Epilogue

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Labour Day Weekend, Nine Months Later
Friday, September 3, 2004
6:10pm

As Briscoe reached Curtis' floor, his apartment door opened and a pretty young woman came out.  She called back, "Adios, Rey! Los vemos el domingo?"

"Ya, domingo, gracias Ana!"

"De nada!"

She passed Briscoe, smiling up at him on her way down the stairs.  Briscoe poked his head into the open door.  "Rey?"

"Yeah, come on in, Lennie."

Curtis peered around the corner from the kitchen, holding Tania in a sling on his hip.  "Come into the kitchen, I'm just finishing up," he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.  Briscoe felt mild alarm.

"Rey?  You OK?"

"Wha?" he sniffled and looked at Briscoe, eyebrows raised.  Briscoe looked back at him, puzzled by his reddened, watery eyes but cheerful expression.  Curtis suddenly grinned, "Oh!  Oh, no, yeah, I'm fine, Lennie, I've been chopping onions," he said, chuckling at Briscoe and wiping his eyes again.  "Come on in, I don't want this stuff to burn."

Briscoe followed him into the tiny kitchen, laughing softly at himself.  Two pots were bubbling away, some kind of meat dish and rice, from the look of them.  Curtis gave them both a quick stir, tasted the rice and added a bit of salt to it, automatically turning to the side to keep Tania from touching the pots.  "Hey, can you help me move the table into the living room?" he asked.

After setting Tania down, Curtis and Briscoe moved the small table and set it, chatting about one of Briscoe's cases as they worked.  As Briscoe helped Curtis move the table, he noticed that the scars on his arms were fading.  When he'd first been released from prison, they had been angry, ugly, red and highly visible, the one on his left forearm snaking jaggedly down in a vivid reminder of the violence he'd endured, the ones on his wrists equally vivid reminders of the violence he'd been driven to do to himself.  Curtis had worn long sleeved shirts for a long time.  Now the scars were a fainter pink, still noticeable against his dark skin, but no longer immediately shocking.

"Niñas!  Vengan!" Curtis called down the little hallway.

"Hey Uncle Lennie!"  Isabel shouted out, racing to give him a hug.  Olivia, pushing her mother's wheelchair, smiled up at him.  The family sat down at the table.

"Whose turn is it?" Deborah asked.

"Me," said Serena.  The family clasped their hands and bowed their heads.  "For-what-we-are-about-to-receive-we-thank-Thee-oh-Lord-Amen," she mumbled quickly.

"Amen," the family echoed, and started to pass the food about.

The meal was pleasant, the conversation flowing well.  Deborah was counseling a church member whose child was an alcoholic; Curtis' latest work review had gone well and he was finally off performance probation.  Briscoe was testifying for a lunatic judge; McCoy had apparently just gained a new 'McCoy Toy' at the office.  Olivia was looking forward to her first day of high school and Isabel's baseball team had come in second place in the local championships.  Serena ate in silence, helping to feed Deborah and rolling her eyes in annoyance at many of her sisters' comments, but otherwise unobtrusive.

After the meal had been eaten and the table cleared, Briscoe's cell phone went off.  He excused himself and went into the kitchen to answer the call.

"Hey, Lennie, did you talk to the witness on the third floor?"

"No, I thought you were gonna get her."

"Damn, no, I thought you had her.  Damn.  Would you mind?"

"What, now?  It's Friday night, Eddie."

"No, no, any time before Tuesday should be fine, I just wanted to check.  I wouldn't be working tonight either except I got a hunch about Donner.  I actually called because I'm looking for the file with Donner's priors."

"Oh, bottom drawer, I think..."

"OK, let me take a look..."

As Briscoe waited for Green to shuffle through his desk, he glanced into the living room.  Serena was pointing out errors in Isabel's Sunday school homework, and Isabel was arguing with her.  Olivia was stacking blocks with Tania, who babbled happily.  Curtis had moved Deborah to the couch and sat down beside her, drawing her close and holding her hand.  Their heads were close together as they talked quietly.  Curtis laughed at something Deborah said and kissed her temple.  She smiled and brushed the hair off his forehead.  She kissed him back, and Briscoe suddenly felt a bit embarrassed as Deborah put her hand on the back of Curtis' neck and their kiss became deeper - not inappropriate in front of the children, but probably not anything that they would feel comfortable with him seeing.  Briscoe ducked back into the kitchen.  Serena's gruff voice floated out from the living room,

"Oh gross, get a room!"

Briscoe glanced back at the living room.  Curtis and Deborah chuckled, still kissing, and Curtis waved a dismissive hand in the direction of his daughter, who rolled her eyes in mock annoyance and went back to haranguing Isabel.  They finally broke off the kiss with a grin, smiled at one another for a moment, then went back to their conversation.

"Nope, not there," said Green.

"Try the second last drawer - it's a blue folder, I know that much," Briscoe suggested.

It hadn't been an easy year, even after Curtis' release.  Because Estela Curtis' death had been ruled a suicide, the insurance money had never come in.  All that was left was her estate, which was barely enough to cover the loss of Curtis' salary during the time that he had been on trial, in prison, and recuperating from his injuries.  Curtis' family was still desperately poor.

Serena had been suspended twice for fighting, and still frequently butted heads with the rest of the family.  Deborah's physical condition continued to slowly deteriorate.  She was no longer able to go up or down the stairs at all, and she was often bothered by eye problems.  She had gone through a period of difficulty with her speech.

And Curtis hadn't just come out of prison with physical scars.  He'd had a difficult time dealing with the memories of what had happened there.  He was still on anti-depressants, and a few months ago had told Briscoe that he finally accepted he would probably need to stay on them for a long time.

As Curtis had once observed, nobody's promised a happy ending.  But they were now as close as they were likely to come to one.  Though poor, they had some relief from the Church in terms of donations, respite care, and counseling - supportive counseling, not just guilt trips.  Serena and Curtis, though they clashed frequently, were normally very close.  Serena saw him as an ally now, not an enemy.

It was still difficult to deal with Deborah's illness; it was still not easy to cope with the demands of their youngest child.  But at least now they didn't have to do it alone, and there was no more talk of divorce or suicide.  Curtis was able to ask for help when he needed it, and accept it when it was offered.  He was still attending Mainstay meetings, and he and Deborah had formed friendships with some of the other couples in the group.  He had even done two presentations: one for 'MS and Pain Management' and one for, "Get this," he'd laughingly told Briscoe, "'MS and Intimacy,' I cannot believe I let myself get talked into that one."

He'd gained back some of the weight he'd lost, and although he was often tired, he was no longer perpetually exhausted.  He hadn't used drugs since before the trial, and had never gone out to a bar to pick up a stranger again.  He looked a lot more relaxed and content.  The scars on his arms were fading, and Briscoe hoped that the memories of prison were doing the same.

And when he and Deborah looked at each other, frustrated longing, anger and guilt had been replaced with serenity and loving acceptance. At least now there was also joy in the midst of their troubles.  Their life was not easy, but at least now they were dealing with it together.

Briscoe remembered the gaunt, exhausted, dull-eyed man he'd gotten to know last September.  He was gone.  Briscoe also recalled the cocky young detective he'd met nine years ago.  He was gone too - but then again, that was part of growing older.  The man he saw now was sadder and more humble, but also wiser and in many ways stronger than the one Briscoe had first been partnered with.

"OK, yeah, here it is," said Green, finally finding the file.  Briscoe heard the shuffling of paper.  "Mm-mm-mm, Mr. Donner does not work or play well with others," he observed.  "Oh, here it is, Possession With Intent, co-defendant Spiky Price.  Bingo.  Thanks, Lennie."

"Don't mention it."  Suddenly Tania appeared at Briscoe's side, grabbing his arm and chanting nonsense in a sing-song voice.

"Where are you anyway?"

"Rey's house."

"Oh, how's he doing?"

Briscoe looked into the living room.  Curtis had lain down on the couch with his head on Deborah's lap.  They made a pretty picture together, as she stroked his hair absently while he read to her from Isabel's homework.  It looked like they were trying to adjudicate a semi-good-natured argument between Isabel and Serena.

Briscoe smiled.  "Pretty good."

"Good.  Tell him I said hi.  I'll see you Tuesday."

"Have a good weekend, Ed."

Briscoe went back to the living room to join Curtis and his family.

===

Spanish-English Translations:

She called back, "Adios, Rey! Los vemos el domingo?"
"Bye, Rey!  We'll see all of you Sunday?"

"Ya, domingo, gracias Ana!"
"Yeah, Sunday, thanks Ana!"

"De nada!"
"You're welcome!"

"Niñas!  Vengan!" Curtis called down the little hallway.
"Girls! Come!"