Heart's Desire by Laura Pedersen Page A

the warmth and light has died out.
    For so long I’ve wanted to be in love. The kind of love that Olivia’s poets write about, involving melodious lutes, sunsets that streak the horizon with red flame, and the watery brilliance of the moon. Only now I’m not so sure it’s possible in real life. Though I have certainly become clear on one point. The saddest thing in the world must be to fall out of love.

Chapter Fourteen
    BLARING SIRENS AWAKEN ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. MY first thought is that there’s a fire. I hurry outside and around to the front door of the main house to find Olivia on the porch exchanging hurried talk with paramedics, though there isn’t a stretcher being hauled out of the back of their emergency vehicle, and no fire trucks have arrived on the scene.
    Inside the house Ottavio is pacing the front hall drinking coffee, and a distressed Rocky is hopping from room to room with his hands covering his ears. Through the archway I can see Bernard sitting at the kitchen table exactly where I left him, arguing with a tired-looking Officer Rich.
    Because Officer Rich is one of a few African Americans in an otherwise mostly white town, people might think it’s hard for him to command the necessary respect to succeed in law enforcement. The truth is just the opposite, however. Perhaps it’s in part because he’s so tall and large, though in a pillowy sort of way. But I believe it’s mostly due to the fact that Officer Rich’s reassuring presence combined with his easygoing manner serves to make a person feel that everything is going to be okay. And also, you want your police to stand out a bit, like an orange cone in the middle of the highway, reminding folks to be careful and not go too fast.
    A woman wearing a yellow vest and carrying a walkie-talkie prevents me from entering the kitchen, but when Bernard hears my voice he shouts for me to come through. “Hallie, thank goodness. Now, will you
please
tell Officer Rich exactly how many aspirin I consumed.”
    I learned a long time ago never to answer any questions without first assessing the lay of the land, so you don’t accidentally incriminate anyone, particularly yourself. Thus I take a quick look around before replying. An empty bottle of bourbon that wasn’t there when I left sits on the table, along with a cocktail glass.
    Officer Rich becomes suspicious when I hesitate. “It’s okay, Hallie,” he says. “Just tell the truth. Rocky found Bernard passed out here at the table and Olivia believes he may have tried to overdose. She wants us to drive him over to Dalewood for a psychiatric evaluation. Olivia claims that lately he’s been . . . well—”
    “Stop talking as if I’m not here,” interjects Bernard. “Hallie, please tell him that all you gave me was aspirin—
two
aspirin. That’s
all
that were left in the bottle.” His voice is hoarse and hollow with despair.
    When I nod my head in agreement, Officer Rich studies us both to see if there’s a conspiracy a foot.
    “Okay,” confesses Bernard, “I probably shouldn’t have had a bottle of Wild Turkey as a chaser, but I did
not
attempt to
kill
myself !”
    They both turn toward me as if I’m the tiebreaker on whether Bernard was trying to off himself. “There were only two aspirin left,” I say. “He had a headache.” I don’t think it’s necessary to include the fact that as I left I could hear Bernard singing, “Make It Another Old-Fashioned, Please,” the torch song lament Ethel Merman sang after losing the love of her life in the musical
Panama
Hattie.
    “Thank you!” barks an irritated Bernard. “Now please tell that to Mother and have her show the bandage brigade to the door.”
    When I go into the living room Brandt has by this time joined the nocturnal throng, wearing a
Star Trek
T-shirt and boxer shorts. He’s sitting on the couch next to Rocky, using his hands to communicate. Rocky is enthusiastically responding and occasionally jumping up and down on