================================= Ruminations By Nancy Kaminski (c) June 1999 (print), 2000 (web) ================================= The horizon was just barely beginning to pale when Myra Schanke was awakened by the splash of headlights across the bedroom ceiling and the mutter of a large engine idling in the driveway. She lay still and listened to the sounds coming from downstairs-the click and scrape of the front door opening and closing; the quiet tread of her husband's footsteps through the living room and up the stairs, pausing a minute partway down the hall as he looked in on their sleeping daughter; the closet door in the spare room opening and closing as he undressed; and finally, the hiss and gush of the shower as he washed away the remnants of the nightshift and made ready for sleep. The bedroom door quietly opened and closed as Don Schanke made his way through the darkness to his side of the bed. The bed sagged as he sat down, then bounced gently when he slid under the covers and squirmed a little to get comfortable. "Hi, hon," Myra said softly, rolling over to put her arm across his chest. She kissed him briefly, then snuggled against him. "Hmmmm," she murmured contentedly. "How'd it go tonight?" Don sighed and eased himself into a more comfortable position. He kissed Myra's forehead and said, "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you." "S'all right. I heard the car pull up." He chuckled quietly. "That boat! I guess it could be worse -- he could have turned it into a street rod or something and really make some noise." He snorted. "I never thought I'd be on patrol riding around in an antique Cadillac. Damnedest thing I ever saw." Myra smiled, shook him gently, and repeated, "So, tell me, how'd it go tonight?" He shrugged. "Okay, I guess. It was a quiet night. We mostly talked to guys in bars about a stabbing that happened a couple of days ago. It was talk, talk, talk... and then we got to write up the reports." He yawned. "Just another shift. Nothing exciting." "I like that kind of shift. Unexciting. Safe." "Yeah, I suppose I do, too." She asked pensively, "How're you getting along with your new partner?" He sighed. "Not bad, I suppose. He's nothing like Jimmy, though," he said, referring to his old partner. "He's about as communicative as a clam, Nick is. He doesn't hang out with the guys, he doesn't drink, smoke, eat -- hell, I haven't seen him go to the can yet." Don caressed Myra's shoulder reflectively. "I can't figure him out." Myra's thoughts ran back to her one and only meeting with her husband's new partner. Nick had come by to pick him up because she had needed the car that evening. She and Jenny had gone outside with Don, curious to meet Nick after what Don had told them about him. Nick had gotten out of the car when she approached, greeted her with a curiously grave courtesy, and exchanged pleasantries with her and Jenny. He was charming, but there was a kind of remoteness to him Myra couldn't quite figure out. He had watched Don kiss her and Jenny goodbye with the strangest look on his face. She was usually an astute judge of character, but in Nick's case her talent had been to no avail, and that unnerved her. But now wasn't the time to mention her reservations about her husband's new partner, so instead she merely said, "He's cute." Don snorted again. "I'll take your word for it." "Well, he is. And he seems nice, too. You should bring him over again, and for more than five minutes." And then maybe I might understand the man protecting my husband a little better, she added silently. "I dunno. He doesn't act like he wants that sort of stuff. He's pretty standoffish with just about everyone, except the ME I told you about -- you know, Natalie." "Girlfriend?" He shrugged. "Can't figure that out, either. But he unbends a little bit for her, that's for sure." Silence fell for a bit as they lay companionably together, savoring the quiet intimacy, the ordinary end to an ordinary day. Myra was beginning to get used to Don's night shifts-she was happy that they could be together in the afternoons before he went to work, happy that he could meet Jenny at the school bus and have time with his daughter before she got engrossed in homework or the TV. And somehow they had fallen into the habit of having these quiet chats in the predawn hours, if she awakened-making decisions on what to buy, how to spend vacations, all the things that made their family work. Myra remembered hearing her parents' murmuring voices late at night behind their bedroom door. Maybe, unconsciously, she and Don were just following their example. "How was Jenny's piano lesson?" Don asked presently. Myra smiled into the dark. "She got all the way through 'Claire de Lune' without a mistake. Mrs. LeTourneau says she's doing well. Maybe we should think about getting her a real piano in place of that electronic keyboard. There's room for one of those little uprights in the spare room." "I thought you said the washing machine was going?" "I can manage for a while. Let's think about it." " 'Kay." He paused for a moment. "You know, Nick's got a huge grand piano in that big empty warehouse he calls a home." "Really?" Myra was intrigued. "So he plays?" "I guess. Why else would he have one?" "Maybe he inherited it? You never told me what his place looks like, you know, except that it was a loft in a warehouse. What's it like?" Don shifted position and yawned again. "Big. Dark. Sort of bare. He's got metal shutters on the windows to keep out the light -- you know, that strange allergy that I was telling you about? Um, black leather furniture. A really big television -- man, I'd love to watch the Stanley Cup playoffs on that thing! And weird knickknacks, pots and stuff that look real old. Oh, and a motorcycle." She said, amused, "A motorcycle! Inside?" "Yup. Must be another collectible, 'cause he's never ridden it to work." "It sounds like he's got some money, doesn't it? I mean, all those old things, and the rent on that loft must be a lot." He said smugly, "He doesn't rent, he owns it. The whole building, in fact, and a couple next door." "Oh, so he does talk a little bit, huh?" Myra raised an eyebrow. Don cleared his throat embarassedly. "Well, not exactly. I, uh, did a little research. See, I had to check on some property ownership on a case we were working, and I thought, hey, as long as I was in City Hall, I might as well, um..." Myra raised herself on her elbow and looked at him. "Donald G. Schanke, you were spying on your partner!" "Well, sort of, I guess." He sounded unrepentant. "Actually, the reason I did was that I handed him his suit coat when we were leaving the office, and I noticed the label." "So?" "It was custom made. In Paris. He doesn't afford that kind of stuff on a cop's salary, that's for sure, and I got to wondering." He shrugged. "So I did a little checking." "That's not very nice, dear -- and isn't it illegal? Misuse of authority or something?" "Nope, they're public records. It's not like I found out about his bank balance or anything." He paused. "Hmmm, wonder how much dough he has?" "You're terrible! Leave the poor man alone! Anyway, that's not important as long as he takes care of you and does his job, right?" "Yeah, but you can't blame a guy for wondering, now, can you?" Myra gave him The Look. She knew that Don would feel it even in the dark. She was not disappointed. "Okay, okay," he said. "I'll be good." He yawned massively. "Good night, hon. You can yell at me again this afternoon..." He relaxed and let sleep begin to steal over him. Myra lay staring pensively at the ceiling, thinking about Nick. She pictured him all alone in his loft, trapped there whenever the sun was out. What a horrible existence that must be, to lose the sun and the beauties of the day! She wondered if he had always had the allergy, or if he had enjoyed a normal life at least for a few years. She hoped so. She pictured him playing the piano for himself, or watching his big screen television, safe behind his steel shutters. No family, few friends, no girl -- just himself. She thought again of the look on his face as he had watched Don say goodbye to his family, and she realized it was longing, and regret, and jealousy, and sadness, all mixed together and held tightly under control behind that wall he had erected. For all his good looks and apparent wealth, she realized, Nick was alone. Talk about a cliche, she thought ruefully, but there you go. Cliches are often true. "I bet he's lonely," she murmured to herself. "Hnnngh?" Don murmured, half-asleep. "You say something, hon?" "Shh, it's nothing." She smoothed his hair back and kissed him. "Go to sleep." " 'Kay." Myra listened to his even breathing and felt immensely lucky. She had him, and he had her, and Jenny had them both, and they were complete. Poor Nick, she thought as she drifted off to sleep again...and lucky, lucky me.