Chapter 2

* * * *

Mark: 1995

Being the best man meant he was supposed to come up with a toast…in about ten minutes. Time for a cigarette to calm his nerves and hope he didn’t fuck this up. Mark glanced back at Scott, who was standing near the entrance to the ballroom that had been rented for the reception. Tall, lean, narrow face with a beaky nose, Scott was everything Mark ever wanted in a best friend. They’d gotten really close during the academy, each surviving their rookie year in the precinct under different training officers. Mark had suffered a moment of jealousy when Scott and Lynn had started dating, but it was as it should be. Friends got married and relationships changed.

Mark lit up his cigarette and took a long drag. He hoped Scott and Lynn had a long happy marriage. He also hoped the closer than brothers friendship between him and Scott remained. As he blew out a plume of smoke, he saw Scott coming toward him.

“Gonna tell me and Lynn to go forth and be a fruit tree?” Scott teased.

Mark grinned and chuckled. A mutual friend had made a toast at a wedding where he tried to be impressive and give the toast in Latin. The man had screwed up the wording and instead of telling the happy couple to be “fruitful”, he came out with “be a fruit tree.” The groom, a professional translator, just stood there with a raised eyebrow. “I think I’ll stick to English.”

“Good. You know, I can’t believe I’m married. The whole past couple months have been all about the ceremony and the dress and the catering and crap that made me want to say ‘fuck it, let’s elope.’ Lynn would have blown a gasket though.”

“Glad it’s almost done?”

“Yes, hell yes. I guess I should go back in.”

“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes,” Mark made a gesture with the remnants of his cigarette.

Scott smiled, nodded, and went back into the building.

A thread of unhappiness curled in Mark’s stomach. He suspected hanging out with Scott in off hours was never going to be the same.

* * * *

Scott: 1996

“She’s so damn tiny,” Mark said.

Scott stood in the hospital room, cradling his newborn daughter in his arms. She was wrapped in a striped hospital blanket with a pink stretchy cap on her head. “Yeah, she is. The whole nine months, I thought I was prepared and now I feel like I haven’t got a clue.”

“I think every new father says that.” Mark put a hand on Scott’s shoulder.

“I want you to be her godfather.” Scott looked at his friend with infinite trust.

“Me? Some single guy without a clue?”

“Mark…there is no one else on earth I would trust the same way if something happened to me and Lynn.”

“Okay. Okay. Put my name in the blank and hope I’m never needed.”

“You’re always needed. You’re my best friend. Who else is gonna give me a ride home from the morgue at three in the morning?” Scott teased.

“I still can’t believe the brass made you guard the already dead body of some gang banger.”

“The hypothesis was that the rival gang wanted to parade him around and prove how bad ass they were.”

“What were the high muckety mucks expecting, that his killers were going to tie him to the hood of a car like a dead deer and drive around town?”

“I suggested they behead him and put it on a pike outside the morgue, all twelfth century like.” The baby in Scott’s arms made a faint protest. “I wonder if she’s hungry. Maybe I better give her back to Lynn to feed.”

“Do you think we’ll still be making bad jokes about corpses when she’s ready for college?”

“Yeah, probably.” Scott gave Mark a grin. There was no other guy he wanted to be trading horrible jokes with eighteen years from now.

* * * *

Mark: 1998

Hot summer days were made for car washing and beer drinking and hanging out. Scott soaped his Toyota in the driveway in front of the house, cut off denim shorts hanging low on his hips. Mark was scrubbing the hubcaps with a big nylon brush, down on one knee, sun beating down on his bare back. Neither he nor Scott saw much point in wearing more than shorts. Sudsy water dribbled down off the fender and soaked Mark’s arm.

“Thanks but I don’t need a bath, too,” Mark said, amused.

Scott peered down at him, big wet sponge in his hand, and extended his arm, dropping the sponge on Mark’s shoulder. “Maybe you do.” The sponge bounced off and fell to the ground.