Spare Change

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “But…you said...”

  “I was wrong.” She pulled him to her chest and hugged so hard he began wheezing. When she finally loosened her grip, she lowered herself to the floor alongside of Ethan Allen and said, “Your Grandpa was a wonderful man, a man who knew far more of life than I ever did. His heart was the size usually afforded to three men. And, it was filled to the brim with love, way more than is needed for sharing.” She brushed back a tear and took the boy’s hand in hers, “I’m absolutely certain,” she said, her voice soft as a fluff of cotton, “that he was the one who brought you here, Ethan. Having you is almost like having your dear sweet Grandpa back again. You’ve got Charlie’s smile, the same blue eyes…” she looked down at the boy and knew her ability to love was not dead, it simply needed a reason to live. “So, you see,” Olivia said, her smile growing wider, “I believe your Grandpa’s intention was for us to be together—to take care of each other the way he’d take care of us if he was here. Who are we to argue with an intention such as that?”

  Figuring this wasn’t the time for explaining the only thing he knew of Grandpa Doyle was the dollar bill that arrived at Christmas and on his birthday, Ethan simply nodded, and said, “Okay.”

  “Okay, Grandma,” Olivia corrected, “I am your grandma and I’d be real honored if you’d call me that.”

  “Okay,” he hesitated for what seemed to be a long moment, then finally spat out the word that somehow had gotten stuck sideways in his throat, “Grandma.”

  Olivia gave him an affectionate hug; then she whipped right back into asking why he had such a fear of the two police officers. “You’ve got to tell me the honest-to-God truth,” she said, “whatever the problem is, we can deal with it together.”

  “You don’t understand,” he moaned, “if I was to tell, I’d be sent to reform school, or stomped dead as a doornail.” Ethan’s eyes began to fill with water.

  Olivia, flabbergasted by such a statement, asked “By who?”

  “That policeman, and his daddy—Mister Cobb.”

  “Officer Cobb is an unpleasant person, no doubt about it,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean he’d harm you for telling the truth.”

  “You just don’t get it,” Ethan said, a look of skepticism on his face, a look that was way beyond his years. “Those Cobb’s know I saw what happened that night and no matter what I say, they’ll claim I’m lying. Who do you suppose people are gonna believe,” he asked, “a policeman and his daddy or a kid?”

  “If you tell the truth,” Olivia answered, “I’d believe you.”

  “Yeah, and how you gonna know if what I’m saying is true?”

  “I trust you,” she said.

  “That’s it? You’re just gonna go by trust?”

  Olivia gave him a smile and a nod.

  “Then what?” he asked.

  “Then we’ll figure out the best way to deal with whatever needs dealing with.”

  “You’re not gonna hand me over to them?”

  “Ethan,” Olivia said, her voice clear and straightforward, “those policemen would have to shoot me dead, before I’d let them take you away.”

  “Honest?”

  “Honest!” Olivia drew a crisscross over her heart.

  A look of dread settled over Ethan’s face when he began to speak. “I lied,” he said solemnly, “I lied when I said I was asleep and didn’t see nothing. I saw it all.”

  Olivia said nothing, just waited for him to continue.

  “That day Mama and Daddy were fighting fierce. ‘Ethan,’ she told me real secret-like, ‘you slip out back and stay there till I get away from your Daddy, soon as I do, we’re going to New York City with Scooter.’ I did just what she said. Me and Dog went out back of the woods and hid in my fort. I waited all afternoon; then finally Mama came out and stuck her suitcase in the car. Daddy came running out right behind her, yelling how she wasn’t going nowhere. He smacked her to the ground and she didn’t get up. After a spell, he picked her up and carried her inside the house. I figured Mama must’ve been hurt, elsewise she’d of called him every name in the book.”

  “Who’s Scooter?” Olivia asked.

  “The policeman’s daddy,” Ethan answered his eyes full of fear.

  “Oh. Were he and your mama…”

  The boy gave a knowing nod and continued on. “Later on, I snuck around back and looked in the window—Mama was stretched out on the bed like maybe she was sleeping off a headache. They was always fighting, Mama and Daddy, and lots of times she went to bed for a while after so she’d feel better. When I saw she was sleeping, I figured she’d be along later.” He hesitated for a moment then with the saddest look imaginable, said, “Mama wasn’t at all mean the way Daddy thought; she just had her heart set on going to New York City so she could be a singing star.” After that he slid back into telling the story. “I was waiting in my fort when I saw Mister Scooter’s car come up our drive, then I snuck closer to see what was gonna happen. I figured for sure there’d be shit flying if Scooter started mouthing off about going to New York, ‘cause Daddy wasn’t in the mood for no foolishness. He didn’t say nothing about New York, just told Daddy he needed to talk to Susanna—that’s Mama’s name—and pushed his way inside the door. In no time at all, he was screaming to the top of his lungs about how Daddy had killed Mama…”

  Ethan’s eyes filled with tears and he stopped to wipe them away. With the sound of sorrow latching onto his voice, he said, “That’s when Mister Scooter started beating up on Daddy. Believe me, Grandma, you don’t never ever want to see a thing like that; it was really, really awful…”

  The words eventually slowed to a stop and Olivia understood; Ethan Allen was looking back in time, rerunning his memory of the event as it had happened. “It wasn’t a fair fight,” he finally said, his voice thick with resentment, “Daddy didn’t do nothing to defend his self, just stood there and let Scooter beat on his head till it was split open. I was scared Scooter would kill me too, so I stayed hid. Even after I peed my pants, I stayed hid. I could’ve done something to help my daddy, but I didn’t even try.”

  “You’re just a boy,” Olivia said, her arm wrapped around his shoulders. “You couldn’t have done anything. A man such as that would have killed you too!”

  “Maybe.”

  “There’s no maybe about it. He’s a violent criminal. He belongs in jail.”

  “You think his policeman son is gonna put him there?”

  “Somebody has to!”

  “I know you’ve a mind to help, but Mama warned me—if I tell tales on Mister Scooter, his policeman son will see I go to reform school.”

  “Nonsense,” Olivia answered, although she knew it was a good probability that the son would not, in fact, acknowledge the crime of his father.

  “The best thing,” Ethan said, “is for me to be gone when they get back.”

  “No,” she answered, “Absolutely not!”

  “Ain’t you listening? That policeman knows I saw and he’s sure as hell gonna—”

  “Stop your cussing; nothing is going to happen.”

  “That’s what you think! He’s gonna—”

  “He’s not going to do anything, because I won’t allow him near you.”

  “Have you noticed that he’s three times your size?”

  “Yes I have. But, we’ve got truth and justice on our side.”

  “Oh, great,” Ethan moaned, “that ought to scare the shit outta him.”

  “Stop cussing,” Olivia repeated.

  Irreconcilable Differences

  After Ethan Allen’s grandmother slammed the door in their faces, the two police officers walked out of the Wyattsville Arms apartment building and climbed into the car without saying a word. Cobb turned his face to the window like a man obsessed with seeing scenery and Mahoney grabbed hold of the steering wheel so ferociously that his knuckles were bloodless long before they reached Richmond.

  They went without a single exchange of words for almost two hours; then as th
ey sat waiting for the ferry to transport them back to the Eastern Shore Mahoney grumbled, “This just isn’t working.”

  “What isn’t?” Cobb replied, even though he could see the set of Mahoney’s jaw was rigid as a railroad spike.

  “Us working this case together; you’ve got zero tolerance, whereas I believe in giving folks the benefit of doubt, letting them tell their side of a story before—”

  Cobb gave Mahoney an angry glare. “What I do is put an end to the crap you’re willing to take,” he snorted, “In my mind that’s just good police work.”

  “Good police work? Last month you handcuffed a seven year old boy, is that what you consider good police work?”

  “The kid was a menace, kicking at me, trying to—”

  “He was seven years old!”

  “Okay, so maybe I could’ve handled that situation differently; but that’s one instance.”

  “It’s not the only one; what about last week when you took the woman in the five and dime—”

  “Okay, okay. Maybe I got a short fuse at times, but—”

  “You’re a hothead, just like your pop.”

  “Screw you,” Cobb answered and turned back to the window.

  For the remainder of the ride, they didn’t speak again; not even after Mahoney parked in front of the station house and they both climbed from the car.

  Unpleasant as it might have been, it wasn’t the drive home that sent Mahoney looking for the Captain; it was the look on Sam Cobb’s face—a look of pure hatred.

  Captain Rogers was in his office trying to focus on some paperwork when Mahoney walked in and closed the door. “I’ve got a problem with Cobb,” Jack said.

  “I’ve got worse problems than Cobb,” the Captain replied and continued leafing through the pile of pages. “The department’s over budget; I’ve got a car out of commission and we’re short two patrolmen. You got something worse than that?”

  Mahoney shrugged. “Depends on your view of worse,” he said; then he segued into telling how Cobb had become a problem in the Doyle murder investigation. “The grandmother didn’t want to let us talk to the kid, so Cobb starts threatening her and she slams the door in our face. I’m telling you, Captain, you’ve got to get him off this case.”

  Captain Rogers sighed, “Didn’t I just say we’re short two men? Other than Cobb, nobody’s available for back up.”

  “I’ll handle it alone,” Mahoney answered, “it’s a routine investigation.”

  “Go ahead,” the Captain, who was sick to death of listening to complaints, answered wearily. Turning back to the pile of paperwork, he grumbled how he would now have to listen to Cobb throw a shit-fit. “Solve one problem,” he moaned, “and there’s five more right behind.” He wrote a reminder to himself—talk to Sam Cobb.

  Grandma Olivia

  Somebody else might be inclined to believe the boy a liar, but not me. I saw the look on Ethan Allen’s face and can say without question, he’s telling the truth. In all my life, I’ve never felt as sorry for anyone as I did Ethan Allen. The poor child was scared out of his head.

  As far as I’m concerned, those two policemen can stuff their questions up their backside! Regardless of what they say or do, I have no intention of allowing them near that child. Ethan Allen has been though enough already, he doesn’t need to have them scaring the wits out of him.

  Personally, I doubt the big lummox can even get a warrant. I’m the boy’s grandmother and he’s got the legal right to be living here. He’s not breaking any law, so that warrant stuff is just a lot of hooey. That big policeman is an out-and-out bully—I’ve seen his type before. He’s trying to scare us; but he’s about to find out Olivia Ann Doyle, doesn’t scare that easily!

  As for the boy knowing what Mister Cobb did, that’s another problem. Right is right—and while I’d prefer to see the man punished, the truth belongs to Ethan Allen and he’s got to be the one to decide whether or not to let it loose. I can tell you one thing, whatever he decides, I’m gonna be standing right beside him and if any harm comes to that boy, it will be over my dead body!

  Searching for Hopeful

  Olivia, fairly certain she had not seen the last of the two police officers, set about finding a way to deal with the situation. First she telephoned Clara, a woman with no legal expertise whatsoever, but an uncanny knack for finding a way around even the most difficult problems. Unfortunately, this time Clara could think of nothing other than removing Olivia’s name from the mailbox and having the other residents swear she’d moved off and taken Ethan Allen with her. Although Olivia generally praised Clara’s ingenuity, this time she simply shook her head. “That’s not much of a solution,” she sighed, then called Fred McGinty. He thought perhaps Olivia should marry him and the two of them adopt Ethan Allen but Olivia told him right off that such an idea was ridiculous.

  “Ridiculous?” he said, “I beg to differ! You think those policemen are gonna come looking for an Ethan Allen McGinty?”

  “I’d sooner stick with Clara’s plan,” Olivia answered then she hung up and went on to calling a long list of other people. After she’d telephoned most everyone at Wyattsville Arms and several of her friends back in Richmond, and still did not have one valid suggestion for dealing with the situation, Olivia hit upon another thought. She dialed the information operator and said, “I’m looking for the number of the Main Street Motel in Hopeful, Georgia.”

  Once she had the number, Olivia dialed and waited as the telephone rang—four…five…six times—it seemed an eternity; finally, a voice answered, “Sorry for being so slow,” the woman said, “I was tending to business in the johnny.”

  “Canasta? Canasta Jones?”

  “Yes ma’am,” the woman answered.

  Olivia gave an audible sigh of relief, “It’s me,” she said, “Olivia Doyle!”

  “I know you?”

  “Of course you know me. I was there last fall, stayed over a week. Remember?”

  “Not right off the top of my head.”

  “My husband died. I was carrying him in an urn. Remember? I came in crying and feeling downright miserable, you fixed that wonderful okra soup, remember that? When I left, you packed up some of those happiness seeds for me to take…”

  “Well land sakes alive! Course I remember you, sugar. Sometimes this forgetful old thinker of mine just goes on the fritz. How you doing?”

  “Thanks to you, I’m getting along just fine. That okra soup of yours really did the trick. I was about ready to give up on living, when…”

  Canasta began chuckling, “Okra soup don’t do nothing but warm your insides,” she said, “you got to feeling better ‘cause you decided to get on with the business of living. Only thing what helped you, sugar, was the having of a friend’s ear to listen.”

  “Oh dear,” Olivia sighed.

  “Oh dear?”

  “I was hoping to get some more of those seeds, but…”

  “I thought you said you was doing fine; a person doing fine don’t need to lean on such foolishness.”

  “They weren’t for me exactly. I was figuring to feed them to this detective, so he’d see the truth of things and stop chasing after poor little Ethan Allen.”

  “Whoa there,” Canasta said, “You done lost me.”

  “It’s a long story,” Olivia sighed sorrowfully. She launched into the full explanation of how Ethan Allen had witnessed the murder of his mama and daddy and then traveled halfway across the state in search of his grandpa Charlie—the same Charlie she’d brought home in an urn. “That poor child has certainly gone through enough; and now, he’s being badgered by the police!”

  Listening intently, Canasta said, “How come the police is bothering an unfortunate little fella like him?”

  “Because he saw the whole thing and knows the truth of what happened.”

  “If he knows, why don’t he tell?” she asked.

  “Because,” Olivia said, “the person responsible for the murder is the policeman’s daddy!”
>
  “Well, if that don’t beat all!” Canasta gasped. “Sugar, you and that boy are truly in one sorry state! A situation such as this ain’t nothing okra soup can fix.”

  “Oh,” Olivia sighed, her voice sliding downhill. “I was hoping…”

  “Hoping? Hoping ain’t gonna get you nowhere. You got to take action. You got to get to telling the truth to somebody who’ll do something about it.”

  “Such as?”

  Canasta thought a long while before she spoke. “When a murder’s been committed, you got to tell a police officer. There just ain’t no getting around it. That said, I surely wouldn’t have it be the fella whose daddy did the killing. He might well be on the up and up, but with family blood thick between them, I sure wouldn’t chance it. No indeed,” she sighed, “you got to find yourself a well-intended, God-fearing, honest policeman.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Look in their eyes. The truth of a person’s soul is in their eyes.”

  “Truth of their soul? How am I supposed to recognize a thing like that? It doesn’t exactly stand out on a person’s face—like freckles or bushy brows.”

  “The truth’s a sight more recognizable than folks might think. Fix yourself in place for a bit and study a man’s eyes, you’ll catch hold of what I mean. A man who’s honest and got a well-intentioned heart—he’s got the light of God inside his head. You look deep in his eyes, and guaranteed you’ll see a shiny little speck sent down from heaven. Sugar, a man like that, believe me, he’s one you wanna trust.”

  “I don’t know…” Olivia moaned, buckling under the weight of uncertainty. “What if I make a mistake? What if I look into some policeman’s eye and imagine I see the light of God, when it’s nothing more than the reflection of a light bulb?”