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Charlie and Sarah weren’t surprised to discover that a few things had been broken during Rex’s struggle with Arnold. They hadn’t finished unpacking, so most of the breakable items had still been in boxes, but the shelf unit he toppled didn’t sit quite right when they tried to set it up again. Sarah had insisted they could wait to replace it until they were more settled in their new house, but Charlie had wanted a new shelf sooner. He snuck out to buy one the weekend after Arnold’s arrest.
Another case had gotten in the way the following week, and their long hours had meant they barely had the energy to make dinner for themselves and Rex before crashing into bed. Luckily, they had wrapped the case early on Friday morning, and Joe had sent them home to start their weekend early.
When they got home, Sarah started to heat up the previous night’s leftovers for their lunch, while Charlie opened the bookshelf’s box and unpacked it. He was still standing over its contents when she finished eating, the instruction manual in his hand, his plate growing cold on the counter.
“It will still be there after lunch,” she said. He sighed.
“I just can’t figure out why there are so many pieces,” he said. He dropped the papers onto the pieces Sarah guessed were shelves. “It’s a bookshelf, not a motorcycle.”
“Want me to take a look?” she offered. Charlie rummaged through drawers until he found a fork, still getting used to the space’s organization.
“You don’t have to,” he insisted. “I’ll figure it out this afternoon.”
“How are the shelves coming?” Sarah asked. As she walked into the kitchen, she smirked at the half-finished shelves.
“The people who write instruction manuals should be forced to watch someone try them out before the product is sold,” Charlie grumbled. He waved the spatula in his hand toward the mess in the living room for emphasis. Rex whined, as though his partner’s irritation had rubbed off on him. “How did your unpacking go?”
“I got through the last of the wardrobe boxes,” Sarah replied. “And the dresser is almost done, although I feel like you own more socks than what I’ve found so far.”
“I tossed out a few pairs that Rex had gotten to,” Charlie offered. He turned back to the skillet in front of him. “And there’s a few pairs in the laundry from this week.”
“There are only two pairs in the dresser right now,” Sarah argued. Charlie paused, as though he was doing the math in his head.
“I’ll check after dinner,” he agreed. “Just as soon as I finish this bookshelf.”
“Come to bed,” Sarah said softly. Charlie sat on the floor of the living room, the day’s exhaustion written in the lines of his face as he looked up at her. She walked carefully through the pieces of the bookshelf scattered on the floor around him.
“I wanted to get rid of the last traces of Arnold,” he said as she knelt beside him. He leaned against her. “There was a killer in our house. I know we arrested him, and he’s probably going to spend the rest of his life behind bars, but he was still here.”
“I know,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “He tried to hurt Rex, and he probably would have if we hadn’t come home when we did. It scared me too. But he’s locked up, and he will be for a very long time. Building this bookshelf won’t change that.”
“I guess I just wanted to get it done tonight so we won’t have to worry about it anymore,” he admitted. They sat in silence. Charlie fiddled with a bolt, letting it roll through his fingers. Sarah kissed his forehead.
“Come to bed,” she said again, her voice dropping. She stood, unsurprised when he followed her back to the bedroom.
“Alright, Rex, where did you put it,” Sarah asked quietly. Charlie was still asleep in their bed, but Rex had followed her out of the room when the sun rose. She had let him out before working on the bookshelf that Charlie had abandoned the previous evening. In the quiet of the morning, she built quickly, securing one shelf and then the next.
She had only stopped when she ran out of bolts. Despite Charlie’s joke about the number of pieces required to build the unit, she knew he wouldn’t have started until he knew he had them all. The inventory listed enough bolts to complete the project, so Sarah was certain that it had simply gone missing.
She dug through the box, where Charlie had been storing the trash as he unwrapped pieces. She laid down on the floor and stretched her arm under the couch, feeling around blindly for the last piece she needed. She rummaged through the pile of Rex’s toys, ignoring the squeaks they made when she squeezed too tightly. When the bolt was still nowhere to be found, she sat in front of Rex’s new bed, which they had placed beside the couch.
Rex stared up at her dolefully.
“I know you have it,” she said. “And you know I need it. Now where is the last one of these?” She held up one of the bolts. Rex sniffed it and barked.
“Getting some help with the shelves?” Charlie asked from the doorway, a slight smirk on his lips. She smiled up at him.
“I think Rex has the last bolt,” she explained, “but he’s not giving it up.”
“Rex,” Charlie said, his voice falling into the tone he used when he was giving his partner orders. Rex sat up straighter in response. “Find it.”
Rex stood and walked in a circle around Sarah. When he returned to his bed, he nudged aside the alligator he kept there, uncovering the bolt that Sarah had been searching for. He barked, alerting happily, oblivious to his owners’ irritation.
“Thanks, Rex,” Sarah said, scratching behind his ears.
Charlie met her in the middle of the room, where he picked up the last shelf and carefully lined it up. Sarah stood on her tip toes to tighten the last set of bolts, securing the shelf in place. They carried it to the corner together; it fit perfectly into the space beside the window.
“Perfect,” Sarah said. She wrapped her arms around Charlie’s waist, resting her head against his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head.
“You are.”