She found the list quite by accident; Briar Rose wasn't the sort of woman to snoop or get into anyone else's materials, but sharing a house was new, and in the process of looking for pens it was habitual to start in the kitchen and wind up in Frank's study half the time. One thing her husband was noted for was hoarding pens, so at any given time Briar Rose knew she could find at least two that had migrated from other points in the house to his desk.

The list was caught in the drawer and she pulled it free, meaning to lay it neatly back but intriguingly it wasn't typed; this was a hand-written list in the strong neat lettering Frank used when writing. She glanced at it, and noted two things at once: it was a list of names nearly twenty in all, and they were all those of women.

Startled, she noted that there were dates next to the names—some going back nearly thirty years, and the most recent one only last year. Confused, Briar Rose stared at the names, trying to figure out what all this meant. She didn't recognize any of the people, not in any social context . . .

Footsteps alarmed her, and Briar Rose hurriedly shoved the list back into the drawer, fished out a pen and got up. She stepped out, nearly running into Henry, who shot her a smile. "Found one?"

"Oh! Uh, yes," she held up the pen. "Sure did."

"Good," Henry beamed. "I wanted to add yogurt and bananas to the rest of the groceries."

"Okay," Briar Rose agreed. She followed her father-in-law back out to the kitchen, trying not to dwell on what she'd found.

But it lingered in the back of her mind, and Briar Rose found her thoughts returning to the list at periodic points during the day. The most obvious thing to do would be to ask Frank directly of course but she was reluctant to do it. His study was as much his sanctuary as hers was to her, and even though the innocent errand of retrieving a pen was a small matter it was still one of those little territorial transgressions she was unsure about.

Space was still a negotiable issue for Briar Rose; she was mindful of it throughout the house, knowing full well what spaces were shared and which were not. It was a factor in all relationships, this one especially.

And yet . . . It couldn't be anything romantic, Briar Rose argued with herself. Frank was the standard for faithfulness: loving, committed, honest. He'd shared more of himself with her than any other lover she'd had. The trust between them was solid, built on mutual communication and respect.

So . . . who were the women?

She hesitated at the thought of asking outright—to do so would mean mentioning that she was in the habit of going through his desk to retrieve pens. Silly and reasonable as it was, it still crossed that personal boundary, especially since she hadn't asked permission.

The question lingered though, and she realized it was preoccupying her when after dinner Frank gave her one of those assessing looks over dessert.

"What's on your mind?" he murmured, stirring his sugar-free vanilla ice milk with a little scowl.

Briar Rose looked up guiltily, and realized in an instant she'd never be able to bluff, not against Frank. "I . . . went looking for a pen earlier."

He sighed. "Sorry. I know I carry them off."

"It's all right," Briar Rose replied, gathering up her courage. "So I went to your desk to retrieve one and . . . there was a paper stuck in the drawer. I didn't mean to read it—privacy and all—but . . ."

"But you did," Frank's brows descended. Not a good sign, she knew.

She nodded.

For a moment Frank said nothing, moving his spoon through the melting ice milk in slow circles. Finally he glanced up. "And?"

Blushing, Briar Rose gave a helpless little shrug. "And I just wondered who those women were."

He nodded, still gazing at her. Briar Rose swallowed. "I'm sorry. I just . . . your dad and I needed a pen . . ."

Frank gave a wave of his free hand. "Understandable. And Nikki keeps getting on my case about using my phone to make lists but I'm more comfortable with paper." He brought a spoon to his lips and swallowed before speaking again. "They're . . . wives."

Briar Rose glanced at him. "Wives."

"Well . . . the latter ones were," Frank amended. "The last six were legally wives. All the others were domestic partners; significant others; roommates . . ." he trailed off, looking pensive.

After a second, Briar Rose figured it out, a little flush rolling over her complexion. "Of fallen officers. Of fallen women officers."

Frank nodded. "Yes. The first one . . ." he sighed, and leaned on his forearms, dessert forgotten. "Patrolman Kathy Terranova. Nineteen seventy-three. Shot while handling a domestic dispute on West ninety-seventh. Bled out before the ambulance could get there. Unmarried, but she had a . . . roommate named Cecilia Dulecki. Miss Dulecki wasn't allowed to see the body, collect the personal effects or handle any of the funeral details despite being Kathy's partner for over fifteen years."

"Oh God that's terrible!" Briar Rose blurted out.

"Agreed," Frank rumbled, his expression bleak. "I . . . had a lot of trouble reconciling that. I'd been brought up that homosexuality was a sin, and that those relationships were evil in the eyes of God and yet watching a small lonely woman helplessly crying her heart out outside the coroner's office just about broke me. She was devastated, with no-one to turn to. And worse, the charitable organizations within the department at that time didn't acknowledge her either. In the end I think a distant cousin had to fly out from the Midwest to handle matters."

Briar Rose reached out to touch Frank's hand. "What happened?"

"Kathy's partner, John Jackson started a collection around the precinct on the quiet. Kathy was well-liked, so donations were generous and I took it to Miss Dulecki. After that, John and I kept an ear out for other cases where the usual charities didn't apply. I started keeping a list so I could send flowers on the anniversary. It's not much, but someone needed to acknowledge their loss and let them know they weren't forgotten."

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Briar Rose squeezed his hand, reassured when he squeezed back.

"Okay," she murmured. "Just when I think I can't love you any more than I do, I find out something like this. That list goes back through your entire career, doesn't it?"

He gave a nod and spoke again, hesitantly. "Not everyone was supportive. In some cases, some precincts, the prejudice against homosexuals was deeply entrenched and pervasive, undermining the ranks as much as racial or religious bigotry. But I wasn't alone in seeing the injustice and working to change matters."

"And now?" Briar Rose wanted to know.

Frank pushed his ice milk away with a sigh. "It's better. Not perfect but changing legislation and attitudes have made it easier to do the right thing, for both the men and women left behind when someone dies."

"Does your dad . . . ?" she trailed off, not sure how to finish.

Frank shrugged. "He works with and through the official charities as you know, but I'm sure he's aware of what I've done. Certainly he was the first to push for educating the rank and file; I've carried that legacy forward to the best of my abilities."

Briar Rose took a slow breath. "It's better," she agreed. "And that list is very noble of you, Frank."

He looked down at the tablecloth. "It's not. It's the right thing, and even then it's not enough. Anyone who dies in the line of duty deserves respect. Any fallen officer's family deserves it too. We can and must do better."

For a moment neither of them spoke as they held hands.

Her phone chimed; Briar Rose expected the text and shot her husband an apologetic look. "Looks like it IS a go for the C-section. Okay. Not sure how long I'll be gone."

Frank got her coat and kissed her at the door; Briar Rose waved to him as she pulled out of the driveway.

-oo00oo—

Their birthday was coming up.

The fact that he and Briar Rose shared a birthday amused Frank. They weren't born the same year of course, but having birthdays on the same day seemed fortuitous. He'd already arranged to have flowers delivered to the hospital—that was easy to do, and they'd celebrate early with the family at Sunday dinner even though the actual day would be Tuesday.

Tuesday they'd go into the city for dinner and spend the night somewhere nice in Manhattan, enjoying each other . . . wholeheartedly, he knew. And that would definitely be the best gift of all, Frank thought with a sense of anticipation. Briar Rose had a degree of sensual adventure that had become addictive; a capacity to surprise and delight that Frank found nothing short of amazing, all the more because he'd never anticipated it.

Who would have guessed that life would give him this unexpected joy? he mused, patiently waiting for Sid to finish speaking.

Putting his attention back on work took some effort but it was worth it; the calendar for the next six weeks was set, the meeting with the Mayor was blessedly short, and best of all nothing major loomed on the horizon to threaten matters. Counting himself lucky, Frank vowed to keep his head down for the rest of the day and take things as they came. By that evening he had just crossed the Hugh L. Carey tunnel when the text flickered on his phone.

/I'm on colic duty; going to be a little late./

Frank tapped back, /want help?/

/YES!/ followed by a smiling emoji. Generally those annoyed him but he'd softened a bit over time, accepting that Nikki and Briar Rose tended to sprinkle them into texts like emotional seasoning.

/OMW/ he managed, feeling only slightly guilty for the infraction. Texting while driving still carried a fine and Frank was aware that if he was ever charged not only would it probably make the news on all the local stations, but he'd never live it down at home either.

Luck of the Irish, he thought, and snickered to himself as he tucked his phone away. Frank caught the Sunset exit off the Gowanus Expressway, made his way to into NYU Langon and up to the fourth floor, striding along the hallways with the ease of familiarity. He stopped at the alcove halfway down from the elevator and glanced up at the camera, waiting.

"ID please?" the voice from the speaker demanded politely.

Frank fished out his driver's license and held it high; a few minutes later the voice spoke up again. "Thank you, commissioner. Come on in."

The bolt behind the metal portal clicked open and Frank pushed the door open, stepping into the atrium of the maternity ward. The nurse at the desk in the rotunda gave him a friendly wave towards the nursery. "She told us to expect you."

"Thank you, Suzanne," He nodded as he walked by. The Maternity door slid open and Frank immediately moved to the sink, well-aware of the protocol.

Briar Rose was already in one of the rocking chairs, holding a squawky infant. She smiled at him through her lullaby. Out of the eight bassinettes in the nursery, only three held babies at the moment. One was asleep, the other two were fitful. Frank finished washing his hands and dried them before reaching for one of the smocks. He draped it over his chest, and then went to the nearest newborn, deftly picking up the child and bringing her close to his chest.

"All right, let's talk," he rumbled at the baby, pressing her gently to his shoulder. "What's bothering you? Stomach? Feeling cranky? Let's get to the bottom of this."

The baby stiffened for a moment and then began to snuffle; Frank gently rubbed her back as he stood there, letting her get used to him. He closed his eyes, savoring the weight and warmth of the infant, the sweet newborn scent of her.

Such a small thing and yet dear. When Briar Rose had first told him about the need for baby cuddlers he hadn't believed her. Frank assumed there would be dozens of people eager for the job, and during the day there were. But after hours, in the later part of the night it was more difficult to get volunteers, she explained. The nurses did what they could but didn't always have the time . . .

So he'd come in and helped. His own late hours made it an easy side trip, and the benefits . . . oh the benefits. Frank didn't mind at all. He walked and murmured to them, patiently let them spit up and sneeze and rest against him, little hands curled into fists, little lips blowing wet bubbles as they finally fell asleep. The warmth against his chest eased whatever troubles were there for both of them, and the joy of giving back in such a simple way always helped.

Frank hummed, feeling content.