Save a dance for me

wooden figure models

The story so far… Old Wives’ Tale

I found my old friend standing beside his department truck, finishing up a phone call.

“Yeah, out at the old Arness place,” he said. “That’s right, Roxie bought the property and is refurbishing the house. I need you out here right away, and bring your crime scene stuff.”

I waited for him to end the call.

“Casper told you,” Marshall shook his head in embarrassment.

“He told me.” I stepped closer. “Why didn’t you tell me.”

“Back then, we were so naive,” he began. “I didn’t think I had a chance of asking you out. You were beautiful, and smart, and from the right side of town, and your dad was a badass.”

“He still is,” I laughed. “I had such a crush on you. It wouldn’t have taken much to get me to say, ‘yes’.”

“Then, I wish you had said something.” Marshall stepped closer still. “Why didn’t you?”

“Jax.”

“What did your brother have to do with it?”

“He hated you, and hated that I hung out with you and Casper.” I took a deep breath.

“He told me that no sister of his would date some trailer trash from across the tracks. He pinned me down one day – mom wasn’t home. Stuck his knee right here.” I touched a spot on my chest. “I could hardly breath. Told me I’d be sorry if you and I were ever more than just friends. I was scared.”

“I never knew you to be scared of Jax.”

“I wasn’t scared for me. I beat his ass on a regular basis when we were kids. No, I was scared of his gang of thugs. They wouldn’t have hurt me, but they would have hurt you and Casper. I couldn’t let that happen. I’d rather just be your friend, than lose you completely.”

“So, what do we do now?” He asked, as we both took another step together, leaning in, heads tilted and eyes closed.

We took a quick step back when we saw a pair of headlights racing up the drive.

“That will be Doc Simon,” Marshall said, looking slightly guilty of being caught misbehaving.

“Am I still a suspect?” I said, toeing at the dirt driveway, down playing our near kiss.

“No, you never were.” Marshall tried to get back into his official persona.

“Good, then maybe we can meet up later at Scully’s,” I said, quickly adding, “I have a few theories to run by you. I may be able to help you with this case.”

“I’ll call you when we’re finished here.” He said, making sure there was a respectable space between us, before the medical examiner arrived.

“You don’t have my cell number.” I patted my pockets, hoping a pen would materialize.

“I’m the sheriff, I have my ways.” There was that smile that could make my legs weak.

I watched him and Doc Simon enter the house. My stomach was filled with butterflies, just like when I used to sneak out to high school dances.

Author: Tara R.

I believe all good fiction includes an element of truth, and all good photography includes an element of fantasy. In this journal I hope to give voice to the stories swirling around in my head, and to capture the images I see through my camera’s lens.

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