Curby

by Adrian Del Valle

  “Here?”

  “Possibly!”

  Detective Guevara studied Nick’s facial expression before continuing. “In a box…”

  “In a box?”

  “Let me finish, Mr. Santinelli. Trust me, I’ll let you speak after I’m finished. In a boxed in area. We cordoned off all of the streets from 61st to 65th and from 5th Avenue to 9th. So far we turned up nothing…which leads us to this building.”

  Nick looked back from the bedroom door. “So, what are you trying to say?”

  “No! No! No! It’s not what I’m trying to say. It’s what I am saying. I want to know whether or not he’s here, because if he is, and you’re hiding him, you’ll go down for a felony.”

  “A felony?”

  (Silence)

  Guevara glanced at his partner who returned the same glance. Both next turned their probing gazes in Nick’s direction.

  “Well?” Detective Rinaldi prompted.

  Nick motioned toward the bedroom. “He’s in there.”

  A pleased grin glowed on Guevara’s face.

  The detectives followed Nick to the bedroom door. Nick slowly opened it with a lump the size of a grape in his throat--a very hard grape he had a hard time swallowing.

  “Move aside,” said, Guevara. He scanned the room and noticed Sandy, sitting by the bassinet and holding the baby in her lap. “Cute! So where is he?”

  “He? He, who?” Nick asked.

  “The kid!”

  “Right there!”

  “Very funny, except that I’m not laughing. Now where is he?”

  Nick stared at Sandy, who was speechlessly staring back at him.

  “Never mind! Sal…take the other side of the bed. You two, leave the room!”

  Nick, along with Sandy carrying the baby, left quickly and waited in the kitchen.

  The cops drew their pistols and leaned toward the floor. Detective Guevara lifted the bed spread, peeled it back, bent over and checked underneath the bed.

  Seeing no one there, he jerked his head, motioning toward the closet. Rinaldi stood at the side with his pistol level while Guevara held the silver colored door knob.

  Did you see anything outside the window?” Guevara asked him, before opening the closet door.

  “Like what?”

  Guevara glared at his partner as if he lost his mind. “A kid on a fire escape?”

  “They don’t have a fire escape,” Rinaldi retorted.

  Guevara abruptly opened the door. He reached in and spread the rack of clothes apart, kicked underneath it and then felt around inside.

  “There’s nobody in here!”

  The detectives returned to the kitchen.

  Guevara leered at Nick. “I thought you said he was in the bedroom.”

  “Who?” Nick answered, perplexed.

  “You know damn well who. The teenager!”

  “Teenager? There’s no teenager in there.”

  “I thought, when we were in the kitchen, you said he was in there, meaning the bedroom?”

  It all finally made sense. They were looking for someone else, Nick realized. He had to think fast. “No, I said he ain’t here.”

  “Wait a second. I distinctly heard you say, in there.”

  “That might have been what I said, but what I meant was he ain’t here. I’m really sorry officer. It’s not like the cops come calling every night. Look, how about a soda? Can I get you guys anything?”

  “Guevara sullenly looked downward and holstered his gun. Sorry about the mix-up. I thought for sure he was hiding out in your apartment, since we cased the surrounding blocks and the rest of this building. You seeming nervous and all, it made me a little suspicious.”

  “So, who is it that you’re looking for?”

  “A boy, sixteen, about my height, dark blond hair…”

  “But…what did he do?”

  “Some old guy got stabbed in front of his house around seven months ago. We finally got an ID on the two kids that ran away. One of them is in custody. When we got him to the station he ratted out his friend, Van der Hoss. Tommy Van der Hoss. Know him?”

  “No, not really.”

  “How about you, ma’am?”

  Sandy shook her head, no, while continuing to rock the baby.

  “Eyes in the street say he’s been around this area where he used to live. We’ll find him, sooner or later. Well, then, that’s it. If you hear anything, be sure to give me or Detective Rinaldi here a call. Take this card. It’s the number for the precinct.”

  As soon as Nick closed the door behind the detectives, he and Sandy sighed with relief.

  “I thought that was it for sure,” he said.

  “Me, too! That was close. I hope they catch that guy. What a coward.”

  Nick smiled at the baby. “I think he might be getting hungry. He’s making pucker lips again.”

  “You want to do it?”

  “Of course. Can you warm up the bottle?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Birthday candles and space ships

  Three years later

  Dressed in jean overalls and the red flannel shirt that he insisted on wearing for his birthday, Curby sat attentively at the end of the table. He shared that table with three of his best friends and the smiling mothers that were standing behind them. At the center, a birthday cake with three burning candles, plus a large one for good luck, flickered from all the laughter.

  “Curby is going to get to ride on Daddy’s street sweeper today,” Sandy said.

  “Can I go, too?” said a fat cheeked boy. “Mommy, I want to go with Curby.”

  “Oh, no! Now look what I started. Sorry about that.”

  After the party was over, she cleaned up the kitchen and waited for 11:30 when Nick would come home for lunch.

  In anticipation, Curby listened for his footsteps coming up the stairway. He had on his official Sanitation Department hat, the city emblem embroidered boldly on the front of it. On the side, his name stood out in large inked in black letters.

  Nick arrived and settled at the table with a sandwich and a bowl of soup. His son sat next to him, his head propped up by his fists. His pink cheeks pushed into his eyeballs, leaving them narrow and squinting. As soon as Nick scooped up the last of the soup, the boy sat up attentively.

  “Are you ready now, Daddy?” Wide eyed and alert, he eagerly awaited the answer.

  “I sure am, partner. Let’s go!”

  Outside, before the awe struck toddler, the street sweeper stood imposing and magnificently tall, its steel brushes like solar panels on a Martian Land Rover. The windows gleamed brightly, the six inch black lettering and red stripes like those on a space shuttle. Indeed, the machine could take off at any moment, roaring loudly along with black smoke billowing behind from its monstrous sized rocket engines.

  The thrill Curby felt when he was lifted to the high platform of the cab exceeded anything he could have ever imagined. He was so high up, he could see the top of the parked cars and all the way down the street to the next block.

  Sharing the seat, Nick shut the door. He looked at his son with a thrill of his own. An only child himself, it took him back to his early days when his own Dad brought him along in his taxi cab while he picked up passengers in Manhattan.

  “To the moon,” Curby yelled, soaring his hand through the air like a space ship. “Vroom!”

  The engine started. It startled him when it did, because the sound was louder than he had expected. Below, and somewhere in the deepest bowels of the imagined space ship, steel brushes engaged and spun on their axles. Inside the hopper, hard rubber flights circled on rollers, shaking the mighty ship to its very core.Out front, water sprayed into dark, empty space like the Star Ship Enterprise’s energy shield, from both Nick and Curby’s favorite movie. It was followed by the street sweeper lurching forward.

  “Wow!” Curby yelled.

  The boy, all aglow, stretched to look over the top of the dash. A Bridge Commander himself, Captain Curby ordered the mission to c
ommence. “To space land!”

  Nick shouted after him. “To infinity and beyond!”

  Captain Curby put an arm around his first assistant and patted him on the back. “You’re a good pilot, Dad.”

  “Thanks, Captain. I had a lot of practice. Are you ready to go around Pluto?”

  The boy shook his head vigorously, too flushed to say anything else.

  Nick took the tight corner around the gutter drain, a little faster than usual.

  A thrilling feeling quivered inside Curby. “This is so-o-o awsome Dad. Can we do that again?”

  Nick checked behind the sweeper at the empty street. “Watch this!”

  It was amazing. The entire sweeper was able to turn in a tight circle right in the middle of the street. Nick hit the brake and then spun the sweeper around in the opposite direction.

  His son was left bug eyed. “Oh, wow! Neato! Dad.”

  “Pretty cool, huh?”

  Back at the curb, Nick lined up the brushes at the edge and continued on the route. When they reached the middle of the block, an official car pulled in front of them and parked.

  “Oh, no! The boss!”

  A Sanitation Foreman got out and stood in front of the door. “What the hell was that, Santinelli?”

  “What was what?”

  “That barnstorming back there in the middle of the street.”

  “Oh, that. I was trying to sweep up some papers.”

  The foreman stepped back, his neck stretching as he tried to look beyond Nick who was doing all he could to block his view.

  “Hey! Is that a kid in there?”

  “Aw, come on Ted. It’s his birthday.”

  “Birthday or not, you know you’re not supposed to ride around with passengers.”

  “Yeah, I know, but…”

  “But nothing, Santinelli. Take him home. I’ll see you when you get back to the garage at the end of the shift.”

  “You’re not going to write me up are you?”

  “Not if you get him home right away and get back to your route. And I want it finished, no excuses.”

  “No problem, Ted, thanks.”

  The foreman folded his arms and nodded. “He’s a cute little guy, ain’t he? Happy Birthday.”

  After work, Nick found the door to his apartment wide open. Inside, there was no sign of Sandy…or Curby. He rechecked the door. Pinned to it was a hand written note he had missed.

  Seated in the emergency room, Jaime, his neighbor, waved for his attention. In her lap was Curby. Nick anxiously sat next to her and immediately picked up his son.

  “How long has she been in there?”

  “A couple of hours. Oh, Nick, she…”

  Not wanting to upset the boy, she leaned forward and silently mouthed the rest. “She can’t breathe. They have her on a respirator.”

  “How long did they say she had to be on it? When is she coming off?”

  Jaime shook her head. “Nick… she’s not!”

  “What?”

  He put Curby down. “I’ll be right back.”

  At the reception window, a sympathetic nurse, responding to the name he gave, slid a glass panel to the side. “Yes, we’ve been waiting for you, Mr. Santenelli. The Doctor wants to talk to you.

  A sickening feeling welled up from Nick’s gut. The door opened and he followed the nurse down a long hallway.

  “Have a seat in there.” She opened the door to a small room.

  Seconds stretched into minutes. Nick stared at the diagrams of hearts and other bodily organs Scotch taped to the light green wall like school room lessons. He folded his hands and hung his head down and just when he did, the door gently opened.

  “Hi, I’m Doctor Gardner.”

  “Is she okay, Doctor?”

  “I’m afraid not, Mr. Santinelli.”

  The doctor sat on the chair next to him, put an arm on his shoulder and in a low voice, said, “She passed away around twenty minutes ago.”

  The tears, Nick expected. It was his all-out balling right then and there that wasn’t. He couldn’t control any of it.

  He returned to his building with Jaime anxious and more than willing to help in any way she could.

  “I can make us some dinner, if you’d like, Nick?”

  “I’m not hungry. You guys eat. I’ll sit here on the couch.”

  He put his head in his hands and shook from the terrible feelings inside.

  “What’s wrong with Daddy?”

  “He’s sick. He’ll be all right.”

  “I’ll go inside,” said Nick.

  He went into the bedroom and quietly closed the door behind him. Later that evening, after Curby went to bed, he sat on the couch with Jaime.

  “Now what am I going to do?”

  “Yes, what are you going to do?”

  “I’m not giving up Curby, that’s for sure. I called Sandy’s parents. They made the funeral arrangements. I didn’t know it, but everything was already planned for ahead of time-weeks ago. They knew the end was near, but Sandy made them promise not to tell me. She wanted everything to seem normal, for Curby’s sake; right to the end. I loved her so much.”

  “I know you did, Nick. Do you have anyone who can take care of him while you’re at work?”

  “I don’t even know where to look. This is all so sudden.”

  “I would check the papers. I’m sure you can find a nanny.”

  “Yes, a nanny. I’ll look into that. I better call work. I’ll need a few days for the funeral and to get everything in order.”

  “Can I do anything…laundry, shopping…?”

  “No, Jaime, thanks. Hey, you have to go to work tomorrow. I don’t want to keep you up any longer.”

  “I don’t mind. You’ll be all right, then?”

  “I can’t think of anything at the moment.”

  “Well…be sure and ring my bell if you need me?”

  “Thanks, you know I...”

  At that very moment, Jaime put her arms around him. “Sandy was a good person. I loved her, too. She’s in a better place, now. At least she’s not suffering.”

  “Yes…lately she was having a hard time breathing. Especially at night. It hurt to see her that way and all of the weight she lost. It’s just that…I…I…”

  Jaime tightened her hold and patted him on the back as she talked. “Give it time, Nick. This will all pass. Raise Curby the best you can. Sandy’s watching and she’ll always be proud of him.”

  She looked at his face, contorted and wet with tears. “And you too, Nick. She’s very proud of you.”

  “Thanks…thanks for being there for us.” He held her hand as she walked away, let go and said good night.

  It took two days, over ten phone calls and four interviews before he finally settled on a nanny. He wasn’t totally satisfied with this one either, but one had to be picked soon or he’d have to lose more time at work.

  There was nothing special about Olga. Her only saving grace was her lengthy experience with children, or so she claimed. Olga, tall and thin--a child of the Russian steppes, spoke understandable English and dressed and carried herself well. She wore little makeup, though the hard lines of her face cried for more. She appeared masculine, her strong nose and authoritative demeanor, tempered by a kind and soft voice.

  Monday

  Nick went to work, sick with worry. Did she make sure he ate enough, did he make potty and is he wearing the clothes he picked out for him?

  He stopped in as often as he could and everytime he did, his son seemed fine and the house neat and tidy. At 2:45, he returned home to find his son at the door with open arms and missing him very much.

  “How did it go today?” he asked Olga.

  “Everything okey dokey. Curby is gud boy. No problem.”

  “That’s good to hear, Olga. Thanks and have a great rest of the day.”

  Tuesday

  Following breakfast, Olga took Curby for a walk. They didn’t go very far, just to the next corner and back. Before going in,
she lit a cigarette, her second for the day so far. For quite a while now, she had tried to cut back. She planned to light up another when the boy took his afternoon nap, around two and not before. By lunch time the urge was too strong to pass up. Taking advantage of the noon break when Nick arrived home for his half hour usual, she excused herself and left for the front stoop. She consumed the cigarette to the stub, absorbing the nicotine rush to the very end. She nearly made it through the rest of the shift before lighting up another.

  Wednesday

  It was Nick’s day off and the plan was to take his son to visit Jaime at her job on 5th Avenue, a clothing store she managed. Wearing construction boots, jeans and a T-shirt, Curby couldn’t wait to show off his new baseball glove. During the walk there, he continuously ran his tiny fist into the pocket the way his Dad had showed him, to form a round indentation in the center just like the pros.

  For Jaime, Nick and the boy needed all the help she could give. She liked Nick for the man he was; kind, strong and caring. She felt for his loss of Sandy and the good mother she had proven to be.

  Jaime was on the way up the corporate ladder, albeit the first rung, but one had to start somewhere. The job was stressful at times, at others quite rewarding, and though the hours were long, she had independence. She could make decisions and suggestions and had the wherewithal to insert many of those changes. The last thing she wanted was a relationship. Her life had structure and any other interest at this point in time would only interfere with that future.

  Still, when she saw Nick with little Curby approaching the store hand in hand, it pulled at her heart strings. Their gleeful smiles drew from within her a true nurturing soul replete with matronly desires--matronly desires she knew she would have to reach far down inside of herself to suppress.

  As for Nick, on the other side of that large plate glass window waited a caring neighbor and nothing more. Tall, thin and early in her twenties, Jaime appeared to him as pretty in a very plain way. ‘Though her features were model perfect, her brown eyes cute through black rimmed glasses, nothing else about her stood out for him. But, he did like the way she left her hair in a ponytail.

  Their visit was more for Curby than for anything else. The boy missed his mother and a mature female friend would do him a lot of good.