the desire for self-growth and self-discovery. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.
Avery offered that Andrea stay in their San Francisco condo. Avery's business consulting allowed her to work remotely. Most of her clients were in the EU, so as long as she could talk to them during business hours, she could be anywhere in the world. And, once untethered from Andrea, that’s exactly what she planned to do.
But Andrea knew herself. She knew she'd go crazy if she stayed in that condo alone, seeing a ghost of Avery in every corner. Also, with one government income instead of two incomes, one of which had been a very healthy one from the private sector, staying in their condo wasn’t even feasible.
So, she'd applied for a transfer from the SF District Attorney's office to other offices in the state. Two positions were available for a Deputy District Attorney. One in San Diego and one in LA. She wasn't crazy about the prospect of living in a more dense, more smoggy, more frenetic city. San Diego would be so much more her style. But, for some reason, a reason that probably had to do with morbid curiosity and the love of a challenge in times of emotional distress, she picked LA. She knew it would be an adventure, if nothing else.
Andrea felt her phone vibrate in her hand as she flipped it round and round in her pocket. Her heart skipped, wondering if Avery was calling to check in on her, making good on their promise to remain friends.
Andrea's heart sank a little, as she realized it wasn't Avery. It was the LAPD again. "Andrea Hobbs," Andrea answered professionally, as if her cell phone was her not yet existent office line.
"Andrea," a woman's voice returned. "Hi. This is Sharon. Sharon O'Dwyer."
✢✢✢✢✢
A flood of memories washed over Andrea, so quickly she started feeling nauseous. She was suddenly riding a carousel at hyper-speed, watching her memories with Sharon spin past her.
“One minute,” Andrea managed to say without puking, placing her phone carefully on the counter, as if it was a timebomb.
Andrea took a big gulp of water from the red plastic glass, then put a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, paying for the food that hadn’t yet arrived.
She picked up the phone, got off the stool, and pushed open the door to the outside. Andrea looked around, momentarily, as if trying to stop her own spinning carousel by visually focusing on the busy street. It wasn’t working.
She put the phone back up to her ear.
"Sharon? Are you still there?" she asked, then instantly wondered if she subconsciously meant that in a meta way.
"Yes. I’m still here."
"What are you, how did you…"
"I work for the LAPD. In the Force Investigation Division. I stay informed about new government employees whose work might impact my department's."
"You work with the DA’s office.”
"Yes."
"I had no idea…"
"That we'd be working together?" Sharon’s voice was impressively buoyant. Andrea wondered if it was an act.
"No, I didn't know we’d be working together. I didn't know you were here. Honestly, I didn't know where you were or what you were doing. I'm sorry. I have other options. I'll just explain to the DA that something came up and that I need to go to San Diego instead. I'm sorry. I really didn't know."
Andrea remembered everything Sharon last said to her three decades ago, as if it was yesterday. Andrea cared about Sharon. She suspected she always would. And if what was best for Sharon was for Andrea to keep her distance and not be in contact, that's what Andrea planned to do.
"Hold on a second,” Sharon said gently, her tone calm and even. She was confused, but determined to figure this out. “What’s this about San Diego? Don’t change your plans. Why are you apologizing? You have nothing to be sorry for."
"I don’t want to crowd you. I doubt we'd work together that often, but I understand completely. This is your territory. I'm sorry you had to call me…"
"Andrea, Andrea,” Sharon laughed gently. “Are you serious?"
Andrea couldn't tell if that was a rhetorical question or a real one, but the pause on Sharon's end prompted Andrea to answer. "Yes...?"
"Andrea, I'm not calling you because I want you to go away..."
Andrea closed her eyes and let Sharon’s voice wash over her. It was more resonant and self-assured than Andrea remembered it; it was steelier, yet lighter. Despite the subtle changes, it was the same vocal imprint; the same soul behind the sound. Sharon's voice reverberated through Andrea's skull, tingling sensations surrounded her ribcage, sending electricity down her spine the way lightning looks for ground.
"...I'm calling to say hi, to let you know we may be working with one another, and to see if you'd be up for getting together before you start. I thought it might be easier to meet up outside of work, rather than see each other for the first time while we’re in the middle of some horrible internal investigation where you're drawing up charges against one of our officers."
There it was: a playful chuckle, hidden just beneath Sharon’s words. Sharon sounded self-confident and grounded in her work, yet able to laugh at herself and the realities of her job. She sounded exactly like a mature version of the Sharon O’Dwyer Andrea had known thirty years ago.
Dazed, Andrea reached up and touched her cheek with her free hand. She was checking to see if the smile she felt on the inside, had made its way to the surface. "Hey, listen. I...” Andrea found it hard to know what to say. So she decided to call a recess. “...I just need some time to process this. Can I get back to you? About getting together I mean?"
"Oh, yeah, absolutely. Let me give you my extension."
Andrea wanted to get off the phone, immediately. The emotional carnival ride on the inside, and the car exhaust on the outside, both made her dizzy. "I'll get it from the directory. You're still O'Dwyer?"
"Still O'Dwyer," Sharon affirmed, remembering the ongoing conversation they used to have about marriage and names. They’d both agreed that hyphenating names and taking one another's was the most symbolic demonstration of an equal partnership. Sharon had posited that if someone was successful in their career, they shouldn't change their name, even with a hyphen, because they'd lose some of the power they'd developed with their original moniker. The truth was, Sharon had ended up remaining O'Dwyer for a more fundamental reason: she'd never met another person with whom she'd wanted to share a hyphen.
"Great. I'll get back to you." Andrea hung up, suddenly flustered.
Sharon took a deep breath and looked at the phone for a minute before putting it back in its cradle. She moved her hand over her heart, as if internal scar tissue from decades ago, was tingling and pulsing, reawakened. Sharon couldn't tell if it hurt or felt good. Probably both. Either way, she felt more alive than she had in thirty years.
✢✢✢✢✢
Andrea would have run if that wouldn't have made her look like a lunatic or a criminal.
Instead, she walked briskly through the streets, allowing herself to ignore all signage or sense of direction. If Andrea allowed it, Sharon O'Dwyer was about to re-enter her world. Andrea let that news sink into her brain, body, and bones, so she could get in touch with what she wanted.
It was 11pm before Andrea stopped walking. She literally stopped in her tracks, suddenly clear about how she felt.
Now that she knew, she didn't want to wait until morning to take action. She decided to call and leave Sharon a voicemail, right now. Andrea dialed the LAPD main line and punched “ODW” into the keypad, to reach Sharon's extension and voicemail box.
"FID."
"Sharon?"
"Andrea?"
"I didn't expect you to pick up."
"You called my number."
"But it's late. I thought I'd just leave a message."
"Do you want me to hang up so you can call back and talk to my voicemail?" Sharon said flatly, while grinning madly to herself.
Luckily, Andrea had emerged from her daze of a few hours ago, and was finally able to hear Sharon’s humor. "I was just going to tell you that yes, I would like to get together. And, I was going to tell you that I'm available really anytime in the next three days. I'm just moving in. So, no work, no social obligations. I can get together whenever works for you."
"How about tomorrow afternoon? Something can always come up in this line of work, as you well know. But, barring a new, showstopping investigation, I'm available around 5."
"Let's do it. Where should we meet up?"
Sharon had already thought this through. They couldn't meet at Sharon’s condo, that was way too personal and vulnerable. They couldn't meet at a restaurant, that was way too structured and potentially awkward. It was going to be strange enough reconnecting after all these years. Why add the complication of having to maintain public decorum? "How about the park bench, just north of the boathouse at Echo Park Lake."
"It sounds like you're arranging a drug deal."
"Don't joke about things like that on government phone calls!" Sharon laughed, wholeheartedly. "We record these calls you know."
God it was good to hear Sharon laugh. It was the same laugh too, just deeper, richer, more sure of itself. "I'll be there,” Andrea replied. “I don't know my way around yet, but I’m sure I can find it. I hear Echo Park is one of the few oases in this otherwise concrete mess...” Andrea stopped herself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your city."
"Don't be silly," Sharon assured Andrea. "Be honest. I've always loved that about you."
Sharon clasped her hand to her mouth. Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, she tisked herself. Why couldn’t you have said ‘appreciated’ instead of ‘loved?’ Also, you need to stop assuming this is the same Andrea that you knew when you were twenty. For all you know she might be a completely different person.
Sharon cleared her throat and her head. "But you're right, this city is a tangled mess of asphalt. I'm honestly surprised you're here. I always pictured you in some beautiful city, set against a lake or mountain range, heading out to hiking trails after work."
"Maybe we shouldn't meet up, so you can maintain your flattering image of my life." Andrea replied, with characteristic sass. She sighed, dropping down into a genuine tone of reflection. “I love your imagination.”
Sharon’s eyes widened as she noticed Andrea had used that word too. Was it too much to ask for two smart, articulate women to come up with synonyms to the word 'love' at 11pm?
Sharon spoke into the silence, which had conspicuously descended. "See you tomorrow at five?"
"Yup. Call me if something comes up," Andrea confirmed, suddenly becoming aware of her surroundings. Where had she walked herself to? “Where the hell am I?” Andrea mumbled.
“I don’t know. Where the hell are you?”
They both burst into laughter, though Sharon had no idea what Andrea was talking about.
In truth, they laughed to release the tension at the wonder of it all, at the happenstance of reconnecting after all these years, at the impatient desire for the past to catch up with the present, at the barely stifled fear that neither of them had a clue how to accurately imagine the other person’s life, much less who they’d each become. Both women suddenly felt nervous that this playful prelude was just a setup for a disappointing encounter.
“I’m going to GPS myself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 7...
Gift: Fic and Fic Song
Recipient: afrakaday
Pairing/Characters: Sharon O'Dwyer, Andrea Hobbs, Andrea/Sharon, Andy Flynn and Jackson Raydor as minor supporting characters
Rating: K for all chapters except for Chapter 3, which is MA
Word Count: 42,000 total (divided among 7 Chapters and an Epilogue)
Synopsis: Sharon O'Dwyer and Andrea Hobbs' challenging childhoods prepare them for meeting one another in college. Growing together and apart, they mature and age, up to present day.
Trigger Warning: PTSD and gun violence in Chapter 5
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show
A/N: This was written for the 3rd Annual Gift Exchange at majorcrimes. Thank you defyingnormalcy for her beta and for shepherding me through the process of writing and posting my first ever fanfic. This gift is primarily a fic, but in the Epilogue, there's a link to an original song that one character writes for the other. afrakaday, based on your requests, this is backstory, AU romantic history, and Andrea/Sharon. Happy holidays and happy new year!
CHAPTER 6
"Captain?" Detective Allie Moore knocked on the frame of Sharon's open door.
Ever since Sharon had started running the Force Investigation Division, she'd left her door open as a signal that she was available for impromptu meetings or to answer questions.
She smiled at Allie, as a form of invitation.
Detective Moore walked in, nodding at Sharon deferentially, placing a stack of mail on her boss’ desk. Sharon had never asked Allie to pick up her mail. Detective Moore had simply started doing it, as if compelled to perform some kind of tithing.
Ever since Sharon had started managing people, thirty years ago, she’d developed a knack for earning respect. She often wondered what it was that made someone into a leader of people. Sometimes, she thought it was just about setting clear direction and maintaining an unwavering course. That helped people to know what to do, so they could concentrate on doing it. Sometimes, she thought it was about noticing people as individuals, acknowledging their strengths and weaknesses, and helping them cultivate their skills. But most of the time, she understood the unspoken bond between her and her team members was something else entirely. For all of her merciless decisiveness and demanding standards, she deeply cared about the people on her team. She respected them and their chosen sacrifices. And she protected them, with everything at her disposal.
She suspected that was why her team members in the FID were devoted to her, even in a department that bred cynicism.
The first few years in the LAPD had been hard. Sexism had still been alive and well in her hometown, but it had been a small enough Police District that a few trailblazing women had been able to change the perception, if not the composition, of women in the force. When Sharon had arrived in LA, sexism was not only widely accepted, it seemed institutionally encouraged. It became clear, very quickly, that no matter the merits of her work, she would never be promoted to Lieutenant. Besides, there was a bottleneck in the promotional ladder from Sergeant to Lieutenant. And from where she stood, it looked even narrower from Lieutenant to Captain.
So, Sharon made a calculated lateral move to Internal Affairs. She missed being in the field and managing officers who had patrols. But one thing that did appeal to her, philosophically, was that IA’s ultimate mission was to manage the relationship between the force and the public. Sharon cared about both parties, deeply. The problem was, as much as she wanted to be the bearer of healing rituals and reconciliation, ninety-nine percent of the time, she was caught in the crossfire as the LAPD and the civilian populace, lobbed accusations and literal grenades, at one another. Most people didn’t have the stomach for IA careers. It was so unpopular a department in which to make your mark, that although the road to advancement was still challenging, especially for women, Sharon believed it was achievable.
When the FID was created as a subdivision within IA, as a response to increasingly strained public relations and the need for a better risk management system, Captain O’Dwyer became the commanding officer of her own specialized division.
Now, just as she always had, she took care of her people, and they looked up to her, in turn. Small gestures, like picking up her mail, seemed to be the norm around the office.
“How are you, Allie?” Sharon asked, supportively, looking up from the report she was writing.
“Fine, Captain,” Allie smiled wanly, unusually untalkative. Sharon imagined Detective Moore might be having a rough time at home. Always committed to giving people their privacy, Sharon looked back down at her report, not wanting Allie to feel pressured to talk.
Allie turned on her heals, about to walk away from her Captain’s desk, but Detective Moore felt bad for not taking the opportunity to make more conversation.
Allie looked down at the O’Dwyer mail she’d brought in. On the top of the stack was the LAPD end-of-year bulletin. It always contained exciting tidbits such as who was retiring, which departments were receiving new positions, which departments were downsizing, and the new hires in city and state government who partnered in some way with the Police Department.
Allie knew her Captain’s pet peeves. She realized she had the chance to warn her about one, in particular. "By the way, there's a new Deputy District Attorney."
"Promotion or transfer?" Sharon asked distractedly, scanning the report she’d just finished.
"Transfer."
Sharon groaned, putting down her pen and looking up. "I hate having to break in new blood. It takes so much time to learn our city and our issues. Where’d she or he come from?"
"San Francisco, I think," Allie recalled. "But before that she wasn’t even in California. How does that work, practicing law in other states?"
"Well, since each state has its own court system and rules for bar admission, when you take and pass the bar, you’re really being granted the right to practice law in that state. Some states have reciprocal agreements, but in general, you have to plan your life carefully if you’re a lawyer looking to move. Here in California, we have an exam that out-of-state lawyers can take so they don’t have to take the regular bar.”
Sharon loved an excuse to share information. It was one reason she’d been a good mother to her kids. They’d ask why and she’d oblige, with lengthy explanations. She laughed at herself, inside. She’d have to look into teaching classes at the Police Academy someday. That seemed like something she’d really enjoy. “Anyway, the system works, in my opinion. It ensures that lawyers are fully versed in state-specific laws.”
“You know so much about law. Why is that?” Allie’s initially friendly demeanor now bordered on flattery. Sharon adopted a half-frown at Allie’s obvious attempt to stroke her boss’ ego. But Sharon also adopted a half-smile, for the memory the question evoked. As Sharon had matured, especially in the decade since forty, she’d discovered that she had the ability to hold multiple conflicting emotions simultaneously, and she’d been told that complexity showed on her face. Of course, unless someone knew her well or unless a stranger was good at reading expressions, people didn’t actually know what they were looking at. This was one of those cases, since Detective Moore had no idea everything her boss was thinking. And in Sharon's mind, that was probably for the better.
“Well, Allie, I wanted to be a lawyer, a long time ago.”
“What happened?”
“Family.”
Allie nodded, understanding that they’d reached the end of their personal conversation for the day.
“Thanks for bringing in the mail, Detective.”
“No problem, mam,” Detective Moore exited with a respectful nod.
Sharon smirked to herself. She assumed there were people her age who winced and asked themselves when they'd become "mam.” But Sharon had been the oldest member of a team from the time she led her pack of brothers. So, she’d settled seamlessly into a professional reality where she was respected for her professional merit, and her years on the planet.
Sharon finished signing the report she’d just finished, then reached for her paper shredder, positioning it near her leg so she could quickly sort through her mail and find the ten percent that was actually worth looking at.
She flattened out the LAPD end of year bulletin with one hand, as she reached for her coffee mug and took a sip with her other. Her eyes scanned the page absently, speed reading and looking only for key words or phrases that interested her and impacted her department.
It took two efficient minutes to get to the last page, which announced the retirements and new hires for the force and partner agencies. Each of the incoming and outgoing were displayed with a name, headshot, and three-line bio. Sharon scribbled a name on a sticky note to remind herself to send a retirement gift to one of the force's longest serving female beat cops. Then, Sharon lifted the bulletin to put it in the shredder, but a name caused her to pause, mid-movement.
Andrea Hobbs.
"Captain, are you okay?" Allie asked from her desk just outside Sharon’s door.
Sharon realized she must have gasped aloud.
"I'm fine Detective, thank you. I just realized I have something I need to do. Can you please close my door?"
Sharon waited to hear the click of the latch before she dared looked down again. She re-flattened the last page of the bulletin with an uncharacteristically shaky hand.
Staring back at her was a grainy, black and white, government ID headshot of Andrea Hobbs.
She was thirty years older, thirty years more mature, but it was undoubtedly her. No one ever smiled in their government headshots, so it wasn't unusual to see someone unsmiling. But it did give Sharon pause. She squinted at the photo, as if the lines on Andrea's face could reveal her lifetime of stories: the loves, the losses. Without taking her eyes off the photograph, Sharon picked up the phone and pressed her speed dial to the District Attorney's office.
✢✢✢✢✢
Andrea heard her cell phone ring in the other room.
"Damn it," she mumbled, knowing that by the time she had managed to put down the box of dishes she was carrying and had run into the other room, she would have missed the call. She decided to let it ring. As she carefully put the box on the counter, the phone stopped ringing, and she waited for the voicemail beep, signifying a message had been left. She didn't hear one, so she shrugged to herself, pulled out her exacto knife, and cut through the tape holding down the cardboard flaps.
Three hours later, sweaty, dusty, and hungry, Andrea broke down eight empty boxes, stacked them by the front door, and headed in search of her phone. She needed Yelp to help her get to know her new home.
As Andrea picked up her iPhone, she noticed a missed call alert and she remembered having heard it ring earlier. Oddly, the number said "Los Angeles Police Department." Andrea pressed "call back" and after a single ring, she reached the automated directory for the LAPD switchboard. "You have reached the Los Angeles Police Department. If you know your party's extension, please press…" Andrea hung up. Maybe the call had been a wrong number. It couldn’t be work related since she hadn’t even started yet. Her first day wasn’t for another two weeks.
She leaned against the wall, not yet the proud owner of a chair, and using her phone, she looked up Thai, Vietnamese, and Cambodian restaurants in her neighborhood. She was pleased to read some satisfactory reviews. It wasn't San Francisco, she'd never really wanted to live in LA, but here she was and she was planning to make the most of it, starting with spring rolls.
As Andrea sat at the counter in the Southeast Asian themed gastropub, she found herself wondering what Avery was doing, right now. Andrea started playing with her phone in her pocket, flipping it over in her hand, rotating it one way then another, a nervous habit. Andrea didn't regret leaving SF, no, she knew from past experience that the best way for her to get over someone and move past a chapter of her life was to go to a new place and face a new challenge.
She'd first used that strategy over thirty years ago, when she and Sharon O’Dwyer ended their relationship. It's not that Andrea didn't take the time to process her emotions. She did. But she'd always been a monger for meaning, seeing symbolism and sublime moments in the smallest detail. Professionally, it was a little known fact that she was a romantic with a rich imagination. It honestly never came up. She was all business at work, known for getting a job done, quickly and well. But the truth was, she had a dreamer side to her. And because of how much poetry and how many memories she saw in every archway and cross street and bistro counter, it became too hard for her to remain in one place after a heartbreak.
Being with Sharon, then breaking up with Sharon, had taught Andrea that it wasn’t worth getting that close to someone unless it was forever.
That's why she let herself believe she and Avery were in it for the long haul.
And that's why Andrea had clung to their relationship, long after the writing was on the wall.
She and Avery had enjoyed their more than two decades together. And they'd helped each other grow, certainly. But in the last few years, it became evident that some of the ways in which they’d grown were fundamentally divergent.
Andrea wanted to grow ever more entwined, sharing life and space and time. She also wanted to embed more deeply in their community, becoming a committed member of their neighborhood on a small scale and their city on a large scale.
But Avery had an itch to travel and a desire for space. They’d been able to work with those needs in the past, and incorporate them into the rhythm of their life. But in the last few years, those needs had become all consuming.
Avery had grown up enmeshed with her mother and when her mother died a few years ago, Avery had started to go through an identity crisis that morphed into a midlife crisis. Instead of wanting the comfort and support of her partner, Avery wanted physical and emotional space to rediscover who she was. And that meant ending their relationship. Andrea respected the desire for self-growth and self-discovery. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.
Avery offered that Andrea stay in their San Francisco condo. Avery's business consulting allowed her to work remotely. Most of her clients were in the EU, so as long as she could talk to them during business hours, she could be anywhere in the world. And, once untethered from Andrea, that’s exactly what she planned to do.
But Andrea knew herself. She knew she'd go crazy if she stayed in that condo alone, seeing a ghost of Avery in every corner. Also, with one government income instead of two incomes, one of which had been a very healthy one from the private sector, staying in their condo wasn’t even feasible.
So, she'd applied for a transfer from the SF District Attorney's office to other offices in the state. Two positions were available for a Deputy District Attorney. One in San Diego and one in LA. She wasn't crazy about the prospect of living in a more dense, more smoggy, more frenetic city. San Diego would be so much more her style. But, for some reason, a reason that probably had to do with morbid curiosity and the love of a challenge in times of emotional distress, she picked LA. She knew it would be an adventure, if nothing else.
Andrea felt her phone vibrate in her hand as she flipped it round and round in her pocket. Her heart skipped, wondering if Avery was calling to check in on her, making good on their promise to remain friends.
Andrea's heart sank a little, as she realized it wasn't Avery. It was the LAPD again. "Andrea Hobbs," Andrea answered professionally, as if her cell phone was her not yet existent office line.
"Andrea," a woman's voice returned. "Hi. This is Sharon. Sharon O'Dwyer."
✢✢✢✢✢
A flood of memories washed over Andrea, so quickly she started feeling nauseous. She was suddenly riding a carousel at hyper-speed, watching her memories with Sharon spin past her.
“One minute,” Andrea managed to say without puking, placing her phone carefully on the counter, as if it was a timebomb.
Andrea took a big gulp of water from the red plastic glass, then put a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, paying for the food that hadn’t yet arrived.
She picked up the phone, got off the stool, and pushed open the door to the outside. Andrea looked around, momentarily, as if trying to stop her own spinning carousel by visually focusing on the busy street. It wasn’t working.
She put the phone back up to her ear.
"Sharon? Are you still there?" she asked, then instantly wondered if she subconsciously meant that in a meta way.
"Yes. I’m still here."
"What are you, how did you…"
"I work for the LAPD. In the Force Investigation Division. I stay informed about new government employees whose work might impact my department's."
"You work with the DA’s office.”
"Yes."
"I had no idea…"
"That we'd be working together?" Sharon’s voice was impressively buoyant. Andrea wondered if it was an act.
"No, I didn't know we’d be working together. I didn't know you were here. Honestly, I didn't know where you were or what you were doing. I'm sorry. I have other options. I'll just explain to the DA that something came up and that I need to go to San Diego instead. I'm sorry. I really didn't know."
Andrea remembered everything Sharon last said to her three decades ago, as if it was yesterday. Andrea cared about Sharon. She suspected she always would. And if what was best for Sharon was for Andrea to keep her distance and not be in contact, that's what Andrea planned to do.
"Hold on a second,” Sharon said gently, her tone calm and even. She was confused, but determined to figure this out. “What’s this about San Diego? Don’t change your plans. Why are you apologizing? You have nothing to be sorry for."
"I don’t want to crowd you. I doubt we'd work together that often, but I understand completely. This is your territory. I'm sorry you had to call me…"
"Andrea, Andrea,” Sharon laughed gently. “Are you serious?"
Andrea couldn't tell if that was a rhetorical question or a real one, but the pause on Sharon's end prompted Andrea to answer. "Yes...?"
"Andrea, I'm not calling you because I want you to go away..."
Andrea closed her eyes and let Sharon’s voice wash over her. It was more resonant and self-assured than Andrea remembered it; it was steelier, yet lighter. Despite the subtle changes, it was the same vocal imprint; the same soul behind the sound. Sharon's voice reverberated through Andrea's skull, tingling sensations surrounded her ribcage, sending electricity down her spine the way lightning looks for ground.
"...I'm calling to say hi, to let you know we may be working with one another, and to see if you'd be up for getting together before you start. I thought it might be easier to meet up outside of work, rather than see each other for the first time while we’re in the middle of some horrible internal investigation where you're drawing up charges against one of our officers."
There it was: a playful chuckle, hidden just beneath Sharon’s words. Sharon sounded self-confident and grounded in her work, yet able to laugh at herself and the realities of her job. She sounded exactly like a mature version of the Sharon O’Dwyer Andrea had known thirty years ago.
Dazed, Andrea reached up and touched her cheek with her free hand. She was checking to see if the smile she felt on the inside, had made its way to the surface. "Hey, listen. I...” Andrea found it hard to know what to say. So she decided to call a recess. “...I just need some time to process this. Can I get back to you? About getting together I mean?"
"Oh, yeah, absolutely. Let me give you my extension."
Andrea wanted to get off the phone, immediately. The emotional carnival ride on the inside, and the car exhaust on the outside, both made her dizzy. "I'll get it from the directory. You're still O'Dwyer?"
"Still O'Dwyer," Sharon affirmed, remembering the ongoing conversation they used to have about marriage and names. They’d both agreed that hyphenating names and taking one another's was the most symbolic demonstration of an equal partnership. Sharon had posited that if someone was successful in their career, they shouldn't change their name, even with a hyphen, because they'd lose some of the power they'd developed with their original moniker. The truth was, Sharon had ended up remaining O'Dwyer for a more fundamental reason: she'd never met another person with whom she'd wanted to share a hyphen.
"Great. I'll get back to you." Andrea hung up, suddenly flustered.
Sharon took a deep breath and looked at the phone for a minute before putting it back in its cradle. She moved her hand over her heart, as if internal scar tissue from decades ago, was tingling and pulsing, reawakened. Sharon couldn't tell if it hurt or felt good. Probably both. Either way, she felt more alive than she had in thirty years.
✢✢✢✢✢
Andrea would have run if that wouldn't have made her look like a lunatic or a criminal.
Instead, she walked briskly through the streets, allowing herself to ignore all signage or sense of direction. If Andrea allowed it, Sharon O'Dwyer was about to re-enter her world. Andrea let that news sink into her brain, body, and bones, so she could get in touch with what she wanted.
It was 11pm before Andrea stopped walking. She literally stopped in her tracks, suddenly clear about how she felt.
Now that she knew, she didn't want to wait until morning to take action. She decided to call and leave Sharon a voicemail, right now. Andrea dialed the LAPD main line and punched “ODW” into the keypad, to reach Sharon's extension and voicemail box.
"FID."
"Sharon?"
"Andrea?"
"I didn't expect you to pick up."
"You called my number."
"But it's late. I thought I'd just leave a message."
"Do you want me to hang up so you can call back and talk to my voicemail?" Sharon said flatly, while grinning madly to herself.
Luckily, Andrea had emerged from her daze of a few hours ago, and was finally able to hear Sharon’s humor. "I was just going to tell you that yes, I would like to get together. And, I was going to tell you that I'm available really anytime in the next three days. I'm just moving in. So, no work, no social obligations. I can get together whenever works for you."
"How about tomorrow afternoon? Something can always come up in this line of work, as you well know. But, barring a new, showstopping investigation, I'm available around 5."
"Let's do it. Where should we meet up?"
Sharon had already thought this through. They couldn't meet at Sharon’s condo, that was way too personal and vulnerable. They couldn't meet at a restaurant, that was way too structured and potentially awkward. It was going to be strange enough reconnecting after all these years. Why add the complication of having to maintain public decorum? "How about the park bench, just north of the boathouse at Echo Park Lake."
"It sounds like you're arranging a drug deal."
"Don't joke about things like that on government phone calls!" Sharon laughed, wholeheartedly. "We record these calls you know."
God it was good to hear Sharon laugh. It was the same laugh too, just deeper, richer, more sure of itself. "I'll be there,” Andrea replied. “I don't know my way around yet, but I’m sure I can find it. I hear Echo Park is one of the few oases in this otherwise concrete mess...” Andrea stopped herself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your city."
"Don't be silly," Sharon assured Andrea. "Be honest. I've always loved that about you."
Sharon clasped her hand to her mouth. Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, she tisked herself. Why couldn’t you have said ‘appreciated’ instead of ‘loved?’ Also, you need to stop assuming this is the same Andrea that you knew when you were twenty. For all you know she might be a completely different person.
Sharon cleared her throat and her head. "But you're right, this city is a tangled mess of asphalt. I'm honestly surprised you're here. I always pictured you in some beautiful city, set against a lake or mountain range, heading out to hiking trails after work."
"Maybe we shouldn't meet up, so you can maintain your flattering image of my life." Andrea replied, with characteristic sass. She sighed, dropping down into a genuine tone of reflection. “I love your imagination.”
Sharon’s eyes widened as she noticed Andrea had used that word too. Was it too much to ask for two smart, articulate women to come up with synonyms to the word 'love' at 11pm?
Sharon spoke into the silence, which had conspicuously descended. "See you tomorrow at five?"
"Yup. Call me if something comes up," Andrea confirmed, suddenly becoming aware of her surroundings. Where had she walked herself to? “Where the hell am I?” Andrea mumbled.
“I don’t know. Where the hell are you?”
They both burst into laughter, though Sharon had no idea what Andrea was talking about.
In truth, they laughed to release the tension at the wonder of it all, at the happenstance of reconnecting after all these years, at the impatient desire for the past to catch up with the present, at the barely stifled fear that neither of them had a clue how to accurately imagine the other person’s life, much less who they’d each become. Both women suddenly felt nervous that this playful prelude was just a setup for a disappointing encounter.
“I’m going to GPS myself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 7...