For the Children

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or disappointed when she didn’t argue with him. When she gave up any attempt at conversation at all.

  CAREFUL NOT TO WAKE the boys, Valerie wandered around the house late that night, picking up knick-knacks, running her fingers over them, sometimes smiling, sometimes not. Remembering. The picture of the twins on their fourth birthday, both of them with faces full of birthday cake and innocent green eyes, was on a side table in her home office. Lifting it, she studied those sweet faces and felt a surge of painful memories.

  She’d hired a clown for their party that year. They’d insisted on waiting for their father to get home before the show started. And ended up with a ten-minute show because the clown had obligations elsewhere and finally had to start.

  A ten-minute show without their father. Thomas hadn’t come home that night.

  Valerie was fairly certain that was the first time he’d been unfaithful to her. She’d told him no the night before when he’d reached for her under the covers shortly after yelling at her for spending two hundred dollars on the clown for the boys’ party the next day.

  He’d left her alone—but only after squeezing her breast so hard it’d borne bruises in the shape of his fingertips.

  Moving slowly, a ghostlike creature in her own house, she found herself in the kitchen, wishing she hadn’t cleaned up the mess from dinner before going out to meet Kirk for coffee. Wishing the boys had disobeyed and gotten out of bed for a snack, leaving crumbs and spilled milk behind on the counter.

  Wishing she had something that needed to be done, some menial task that would give her purpose. Something mundane enough, normal enough, to pull her out of the blackness. Something to redirect the thoughts and feelings consuming her.

  She ended up in the front hall, sitting on the cold tile, guarding a front door that didn’t need to be guarded. Or was she there because it was as close to escape as she could manage? She’d come in to put a note in her purse to remind her to call Brian’s doctor in the morning. He was due for his next checkup.

  She’d dropped the note on the floor.

  And started to cry.

  “Do you even know how arrogant you are?” Kirk had railed at her. He’d been angry; she understood that. And he’d hit a mark he’d had no idea was there. A private place—a wound—Valerie had been nursing for ten years. Ever since Thomas had first ripped it open. And then again every single time he’d bruised it after that. No matter what the issue between them might be, it had always come down to the same thing. That she was too arrogant—too judgmental. And after she’d been appointed to the bench, that she passed judgment on people outside her courtroom.

  “You’re always analyzing people, Val.” She could hear her dead husband’s voice as clearly as if he’d been standing there in front of her, just as he’d stood so many times before—feet spread, hands on the hips of his tailored slacks, the sides of his suit coat pressed back. You think you’re better than everyone else. Always passing judgment…”

  He’d most often been referring to himself. Once, after having come home with another woman’s makeup smeared on his shirt. After he’d missed trash day, having forgotten to get the cans out of the locked gate that housed them. Always after he’d missed something with the boys—including their birth. He’d been on the golf course that afternoon.

  She’d tried so hard not to judge. To be fair.

  “Fair from your point of view.” Thomas had spit the words at her more times than she could count. Usually followed by accusations of her small-mindedness. Her inability to see others’ points of view.

  “I’m sure Kirk would agree with that,” Valerie told the note she still held, watching as tears dripped slowly off her chin to smear the paper. Twice now they’d had serious disagreements about the lives of the children in their collective care. And twice she’d refused to budge from her position.

  But how could she budge when she knew she was right? Should she be untrue to herself, to the intuition that had been guiding her throughout her life, simply to please a man she happened to like?

  If she’d done a little more of that for her husband, would he still be alive? More important, would Alicia?

  “It was my point of view the governor appointed to the bench,” she told the soggy note, not really even seeing it through the blur of tears. Crumpling the paper in her fist, she leaned her head against the wall, wondering how life had come to this.

  “If my judgment is good enough for the people of Arizona, one would think it should be good enough for my private life, as well,” she whispered.

  The words only brought more tears.

  She’d had such great goals, studied hard, worked hard, giving a hundred and fifty percent, always doing what she said she would. She had a great job. Great kids. A great house.

  And, suddenly, no faith in herself.

  WITH THE PINK BABY ROSES covering the entire front of the headstone, Kirk could almost pretend he was in a little girl’s room. Almost.

  “So what do you think, my wise child, does a man ever really change?” He’d spent the first ten minutes of his Saturday-afternoon date with his daughter telling her about Abraham, and his resultant anger.

  Sitting on the ground, leaning up against the side of the stone, he tried to help her understand.

  “I don’t know if you remember or not, but when you were little, Daddy always expected things to go his way. And he’d get mad if they didn’t. Which usually made people do what he wanted.”

  Yeah, that summed it up pretty well.

  Running a hand through his hair, he remembered he had to make an appointment to get it cut. He hated when it grew over his ears. Not that he had an image to care about anymore.

  “So what do you think, baby girl?” he asked, his voice quiet and low in the deserted cemetery. “Am I always going to do whatever it takes to make things go my way?”

  He uprooted what might be the beginnings of a weed in the beautifully manicured grass between his upraised knees.

  The December air was cool but not cold, blowing lightly against his forearms where he’d rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. Bright sunshine beat down on the glorious array of color surrounding him, the vast collection of live and cut blooms that graced the cemetery. Head back against Alicia’s resting place, he stared up at the pure blue sky, wondering if she could see him.

  Wishing he could see her.

  “I made Valerie mad,” he told her softly. “Three days ago.” Though no replies ever came, he always waited. “I haven’t heard from her since.” He answered the question he supposed she might ask. “I waved to her at school, but I don’t think she looked over at me.”

  A newer-model black sedan pulled in on the opposite lane, stopping about halfway down. A young woman emerged with roses, laid them on a grave. And stood there frozen.

  Who was she mourning? Her husband? A parent? Alicia would know.

  Not a child, Kirk prayed.

  “The boys have been to practice, though, and they’re as friendly as always. They’re great guys, Licia,” he told her. Only three years older than Alicia would be had she lived. “Funny and sweet, tough and innocent. And ill. Each in his own way.”

  His daughter wasn’t old enough yet to wonder if they were cute, so Kirk didn’t bother telling her they were. Nor had he told her about Abraham’s striking good looks.

  “We’ve got our last play-off game on Tuesday,” he said instead. “If we win, we go to the finals.”

  He’d already explained the sport to her, the day he’d gotten the job as coach. He figured she’d been bored to tears but had listened politely.

  And then he just sat there, as he always did at some point during his sojourns in that strange place where life met death, smelling the roses he had delivered for her every Friday. Facing the fact that he could talk all he wanted and Alicia would never answer. She’d still be lost to him. Gone away without hearing how much he loved her.

  And, as always, his thoughts were
drawn back to that last week of her life, keeping vigil outside her room, all alone and too late.

  “I gotta go see him, sweetie.” The words were no less ragged for their softness. “Valerie told me to stay away, but I can’t do it. Abraham’s hurting. And I can’t be too late for a child again. I promised.”

  He’d promised her. He’d promised his little girl the night before she died that he’d spend the rest of his life taking care of children.

  “I have to know who hit him. And why.”

  He wondered if Alicia knew.

  He wanted to tell her about her brother. But couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. And if Susan had told her—well, the news would still be new when Kirk got around to it. He planned to ask Alicia’s advice every step of the way when he finally got to be a father to his son.

  His butt was starting to hurt from the hard ground, so Kirk slowly stood. He never knew what to say at this point. Goodbye was too final. See ya, a lie.

  “I’m going to visit Abraham.”

  He backed away, unable to turn until he’d passed the two stones directly behind hers. Focusing on the baby-pink roses.

  Christmas was coming. Maybe he’d buy a poinsettia next week. Or better yet, bring a miniature tree, decorated with colorful baubles.

  He turned, walking swiftly through the grass, not slowing until he reached his car.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  HE COULD HEIST a car. He just wasn’t sure it was his best bet. Driving it didn’t worry him. But what about when people looked in and saw a kid behind the wheel?

  Walking was out. Not because he didn’t know where he was, which he didn’t, but because it had taken them over an hour to get there by highway.

  Still, if it was his only option, it wasn’t like he had to make it home.

  Just away.

  Abraham stepped off the porch. And liked how that felt. Another step would probably be even better.

  He tried it out. Looked behind him to make sure his jailers were still inside having their Saturday-night dinner. He’d said he wasn’t hungry. Which wasn’t entirely true. He just didn’t want to eat more of their food than he had to. It wasn’t his. And he didn’t need their charity.

  He also hated sitting at their family table, listening to the chatter of the little girl who’d been born to the Mortons. Mrs. Morton was a bored housewife who’d been some kind of counselor at some point.

  They’d told him she’d be good for him.

  She wasn’t helping a bit.

  A few more steps and he was out of their yard. No bells going off, no hidden alarms. And then, steps weren’t enough. With only the jeans and shirt he was wearing and the tennis shoes on his feet, Abraham broke into a run that would put Blake Smith to shame. Gaining his freedom. Taking care of himself, just as he’d been doing since the day he was born.

  And one way or another, he was going to make it home and get back to taking care of his mother, too.

  Now that the bruises were almost healed.

  On the outside, anyway.

  SATURDAY NIGHT Blake lay on the couch staring at the large-screen television across from him. And sometimes, when the excitement didn’t make his stomach feel worse, he looked over at the shining Christmas tree they’d put up that morning and tried to figure out what might be in the giftwrapped packages that would soon be showing up underneath. Brian was on the other sofa, laughing at a rerun of The Simpsons. They were supposed to be at Fiddlesticks, playing miniature golf and video games.

  But Blake’s stomach had hurt too much for him to go.

  And Brian hadn’t eaten all his dinner, so Mom had said he couldn’t go, either. Not that Bry would’ve gone without him.

  Still, Saturday night lying on the couch sucked.

  He glanced over at his mom, who sat in a chair with her leg flung across the arm. She was pretending to watch the show with them, but he could tell she wasn’t seeing it. Her expression never changed, even during the commercials.

  He rolled over, trying to find a more comfortable position, something that would relieve the burning pain between his ribs. Mom didn’t know he was hurting. She thought they’d stayed home because of Brian.

  He couldn’t tell her. She’d just worry.

  And then Brian wouldn’t eat.

  Taking care of the two of them was tough.

  But he’d manage.

  Once his stomach quit hurting.

  Yeah, Saturday night on the couch sucked. Big-time.

  KIRK LEFT SCHOOL during his morning break. He had a couple of hours if he wanted them. And Monday morning, two days after his visit to Alicia, he wanted them.

  He’d taken his break a couple of other times recently, to go home and make a few business calls for people, but today what he had to do was important. Something that mattered.

  The court building looked exactly as he remembered. Every brick exactly the same. Even the crack in the sidewalk as he approached the front door was something he remembered.

  He’d called ahead so they knew he was coming. After he made it through the metal detector, the receptionist called Valerie’s J.A. to come get him.

  Leah she said her name was.

  Kirk told her it was nice to meet her, though he wasn’t really thinking about her at all. He was too busy trying not to remember.

  He concentrated on the Christmas decorations, the tree in the lobby, the pictures on the walls.

  He’d been in the building many times. But never in the judges’ chambers.

  Silently following the girl with braids sticking out in all directions, Kirk couldn’t quite stop himself from taking a couple of extra-big steps. Just because he could. No shackles on his feet this time around.

  And then he caught a glimpse of Valerie. He’d expected her to be in her office waiting for him. Not coming out that door he’d only seen from the other side. The private back door of Courtroom One that led to the bench. Or, in this case, away from it.

  “Hi.” She smiled at him, looked down and then back up.

  She wasn’t sure if they were friends anymore or not.

  He wasn’t sure, either.

  “Hi.”

  He fell into silent step beside her. Waiting for privacy before he said what he’d come to say. And probably stalling.

  Kirk didn’t eat crow often, or well.

  “How was your weekend?”

  She looked intimidating in that robe.

  Not that Kirk was intimidated. At all. He’d outgrown that a long time ago. Still, she no longer seemed like the woman he’d snapped at in his Corvette several nights before.

  And not at all like the woman he’d kissed….

  “Good. We put up our tree.”

  Christmas, a time he celebrated—when it was over.

  He should have put on something besides jeans. And tennis shoes.

  She led the way to her inner office, thanking Leah and closing the door behind them. Efficiently removing and hanging her robe in the closet, she took the high-backed leather chair behind her desk, motioning him to one of the chairs in front.

  “What’s up?”

  Kirk declined the chair. This was a standing moment. A hands-in-the-pockets-of-his-jeans moment.

  He’d never felt less like a valuable human being than he did right then. Especially compared to her. Here she was changing lives, saving kids.

  And he’d spent the first fifteen years of his adult life ruining other people. And deserting his kid.

  “I came to apologize.”

  He wasn’t planning to tell her about Saturday evening, the hour it had taken him to talk Abraham into going back to foster care after he’d found him hitchhiking on the freeway exit. If he hadn’t gone to see the boy…

  Alicia had probably had something to do with that.

  Valerie wasn’t saying anything, just looking at the pen she was flipping between her thumb and forefinger, a frown on what he could see of her downcast face.

  “I had no business calling you God.”

  “You
didn’t, exactly.”

  His friend was back. At least tentatively.

  Kirk sat down, reaching across to lift her chin so he could see her eyes. “I know you agonize over every decision you make here,” he told her with complete honesty. He’d known that the other night. “So does probably every other judge in this building.” As an adult, he understood that juvenile court was a breed different from the rest. Here they tried to re-shape lives instead of just punish. Here they believed there was still time.

  “You save lives, Valerie,” he said, his words no less intense for their softness. “Every day, while most people are out eating fast food on the way from one appointment to the next, driven by the mighty dollar, you’re on a path that makes a real difference.”

  He was evidence of that.

  “Thank you,” she said, studying him as though she wasn’t sure what was going on. “I think. Sounds like you just laid a whole lot of pressure on my shoulders.”

  “You’re going to tell me that’s not what you do?”

  “I…”

  “Tell me you don’t stay in contact with every single one of your kids, one way or another, follow up on them, make sure they’re doing okay or haul them back in here to find out why not.”

  “It’s my job to watch out for them.” Her dark blue eyes were luminescent, touching a chord in him he didn’t understand. “They’re under my care.”

  “Exactly.” He stood, needing to move, to get out—almost as much as he wanted to spend a few more minutes with her. “Instead of writing them off as troubled kids, you see value in them and give them every chance at a successful life.”

  Valerie stood, too, frowning. “You’ve certainly had an epiphany in the past few days.”

  He’d said too much. Or maybe not enough.

  “Can you take a walk?”

  Her morning calendar had been short. She said she’d have some time to see him.

  “Sure.”

  Her calf-length black skirt swirled as she came around the desk, walking as easily in those high heels as she did in tennis shoes.

  There weren’t many places to walk near the juvenile court facility. An RV dealership. Other industrial property. And a wide sidewalk.