December Boys by Joe Clifford Page B

documents. Red-handed. That is a serious offense. And when they asked her what she was doing, she said the papers had been requisitioned by Jay Porter of NorthEastern Insurance.”
    “That’s bullshit. I didn’t ask that girl to unseal anything.”
    DeSouza held up a hand. “I’m not interested in excuses.” He walked around his desk, sitting on the front edge, leg draped casual, his man-of-the-people pose, tone dropping to dulcet. “I went to bat for you. The court can discipline its employee how they see fit. For my part, I’m willing to let this oversight slide. This time. It’s obvious you’re going through something right now.” His gaze washed over my disheveled appearance, lingering on the bedhead and stubble I’d neglected to shave. Even after I showered and tended to the wounds, my face still betrayed an ass whooping. “You look like you didn’t get much sleep last night. Is everything okay on the home front?”
    My first instinct was to say “None of your fucking business.” But then I recognized a branch being extended to a drowning man. I only had to grab hold and hang on.
    “No,” I said. “My wife and I are going through a rough patch right now. This last year has been hard on us.” I drew out the pregnant pause. “She thought when I started this job, we’d be moving down to Concord. The big city. Y’know? A new start.”
    DeSouza nodded like he understood.
    “She took my son to her mom’s in Burlington. Yesterday when Icalled you, I was already halfway there. I missed them. I wanted to see my family. I took advantage. I’m sorry for lying to you.”
    Which was the truth, minus the sorry part, even though I resented having to be straight up with a tool like DeSouza. Something must’ve struck a deeper chord, because his entire demeanor changed.
    “Why don’t you go home,” he said.
    “You’re firing me?”
    “No, Jay. But I want you to take the rest of the week off, get your head straight. Work out whatever you have to with your wife.” He came over and reached for my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Family is everything.”
    I scanned the desk behind him for a Mrs. DeSouza but didn’t see one. The only pictures he had were of other dudes in huge rubber pants, fly-fishing in streams.
    “Concord is still a real possibility,” he said. “But we can’t have any more mistakes like yesterday, okay? It’s imperative if you want this promotion.” DeSouza clasped his hands in prayer. “Take a breather, sort out whatever is going on at home. Do what you have to do. Then get your head back in the game. We clear?”
    “Yeah, we’re clear.” I made to leave.
    When I got to the door, DeSouza stopped me. “Do me a favor. If Donna Olisky calls you again, have her contact me at the office. I’ll take it from there.”
    I nodded.
    “And please no more sniffing around closed cases.”
    No problem. Whatever was hidden under that lid stank to high heaven, anyway.
    * * *
    On my way to the grocery store for beer, I phoned Jenny, who still wasn’t picking up. I left another message, less apologetic, more pissed. We were going on twenty-four hours of radio silence. I knew I’d done something stupid. Still I expected, as her husband—and the father of our child—I’d get the courtesy of a returned phone call.
    Back home, I slipped on some sweats, grabbed a cold one, and kicked back with my fat cat, Beatrice. I flicked through cable movie stations, searching for something to numb my brain. TCM was showing
Gunga Din
, a flick I’d seen so many times I knew the dialogue by heart. The distraction wasn’t working.
    With all this time off, my wife and son a state away, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. Either Jenny would return my calls or I’d have no choice but to drive back to Burlington. Which wouldn’t end well for me. That was the thing about my wife: you didn’t want to force her hand before she was damn well and ready. She wasn’t ready. But I was losing my