Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Walking under the yellow caution tape was always an experience for him. When he first began this job, it was nerves, jitters, and last-minute calls to his wife for reassurance. Now, almost ten years later, it was just a rinse-and-repeat operation. Under the tape, question the witnesses, inspect the scene, clean up the bodies, and be home in time to relieve the babysitter and cook dinner for Amanda. The grizzly sights he endured were always worth it to see his Manda Panda tear open the shiny blue wrapping paper and gasp at the sight of a brand new camera with an array of lenses to begin her new journey as the world’s best photographer (because he said so, Alex, their Panda will be second to none!)

It was a wild ride, entering college at nineteen, slugging his way through eight years of a Master’s Degree in Criminal Justice, graduating at twenty-seven, marrying Alex at twenty-eight with Craig as his best man, and becoming a dad two years later holding the most beautiful baby with the most beautiful woman laying in the hospital bed next to him. Nine years of domestic bliss passed by, with Alex building a reputation as the most extraordinary art teacher at the fancy school she charmed her way into with smarts, beauty, and charisma and him slowly climbing the ranks of the NYPD in Brooklyn, New York. Every day at work was a struggle for him, dealing with piling responsibilities as he earned promotion after promotion and had to learn to separate his professional and personal lives. To differentiate the little girl lying face down in the gutter, dead from blunt trauma, apart from his bright and vibrant Manda Panda, who was smiling with her little gap tooth, rambling about how she was going to wipe out the Tooth Fairy for all she was worth. (Her appearance may favor more to Alex’s, but her attitude was all him. He’s so proud.)

Then came the car crash. 

Seven minutes, they told him. She had been alive for seven minutes after a drunk driver nailed the cute little red Volkswagen Beetle Alex had painted black dots all over. (“Who wouldn’t want to drive a giant ladybug to work every day, Crowie?” She had told him through her breathtaking laughter that still rang in his head like the most cruel poltergeist.) 

It was some rich asshole. Had too much of his thousand-dollar booze and decided to carouse the town, disregarding any of the public safety rules or laws, thinking that his deep wallet would save him if trouble cropped up. 

And it did. He threw a sizeable check at him and Amanda to settle everything, paid only in Alex’s life. The only reason he hadn’t beaten the motherfucker to death is the fact that he was in a courtroom with Manda watching from the sidelines in her little yellow dress, her eyes red and dry from tears, with Alex’s favorite green jacket draped over her tiny shoulders, drowning her in the fabric. He was a detective and would have been crucified if news got out that a law official had turned on a civilian. And he knew people like that murderer; he would have twisted any facts and had him arrested. He didn’t care that he had killed a woman, leaving him and Amanda bereft of a wife and mother, so he imagined that the asshole wouldn't have an issue leaving a little girl without parents and having him thrown in for life. 

It got harder each day. Working longer hours at the station, more investigations, more files, more bodies. Balancing the increased workload while remaining an active and present father for Amanda. There were days when he would rush home at six in the morning after the graveyard shift, quietly thank Marsha for the last-minute babysitting, hurriedly throw his crumpled dirt-streaked and blood-covered clothes in the washer, toss on more dad-appropriate attire, and fire up the eggs and bacon just in time for a sleepy-eyed Panda to shuffle out of her natural habitat for food from her sire. He would drive her to school with bags under his eyes that could carry heavy groceries like laundry detergent and a tired but genuine smile as he listened to his Manda Panda try and shake the last vestiges of her sleepiness when she told him about her misadventures with Emma R. 

He could see the small looks his daughter would give when she thought he wouldn’t notice. He knows she’s worried about him, but she was only eleven, and he couldn’t burden her with his adult problems. He knew it was wearing on her and hadn’t mentioned her nightly visits when she would peek through the doorframe of his (and Alex’s) room to ensure he was still there and breathing. He had tried to gently suggest therapy, but apparently, the daughter was the father, and she had shaken off almost all of the child psychiatrists in the downtown Brooklyn area, and he let it drop. 

Despite Alex's looming absence, he and Amanda got by just fine. Years of birthdays, school events, and sleepovers passed, and he was there for every single one. It had been a trip to explain to his superior that, yes, the child who broke the station’s front window with a baseball was his spawn and her friend. 

Amanda’s first night away from home, staying over at Emma R.’s, was eventful. Emma R.’s mother called him during his night shift, saying that poor Emma R. had run into her room in a panic and that Amanda was missing from their home. Within three seconds, he had half of the Brooklyn precinct searching the city for her. They eventually found his little girl sitting on the stoop of their apartment building, wearing her Sparkle Pony pajamas and Alex’s jacket with her duffle bag at her side, staring at the snow-covered sidewalk with sad eyes and her knees clutched to her chest. 

He’s aware he should have admonished her for scaring them all to death, but he couldn’t when he saw the look in her eyes. It was the same he saw in himself when the days without Alex grew painfully apparent. He had only released a shuddering breath of relief and picked her up, letting her cling to his chest and wrapping the flaps of his trench coat to cover her from the chilling winter weather. She had spent the rest of the night with him at the precinct, slowly cheering up as she poked her head into every room and even chatted with one of the detainees in the overnight cells about her favorite Sparkle Ponies, going so far as to show the man the figurines she fetched from her bag. She had the entire station in the palm of her tiny hand within the hour. He was pretty sure the raise he had gotten a week later was because she offered his superior one of the donuts she had brought from the sweets shop he had taken her to before her sleepover with Emma R. 

It was memories like those that kept him tethered to reality. There were moments when the empty side of his bed was more than he could handle, and seeing Alex’s untouched nightstand with her starry night alarm clock and the last book she had been reading made him want to do something he could never take back. But every time he would hear Amanda’s lazy shuffles from her room down the hall as she prepared for school, he would smack himself. Never. He would fight all the underworld's denizens before he left his daughter like that. Sure, there was the ever-present echo of pain when he looked at the collage wall of his wife's art in the apartment, but that would never compare to the overwhelming joy he felt when he saw his Manda Panda win first place in the photography contest with her picture of a ladybug on a dew-dropped leaf. 

He always kept that happiness close to his heart, burrowing it away for every morning when he reached into his closet for a shirt and saw his Alex’s side of the closet, all chock full of art smocks, goofy t-shirts, and paint-splattered jeans next to his button-up shirts, work slacks, and ties. 

They, indeed, had been total opposites. Craig always said that their differences made them perfect for each other.

“Spritzer.” 

He was snapped out of his reminiscence as a voice called his name. He had been zoning out in front of the coffee machine. Again. “Yeah?” He replied and quickly finished pouring his freshly steeped coffee. 

“Heard you were being transferred.” Constable O’Donahue stepped up next to him, grabbing a ceramic cup from the cabinet and pouring herself a mug from the pot. 

“Yeah. Maple Bay. Chief thinks I need to get away from the city.” He shrugged.

“Please, Chief hasn’t been in the field as long as you have. Only reason he’s sending you away is because the baby rooks are complaining about you snapping up their work and finishing in a day what would take them a week.” The woman rolled her eyes. 

He hummed, pausing in his sips to adjust his gun holster, which was bunched around his shoulders and just under his chest. “Twenty-one years is nothing to sneeze at. I’m an old dog, Don. It would make sense that Chief wants some young, new blood in this place. I can still chase down a perp well enough, sure, but how much longer will I be able to? My back’s already started complaining from when I tackled that bank robber the other day.” He sighed as he felt his back twinge in agreement. 

O’Donahue raised a brow, “And Chief is only four years younger than you. If you’re too old to remain on the force, then what right does he have to?”

“The chief’s position is a bunch’a politics and paperwork, Don. Much different than being a field detective inspector. People our age are good for desk jobs, not wrestling down criminals or babysitting a bunch of rooks, detectives, and forensic officers.”

“C’mon, Spritzer,” O’Donahue protested. “Everyone wants to be assigned to your crime scenes. You’ve been a solid figure in the NYPD for two decades; it wouldn’t be the same without you.” 

He sighed, “I’ll still be doing police work in Maple Bay.”

She deadpanned, “Spritzer, the town is literally called Maple Bay. That is the most cliche name one could give to a lazy and unremarkable costal town.”

“It’s a fair compromise. I’ll still do the work I love, but I’ll also have more time to help Manda with the beginning of her college journey. Every young adult is hopeless when preparing for higher education, and there’s too much for one person to do.” 

O’Donahue sighed through her nose, “All right, that’s something I can’t fault you for. But it’s gonna be real dull around here when you’re gone.”

Spritzer chuckled at the young woman and patted her shoulder. “You’ll find a new mentor. Someone who can really show you the ropes without being impeded by their old aching back.” 

O’Donahue looked unamused, “Spritzer, just last week, I watched you football tackle a drug dealer into the pavement, sock his buddy in the gut, and knee him in the face, breaking his nose.”

“Hey, I only said I was old. To be winning fights with against the young'ins at age forty-eight means I still got it.” He chugged down his black bitter coffee with a smirk. 

She groaned, “Ugh, I still can and can’t believe you’re almost fifty.” 

“Why’s that?”

“Well, I can believe it appearance-wise. You’re a total DILF. But, man, you’re like going WWE Showdown on some of these guys and you’re more in shape than I’ve been, like, ever.” She lamented, pouting into her mug.

“What’s a D-?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

He shook his head with a fond sigh. “You kids and your strange language. I’m gonna miss you, Constable Donna O’Donahue. I was honored to have been your mentor.”

“It was an honor being your mentee. And I’ll miss you too, Detective Inspector Crowmark Spritzer.”

“Dad.”

Mark’s eyebrows furrowed as a voice reached him through his light slumber. He shifted slightly but didn’t open his eyes. 

“DAD! Wake up!”

Mark groaned. “Five more minutes…” He wasn’t looking forward to sitting up after lying on the hard floor for more than fifteen minutes. He knew his back like an old enemy, and it would definitely call him to say it would find him and kill him after leaving it to suffer against the uncomfortable surface as he was now. 

“You said that five minutes ago.” His darling daughter’s voice informed him. “And also ten minutes ago.”

“Time is an illusion constructed to make the average American work more hours for less money. I’ve taught you better, Panda.” He chastised her but still sat up with a sigh. He was sprawled out in the living room, spooning a moving box, which he pushed away in the vague direction of the front door where Amanda was standing with her hands on her hips. His old dad muscles cried for mercy as he stood and yawned. “Morning, Manda Panda,” He gave her a quick hug, wincing at the cracking sound that originated from his back. 

Amanda made a comical face, “Yikes—dad breath. Go brush your teeth.” She teased him. “Did you fall asleep packing?” She asked him as he scooped up the box that had been his impromptu cuddle buddy during the night.  

“Probably. I got most of it done, I think.” Mark took a cursory glance around the apartment. The kitchen counter were empty, as were the living room walls, bare of any pictures or art. All that was left in the apartment was him, Amanda, and the box on the floor that had yet to be taped shut. “Maybe I can track down that tape roll…” He muttered.

Amanda knelt down and flipped open the box, and began rummaging through its contents. It was labeled “mementos,” but everyone knows that there comes a time in every mover’s life when they just say fuck it and begin shoving items anywhere they can fit. So what? A toilet plunger can be a spice if it believes hard enough. 

“Oh, cool! The albums are in here! I haven’t seen these in forever.” Amanda sits on her knees and starts flipping through the old photos. The one in her hand has a dusty film over its cover, only disturbed by the prints of her fingers cradling it. 

He peers at the label on the front, “Huh. Looks like you got the one from the late college to early-Amanda period.” He picks up a chunk of old polaroids and shuffles through them, stopping at a picture of a baby Amanda in her favorite green onesie with smiling flowers and a yellow floral headband. The center pieces to the photo, however are the sunglasses over her wide hazel eyes and her tongue sticking out her mouth. 

“That’s the coolest baby evah!” Amanda laughs. 

Mark smiled fondly, his thumb running over the old photo. “The only way your mother and I could get you to stop crying was to put them on you.” He recalled the moment his wife had accidentally left them in Amanda’s crib in her rush to get to work. It was a strange sight he had woken to when he went in to dress Amanda only to see his baby replaced with the coolest-looking individual in New York. “Whenever we tried to take them off so you could eat and sleep, you would start crying again. Therefore, you spent the first two years of your life wearing sunglasses.”

“Nice.” Amanda nodded in approval. 

“Hm. This was Halloween when you were about four.” Mark pointed to the next one, which had a significantly older Amanda reaching towards Alex, who was dressed as a medieval knight, kneeling down to steady her daughter as she waddled in her bulky costume. 

“Oh my god, that dragon costume.” Amanda laughed. 

“You couldn’t decide whether you wanted to be a princess or a dragon. So your mother spent the entire night bossing me around and sowing together a custom outfit. Hence, Princess Dragon.” He held up the photo. 

Her eyebrows furrowed together as she stared at the small picture. “And why do I remember crying in that costume?” She asked. 

Mark huffed a laugh, “We were taking pictures when you saw yourself in the mirror and realized you were afraid of dragons. Seeing your head in the dragon’s mouth may have been the kickoff for that particular discovery. You still got more candy than any kid in the neighborhood, though.”

“As I should. I was adorable.” Amanda placed her hands under her chin and smiled. 

Mark scoffed and ruffled her hair, messing up the yellow ribbon. “Still are, and you know it, you little con-woman.”

Amanda laughed and fixed her hair accessory, “Wow, and I do wonder where I got that from.”

The following picture was of a seven-year-old Amanda, wearing a cowboy hat and denim overalls, holding her plush horse, Sir Horsington the Brave. “Oh wow, your horse phase was an experience. I still remember all of those Sparkle Ponies with sharp bits that I would step on in the middle of the night when you left them in the living room. Can’t count the times I had to wait until you were asleep to wash Sir Horsington.” He snorted at her cringing face. 

She shuffled a bit on her knees, “I don’t think that was-” She lunged for the photo, but he quickly whipped the embarrassing memento out of her reach with his superior height. 

He booped her little nose and laughed as it crinkled in annoyance. “Nuh-uh. This is important blackmail for if I need your help to smuggle me out of the country. Or if you bring someone home and I need to do my job and mortify you. Either one, really.”

Amanda crossed her arms and stuck her tongue out. “Try me, Pops. I’ve seen pictures of your all-nighters as a beat cop.”

Mark laid a hand over his chest, hurt. “We all do things we’re not proud of in college, kiddo.” He sighed. “Mine just happened to be passing out at my desk and letting the other rooks draw on my face.” His gaze turned distant as he recalled the talk he had with his boss at the time concerning his experience hours for college, oblivious to the cat face scribbled across his features. He had wondered why his superior had only blankly stared at him for the entirety of their conversation. 

He shuddered as all people do when remembering something from their youth that they wish they could delete from their memory. “Oh hey, it’s Emma P.” He showed Amanda a picture of her and another girl dressed up for a school play. It was a while ago, but he vaguely remembered it being a fantasy thing with talking plants and animals. Thus, why Amanda was dressed as a yellow flower and Emma as a princess in a pink dress. 

Amanda looked at it and rolled her eyes, “No, Dad. That’s Emma R. I met Emma P. in high school.” She despaired of her father’s inability to remember the difference between her friends with identical names. 

Mark looked at her in pity, “Kiddo, I will hold your hand as I say this. I will never stop mixing those two up. All I know is that one acted like a literal horse for a while and neighed at me when I got up during the night to use the bathroom during your sleepover, and another liked to steal people’s pets.”

“The first was Emma R., and the second was Emma S.”

“Emma S.? Then who is Emma P.?” God, he was getting a migraine from this. 

“She’s the one who tried to get your number when she first came over.” Amanda shivered and gagged.

His brows rose as he recalled the awkward first meeting between him and the second Emma. “Oh. That one. Yeah, I definitely suppressed that memory.” He handed her the picture of her and [Insert Emma]. “Here, you can show that off.”

Amanda took it with a smile and slipped it into her jacket pocket. “Yeah, she’ll get a kick out of it.”

Mark cycled through a few more pictures before stopping on one. “Oh, I remember this like it was yesterday. It was the first photography award you won.” It was Amanda with her bright smile, a bit forced this time from her mother's untimely death, but still happy at her win. It was a difficult time for both of them, trying to reassure one another that they were okay when they were anything but. 

“Yeah, and it got us a $20 gift card to McFridayz,” Amanda recalled and burst out laughing. “You got food poisoning from the Cheezy Toztada Blastz!” 

“I should have known that an establishment that misspells everything on the menu was bad news.” The man grumbled darkly.  “Can’t even drive past that place without feeling a shudder down my spine. Still proud of you, though.” He threw an arm over her shoulder and gave her a side hug. Amanda smiles up at him, reaches into the depths of the box, and pulls out a photo that looks older than the ones previously. 

It was a simple photo with a lot of meaning—a new mother holding her infant child. Alex’s eyes were cut off from the picture as Mark focused more on taking the first picture of their daughter resting on his wife’s shoulder. Alex’s dark hair was gathered into a messy ponytail, as Mark had little time to worry about it looking good when she was pushing out a baby, and he was trying to get her thick hair away from her sweaty skin.  The photo was taken post-birth when they were leaving the hospital. Alex had her jacket on– now Amanda’s, and had the widest smile that showed her teeth. Little Amanda was fast asleep and swaddled in a yellow blanket with a lilac teether in her mouth. And though he wasn’t in the picture, Mark could still remember how deliriously happy and exhausted he had been taking the photo. It had been a small gift to Alex the next day when she was more rested. 

In a pen stroke was, I love you, Amanda with a messy little heart accompanying the small message. 

Mark rubbed Amanda’s arm comfortingly as they stared at the picture. Even without Alex, they were both happy together, but there were times that they lingered on the what-ifs of life. What would be different if she were still with them? It was a small thing that brought as much pain as it did comfort, so they didn’t ruminate on those thoughts often. 

Mark broke the stilted silence with a chuckle, “You know, we got into a little trouble just minutes before you were born. It was nothing special, just a fender bender with another car in the hospital parking lot, but I was running on two hours of sleep and two liters of coffee from work the night before. I was freaking out, and so was the old lady I hit. But your mother…” He trailed off, staring at the gritty photo in Amanda’s loose grip. “-she was so calm. It was almost eerie. She grabs my hands, looks me in the eye, and tells me,” He turns to meet Amanda’s faltering gaze, bringing both arms to hold his daughter and leans in. “‘It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay.’”

Amanda looks at him, her eyes sad, before shaking her head. “...she was right, you know.” She murmurs, so unlike her boisterous self. “Me an’ you. We made it.” She said with a small smile. 

Despite the melancholy in his heart, Mark lets a smile curl at the corner of his lips. “You bet we did, kiddo.” 

Amanda grins, “C’mon, Pops, we gotta finish packing. The moving van won’t wait forever!” She wipes off her jacket, scoops up the memento box, and leaves the apartment. 

Mark stares after her, then looks around their apartment– his first and only home with Alex and sighs. “You’re right.” He mutters and leaves the keys to their former home on the kitchen counter, closing the front behind him. 

“HI-YAH!” Amanda aims a sick flying kick at the FOR SALE sign standing inconspicuously in their new front yard. 

“Ten out of ten, kiddo,” Mark comments as he hauls their overnight bags out of the backseat. “I see my lessons have not gone for naught.” 

“I'VE GOT A PROBLEM WITH AUTHORITY!” Amanda announces to the whole neighborhood, startling the trio of blonde children staring at them from next door. Their grey-eyed gazes bore into him like they knew his every sin. 

Well, he knows who he’s avoiding first. 

“Man, all that karate has me tuckered out. I could go for a sandwich. An ice cream sandwich.” Amanda leans against his old pickup truck, yawning exaggeratedly. 

Mark rolls his eyes, “Panda, if your old man can hunt down ne’er do wells at this age, then you can get through half a day of unpacking.”

Amanda harrumphs, “I believe when I was twelve, we agreed on one dessert a day if I got good grades. Which I still am!” She sends him a set of double-finger guns. 

“If you can confidently look at the sun and tell me it’s not ten o’clock in the morning, then sure, we’ll get you some ice cream.” After stashing their sparse belongings into the empty front area of the new house, he lifted up the sleeve of his coat and checked his watch. “10:05 AM. Dad senses come out victorious once again.”

“That’s because you’re old.” Amanda playfully jabbed his side. 

“Oh, ouch. Like I haven’t heard that one before.” Mark smirked at his smartass of a daughter. “But seriously, I need coffee or it’s game over for the rest of the day.”

Amanda looked around their surroundings, taking in the new neighborhood. Her gaze landed on the three creepy blonde children still staring at them with those dead, dead eyes and a shiver ran across the top of her shoulders. “Uh- well, I think I saw a coffee shop when we drove. Maybe we could check that out?” She pointed down the street, out of the entrance of the cul-de-sac. 

“Sounds good to me.” Mark muttered, ushering her down the street. Anywhere was better than being on the receiving end of those knife-like stares. 

As he and Amanda strolled down the sidewalk of the charming shopping plaza they had wandered into, Mark checked the state of his wallet and was satisfied with the amount of money he found. Walking along the strip, they stopped in front of a charming little store on the corner called The Coffee Spoon. 

Amanda through the large storefront window at the welcoming decor and breathed in the comforting aroma of a smooth crème brûlée brew wafting temptingly from the open entrance door. “Man, this is such a convenient walking distance from our place!” She smiled at him innocently when he sent her a look and an unimpressed brow. 

“I guess.” He shrugged one shoulder dismissively. 

Amanda tilted her head at his flat tone, “What’s wrong?” She asked. 

“Ah…” Mark’s dark blue eyes flickered cagily around the shop. “Well, why would I go somewhere to get coffee when I could make it at home, or, better yet, just grab some at work? Police stations always have coffee machines. Making an extra stop like that is an unnecessary waste of time and money. I get it free at work, and it’s probably cheaper to buy at the grocery store.” Oh boy, the anti-social was beginning to rear its ugly head. But he couldn’t stop now. “And why would I buy that overpriced product to have to sit on an uncomfortable chair when I could recline back on my couch without having anyone judge me?”

“Pops, you are literally the only man I know that has the least shits out of anyone I’ve met.” 

“Language. And yeah, I could less of a damn what anyone thinks of me, but it would be nice to be able to lay on the floor and groan about life with a good of joe without the stares. They get annoying after a while. And I don’t have to worry about making the dreaded eye contact with other people or having some guy sit at the table next to me and wonder whether he’s still too close to me or within his rights to sit right up against my back.”

“Dad-”

“And why do all coffees shops have a different protocol for dirty dishes?” He continued, feeling his face screw up with frustration. “Sometimes it’s a bin, other times it’s some weird drawer that’s not plainly obvious to the outside eye. And why does everyone seem to know the deal except you? Are they all regulars and by some twisted miracle you’re the only new person in every single coffee shop ever?”

“DAD!” Amanada cut in. “Are you afraid to meet new people?”

Mark turned around and planted his head into the wooden telephone pole nearby. “...yes, Amanda.” He muttered into the poster for a missing cat. 

Amanda gripped the sleeve of his tan trenchcoat and hauled him inside. “C’mon, Pops. You’ve had so many mentees in the force that I’ve lost count. You know how to handle people. It’s your job as a Detective Inspector to handle people.”

“That’s business, Panda. Much different than my underwhelming personal life.”

His daughter’s core strength was not something to be taken for granted, only proven further by her deafening grip on his wrist as they stopped before the front counter. It was like she thought he was going to make a break for it which… wasn’t exactly wrong. 

“Welcome to the Coffee Spoon, guys! How’s it going?” A dark-skinned man, early-thirties, greeted them. He was wearing a youthful purple v-neck sweater paired a denim jacket that had cloth sleeves and some worn jeans. His ensemble might have screamed “mid-life crisis”, but the man made it all work with his cool and calm demeanor and laid back attitude. 

“What’s with the name?” Amanda pointed to the stylized decal of the shop’s name hanging on the wall behind the counter. 

“Amanda,” Mark muttered with a despairing facepalm. Sometimes he wished his daughter had inherited more of her mother’s tact than his straight-shot bluntness. 

The man laughed good-naturedly and waved his hand, “Nah, it’s all right. It’s uh… it’s kinda dumb.” He fiddles with his pen and pad. “It gets mentioned in this poem I like, and I thought it was a good idea at the time and I suppose now it’s still a good idea because like, the business is still running? But people ask me that question all the time and I give them this same answer every time and now I’m standing here rambling and I’m sure we’re all getting more and more uncomfortable the more I keep talking but man we’re in it now and I can’t stop.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him up. The three of them stand in silence, feet shifting awkwardly. 

“So what’ll it be?” The man asked, pasting on a newsworthy smile and readying his pen and pad as if the last few seconds never occurred. Mark silently envied him for that ability. 

Mark scans the chalkboard and it’s like he’s reading the hieroglyphics of some ancient civilization more lost than Y2k fashion trends. “A… Godspeed You! Black Coffee ?” He says uncertainly. He likes black coffee, so it has to be something he’ll somewhat enjoy, right?

“Good choice.” Mat smiles at him.

“I don’t get it.” Mark tells him honestly. 

“Oh, it’s a pun. Godspeed You! Black Emperor is a really amazing and influential progressive rock band known for their sweeping soundscapes and…” His passionate tirade trails off and he clears his throat. “I’m doing the thing again. But coming right up!” He jots the order down and looks at Amanda. “And for you?” He asks her. 

“I’ll have a Macchiato DeMarco, please.” She replies. 

“You got it. Do you want that in Small, Medium, or Biggie Smalls?” 

“Medium…?” Mark wagered. He hoped he didn’t have an overflowing cup of coffee on his hands by the end of this. He loved the stuff, but the doctor and Amanda had been harping on him about too much caffeine. 

“Wait, is Biggie Smalls big or small?” Amanda asked the barista curiously. 

The man paused, “Uh… I should change that, shouldn’t I?” He muttered to himself and turned to the machinery to make up their orders. 

The father and daughter duo took a seat on one of the couches in the eating area, waiting for their orders. It was a cozy little area with a small stage and an old vinyl record player spinning away to the side. 

“I didn’t think I would ever meet anyone more socially stunted than I was.” Mark shook his head in amazement. 

Amanda shoved his shoulder, “Let the man make his puns. They’re cooler than the old stuff you listen to, anyway.”

“Hey.” Mark frowned. “Sinatra and Gershwin are still plenty popular these days, you darn whippersnapper.” He sunk back into the couch and let the cushioning hug his old back and tried not to think about how it was more comfortable than their couch, which was about ten years old and still packed up into the moving truck. Maybe he should think about getting a new one…

Amanda nudged him, “You know, this place is right next to our place and that guy seems just as uncomfortable with talking to people as you are. You should totally become friends with him!” She said in a cajoling tone. 

Mark sighed and ran a hand through his grey-streaked hair. “I don’t know, Panda…”

“C’mon, what’d we say about meeting new people?”

“ We didn’t say anything. You were asleep for the entire trip here.” He said flatly, crossing his arms. 

“Fine, then what did Mom say when you tried to skip going for drinks with your coworkers for the fifth time?” 

Mark sighed in defeat, “‘You can’t meet new people if you always stay inside and also don’t go outside and don’t talk to people.’” He replied sulkily. 

“Egggg-xactly!” Amanda clapped. “See? We’re making progress!”

The man, Mat, as his nametag was labeled, walked over with a tray of steaming mugs and set down their drinks. Mark picked his up and took a swig, unbothered by the boiling hot liquid that just burned the roof of his mouth. He’s been through this deal far too often to be fazed by the sensation anymore. Criminals don’t wait for your coffee to cool down, after all. 

Amanda smiles at him, the conniving little witch (he’s so proud). “Hi! We’re new to the neighborhood! I’m Amanda and this is my dad, Crowmark!” She pulls him into her side and he musters a small smile.

“Oh right on! Nice to meet you both.” Mat shakes his and Amanda’s hands. “You oughta come by when my daughter’s hanging around the shop. You two might get along.” He tells Amanda. 

Mark nods politely, “We might be around from time to time.”

Amanda kicks his old dad leg from under the table. 

“I’m sure we’ll be in often.” He amends. 

“You know what? Lemme get your guys’ opinion on something.” Mat says and walks off behind the counter, disappearing into the back room. He returns with a basket filled with something that smells delicious. “I’m working on a new banana bread recipe and I need help coming up with a name for it.” He explains upon seeing their starry-eyed looks at the sweet bread. 

Amanda’s eyes flicker rapidly between Mat and the scrumptious slices of bread. “Well… we’re gonna need to give that ‘nana bread a taste if you want us doing free creative labor, I think that would commensurate with… uh…”

Mark sighed at his daughter’s antics and pulled out his wallet, “How much?” He asked. Amanda squealed excitedly and hugged his arm. 

Mat chuckled, “Nah. I was just gonna give you free banana bread. This recipe is still in the beta phase, so it might not be perfect anyway.”

“Oh. Alright. Thank you, Mat.” Mark nodded, slipping the old bifold wallet he had gotten from Alex on their third anniversary into his back pocket. 

Amanda had already broken into the basket. “This is amazing.” Her voice was muffled and her cheeks were full of the treat like a squirrel’s was to acorns. 

Mark took one before his ravenous teenager could snap it up. He bit into it, “Hm… huh.” Mat’s brown eyes looked between them rapidly, awaiting their critique. “This is incredible, Mat. You have a great talent for baking.” The detective smiled at him, the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes crinkling. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, um, thanks, man!” Mat replied shyly. “The secret ingredient is bananas. So, any ideas?”

Mark turned the half-eaten bread slice over his hand thoughtfully, “Well, I’m not great at the whole creativity shtick, but… how about Right Said Banana Bread ? Like Right Said Fred? Don’t think the youngsters will get it, but it rhymes.” He vaguely remembered listening to one of their albums when Alex had it playing during one of her painting sessions. 

Mat cupped his chin between the crook of his thumb and pointer and nodded slowly. “That… actually has a nice ring to it.”

“Really?” He can’t believe Mat was considering his terrible band pun. 

Mat nodded with a smile, “Yeah. Right Said Banana Bread. Strong decisions. That’s art, baby.” As he said this, the shop owner’s face twisted up in a way that revealed he was regretting every word that just spilled out of his mouth. “Uh… sorry. I wanted to say ‘baby’ because I thought it would sound cool but then I realized it doesn’t sound good coming from my mouth and maybe I should just leave saying ‘baby’ to the professionals.” He coughed into his first. “Anyway, enjoy your coffee!” 

Mark smirked into his mug, “Sure thing, baby,” 

Mat retreating footsteps tripped up for a moment before he laughed, “See? Sounds good when you say it. See y’all later!” He waved to them in farewell. Amanda turned her attention to the book on classic eighties bands on the coffee table while Mark took a moment to observe his surroundings more closely. His dark blue eyes met that of another’s across the shop; the man was brooding over a cup of coffee. Seemingly plain black like his own from what he could tell at this distance. 

The man was of a more mature variety like he was. Salt and pepper hair, aviator sunglasses hooked into the neck of a low-cut red shirt and worn jeans with a well-loved leather jacket thrown over his strong shoulders. He wore a pair of tan hiking boots, which were caked with mud. Mark looked the man up and down, his detective’s intuition silently wondering if he was an avid hiker or just dragged people into the forest to kill them often. He had to quietly admit to himself that the guy wasn’t bad looking. 

Annnnnnd with that, he looked away from the stranger, intent on minding his business and took a swig of his pure grit and grinds. 

(Sue him, it was hard to find people who he was remotely interested in, let alone ones in his age bracket.)

Mark trailed behind Amanda as she skipped along the paved path of the sidewalk, taking in all the new sights of their new turf. They were heading towards the center of the shopping center, the play ground, which was a short walk from the dining quarter of the tourist area. The detective sighed as the pleasant breeze ruffled his coat, swishing it up and away from his legs and into the air behind him like a grizzled and increasingly more tired superhero. 

For a town with such a sleepy reputation, Maple Bay was alive with activity at the afternoon hour. Kids were playing in the street, kicking around a rubber ball, the decorative flowers bed lining the strip were in full bloom, and the faint scent of a barbecue made his Dad Senses tingle like nothing else. “This place is lovely.” He murmured. 

Amanda looked at him, “ Too lovely.” She said, throwing a suspicious scowl to the entirely wholesome scene that Maple Bay painted around them. “I don’t trust it.” She shook her head. 

“Good eye, kiddo. See that granny over there?” He subtly inclined his chin to the woman across the street who was innocently watering her azaleas with a chipped pink watering can. “Under that knitted shawl and long foral skirt, she’s hiding a set of bionic limbs, waiting for her activation phrase to terminate. Terminate what? That, we don’t know.” He said gravely. 

“We’re onto you, granny.” Amanda agreed solemnly, squinting her eyes at the grey-haired woman, who was thankfully oblivious to their antics. 

They trekked the rest of the way to the playground, finding the place to be decently filled with kids and dogs of all ages and variety climbing the equipment and tearing up the field of soft green grass. Amanda taps his shoulder and points to a miraculously empty park bench, which they begin to walk towards until he was stopped in his journey to Sit and Do Nothing by a small impact to the side of his head. 

Mark clutched his cranium and blinks at the bright green frisbee lying stationary on the ground. His journey was halted by the frisbee and the frisbee’s journey was halted by him. Was this fate?

A corgi with a thick coat of orange fur and plaid neckerchief bounds up to them with a wagging tail and a happy tongue hanging from its maw. 

Yes. Yes, this was fate. 

“I like your necktie.” Mark told the dog. The little fluff runs around his legs in circles and nudges his fingers with the tip of his cold nose. He almost felt himself die a bit inside from the pure cuteness radiating from this creature. 

Mark knelt down and laid a palm atop the dog’s head, “Give me your wisdom, o’ noble being.” He said somberly. He was given a woof and a slight butt wiggle in response. “Is that so? Then I suppose its time for me to call in that favor with the Marcalas and flee this country before it’s too late.” He murmured. 

“You definitely could’a caught that.” A deep, rolling voice chuckled from behind him. Mark glances behind himself to see a redheaded man in a green hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts walking up to him, Amanda, and the oracle dog. 

Mark slowly stands, feeling the familiar dull soreness of his knee, his back, his- well, body. “Afraid not, friend. The old man aches have decided to collect early on me. Not as quick as I used to be, unfortunately.” Well, if he ignored the fact that he ran down a petty punk and the two goons he called friends when they tried to empty out a local gas station for money and had them cuffed and packed into his cruiser within the minute. But no one needed to know that. Amanda would badger him into exercising more otherwise. 

The man’s laugh was hearty as he took the offered frisbee from Mark. “Still, frisbee’s are traditionally caught with your hands, not your face.”

“I would try to catch it with my teeth, but I don’t think my dental insurance could cover that.” Mark remarked wryly. 

“ Ha! I’m just messin’ with ya. I’m Brian, by the way.” The redheaded man, Brian’s, grip was strong and firm as he shook their hands. 

“Crowmark. And this is my daughter, Amanda. We’re new to the area; drove down from New York because of her criminal record.” He quipped. 

“I got a problem with authority,” Amanda remarked as she pet the adorable dog’s fluffy white chest. She looked over said adorable dog’s owner. “Hi. Your dog’s cool.”

Brian leaned down and ruffled the dog’s ear. “Ah, old Maxwell loves the attention. It’s great to see another father and daughter out here on such a sunny day.”

“Well, I’m honestly not one for the daylight.” Mark confessed with a sigh. “My job keeps me at odd hours, but I love seeing a good sunrise.”

“Oh, yeah? What’d’ya do then?” Brian asked. 

“Detective. It’ll be twenty years in the biz by October.”

Brian’s warm green eyes widen by a fraction, “Twenty years? I don’t mean to be rude, but you have caught my curiosity. How old are you?”

Mark leveled him with a look, “How old do you think I am?”

Brian chuckled, “There ain’t no way to answer that correctly.”

“You’re right. It was trick question.” Mark shrugged with a smirk. “I’ve settled nicely into forty-eight.”

Brian whistled, “Congratulations on staying youthful and healthy, friend.”

“Thank you. Where is your daughter, anyway?” If Amanda was going to force him into friendships, he’ll do the same thing for her. 

Brian gestures to a grassy knoll where a redheaded girl sat on a red and white-checkered blanket, reading a book thicker than the DMV’s contract catalog. She looked up to see her dad waving to her, and set the large novel onto the cloth and walked over to them. Brian clapped a large hand over her shoulder as she joined their little group. 

“This is Daisy. She’s reading the Brothers Karamazov. Her teacher tells me she has the reading comprehension of a high schooler.” He grinned proudly. 

Mark’s eyebrows hiked up past his hairline. “Impressive. How old are you, sweetheart?” He asks the little girl with a smile that feels a touch more genuine than his usual tired or grimacing ones. He’s always had a soft spot for kids, especially for girls. He supposed having a daughter made him the best one to comfort the young souls who found themselves seated on the back of ambulances, their little bodies wrapped in orange shock blankets. 

The smaller redhead looked up from her sneakers and twisted her foot against the dirt. “Ten, sir,” She murmured shyly. 

“She’s a precocious little youngster!” Brian pat her shoulder. 

“ Whoa, ” Amanda intoned. Mark internally agreed. The pretentious gifted kid energy was strong in this one. 

“Well, Amanda’s passion is photography. She just won a state-wide contest with her work. The award was only a little metal trophy and a gift card to Thirsty’s Pizza, but it still gave me bragging rights over the other parents.” He playfully mussed up Amanda’s hair, and fetched his wallet and flipped it open showing the serene image of a frothy sea hitting the shore with an old barber swirl lighthouse peeking out in the background. 

“That’s wonderful, Amanda,” Daisy beamed widely. 

“Breathtaking.” Brian added with a consimmering nod. “Oh, that reminds me, you should check out the hiking trails further north sometime. The forest is beautiful this time of year.”

“We’ll keep that in mind.” Mark hummed.

“So you just moved to town, then?” Brian asked. 

“Yup. First day here.” Amanda nodded. 

“Me and Daisy are parked in that cul-de-sac by the coffee shop.” Brian pointed in the general direction of the circular neighborhood. 

“What a coincidence. So are we.” Amanda smiled mischeviously at her father. Find-A-Friend Score: Amanda-2, Dad-1. 

“Small world. Yeah, we live in the ranch-style house on the corner.” Brian told them. 

Mark slowly nodded, “Yeah, I remember seeing that one when we first pulled in. Great landscaping you did there. It’s too bad I’m hopeless at anything beyond mowing the lawn, which is strange because we lived in an apartment amongst the concrete jungle before this and didn’t even have a lawn.”

Brian scratched his beard contemplatively, “You have a lawn when you were a kid?” He guessed. 

“Yeah? How’d you know?”

The man’s beam was identical to his daughter’s. “Because that’s how I started out. My mom taught me all I know about lawn care, and still has things she’s teaching me to this day.”

“We’re sending grandma some of our home grown spices for Thanksgiving this year!” Daisy added with a chirp.

“Well, you and Daisy may have us beat out in gardening, but Manda has a mean flying kick and I’m more spry than I look.” Mark teased lightheartedly.

“I can believe it!” Brian laughed jollily. “Well, I don’t want to take up any more of your time. Really nice meeting you guys! You’ll have to stop by at some point.”

“Yeah, definitely, bye!” Amanda agreed and yanked him away by the cuff of his coat. They ambled along the worn pathway of the grounds for a while before he broke the silence. 

“So he was definitely trying to one-up us.” He deadpanned. 

Amanda shook her head in disbelief, “Trying and succeeding. I can’t believe that kid’s only ten. What was I even doing at her age?” She idly wondered. 

“I believe you had a thing for horses and Emma R. was hogging the computer trying to find out if it was possible to legally marry one.” Mark teased her. 

Amanda sighed, “Too bad that didn’t pan out. Could have majored in Comparative Horse Studies.”

He shrugged, “It’s not too late to minor in Horse Creative Writing.”

“Too close to the truth, Dad. Let us never speak again of The Fantastic Adventures of Sir Horsington the Brave: an Epic in Seven Parts by Amanda Spritzer.” 

“Agreed. Such a tragedy.”

On their way home, the sky had tinted a darker orange with an oversetting salmon pink hanging in the horizon. The atmosphere had grown a bit quieter since most of the children had gone inside to eat dinner while the nightcrawlers had only just started. He could already pick out some of the troublemakers he would be getting acquainted with when he settled into his position at the new precinct. 

“Crow! Bro!” A voice called out to him along with the pattering of jogging footsteps behind them. 

Mark’s eyes widened, “I would know that ‘bro’ anywhere…” He slowly turned and saw the pearly white teeth of his college roommate and old best friend. “Craig Cahn, you sonova-” He caught sight of the baby strapped to his chest. “...biscuit.”

“Bro.” Craig held out his arms. And he wasn’t much for hugs but…

Mark sighed, “Bro.” And accepted the bro hug that had been long bro-waited. They were careful not to squish the baby as they bro-braced. “Haven’t seen you in forever, man.” 

“It’s been too long, dude.” Craig agreed, holding him by the shoulders even as they broke the bro-hug. 

“Yeah, it’s been… a while. You look so… different.” Mark was trying to wrap his head around the overweight twenty year-old that was his best friend had transformed into this pile of muscles with special jogging shoes and a heart rate monitor wristwatch. “Sorry, that was rude.” He grimaced. 

Craig guffawed, “Nah man, it’s all good. You’re still the same as ever. I recognized you because of that tan trenchcoat. Couldn’t mistake you for anyone else. Missed you, man.”

Mark looked at him strangely, “What was there to miss? Barbed insults, sarcasm, and the inability to connect to reality for anything besides dark humor and extra cheesy breadsticks?”

“Yup. Missed it all.”

“See a therapist.” Mark monotoned, earning another laugh from his old friend. “But really, what happened? Last I heard you were ready, willing, and able to die on a hill with your one true love-”

“Spicy ramen with egg-dipped spring rolls with a generous helping of ranch and cholula hot sauce.” They said together. 

“Dude, I can’t believe you remember all that!” Craig shook his head. 

Mark rolled his eyes, “Hard not to when I placed the order so many times. Even harder to forget when I had to watch you eat a poundage of that to win a honorary plaque at the Golden Imperial Buffet. I had never seen you so determined, not even during mid-terms.”

“I was set in my ways.” Craig said with a nostalgic sigh. “But yeah, I cleaned up my act. Got tired of being tired, you know?”

Mark snorted derisively, “I don’t know. I was a tired middle-aged man when I was nineteen, and nothing about that’s changed except for my age, Craig.” 

“Aw, come on, I felt muscle under there, dude! I’m a trained professional in fitness, you can’t hide it from me!” 

“Well, being on the field in the force for so long and a single parent keeps a man running around.” Mark glances over to his daughter, who’s between the two of them with a blank, confused smile. “Ah, right. Amanda, this is my old friend, Craig. We went to college together, and were roommates for a good chunk of it, too.”

“Amanda, dude! You probably don’t remember me, but you’re so big now!” Craig looked at the baby he had known, who was seemingly transformed into a young woman in astoundment. 

“Hello! And hello, cute baby!” She greeted them in return. 

“Aw, thank you. The last time I saw you I think you were about her size.” Craig pat the top of his baby’s head, which was covered with a yellow cable knit hat. 

“And who is this little one?” Mark bent his knees slightly to get a better look at the dark-haired infant who was blinking at him with wide, black pupils.

“This is River! Say hi, River!” Craig picked up her little wrist and waved, making the little bundle of joy gurgle happily. 

Mark stood and hummed, “She has to be yours, my man. She’s got the same eyes and smile.” He let out a breath of amazement. “Really has been a long time, hasn’t it? One day it’s you and me rolling up to exam week while I was still wearing a bedsheet toga from that wild party at Delta-Sigma-Theta and you had glitter stuck to your skin with the most hyperealistic rendition of Oscar the Grouch sharpied onto your face. Now, here we are: fathers and somewhat functional adults. Where you been, man?”

Craig hummed, “I was working out in California and just relocated the business to Maple Bay.”

Mark laughed lightly, “No kidding? Me and Amanda just moved here from Brooklyn. How’s Smashley– ah… Ashley. How is Ashley doing?” He felt himself choke on the foot he just shoved in his mouth. 

Craig’s eyes drifted to the side. He looked uncomfortable, “She actually still goes by Smashley. And, uh, we got divorced last year.”

Mark faltered, “Oh, man. I’m so sorry.”

Craig shook his head and sighed but it didn’t take long for his peppy grin to reappear. “It’s old news. We take turns taking care of River and the twins. It’s all copacetic.”

“‘Copacetic’? You’re still using those word-of-the-day calendars, aren’t you?”

“Hey, dude, it’s not my fault my grandpa is still sending them every year on my birthday!”

“And twins? You have three kids? You have my respect as a man, Craig.” 

“Ain’t life something, bro?”

Mark let out a laugh of disbelief, “Keg-Stand-Craig is a father of three. And I thought all those years on the force that I had seen everything.”

“‘Keg-Stand-Craig’?” Amanda interjected with interest. 

“Oh, haha, yeah, it was my old college nickname.” Craig laughed bashfully and rubbed the back of his neck. Seems like Mark wasn’t the only who wished they could forget some of the shit he did in college. 

“He did it because he did a lot of keg-stands.” Mark mentioned, even though Amanda probably already knew what it was and more because of her rascal self and miscreant friends.

“It’s that thing where you do a handstand on a keg and then drink from it.” Craig explained. 

“Right.” Amanda drawled with a smile. 

“He was very good at it.” Mark shrugged. 

Craig looked at his fancy fitness watch or whatever the hell they were called and winced. “Ah, bro, I hate to be that guy, but I’m in the middle of jogging and I really need to keep my heart rate up. I brought River along, you know, resistance training.”

Mark waved a hand, “Say no more. Go forth and be healthy for the both of us.”

“Well hey, you should join me some time! We can get breakfast and have good old-fashioned Bro Brunch! Besides, you’re not a lost cause, man. I can tell from your stature that you’ve been doing more than paperwork all these years as a detective. Probably a lot of cardio and weights, right?” Craig observed him with a professional eye. 

“...yeah? I mean, I’ve done my fair share of running after crooks and hauling the unconscious bodies of the particularly stubborn ones into the backseat of the cruiser, but…” 

“Exercise is exercise, my man! Be sure to call me soon, my number’s still the same! See you, dudes!” He waved at the two Spritzers before jogging off. 

“All these years and changes and the only thing that stayed the same was your phone number?” Mark called after the man, shaking his head when he only heard Craig’s distant laughter. “That man used to drink jars of marinara sauce for dinner and nothing more. He called them smoothies, Amanda.”

“I mean… technically, he’s not wrong?”

The two Spritzers had to move aside many empty boxes before they could flop onto their old green couch. Amanda had thrown her jacket onto the rack by the door while Mark’s coat had found itself slung over the arm of the office chair that doubled as their ‘chair piece’ in the living room. 

Amanda looks around at their handiwork and sighs, kicking an empty box at her feet. “It’s too bad we’re gonna be putting my stuff right back in these boxes in a few months.”

Mark groaned, “Ugh, I know my amazing Panda is going to be leaving the bamboo forest soon, but you don’t gotta remind me. It makes me feel sad. And old.”

“Aww, Dad, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll be fine.” Amanda insisted, patting her father’s arm. 

“Panda. I say this out of love, but I once watched you add salt instead of sugar when making a cake. I saw you crash into two cars back and forth for five minutes because you didn’t know how to parallel park and panicked.”

“I’ve grown since then, Pops. I’ve blossomed into a true butterfly of maturity and grace.”

“This all happened a week ago-”

She placed a finger on his lips, “Shush…” 

Mark sighed, “Fine, fine. I know you’re growing up. Hell, you’ve been grown up for a while, but you’re my little girl. It’s always been us and it’s gonna be strange not having you around.” He admitted. 

Amanda threw her arms around the man. “I’ll come visit. And I’ll text you every day! And take lots of pictures!” She promised. “I mean, obviously. I’m a photography major.”

“You promise?”

“Of course. Are you gonna be okay on your lonesome?” She asked more quietly. She may be an independent and ambitious woman now, but Mark knows that there will always be a piece of her that will want to check his bedroom at night to make sure he’s still there.

Mark took one of her hands in his and smiled at her, “Don’t worry about your old man, Panda. I’ll get a dog or something.”

Amanda gasped, “A dog?! Forget art school, I’ll stay for the dog.” She joked. 

Mark snorted, “Really?”

“Medium size dog, handkerchief around the neck, I get to name it. That’s what it’ll cost for me to give up my dreams. I’m a woman of simple wants and needs.”

“ Or, we do video calls so you can still go to school and brag to your peers about your awesome dog.”

“You spoil me, Pops.”

“I really, really do.” Mark laments with a heavy sigh. Their small moment is interrupted by the metal click of the mail flap in their door opening. A pile of envelopes slide through and land on their welcome mat. Amanda practically leaps up and sifts through the mail, pulling out one and tossing the rest to the floor. 

“This is from McGowan College of Art and Design!” She squeals. 

“Well, c’mon, kiddo. Open it!” He urged her. McGowan was one of the top colleges on her list, so he was hoping for good news. 

Amanda paused as she fingered the envelope lip, biting her lip, “But I’m scared…”

“C’mon, Panda. Don’t get college tunnel vision. If it isn’t this one, then there will be others. But just keep in mind that if they don’t accept you, then you dodged a major bullet. Any school would be worse than fools to not want to be the accredited school to Amanda Spritzer’s rise to fame.”

Amanda took a deep, revitalizing breath and nodded, tearing the envelope open with her teeth. Silence permeated the room as the future photographer scanned the contents of the letter. 

“The admissions council has reviewed your application… blah, blah, blah… uh, we…” Her face drops. “...regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you admission into McGowan College of Art and Design.”

Mark felt a pang in his chest, “Oh, kiddo…” 

Amanda throws the denial letter onto the coffee table and crossed her arms. “No, I kinda saw it coming. I knew I shouldn’t have put that experimental stuff in my portfolio, their admissions officer told me they just wanted to see portraits or whatever…” She kicked her foot against the carpet in defeat. 

Mark stood from the couch and pulled her for a big hug, “Hey, no, someone as talented as you shouldn’t expect failure. I walk by your room and see all these spreadsheets and collages and venn diagrams comparing camera lenses and all this nonsense that completely goes over my head. You work hard, Manda, and some school is gonna want to snatch you up for sure.”

She sighs, “Yeah… I know. It’s fine.”

Mark shook his head and looked to the ceiling in exasperation, “Kiddo, I’ve been married to a woman. I know when a lady says she’s fine, it’s time for all hands on deck.”

“I’m fine. Really.” 

Mark pats her shoulder, “You’re not, but that’s okay. Lord knows I’m no good at talking about my feelings. But I’ll be here if you want to talk.” 

Amanda snorts at the cliche phrasing (mission accomplished) and perked up slightly. “Oh, before I forget, Emma R. and Emma P. are sleeping over tonight. So…” She trails off. 

Mark looked at her with a flat, unimpressed expression. “You need me out of the way because I’m painfully boring and will overtake the TV with my old man shows?”

Amanda hummed, “I would choose more delicate phrasing, but yes. If it helps, it’s mostly because I don’t want Emma P. trying to vy for your number again.”

Mark looks at the black screen of his phone. “Well, would you look at that? It just so happens that some vague and inconspicuous appointment just mysteriously popped up on my schedule so you’ll have the new place to yourself.”

“Yeah? What’re your plans?” Amanda asks him. 

“Gonna go clubbing and use what little life this old back of mine has left to tear up the dance floor.”

“Dad. You didn’t even want to go to a coffee shop today.”

“I’m a being of the night, Panda. The wild and unprecedented habitat of the darkness is my bread and butter.”

Amanda scoffs, “Alright, but I’m not gonna pick you up if you pull anything this time. Not again.”

Mark chuckles, “Relax, Manda. I’m probably just gonna find the nearest dive and catch up on The Game. Haven’t been able to in a while.”

“Which Game?”

“Kiddo, do you even have to ask? You know your mother would asphyxiate me from the grave if I cheered for anyone other than the Santa Cruz Cruisers.”

“You just like seeing the hockey players fight each other over what is essentially a black rubber disk.”

He nodded seriously, “I like seeing the hockey players fight each other over what is essentially a black rubber disk.” He agreed shamelessly. 

“Okay, cool. While you do that, I’m gonna do drugs and commit light arson with the Emmas.”

“Light arson? Have I even raised you right?”

“Fine, fine. Destruction of wares and money laundering, it is.”

“‘At’ta girl.” He ruffled her chocolate hair and fetched his coat from the chair, putting one arm in a sleeve and throwing it over his back to insert the other arm. 

“Have fun with your sports!” Amanda called to him from the kitchen as he made it to the door. 

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but I’ll let it slide because it’s the only way we know how to communicate!”

“Please, making fun of sports is played out. And don’t forget you have a meeting with my English teacher tomorrow!”

“Got it. And keep Emma P. out of my room!” 

“Got it! See ya!”

Just as his hand touched the doorknob, the bell rang. He looked at the digital clock on the sidetable near him, only to see that it was seven-thirty. Wow, time really flew by. Had they been unpacking for that long? And who would be at the door this late at night? He opened the door and was met with the sight of a clean shaven, blonde man wearing a pink polo shirt with a baby blue sweater tried around his neck and cleanly pressed khaki pants. 

“For God’s sake, I already saw the Barbie movie!” Mark exclaimed with a longsuffering sigh, dragging a palm down his face. “I don’t need another costumed jerk to come here advertising it, my daughter made me see it three times, fucking hell.”

The blonde blinked at him, wide-eyed, “Ah… I think there’s been a mistake. I live just over there,” He pointed to the right of his house. Mark followed the direction of his finger and stared dumbly at the large, pristine white house with navy blue trimming and an anchor decoration hanging in the neat center over the front door’s awning. His gaze slowly shifted back to the blonde man on his doorstep, who smiled at him and held up a plate of fresh, steaming cookies, “We’re neighbors!”

Those creepy kids are his? Popped into his head first out of reflex. 

Oh shit. Came soon after.

“I… am so sorry.” He managed to get out. “I’m from Brooklyn and the solicitors there are a different breed. You practically gotta pull out a baseball bat to get them to go away.”

The man laughed amiably, “Oh, no need to apologize. It was a simple misunderstanding. I’m sorry for the late hour, but I baked too many cookies and I just couldn’t have all these in the house, or I would eat them all.” He chuckles. 

“Oh. That’s very kind of you, Mr…?”

The man gasped, “Oh, where are my manners. My name is Joseph, and as you know now, I’m your next door neighbor.” His smile was positively charming. 

It made him a little suspicious. 

Still, make new friends. For Amanda. “Well, good to meet you, Joseph. I’m Crowmark.” They exchanged a handshake. 

“Lovely to make your acquaintance as well, Crowmark! I saw the moving van in your driveway and thought I would do the neighborly thing and bring you some baked goods. My daughter, Christie, wanted me to tell you that she made them herself.” He looks around for show and leans in. “But between you and me, she just sprinkled in some chocolate chips.” They shared a laugh. Though something was off about this man, Mark was always a sucker for young kids. Even if he couldn’t connect the man’s claim to the dead-eyed little girl staring at him as he hauled boxes into the house earlier that day. 

Amanda, summoned by the delicious fragrance of cookies, pops her head out of the door. “Wow, cookies, huh? Oh, wonderful to meet you!” She adds on, prompted by her father’s nudge. Joseph hands the plate of cookies to her with a smile. He can see the silent countdown in Amanda’s head as she stays for the bare minimum amount of time to be considered polite. 

He sighs, “Go on, get outta here, you little arsonist.”

“Thanks for the cookies!” She says to Joseph and cackles like a little gremlin, making off with the plate. She had already shoved three of the sweets into her mouth before she reached her room. 

Mark looked at Joseph, “That’s my daughter. Her name is Amanda. She gets all her charm and social intelligence from me.” He says sardonically. 

“Daughters are tough.” Joseph agrees sympathetically. “Sons are also tough. Children in general are just… tough.” He shakes his head with a light chuckle. 

“I’m with you there. Amanda is enough of a handful. Can’t imagine trying to raise more than her.”

Joseph clears his throat, “I have four kids.”

Mark grimaces, “Ah.”

“Don’t worry, you didn’t mean to be rude.” Joseph assures him. 

He has to live next to this man, share a backyard fence with him. He wonders if it’s too late to move again. 

“Is the missus around?” Joseph asked him. 

“...no. She died.” 

Joseph froze. “Oh. Uh… I’m sorry for your loss…” 

“No, you’re alright.” Mark replied stiffly. The atmosphere once again grew painfully, overwhelmingly, and any other -ly, -ing, or -ingly awkward. 

Joseph bravely broke the tension, “I’m sorry, can you… close the door real quick?”

Mark gives him a questioning look, but complies. A second later, there’s a knock and he reopens the door to find Joseph standing there with a renewed glow. 

“Hey, I’m your new neighbor, Joseph Christiansen. I promise not to talk about your dead spouse this time. I’m throwing a barebecue for the cul-de-sac, and I’d love for you to come by and meet the rest of the neighbors in our community! Wha’d’ya say, pal?” The blonde smiled winsomely at him. 

Mark couldn’t help the snort that escaped him, “That sounds great. My daughter Amanda and I would love to stop by. Also four children is a perfectly normal number of children to have.” They seal the deal with another handshake. 

“Wonderful! I’ll see you at 3 PM on Saturday, neighbor!” Joseph waves goodbye as he climb the single step down from their front door stoop. 

Mark returns the gesture, “Sure thing… neighbor.” 

Joseph pauses in gait, as if deciding something, and turns around. "Hey… in all seriousness, raising a kid on your own can’t be easy. If you ever need to… talk about… stuff… I’m the youth minister at a church down the street.”

Oh God, I swore so much. “Ah, well, I wouldn’t really consider myself a ‘youth’, Joseph. I’ve probably got an even ten years on you, minimum.”

Joseph sent a charismatic wink his way, “You look pretty young to me, but suit yourself.” He nods once more, then disappears into the night, walking the short distance to his home. Mark closed the door. 

“He seemed nice.” Amanda says, returning from her sugar adventure with crumbs on her face and cookie in hand. 

Mark shakes his head absently, his detective brain running wild. “He’s smooth, I’ll give him that. But something’s off about him.”

Amanda shrugs carelessly, “Well, either way, cult leader or kindly neighor, he’s awesome at making cookies.”

“Which you ate every single one of.” Disapproval was evident in his voice. Amanda just hit him with the finger guns and disappeared into her room. He sighed, his eyes raising heavenward as if to pray for patience before he gathered his keys and wallet from the sidetable and left the house. 

He had spent a while enjoying the tranquil silence of the ocean as he leaned against the metal railing overlooking the jetties and docks before he had his fill. It was a bit longer of steady steps against pavement before his foot hit a patch of blue and red lights shining onto the concrete from a fluorescent sign hanging above a building. Jim and Kim’s. Looks quiet and simple enough. 

As he walks in, he notices the bar is small and dimly lit with a cozy atmosphere. The sounds of pool balls cracking and jovial laughter fill his ears as he weaves through patrons to the bar counter. Strings of multi-colored Christmas lights line every wall and the light fixtures overhanging the pool tables. It gives the bar an eclectic and unique vibe that he finds himself appreciating. 

“What’ll it be?” The bartender asks him, wiping a glass down with a rag like all those bar cliches in the movies. 

“Hm. Got any leftover youth for this old timer?”

“None I can afford less I want this place to go under.” The bartender threw back. 

“Fair enough. I’ll take a beer, please.”

“You got it, boss.” The man reaches below the alcohols on-tap and fetches an ice cold beer and pops the cap off with a satisfying plink! and slides it down the counter’s smooth surface. Mark catches it in his palm and takes a generous swig from the glass bottle, revelling in the fresh, bitter taste. Between his job and Amanda, there weren’t many moments for him to appreciate a simple drink. It was always the paranoia of be too inebriated to be a good father or maintain his position as a good role model of the police force. It was a ninety degree angled slope and it was slippery. “Thank you...” He nodded to the man and felt the fragment of his sentence as he didn’t know the man’s name. 

“I’m Neil. Call me over if ya need anything.” 

Mark’s eyes floated over to the TV hanging in the corner and was pleasantly surprised to see the Santa Cruz Cruisers beating out the opposing team. A pleasant stillness fell over his little corner as he watched the game with small increments of his beer between goals. He noticed that while the Cruisers were the away team, many people in the bar were sporting the colors of the opposing team, leading him to believe that it represented Maple Bay in some capacity. 

As another goal was scored, a roar rang through the bar, equal parts cheers and boos. Mark sent a small glance to the woman who sat next to him. She was tall and lithe with auburn hair, dark eyes, and smokey makeup. She held a nearly empty wine glass in her delicate fingers and had a light flush set across her high cheekbones. Her clothing was surprisingly modest for a dive bar, but Mark certainly wasn’t going to judge when had been wearing the same tan trenchcoat for close to twenty-five years. 

“Hey, sailor,” Her breathy voice whispered into his ear. 

He nodded at her, “Hello.”

She hummed, giving him a quick up and down. “Good to see fresh meat in here. I’m Mary. Come here often?”

Mark let out a raspy chuckle, “Really hitting me with the ‘come here often’ line? No, I just moved here. Name’s Crowmark.”

Mary smiled slyly, “Well, the visage you present, it leaves a girl at a loss for words.” She leaned back against the lip of the counter, taking a sip of her wine. “Are you watching The Game?”

He looked at the screen to see that the Cruisers hit another puck into the net, eliciting a chorus of protests from most of the bar’s occupancy. “I’m a casual enjoyer. My wife was a Cruiser fan all the way, so that means I was as well.”

“Oh, I love that team. And I also love The Game. I love someone who knows their way around balls.” She smirked, swirling the sweet, dark liquid in her glass in even circles. 

Mark rose a brow with a small, amused smile. “I’m afraid I didn’t get much of a pleasure before I got married.”

“Much?”

“College was one big acid trip, Mary.”

“Ah.” She stumbles a bit, and Mark is quick to grab her arm to keep her from falling. “Oh, what a gentleman,” She purred. “Buy a gal a drink?”

Mark stared at her,  “Mary, you are one conniving, intelligent woman with a heart of gold and tongue of silver.” He signaled Neil to bring Mary another glass of wine. If she didn’t mention the golden band wrapped around her fourth finger, he wasn’t going to bring it up. 

Mary gulps down the last of her flagging glass and rests her chin on her folded hands. “And you appear to be the man with a stone-cold outside and gooey center.” She smirks. As Neil delivers the drink, he and Mary begin bantering back and forth, clearly familiar with one another. Just as he suspected, he wasn’t the first of Mary’s prey and certainly won’t be her last. 

“You know,” She comments after a few minutes of silent companionship over their drinks. “I know someone just like you.”

“That so?”

“Mhm. He’s an asshole, but my best friend.” Her dark brown eyes stare down into the sanguine depths of the wine. The air around them grew more somber as they hit their next drink. 

“My best friend was an idiot but the most loyal and kind son of a bitch you’d ever meet. There was many a time where I would have to step in to stop him from getting scammed or stolen from.” He huffed as he recalled the moment Craig had burst into his room shouting about some poor girl in an unspecified area in Wyoming who needed money, or she and her family would be thrown into the ocean. The ocean. In Wyoming. 

“Wyoming, huh?” Mary scoffed. “Sounds like your buddy and mine would be peas in the dumbass pod.”

He huffed lowly, “Probably. So,” He gulped down the last of his second beer and set it on the counter, turning into his seat to look at Mary. “What’s the latest gossip around here?”

She grinned like the cat that caught the canary and the cream. “You’ve come to the right broad. You see, I’m an observer. I watch people. I see everything and know everyone. Nothing gets past me. But these lips are also a steel trap. I’m confidential to a fault.”

“Hmph. Fair enough. Suppose I can’t throw stones in that particular wheelhouse.” He muttered to himself. “Alright then, what can you tell me about this area?”

The auburn-haired woman shrugged, “It’s quiet, that’s for sure. If you want an idyllic little life with white picket fences, this is the place to do it. But every town has its secrets, you know.” She took a final sip of her wine and leaned in. “Would you like to learn some of my secrets?” The woman whispered temptingly. 

Mark only smiled, “Why, I thought you were a steel trap, Mary.”

“I can make an exception for a pair of pretty eyes and a five o’clock shadow.” She boldly clutched his chin and ran the pads of her fingers across his stubble. Mark gently gripped her wrist as her touch drifted down his neck. 

“Maybe some other day, Mary. Gotta leave some fun for next time.” 

Mary rolled her eyes, “Suit yourself, sailor,” She threw him a coquettish wink and set off to hunt down the next poor soul to ensnare in her clutches. 

Following Mary’s exit, Mark was left with a peaceful ten minutes of simple, lazy-eyed staring into the mindless viewing of The Game. His lip curls up in slight disappointment as a particularly skilled player from the opposing team The Lockers earns his team several points, bringing the score to a close draw. The Cruisers were still in the lead, but only by a tight margin. 

“Go team.” He heard a deep, gravelly voice mutter from a few chairs over. He inconspicuously eyes the person and is pleasantly surprised to see the brooding man from the Coffee Spoon, who had been glaring his black coffee into submission that morning. As of now, he sat alone and was nursing a whiskey as his hooded eyes observed the game between The Cruisers and The Lockers. 

“Didn’t look so happy earlier, but are now. Must be a Lockers’ fan then?” He found himself asking. It was a stupid question, considering there were over two dozen Lockers’ fans in this bar besides the man he was talking to. But he never proclaimed to be socially tactful, sober, or tipsy. 

The man looked at him and then took another drag of his glass, the amber liquid spilling through glass cubes into his mouth. “Been staring at me that long, have you?”

Mark shrugged a shoulder and returned his attention to the tense match. “It’s my job to notice the small details. For instance, that woman in the corner has been ignoring her friends and looking at her phone since she arrived. She’s also been holding her hand to her stomach.” He nodded to the blue-haired woman in the corner. Contrasting to her rowdy and energetic friends, she was worrying her bottom lip and constantly pulling her out her phone under the table, as if awaiting a text or call. 

“You think she’s-?”

“Awaiting a phone call from the women’s clinic concerning her pregnancy test results? Yeah.” Mark thanked Neil as he delivered his next beer. 

The man peered at the woman, then at him with furrowed brows. “Huh.” He grunted curiously. “If you can get all that from a single look at her, then can you predict the outcome of this match?” He challenged him, nodding his chin to the Cruisers vs. Lockers game. 

Mark tilted his head, “Can’t say I’ve ever tried that, but never say never.” He set down his bottle and watched the game with a closer and more critical eye. “Based on the win/loss record, most would say that the Cruisers will reign superior, but one must also consider the inconsistent variables that come with a close contact sport. Injuries, fights, inter-team disagreements, etcetera. But there is also the fact that, as of now, The Lockers are on a hot streak.” He waves his hand in gesture as the now-MVP player of The Lockers hit another puck into the Cruiser’s goal net. “But, there is one thing.” He scoops up his beer, moves to the seat adjacent to the man, and leans towards him, pointing to the screen. “You see that man, the righthand midfielder? He’s going to get the win for the Cruisers’.” 

The man inclines closer to see who he is pointing to. “How so? No one pays attention to the midfielders.” His gruff voice reverberated through his ear from their close proximity. 

“Exactly. No one watches them. The Lockers’ MVP favors his left leg and, thus, leans further to the left, going through the right side of the Cruisers’ territory. His tactic is smart but easily discernable after a couple of times of the same play. See, watch.” He narrates the players' actions as he moves across the plasma screen. “Kick off with the left foot, right, left, right, weave through right inner and center forward players– the right midfielder is at his left, and he’s forced to rely on his less confident right leg to skate away and–” A cry of shock rings through the bar as the MVP stumbles and loses the puck, leaving the Cruisers’ to yank the puck from his grasp and quickly earn the last score of the match. The Cruisers’ logo flashes victoriously on the screen, and Mark raises a toast to the man beside him, who returns the gesture with a quietly impressed look. 

The man sets down his empty glass and signals Neil for another two. “The name’s Robert.” He says as he slides one to Mark.

“Thanks. I’m Crowmark.”

Robert does a small doubletake and peers at him as if trying to decide whether he’s screwing with him or not. “Did your parents hate you?”

“No. They thought having an old, unique-sounding name would set me apart from the crowd.” He scoffed. “You’re the first one to question it since I got here, and I’ve introduced myself to a lot of people today.”

“Calls it as I sees it.” Robert shrugged. “So you’re new here. Mary already hit on you?”

“What started as a scandalous offer ended in companionable silence between two tired souls.”

Robert chuckled, “She’s a peach. Well, you picked the best bar in town. As slimy as it is, you’ll never find a better spot than Jim and Kim’s.”

“There actually a Jim or Kim floating around here?”

“No. That’d be Neil.” His hand curled around his glass, and he pointed to the bartender across the way. Neil waved at them. “Good guy, Neil. Not enough Neils in this world.” He shook his head in disappointment. 

“And too many guys like us?” Mark joked. 

“Too close to the truth. You a whiskey fella or a beer fella?”

“Beer. But I’ve been known to kick back with a Maker’s Mark from time to time.”

Robert’s dark, hithering eyes lit up slightly. “You like shots?”

Mark tapped the rim of his drink, thoughts trailing off to the time he, Craig, Alex, and Smashley absolutely trashed their college’s homecoming parade. All he remembered from that night was an indiscriminate amount of vodka and jello shots, periods of uncertain blackouts, then him on the roof of the frat house, revving up the motorcycle he was sitting on, then squeezing the accelerator, heading straight for the large, glittery flamingo float and– nothing. Complete blank after that.

“I love shots.” He replied and set his empty glass on the counter. It should be fine. There probably weren’t any motorcycles nearby. 

Robert let out a jagged smile that cut to the corner of his mouth, revealing a row of pearly whites. “Thank God.” He signals Neil once, who neatly serves up two shots of whiskey and slides one to each man. Robert raises the small shot glass, “Here’s to your health.”

Mark huffed but clinked his glass against the other’s. “Oh, the irony in that statement.” They knock back the concentrated drink and the amber liquid burns going down his throat. He sighs at the refreshing sensation, rolling the empty shot glass between his first three fingers. “Never been a talkative guy, but this kind of socialization is something I can get behind.” The heady feeling filling his head makes him warm and fuzzy, making his tense, overworked shoulders fall from their perpetually uptight position. Next to him, Robert gave a slurred hum of agreement. Mark cupped his chin in his palm, feeling the rough bristle of his leftover stubble. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his drinking buddy. 

Robert had his forearms braced on the counter, crossing over one another. He stared into the empty shot glass, watching the small pool of leftover whiskey collect at the bottom. His mind, however, seemed to be elsewhere. Thick brows were scrunched together, and a lock of dark brown with a streak of grey fell messily into his eyes. The glow of the lights around them bathed the man in a soft ambiance, enhancing his handsome features. 

Or perhaps it was the alcohol in his system making him a sloppy poet.

Still, “You’re one hell of a heartbreaker, Robert.” He sighed. 

Robert blinked and slowly looked over at him as his statement slowly reached the forefront of his inebriated brain, “...thanks?” He said uncertainly and held up two unsteady fingers for two more shots, which were quickly dropped off. “What are you doing here tonight?” The other man asked him. 

“Mm. Just to unwind. This is my last chance to relax before Signor Ugarte and his merry men catch my trail. Gotta be at the border by sunrise.”

Robert lets out a brief bark of laughter. “I like your style.” He sighs and slides up from his barstool, peeling his trademark jacket from his body and draping it over his vacated chair. “Be right back, gotta powder my nose.” He calls over his shoulder as he walks off to the bathroom. 

Neil comes up to him then, leaning one arm on the counter and nodding in the direction Robert went. “Never seen Robert this talkative. He must like you.”

A small smile curled at the corner of Mark’s mouth, “It’s no credit of my own. Just sheer dumb luck. Or poor taste on Robert’s part.” Neil chortles and pats the bar counter before leaving him to his devices. A minute passes before his drinking partner returns, and he grabs his jacket and throws it on. Robert then slides a handful of bills from his leather wallet and throws them on the counter. 

“I’m gonna go home. You headed my way?” Robert asked him. Mark made eye contact with him, seeing the burning question of desire in his dark eyes. The detective slowly set down his last drink of the night and turned to face him fully. “I think,” He began. “That I would like to be your friend, Robert Small.”

The man appeared to do a double take at that, then shrugged. “Whatever you say. But I’m onto you, ese. I never told you my last name.”

Mark smirked and stood from his seat, feeling his equilibrium stutter momentarily as he planted his feet on the floor. “No, you didn’t. But you did open your wallet long enough for me to spot a driver’s license, Mr. Robert V. Smalls, birthday October 30th, and address 6 Cul-De-Sac Circle .” He laid down his share of bills and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, strutting past the stunned man. Glancing over his shoulder, he tapped his head with a mischievous wink. “Come on, we’ll walk together. Your place is just a skip and a hop from mine.”

The two men ambled down the darkened seaside district with uneven and halting steps as they tried to shake off the alcohol coursing through them. It was a blissful moment for Mark, the comforting night he had always felt more at home in and the hypnotizing crash of saltwater against the bayside in the distance. Without his say-so, a heavy sigh escaped his chapped lips, and his eyes fell shut as he breathed in the fresh smell of ozone from the unpolluted sky and iodine from the sea. 

“It’s a great place to be, the cul-de-sac. Good neighbors. Well, some of them.” Robert broke off, his voice growing lower and his eyes colder and distant. 

Mark thinks back to the people he met today. Mat with his endearing awkwardness and great baking. Brian and his bright, competitive spirit and helpful nature. Craig’s endless optimism, his ride or die. And… Joseph. “I know what you mean.” He muttered, feeling a stern line draw between his brows. He felt Robert’s penetrating look on him but didn’t bother meeting it as he replayed his small interaction with the blonde man over in his head. 

He was torn. A part of him felt like a jerk making assumptions based on a single conversation with his next-door neighbor. But the other half of himself, the paranoid one that had saved his life countless times and gotten him through multiple cases, was sounding the alarm bells. Something was off about Joseph and until he proved himself or the man wrong, he would take a firmly neutral stance concerning their relationship.

It was only a few more moments before they reached the front of Robert’s driveway. Mark patted his new friend’s shoulder with a small, tired grin peeking through his stubble. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, pointing past Joseph’s house. “I’m the small house with the terrible mowing lines and untrimmed bushes. My daughter is gonna try to teach me to use social media, so I’ll look you up on that. We can do this again if you want.” He purposefully left the invitation open and vague. Robert nodded. 

“Yeah, sure. See ya round, Crowie.” Robert threw him a roguish smile and began his stumbling journey up the slight incline of his driveway. Mark, however, was frozen where he had turned to walk home. 

“She’s beautiful, Crowie… our little Amanda.”

Mark vigorously shook his head, forcing himself to push forward down the sidewalk. He was thankful for the drinks if only because they would assure him some solid sleep instead of a night of tossing and turning with his wife’s melodious voice echoing through his head, taunting him. 

After he had reached the house and locked the door behind him, he immediately flopped onto the couch as he didn’t want to risk waking Amanda and her friends as he tried to traverse their thin hallway with his drunken, uncoordinated gait. In the back of his mind, he realizes he didn’t even bother to remove his shoes as he drifts off.