‘And so they danced, and the eyes of the onlookers fell upon them!’ said Ren into his ear.
This is high-larious!
Everett was laughing at her, but when he really started to move, Ren was the one who had to fall away to the side she was laughing so hard. He was an excellent dancer.
They went back to the bar and slumped into their seats.
I am soooo shitfaced. ‘I think I look like a whore when I dance the way I really want to dance.’
‘I agree,’ said Everett. ‘Don’t ever change.’
‘And you dance like no one is looking,’ said Ren. ‘Pinterest gold.’
At two a.m., a cab with Ren in it pulled up outside the home of Annie Lowell, a dear Bryce family friend, who had allowed Ren to house-sit her beautiful, historic home while she was touring Europe.
‘This is me!’ said Ren, reaching forward and handing the driver twenty dollars.
She looked out the window. Then back at the driver.
‘Oh, shit,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t live here any more.’
It was a beautiful ninety-degree morning in Denver: the landfill site sweltered under the same sun that was giving everyone else’s day a glorious start. Ren was sitting in the passenger seat of her Jeep.
This cannot be my life.
Outside, the rest of Safe Streets were already dressed in white Tyvek suits, Kevlar gloves, and black half-face masks, sharing a range of looks that covered misery, repulsion, sorrow, and panic.
The panic was flickering in the eyes of Janine Hooks, Ren’s closest friend, and ex-Jefferson County cold case detective. Janine had joined Safe Streets three months earlier. She was a brilliant, thorough investigator with a sharp, wise mind and a heart of gold. Ren was certain Janine had an eating disorder, but had never dared to raise it.
It breaks my heart how tiny you look inside your suit.
Janine was staring down at her feet, lining the tips of her boots up.
Terrified about wearing a mask. Or shy around Robbie.
Robbie Truax was ex-Aurora PD, with Safe Streets from the beginning. Janine had met him first through Ren, and was comfortable liking him from afar, a little less so now that they were up-close colleagues.
Everett came into Ren’s line of vision, walking her way. He pulled open the door of the Jeep.
‘How’s my girl?’
‘Seriously,’ said Ren, ‘I have zero idea how I got into the apartment I did not remember I lived in.’
‘Too much grammar in that sentence …’
‘But you look fine – that’s not fair,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t think I can go through with this.’
‘You can. You can always puke into the mask.’
‘Jesus Christ. Thanks. My ultimate nightmare.’
Fifteen minutes and one fake urgent phone call later, Ren was suited up with the others.
I made it.
They stood in a group, still apart from the other searchers.
‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘Let’s go through the hand signals again …’
Everyone looked at her. She pushed her hand into the circle, low down, and raised her middle finger. ‘Fuck. This.’
The others smiled.
And fuck this heat.
Ren surveyed the landscape ahead of them: rotting food, filthy diapers, decaying animals … stop the inventory of this hellhole.
‘Stretched out before us,’ said Ren, ‘is a landscape that looks like how my mouth feels. There may be a cadaver in both. May your masks serve and protect you.’
She walked toward the rest of the searchers: Denver PD detectives, Sheriff’s Office investigators, landfill site workers, and volunteers.
Volunteers, you extraordinary people. Have you no place else to be? God bless you all.
They moved in and began the search. It was as hot, foul and arduous as they expected. Two days later, they were back. Four days. Five. On day six, the body of Hope Coulson, hanging from black plastic coming undone, was hoisted from a stinking mound of life’s waste and set on the ground at the feet of the Safe Streets’ team. Janine Hooks’ eagle eye had spotted the bag, the Duck tape wrapped around it at each end with extra at the center.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Everett, Janine and four DPD detectives stayed with the body until the coroner arrived. Ren called for Robbie and they moved quickly toward her Jeep. They stripped out of their filthy Tyvek suits, balled them into a bag in the back, and hopped in.
You have gained quite a bit of weight, Robbie Truax, which I feel mean noticing.
‘So, how’ve you been?’ he said, as he strapped himself in.
Ren looked at him. We’re together almost every day …
She started the engine, and drove.
‘I mean – we only see each other at work these days,’ said Robbie.
‘I know,’ said Ren. ‘It’s been crazy. And you’ve missed some nights out. A lot of nights out. Is everything OK?’
They both understood the silence that followed. Robbie, the blond, fresh-faced, boy-scout Mormon, was in treatment for porn addiction, a problem that had been going on for months before he finally told Ren, the sole guardian of his secret.
He shrugged. ‘I … was wondering if you were so … horrified by what I told you, that … you were trying to create distance.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Ren. ‘Please tell me you don’t mean that. Did I seem horrified to you? Jesus – I’d have no friends if I distanced myself from people with porn and promiscuity issues. And how could I distance myself from myself?’
Robbie smiled. ‘I guess I just miss hanging out, you coming over, or staying around after work. Just having pizza or whatever.’
But not drinking. Which isn’t seeming like fun to me right now. Sorry!
‘You and Everett,’ said Robbie, ‘you’re—’
Ren’s heart sank.
And now we have hit the real problem. You think I have abandoned you for Everett.
After three months, Robbie was struggling to get along with Everett, and it was making for some awkward moments.
But, you’re right. I have abandoned you. Everett is more fun. Everett drinks. He dances. I can’t hurt Everett. I could hurt you, sensitive man.
Robbie had once admitted to Ren that he loved her, and she had told him that she saw him more as a brother. Their friendship was strong, they had recovered from it, but Ren couldn’t help feeling that a responsibility had come with the admission: if he loves you, if he ever did, you could still hurt him.
I never want to hurt you, Robbie Truax. You mean too much to me.
‘I’m sorry if you