Mulberry Park

by Judy Duarte

  Chapter 15

  It was late in the morning when Mrs. Harper and Analisa arrived at the park—or maybe it just seemed that way since Trevor had been here for so long.

  He stooped to pick up his skateboard, then met them as the car doors opened. “Hey.”

  Mrs. Harper smiled as though she was happy to see him, which was cool. “Good morning, Trevor.”

  He watched as she slid out of the car, and when she was locking the door, he figured he’d better let her know that he was good at taking messages. “I told Katie you called last night, but she got home late. So I asked if it was okay if I went to play with Analisa, and she said it was.”

  Analisa clapped her hands. “Oh, good! Now I can show you my room and my dollhouse and everything.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Mrs. Harper crossed her arms.

  “Why not?” Analisa asked.

  “Because I can’t take a child anywhere without talking to an adult and making sure I have permission first.”

  “Well, you can’t talk to Katie this morning,” Trevor said. “Her stomach is all messed up, and she was throwing up when I left. She called in sick to work so she can sleep all day.”

  Mrs. Harper scrunched her eyebrows, looking a lot like Mrs. Banister had last year when she announced a surprise math quiz and realized she’d left the test at home.

  “But Trevor already asked,” Analisa said. “And Katie told him it was okay. Besides, the other day you gave him a ride home without talking to her first.”

  Mrs. Harper made a click sound with her tongue, just like Mrs. Banister did when Cody Melville let out a happy “whoo-hoo” about them not having to take the test.

  “Katie doesn’t care,” Trevor said.

  Mrs. Harper’s face got all soft, like she was going to give in. “You might be right about that.”

  “I am.”

  Okay, so Katie hadn’t exactly said he could go to Analisa’s, but she would have—if she hadn’t been too sick to talk to Mrs. Harper on the telephone.

  Maybe it’s best if you don’t stay around the house too much, Katie had said. She’d known he would go to the park like he always did. So what was wrong with going to Analisa’s? Trevor never got to go anywhere anymore. Not even to school, since it was summer.

  “Well, all right.” Mrs. Harper lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and glanced at the playground. “But since we’re already here, we may as well stay for a while.”

  “Do we have to?” Trevor didn’t want to stick around any longer. “I’ve been here since about seven o’clock.”

  Mrs. Harper kind of stiffened, like she was surprised Trevor got up that early. He didn’t usually, but he let her think he did.

  “Well,” she said. “I suppose we don’t have to stay.”

  When Analisa got all happy about leaving, Mrs. Harper told them to climb into the car and buckle their seat belts. Once they did, Trevor took off his helmet and pads.

  About five or ten minutes later, they arrived at a white two-story house on a street lined with trees, although they weren’t very big ones.

  Mrs. Harper parked the car along the curb, then led them to the front door and used a key to let them in.

  “Come on,” Analisa told Trevor. “I’ll show you my room. It used to have green walls and a sofa, but when Uncle Sam brought me home to live with him, he had a man come over and paint it special—just for me. Now, it’s my favorite color.”

  Trevor carried his skateboard into the house and left it, along with his gear, in the tiled entry. Then he followed Analisa through the living room. All their furniture, like the beige leather sofa and glass-topped tables, looked brand-new. So did the books and bowls and things on the shelves of a bookcase that lined one whole wall.

  “We used to have a big house like this,” Trevor said, as Analisa led him down a hall. “But not anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  He didn’t tell her.

  She led him to a bedroom that was pink, with white wooden shutters and trim. He couldn’t help but look around. She had a lot of toys and dolls—all girl stuff.

  “It’s cool your uncle fixed a room up for you.” Katie had done that when they’d moved to the apartment—tried to make his new room special, even though it wasn’t very big and didn’t have the race-car wallpaper that matched his bedspread. His old bedroom had a window with a little ledge he could kneel on and look out into the backyard where his swing set and batting cage used to be. Now all he saw when he looked out his window was the backside of the Laundromat and a green Dumpster.

  “Uncle Sam isn’t used to having kids around,” Analisa said, “especially girls, so he tries hard to be good to me, even though he’s not home very much.”

  “At least he’s home. Sometimes people have to work a lot just so you can have a house to live in and food to eat.”

  “Do you miss your dad?”

  That wasn’t what Trevor meant, but yeah. “I miss him a lot.”

  “It’s too bad you can’t live with him. When my mommy and daddy went to Guatemala, I got to go with them.” She plopped down on a pink vinyl beanbag chair that sat next to a white bookshelf. “Do you know where Guatemala is?”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s far away. And we had to take a plane to get there.”

  Trevor’s dad was about four hours away and you could go by car, but he might as well have lived in another country.

  “Is your daddy a missionary, too?” Analisa asked.

  Trevor didn’t know what a missionary was, but he didn’t think his dad was one. “He used to own a company that made computer software.”

  “But not anymore?”

  Trevor shook his head. “Nope.”

  “What does he do now?”

  “He doesn’t do anything.”

  “Then how come he lives far away?”

  “You sure ask a lot of questions.” Trevor walked toward the bed. It had a white headboard and foot-board, and it was covered with a fluffy comforter with pink flowers. He trailed his finger along the curve of the wood, then looked at Analisa.

  Her lips formed a frown—or maybe it was a pout. “I just wanted to know. That’s all.”

  He leaned his hip against the mattress. “Yeah, well, no one knows, okay? It’s a secret.”

  “No one knows where your dad is?”

  “Just some people. Not everyone. And Katie thinks it’s better if we don’t tell.”

  “I’m good at keeping secrets. Once Soledad told me that she…” Analisa paused and bit her bottom lip. “Well, she told me a secret, and I never ever told anyone. I won’t even tell you if you poke me with red-hot needles.”

  Trevor knew better than to say anything to anyone about his dad or where he was, especially to a little kid, but sometimes it was hard keeping it inside. “If I tell you, you’ll have to promise not to say a word to anyone. And if you do, I’ll never climb any trees for you again.”

  Analisa sat up straight and traced a cross over her chest with her finger. “I promise.”

  Trevor glanced at the door, then strode toward it. When he’d closed it, he turned and faced her. “My dad’s in prison.”

  “You mean jail?”

  Trevor nodded. “Yeah.”

  “How come? Did he do something bad?”

  “He got in an accident and killed somebody.”

  “My dad was in an accident, too. In Guatemala. The Jeep he was driving got wrecked and he died. But the other man didn’t go to jail. Just to a hospital.”

  “Yeah, well, my dad hit a kid riding a bicycle. And even though he told them it was an accident, they didn’t believe him.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “They thought he did it on purpose?”

  “I guess so.”

  Analisa bent forward and rested her hands on her knees. “When does he get to come home?”

  “I don’t know. There’s some people he has to meet pretty soon, and if they believe he’s sorry, they might let him out sooner.”


  “Is he? Sorry about what happened?”

  “Yeah. Super sorry.”

  For once, Analisa didn’t have anything to say. After a while, she asked, “When did it happen?”

  “A long time ago. When I was in the first grade.”

  “And you’ve been telling people he lives in another country all that time?”

  “Katie thinks it’s better that way. She’s big on privacy.”

  “Even if she has to tell a lie?”

  “Yeah. That’s because she’s afraid of snoopy neighbors who say mean things and reporters and guys with cameras. She doesn’t want to have to answer questions and stuff.”

  “Did they bother you before? When it happened?”

  “No. My dad made my babysitter keep me inside a lot, and his attorney said reporters would be in big trouble if they bothered me about it since I’m a kid.”

  “Uncle Sam is an attorney. Maybe he can help.”

  “We already got one of those. And my dad still had to go to prison.” Sadness rolled through him again. His eyes began to water, and he swiped at them with the back of his hand. “Katie said there’s nothing anyone can do.”

  “That’s when you should ask God to do something, Trevor. His biggest job is making miracles, like walking on water and healing people. All you got to do is believe and ask Him.”

  That’s all? She made it sound easy, when it wasn’t.

  How was Trevor supposed to believe in something he couldn’t see? Or believe that God loved him and everything would be okay, especially when there wasn’t much food in the cupboard and Katie’s paycheck didn’t come for another three days?

  Or when Trevor’s dad had to sell almost everything they had because he had to pay a whole lot of money to a dead kid’s family?

  The kids had a pleasant playtime, and at three o’clock, Claire drove Trevor home. Rather than drop him off at the curb, though, as she’d done before, she parked and got out of the car.

  “I’ll just make sure you get in okay,” she told him.

  “You don’t have to.” He started up the steps that led to his door. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I know, but I’d like to meet Katie.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He tried to turn the knob, but found it locked. “That’s weird.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his key, which was tied to a braided piece of red yarn. Once the door swung open, he called Katie’s name.

  No answer.

  “I guess she’s gone.”

  “Are you sure?” Claire asked.

  He shrugged, then went inside.

  Claire remained in the doorway, holding Analisa’s hand. She didn’t want to appear nosy, but she couldn’t help peering into the sparse living room of a nondescript apartment with pea-green carpet that needed to be replaced. The sofa, however, was either leather or an expensive imitation. And the furniture—a coffee table and lamp stands—appeared to be fairly new.

  “Sorry,” Trevor said, as he made his way back to the door. “She’s not here. I didn’t look for her car, but I guess she went somewhere. Maybe to work.”

  “Well, that’s good news.” Claire forced a smile. “It’s not fun to be sick.”

  As much as she would have liked to push for an invitation to go inside, to be allowed to check out the home in which Trevor lived, and try to evaluate the quality of his care, she refrained.

  “I’m sorry we missed her,” Claire said. “Maybe next time.”

  Trevor nodded, and Claire led Analisa to the car. Once back at Sam’s house, Claire made a pressing phone call that took longer than she expected, then fixed dinner again—barbecued chicken, baked potatoes, and coleslaw.

  She’d no more than popped the chicken and potatoes into the oven when Sam arrived home from work—earlier today than he had yesterday. So when he suggested they go out on the deck for a glass of wine, she agreed.

  They sat at the glass-top table on padded, wrought-iron chairs. They were close enough to touch, if they wanted to.

  The sun had lowered into the west, streaking the horizon with shades of pink and orange. In the waning light, Claire was able to bask in the beauty of the sunset, as well as the parklike landscape: emerald green lawns, colorful gardens, and a custom-built swimming pool, its water blue and pristine.

  Considering the time Sam spent at the office, she assumed he hired someone to keep up with all the work. Yet she wondered if he ever rolled up his sleeves and puttered around himself.

  “Do you work in the yard?” she asked.

  “I probably would—if I were home more. As it is, I have a gardener and a pool maintenance company to handle the upkeep, but at least I can enjoy the fruits of their labors when I come outdoors.”

  “Do you get to do that very often?”

  “I usually have my morning coffee and read the newspaper on the deck. If I get home early enough, I sit out here and unwind. Either way, I bought this place because of the yard, so I try to enjoy it when I can.”

  “I can see why. It’s beautiful. If this were my home, sitting out here could easily become a habit.” So could spending the end of each day with Sam.

  She stole a glance at him, studied his profile. The aquiline nose, the square jaw, the bristled shadow of the beard he’d shave tomorrow. It wasn’t just his home and yard that could become habit-forming. She could easily grow to enjoy his presence, his ready smile.

  As though aware of her assessment, he turned to face her. The color of his eyes—a springtime green—was striking at close range. Yet it was more than that setting her heart on edge. It was the intensity in his gaze, connecting them in some way.

  Unsure if she was ready to deal with the hormones or pheromones or whatever was buzzing between them, she broke eye contact and studied her wineglass instead. She fingered the stem, but didn’t lift it to her lips.

  Why should she? She found it a bit intoxicating just to be near Sam.

  How long had it been since she’d felt the stir of sexual attraction? The heated curiosity it evoked?

  Forever, it seemed. Yet she wasn’t sure she was up for it to begin anew.

  In the early years, she and Ron used to have a cocktail hour before dinner. It was a time to shed the cares of the outside world and to catch up on the happenings in each other’s day. The practice had stopped along the way, although she wasn’t sure when. After she got pregnant with Erik, she supposed.

  “How was your day?” Sam asked, drawing her from her musing.

  “It was all right. I brought Trevor home to play with Analisa today.”

  “Good. Did the visit go well?”

  “It was fine.” She bit her lip, wondering how he’d feel about what she’d done and whether she should even bring it up.

  “Your words say one thing, but your tone and demeanor suggest something else. What happened?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary—at least as far as the kids and their playtime went. Trevor is a little older than Analisa and not as impressed with dollhouses as she’d hoped he would be, but when I suggested a board game, they ended up having fun. Actually, so did I. It’s just that I feel sorry for the kid and think he’s being neglected.”

  “Why?”

  “For one thing, he lives with a guardian who isn’t ever home, so consequently, he’s at the park from dawn until dusk. And since he rarely has a lunch with him, some of the others have been bringing extra to feed him.”

  “My brother and I had a lot of freedom as kids. And a sandwich made by someone else usually tasted better to me than one I threw together. Maybe he’s learned to leave his lunch at home. Are you sure he’s neglected?”

  “There’s a sadness about him, and he’s never supervised, which worries me. There are so many dangers, not to mention predators, waiting to take advantage of a lone child. And I’m not just talking about molesters. Trevor’s had a couple of run-ins with a teenage punk and was afraid to walk home on occasion. Then last night, after he’d been alone most of the day, his guardian left him to fend for himself and went out
drinking with friends. From what I understand, she got in late and had a hangover this morning.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Yes, it is. So I decided that if I didn’t do something about it, no one would.”

  Sam’s expression softened, and his eyes zeroed in on hers. “What did you do?”

  “I made a report to child protective services.”

  “Hey. At least someone’s looking out for him.”

  She shrugged. “It just seems so unfair that some parents have children they don’t appreciate, while others adore their kids and lose them.”

  Sam placed his hand over hers, warming her from the inside out, then slowly removed it. “Sometimes life isn’t fair.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?”

  They both fell silent for a while. Lost in their thoughts. Claire finally took a sip of her wine, hoping to shed her concern for Trevor, but she was having no such luck.

  What would happen to the boy if the court removed him from his guardian’s care? Where would he go?

  For the briefest of moments, she wondered if she would be able to offer him a home. But to be honest, she wasn’t sure. Her heart might not be up to it.

  Sam lifted his glass and studied the straw-colored liquid, then took a drink. “I had lunch with a friend and colleague today—Jake Goldstein.”

  “Oh?”

  “He represents Russell.”

  Claire stiffened.

  “The parole board meets with him on Thursday.”

  She’d known July twenty-fourth was coming up, but since she wasn’t at work with a calendar prominently displayed on her desk and a schedule to keep, she hadn’t realized it was so soon.

  Sam took a sip of wine. “I know we talked about this before, so when Jake asked me to talk to you on Russell’s behalf again, I refused. But I see you have a real heart for kids. And I think you need to know something about Russell’s son.”

  She didn’t want to know anything about the man or his little boy. She wanted Russell to remain distant—locked away, not only in real life, but in some shadowed part of her mind, as well.

  And although she felt compelled to stand and turn her back on Sam, to grab her purse and head for the door, she couldn’t seem to move or speak.