by Beck, Jamie
“Who knew there was so much to consider?”
“Oh yes. I have to create tech designs and artwork, put together concept boards, track and manage seasonal patterns and colors. Then there’s managing multiple product development tracks, and responsibility for technical knit design. Creating and tracking vendor files for jacquards, textures, prints, and patterns. And that doesn’t touch upon having expertise in yarns, textiles, knot-and-performance products. Design details like lengths and packaging—it never ends!”
“Wow.” I had nothing else to add. While his passion was admirable, his droning on did not excite me.
Truthfully, I didn’t dislike Rich. He was kind and mannered and thoughtful. These were all good traits. Respectable ones. But I couldn’t bring myself to care or even make myself want to care. He bored me. Grace was right. I struggled to find decent, everyday men intriguing, as proven tonight. I wanted someone who made me laugh until my belly hurt, because regular life was serious enough. Sadly, my dilemma wouldn’t be fixed by Rich or his fancy socks.
Alan returned with our salads. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you.” Rich looked at me with a sincere smile. “Bon appétit.”
I nodded and stabbed some lettuce and goat cheese.
The meal passed one long minute at a time until my phone rang during dessert. Twelve past ten? Those two-plus hours had felt more like seventeen. More troubling was seeing Rowan’s name on my screen. He never called me on a Saturday night. “Excuse me, this is my son,” I said before answering the call.
“Mom!” His panicked tone made me freeze. “You have to come home. Now! Come home now!”
“Rowan, calm down and tell me what’s happened.”
“Carter’s hurt. He’s on the floor in the basement and isn’t moving.”
“What?” Stars exploded in my eyes. “How?”
I sprang from my seat, grabbed my purse, and bolted toward the door without a word to Rich. When I burst outside, I threw my car ticket at the valet.
“Lots of people showed up—it got out of hand. I don’t know what happened, exactly.”
I was shaking when the valet held my car door open. I threw him a five and slammed my door shut. “Call nine-one-one now. I’ll be there as soon as I can get there.”
“But there’s beer and stuff everywhere.”
“Call nine-one-one now, Rowan. Now!” Tears streamed down my cheeks as I shook. “I need to call Grace. I’ll be home in ten minutes.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it. Call nine-one-one as soon as we hang up.”
“I will.” A stab of empathy pushed through my anger the moment his voice cracked.
“Goodbye.” I dialed Grace while pulling away from the restaurant, my heart rising into my throat. Please don’t let it be as bad as Rowan made it sound.
“Hello?” Grace answered.
“Grace, there’s been an accident.” My voice involuntarily broke apart. “Carter’s hurt. Rowan’s calling an ambulance now, but you should meet me at my house right away.”
“What?” she asked. “Hurt how?”
“I think he fell down the basement steps. I’m not sure yet. Just meet me, please.”
“Oh God, is he okay?” The alarm in my friend’s voice tore through me.
“I don’t really know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” That buttery trout soured in my stomach as a dry heave formed.
“My baby,” she cried out as she hung up without saying goodbye.
I swerved into my driveway as the ambulance turned onto our street. Kids scampered out of my house like ants and disappeared behind my neighbors’ homes. Rather than wait for the EMTs to unload, I raced inside. The stench of teen body odor and spilled beer hit me as I stepped over the mess of empty beer cans and chips ground into the living room rug. A scream gathered inside, but there wasn’t time for anger. I stumbled down my basement steps to find Carter on the tile floor with Rowan kneeling beside him, both boys crying and breathing too hard. Carter’s face twisted in pain with each breath.
I held in my sob but couldn’t stop the sweat from coming on. Our boys looked ten years younger and much more fragile than their six-foot-tall bodies should appear.
“What happened, Rowan?” I snapped out of my fear. “Why were all these kids here?”
He looked up, eyes swimming in contrition. “They showed up.”
In the moment, it was easier to direct my horror and fury at my son than to take in what might be happening to Carter. “Why were y’all drinking when I wasn’t home to supervise?” I stood over the boys, my thoughts jumbled, my heart now reaching hummingbird-wing beats per minute.
“I’m sorry. I messed up. I’m sorry!” Rowan swiped the back of his arm across his reddened face. Carter lay beside him, crying in silence. Always such a quiet boy, even now. Oh Lord, why did this happen?
Shouting at Rowan wouldn’t calm Carter, and I had to help that sweet boy now.
“Rowan, go bring the EMTs down here.” I crouched to hug Carter but stopped myself, afraid of moving him in any direction. I gently laid one trembling hand on his shoulder and smoothed hair from his forehead with the other. “Carter, honey, can you move?”
His head shook slightly, eyes wide and wild with panic. “I can’t feel my legs!”
My stomach lurched and I nearly lost my balance.
He hiccuped from crying. “It hurts to breathe.”
I blinked to hold back tears so he didn’t become more frightened. A memory of him at six with his newly toothless grin, handing me a Mother’s Day card, flickered. How many times had he slept here when the boys were kids? A hundred? Seeing him distressed now set my heart on fire. “Try not to panic, honey. You’re in shock. That’s probably why you feel numb. The EMTs will take care of you. Meanwhile, take slow, shallow breaths. You might’ve cracked a rib, but that will heal.” I kept stroking his hair while tears spilled onto my cheeks despite my best efforts to contain them. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”
His eyes darted around the basement, but the EMTs clomped downstairs before he answered, so I moved aside. While they assessed Carter, I tugged Rowan into a corner, thinking about whether the football team’s bullying might’ve factored into this situation.
Out of terror, I barked, “Tell me what happened, and don’t even think about leaving a single detail out. This is very serious, Rowan. I need to know everything.”
My son wrapped his arms around his waist, peeking over my shoulder to see what the EMTs were doing.
My body buzzed with energy, so I squatted, blew out a breath, and stood again, shaking my arms to rid myself of my nerves. “Rowan, I’m talking to you.”
He met my gaze. “People showed up with cases of beer. I tried to keep it under control, but I guess some of the guys started pushing Carter around because of the budget stuff. They didn’t mean for him to fall down the stairs—he lost his balance. I don’t know, he fell down the steps and then didn’t move. That’s all I know.”
“Carter!” Grace’s shrill voice rang out before she barreled down the stairs and fell to her knees, trembling. “Oh, Carter, honey. What happened?”
Her splotchy face was wet with tears. Wearing yoga pants and slippers, she’d obviously raced out of her house without thinking. Seeing them crying together made my chest seize with so much pain I had to gulp in air to make my lungs work again.
“Grace.” I stepped toward her, but her tortured expression drained my blood and left me shaky.
My friend didn’t look like she could deal with anything other than her son in that moment. She grabbed one of the EMTs. “I’m his mother. Please tell me what’s happening.”
“Ma’am,” the young man began. “We’re still assessing. He’s likely sustained a concussion, maybe some cracked ribs, and possibly a spinal fracture. It’s too soon to tell the extent of damage right now. Try to stay calm. We’ll get him on a backboard with some spinal precautions. We should take him straight up to the Shock Trauma Center in Baltimore. They’ve got spe
cialists and better facilities up there than the local ER.”
Specialists. Baltimore. Spinal precautions. The room seemed to tilt, so I reached out to grab the first thing I could find—Rowan’s shoulder—to steady myself. Another dry heave bent me forward. How had this happened in our home?
“Spinal fracture?” Grace wobbled as if she might faint, then braced herself by planting her palms on the ground by her knees. With a shake of her head, as if clearing her thoughts, she said, “Yes, of course. Take him to the best place.”
Grace was whiter than snow as she rose unsteadily to her feet.
I moved behind her to catch her if she collapsed. She stiff-armed me, blinking rapidly, so I gave her some space.
“What happened?” she finally asked me, looking desperate for an answer that could magically make it all go away.
“I don’t know. Rowan called and I raced right home, but I only got here a minute before you did.”
Her brows gathered together as she continued to wobble. “You weren’t at home tonight?”
I shook my head, my hands still stretched out to catch her if she lost her balance. “No.”
“You left during the party?” Her tone sounded more confused than accusatory.
“There was no party when I left, just a few boys playing video games. I left them pizza money, having no idea it would turn into this.”
She reached for Rowan, clasping his hand. “Rowan, did you see what happened? How long has Carter been like this?”
“I don’t know.” Rowan was still crying, trembling as his shoulders rounded. Since the boys stopped hanging out together, Rowan had become a bit submissive around Grace because of her formal demeanor. “I was upstairs.”
Grace didn’t seem to notice that I was rubbing her back. She dropped Rowan’s hand and curled both of hers to her chest as if she needed to collect all of herself in order to wrap her brain around what was happening. She looked at me, her eyes a mirror of agony.
“Grace, we’re right here, whatever you guys need.” I’d never felt more helpless in my life. Or more frightened. “I’m so sorry.”
She stiffened and opened her mouth, but before she said anything, two police officers—male and female—descended the stairs.
“Who’s the homeowner?” the male asked.
I raised my hand, rendered nearly speechless by the sight of those uniforms. “I’m Mimi Gillette. This is my son, Rowan.”
“I’m Officer Martinez, and this is Officer Hartung.” Officer Martinez was of medium height and build, with a crop of shiny, dark hair and equally dark eyes. Officer Hartung might be shorter than me, if that were possible, and didn’t look tough enough to be a cop.
Officer Martinez exchanged some words with the EMTs before speaking again. “Ma’am.” He was addressing Grace. “Who are you?”
“Grace Phillips, Carter’s mother.” She pointed to her son. “I just arrived.”
“I’m sorry. This must be a shock.” He offered her an empathetic expression before turning to me. “Due to the seriousness of the injury, we’ll be treating this as a crime scene with a possible felony, so I need to ask you not to touch anything until we finish an investigation.”
“A felony?” I said, dazed. “It was an accident.”
“An accident,” Grace muttered, although it almost sounded like a question.
“Mom,” Carter moaned from the ground. “I’m scared.”
Grace let out a quick sob but then snapped herself together. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Don’t be scared. I’ll be with you the whole time. We’ll find the best doctors.”
He was ashen, appearing so frail on that board, immobilized with big foam stoppers around his head and sides. The sight made my brain fizzle out like our old toaster.
Officer Martinez told Grace, “Ma’am, I need your contact information so we can reach you. An officer will likely meet you at the hospital to monitor the situation and ask him some questions once he’s out of danger.”
Out of danger. Again, a ball of pain the size of a boulder crushed me. Carter was in danger because of my son and his friends. This terrible thing had happened in my home. A night that had started with such high hopes had been trashed, and so had my house.
Grace gave the officer the information he requested. When the EMTs lifted Carter off the ground and guided him up the stairs, my friend followed behind them without another glance at my son or me. I couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t thinking about anything other than her baby’s pain.
Officer Martinez turned to me. “We need to clear the area so the other cops can conduct an investigation. How about you two follow me to my squad car for questioning.”
The word “felony” plowed through my thoughts again, so it took me five seconds to answer. “Are we under arrest?”
“Not at the moment. We’re only beginning our investigation, but if this is an accident like you say, then your cooperation would certainly help us sort out the details more efficiently.”
“Of course we’ll cooperate.” I couldn’t change what had already happened, but I could help the officers get to the truth. I reached for Rowan’s hand, pulling him along as we followed Officer Martinez out to his squad car. The red and blue lights from the cop cars and ambulances added more confusion to the chaotic scene. It took all my concentration not to trip, because the commotion and my racing pulse were making me woozy.
While we crossed the yard, the ambulance pulled away from the curb, blasting its sirens. My heart pounded violently as I recalled Carter’s inability to feel his legs. Wasn’t it just yesterday that he and Rowan were toddling around this yard together, pretending to be firemen? I covered my face while shaking my head, as if that could make this all go away.
“Are there any security cameras in or outside the house?” Officer Martinez asked while opening the rear door of his car.
“No.” I let Rowan climb in first, then slid onto the back seat beside him. He hadn’t looked this upset since Dirk walked out the door. I wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He’d gotten himself in way over his head, and neither of us could undo what fate had done. I didn’t even have teen experiences to pull from because nothing close to this had happened to me. Maybe Uncle Tommy’s strict curfews and rules hadn’t been as ridiculous as I’d thought.
Officer Martinez got in beside me and closed the door to keep out the cold. We were cramped together, but I supposed he’d have a hard time talking to us through that divider. I scooched Rowan over farther to create some distance between the cop and myself, while the cop spoke to his partner through a walkie-talkie. “No home video cameras, but canvass the neighbors to see if there are outdoor cameras that could show us license plates or anything else to identify participants.” When he finished, he leaned forward and looked at Rowan. It might not be the cop’s first busted party, but I was still catching up. Half my heart was riding to Baltimore with Grace and Carter, the other half aching for my son’s remorse. “So, son, want to tell me in your own words what happened tonight?”
The air inside the car crackled. I blinked, forcing myself to focus on what was happening, although my brain wouldn’t cooperate. I held Rowan’s hand. His grip was so strong he nearly broke my bones, which would be problematic for my job. I rubbed his forearm to ease his grip. “It’s okay, honey. Take a breath.”
Rowan swiped his eyes. “I don’t know what happened with Carter.”
Officer Martinez stared at him. “You don’t know anything?”
“I wasn’t in the kitchen when it went down.” Rowan glanced at me, red-faced, and then back to the cop. “I swear.”
I pressed on my knee to keep it from bouncing. Was he lying? Should I get a lawyer even though he hadn’t been arrested? My chest squeezed so hard that breathing burned. I had options—smart choices to make, but those weren’t always the moral choices. The Bible school lessons from my teens played like a tape recording. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.” Although I’d suffered
big losses, things had usually turned out okay because I’d worked hard and done right, so I would put my faith in Him again.
Officer Martinez’s voice broke through my thoughts even though he was speaking to Rowan. “Surely after it happened, someone came to get you. Someone told you something. Maybe you could identify eyewitnesses for us.”
Rowan’s expression grew more terrified. When I suspected he was trying to protect his friends, I, too, began to panic. What would this mean for my son, for me? Still, I held his hand and nodded so he knew he was loved and forgiven, and that I would keep him as safe as I could.
“We’ll be catching up to a lot of kids and the victim, so you might as well help us rule you out.” Officer Martinez remained calm and nonthreatening. Almost folksy.
I tried to find a steady rhythm for my breathing. “It’s okay, baby. Be honest.”
Rowan’s face imploded like a badly made soufflé. “I heard that John Winters and Deshaun Jackson were giving him a hard time, pushing him around a bit—you know, guy stuff. They didn’t mean for him to fall down the stairs, though. That part was an accident.”
I’d known John and Deshaun for at least five years. Two great, polite athletes. Deshaun’s big grin and bigger personality always brought a smile to my face. I’d even nicknamed him Teddy (for “teddy bear”). My affection for my son’s teammates had let me dismiss Grace’s concerns. I hadn’t wanted to believe they could be cruel to someone as sweet as Carter. Even my request that Rowan get the team to lighten up had been mild. Hell, I’d been mild about most things where Rowan was concerned since the divorce. Look at where that had gotten us all. Everyone’s pain could be laid at my feet.
“Can anyone corroborate that you weren’t in the kitchen?” the officer asked, emotionless.
My son’s cheeks and neck turned redder. “Melissa Watson.”
“Where were you, exactly?” I demanded, newly mortified.
His eyes darted to me and the officer, then back to me before he mumbled, “In my room.”
