Heart of Cole

by Micheal Maxwell

  “Is there someone else I can speak with?”

  “Sure,” Pamela smiled brightly, never showing the least bit of irritation. “Sydney, can you help this nice lady!”

  “Be right there.”

  “OK, Lindsey,” Pamela said, “what’s your ID number?”

  “Uh, 648332, I think.”

  “There you are. Lindsey Frost. Oh my, you do have a missed a lot of school. What’s the problem, sweetie?”

  “I’m not a big fan of organized education,” Lindsey answered with confidence.

  “Well, in the last three weeks, you’ve only been here three days.”

  “Menstrual cramping.”

  “No…I said you’ve only been here three days.”

  “Yeah, I heard you. It’s hard to be out on the street those days, you know. Good clean bathrooms in the gym here, and you guys always give me free pads.”

  “I see.” Pamela’s cheeks colored a bit. “Lindsey, I hate to, but I’m going to have to give you three days of Saturday school. You should get twelve, but…”

  Lindsey, cut her off. “You do realize I won’t go. It is a kind gesture though.”

  “Then you’ll get in-school suspension.”

  “Have you ever thought how silly that is? A kid like me doesn’t come to school, and then you stick them in the ‘jail room’ when they show up? You should be celebrating the little victories, not making it even less inviting to come.”

  While Lindsey and Pamela were speaking, a petite, athletic, woman, stepped up to the counter.

  “Good morning, I’m Sydney Stephens, can I help?”

  “Good morning, I hope so.” Hanna could see this was where the buck stopped. “I’m Hanna Day, here is my ID and press credentials. I am Lindsey’s temporary guardian. Due to the violent nature and unstable situation at home, I need to be contacted if the mother or her boyfriend try to remove Lindsey from school. How can we get this arranged?”

  “We will need a request from her legal guardian or documents confirming your status a guardian. Until then, I’m afraid we can’t help you. It’s State law.” Sydney’s voice and demeanor made it evident they weren’t going to budge.

  “I see. I will fax them to you as soon as I get them.”

  “I will need to have you bring them in, I’m afraid. Papers to sign. You understand how it is.”

  “Indeed I do.” Hanna hated bureaucracy and it showed. Hanna turned to Lindsey.

  “Is there anything else, Pam?” Sydney inquired.

  “I think everything is working out on this end,” Pamela answered brightly.

  “Thank you, Pam, for your help. I hope we won’t have to be dealing with our wandering girl anymore.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Pam was pleased with the support.

  “Here you are, Lindsey,” Pamela handed her a pink slip of paper. “You just used up all your last chances,” she whispered. “If you need someone to talk to or have any problems, I’ll be right here.”

  “Thank you, Pam.” Hanna sensed an ally, despite the confines of red tape.

  “No, thank you. We need more adults involved in getting our kids to school.”

  “I’ll pick you up after school. 2:10 right?” Hanna turned her attention back to Lindsey.

  “I’ll be out front were we came in. And I get to stay at your place tonight?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Awesome!” Lindsey gave Hanna a high five.

  Hanna turned and walked toward the exit. Behind her, she heard Pam telling Lindsey to hurry or she would be late for first period. Ahh, high school, Hanna thought.

  The killer was thankful for remembering to bring a cap. The outdoor seating at the Café Puerta Dorado followed the sidewalk and into a shallow alcove. The sun was warm and glared hard against the whitewashed faux adobe wall. The food was good and they made a fresh pico de gallo that was plentiful, and the chips were free—a rarity in San Francisco. The peace and quiet of the little side street taqueria was its greatest asset. There were never more than one or two patrons outdoors this time of day, so the privacy added to the draw.

  The wait staff changed frequently. There was no rush, no recognition, and no reason to think it would change. The young man who drew the outside serving stations was efficient, not friendly, and hadn’t been back since the second refill of chips. The check—for a Coke and two of the lunch-special tacos—came to just under five dollars, sat under a red and white stripped peppermint and fluttered occasionally in the light breeze. It was perfect until a man was seated just on the other side of the alcove.

  His voice was deep and loud. Before the server arrived at his table, he bellowed out an order for coffee, and a chili Colorado burrito. The man’s order blasted into the alcove as if the wall didn’t exist.

  Then, everything went back to the warm, voiceless peace. After about five minutes, the serenity was again shattered by the man’s bellowing voice.

  “Excuse me! Where is my coffee?” There was a five-second delay and then, “Hey, can I get my coffee?” The tone and inflection made it very clear the man was not pleased.

  “Here you are,” a waiter said.

  “What? You forget I was here?” The man barked.

  “No, sir. Sorry for the wait.” The words from the waiter were correct, but his tone reflected his disdain for the way he was being spoken to.

  Indecipherable mumbling continued for several seconds after the waiter walked away.

  The quiet time of a good, cheap lunch and reflection was gone. The killer twisted the bright yellow print napkin.

  “Hey!” the man suddenly blurted out. “Hey, look at this table cloth! When was the last time it was changed?”

  The waiter walked back to the table. “Just before you arrived. I changed it myself. What’s the problem?”

  “What the hell is that then?”

  “I would say, a little berry from the trellis there, blew onto the table. I think you may have smashed it with your arm.”

  “Looks like bird crap to me.”

  “Would you like to move, sir?” the waiter offered.

  “No, just pick it up. That’s a nasty thing to have in a restaurant,” the man grumbled.

  “We are outdoors, sir.” The waiter cleared his throat. “I’ll check on your order.”

  He didn’t say it loud, but the killer heard the man grumble, “Idiot.”

  I wasn’t very long before the waiter returned. “Here you go, sir.”

  The patron didn’t respond.

  The killer tapped the table softly with the edge of a spoon. The mood of the day was destroyed. The sun was warm, the gentle breeze barely ruffled the edges of the table cloth, but the serenity she enjoyed during her late morning snack was ruined.

  “He has given me indigestion,” She softly said, tapping the table a little harder with the edge of the spoon. “Why must people complain? It’s a beautiful day. How will I be productive when my guts are churning? I could have complained about lack of meat in my taco, but I didn’t. Life is just that way. Next time I’ll get extra. Things always even out.” I’m mumbling, the killer thought.

  The handle of the ice pick felt sensuous in the killer’s hand. Taking it out was always a rush. Under cover of the table cloth, the she gently turned square wooden handle. With fingers nearly trembling with anticipation she stroked the cold steel shaft of the ice pick. The excitement of what was to come brought a wide smile that was hard to contain. This would be a present for the waiter. The outdoor space was empty of other customers. The man who disturbed the peace sat with his back to the alcove. The waiter was nowhere to be seen. No customers were visible through the windows.

  The loud, nasty man was much smaller than his voice would suggest. A couple quick, silent steps and she stood behind him. Tightly grasping the man’s soft, clammy forehead with one hand, the killer drove the ice pick into the top of the man’s head with the other. Three rapid rotations of the handle and the man went limp. With a quick practiced purpose, she took t
he man’s head in both hands and gave him a forceful pull upwards, straightening his position in the chair. Then, as if setting down a valuable vase, she gently leaned the victim’s head forward to a napping position.

  She wiped the bloody shaft of the ice pick on the man’s shoulder and backed around the corner to the alcove. Quickly, but naturally, she walked up the street.

  “I love that place. I’ll have to go back tomorrow.”

  “Hi!” Hanna called from her VW Bug window.

  Lindsey came running up to the passenger side of the car with a big smile on her face. “Right on time!”

  “Hop in.”

  Lindsey tossed her backpack on the back seat and buckled her seat belt. “I usually get stood up.”

  “It’s a new day,” Hanna said as they pulled away from the curb.

  At 3:30 Cole stood from his desk and stretched.

  “I’m off to give this to our illustrious new leader, Cole said waving several sheets of paper. “Be back in a few.”

  “You could e-mail it,” Hanna said as he passed.

  “I want to force him to read it on paper.”

  “Would you like to check on our intern in the break room?”

  “On the way back,” Cole called back.

  Cole approached the scowling woman guarding Faraday’s door.

  “Special delivery!”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “No, it has to be delivered in person by hand to Mr. Faraday.”

  “Who are you again?” The secretary, sneered.

  “You first.” Cole smiled broadly.

  “You really do think you’re cute, don’t you?

  “I know I am. My girlfriend tells me so all the time. Anybody tell you you’re cute lately?” Cole grinned.

  “No,” she snapped.

  “Thought not. Please let Mr. Faraday know I’m waiting,” Cole said firmly.

  The secretary picked up the phone and punched three numbers. “There is a man here with something he needs to deliver to you personally…I tried…no, he wouldn’t give it to me.”

  “I bet you wish you hadn’t come along with your boss now.” Before Cole could continue the door of Faradays’ office flew open.

  “You!” Faraday said in disgust.

  “Me,” Cole replied brightly.

  “What is it?”

  “Since you are now handing out the assignments, I figured I would hand them in to you as well.”

  “Don’t you have a computer?”

  “Of course. How do you think I printed this?” Cole gave Faraday his best, “Are you an idiot? Look.”

  Faraday turned and went back into his office, “Come on.”

  Cole smiled at the secretary. “I think you’re cute.”

  As the door closed behind Cole, Faraday asked, “What’s that all about?”

  “Poor thing is having appearance-related issues. Nobody has told her she’s cute lately. Frankly, I just think she’s homesick.”

  “She’s ugly as hell. Got a face like a dried apricot. Don’t be filling her with nonsense. She has a lot of work to do.” Faraday took a chair behind his desk. “So what have you got?”

  “My column for the Sunday.” Cole handed Faraday the folder he carried.

  “Good, I don’t have to look at it now. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Fine. Just didn’t want it falling into the wrong hands.” Cole went to the door.

  “What is with you anyway?”

  “How do you mean?” Cole said turning back to face Faraday.

  “I seems you just go out of your way to antagonize everybody.”

  “Not everybody,” Cole said as he turned and went out the door.

  Faraday cursed at Cole’s back but the closing door blocked the editor’s voice. The folder Cole had delivered was tossed on a stack of files and papers waiting on Faraday’s desk.

  As Hanna dumped the envelopes and junk mail on the desk her cell phone rang. On those less than frequent occasions when it did ring, it usually was either a solicitor, a wrong number, or a political robo-call. The number was unfamiliar and Hanna answered grudgingly.

  “Hanna?” the voice was loud but broken up with buzz and crackle.

  “Lindsey? Is everything OK?”

  “Better than that!” Lindsey sounded happy and excited. “Hold on.” Fifteen or twenty seconds passed. “Is that better? I went outside. You were breaking up.”

  “Yeah, lots. What’s going on?”

  “I wanted to warn you that the guidance counselor is going to be calling you. I gave her your work number. I hope that’s OK. She has some good news. Great news!” The sound of the passing bell drowned out Lindsey’s next few words. “Gotta go, bye!”

  “Bye,” Hanna said into a silent phone. She smiled and slipped the phone back into her pocket. “This is what it’s like to have a kid, I guess.” Her smile broadened.

  For the next hour Hanna froze every time the phone rang, and sighed deeply when it wasn’t the counselor. Finally, at a couple of minutes after two, the call came in.

  “Hi, is this Lindsey’s mom?” The voice was cheerful and a low register for a woman. “This is Penny Crawford, Lindsey’s counselor.”

  “I’m her guardian.” Hanna was a bit taken back, wondering if Lindsey told the counselor she was her mom.

  “I have some wonderful news. In our most recent round of STRA and TVI testing, Lindsey had nearly perfect scores!” Penny made it sound like Lindsey won the lottery. “We have an Articulation Agreement with several outstanding schools for gifted and talented students. The schools can be the gateway to opportunities not usually available to our students.”

  “Wow.” Hanna was impressed, but still working on STRA and TVI.

  “Yes, indeed. I wanted to let you know that Wellsburg Academy in Virginia has shown a great deal of interest in Lindsey. They’ve offered her the chance to sit for their entrance exam.”

  “Great. When is that?”

  “This Saturday. She will need to report to the testing center at the University of San Francisco. Would that be a problem?”

  “Not at all.” Hanna was getting excited. “What does she need to do to prepare?”

  “Other than get a good night’s sleep and a healthy breakfast, a smoothie, juice, fruit—something like that, nothing heavy. She has everything it takes already in her head!” Penny laughed at her own attempt at humor.

  “Sounds easy enough. So, if she does well…?” Hanna inquired.

  “She could be offered a spot at Wellsburg!”

  “In Virginia,” Hanna said with a total lack of enthusiasm.

  “Isn’t it fabulous?” Penny’s cheerleader exuberance was wearing thin on Hanna.

  “Is it expensive?”

  “Can one put a price on a child’s future?”

  “So, it’s really expensive.” Hanna was realizing this was nowhere in the realm of possibility.

  “It is an exclusive private institution.” Penny’s tone showed her displeasure with Hanna daring to bring up cost. “Then there is the fee for sitting for the exam.” Penny sounded like a used car salesman who figured he was losing a sale and might as well let the fine print out, too.

  “And that is…?”

  “Two hundred dollars.”

  Hanna felt like she was drowning. She won the dream house only to find out she couldn’t pay all the taxes. Her emotions, already swirling in a confused spiral since Stevie’s visit, were once again rearing her fight or flight response mechanism. Her initial commitment was to save a young girl from a hellish situation, to bring Lindsey into her home, feed her, clothe her, and provide a safe haven. Hanna was prepared to pack lunches, run her to school, guide her, direct her, and keep her out of trouble.

  Hanna knew the effects of an unstable, dysfunctional family. She lived it, she bore the scars. Fear of commitment to relationships, fear of not being able to break the cycle of alcohol, abuse, and cruelty. Hanna now committed to saving Lindsey from the pain, fear, and effects of the life into which she
was born.

  The pain of expectations and disappointment flowed just below the surface of Hanna’s cool, self-confident, façade. On occasions like the conversation with Penny, a scene or an incident in her past would come to mind, as clear, vivid, and painful as the moment it happened.

  A vision of high school rose to the front of Hanna’s memory. During her junior year, she was asked to the junior-senior prom by a handsome young man named Michael Brimm. He was quiet, kind, and not one of the in-crowd. Hanna took all the babysitting money she hid in a mayonnaise jar in her closet that was wrapped in a too-small PE sweatshirt and went to town.

  She could see the bright spring day as if it was that morning. The smell of jasmine and sweet peas planted along Main Street sweetened the air. She remembered going through the door of Dee Ann’s Formals feeling like she stepped through the looking glass. She usually wore clothes from discount stores and thrift shops. She couldn’t remember ever having a new dress, let alone a formal.

  A beautiful woman with silver hair greeted her about ten feet inside the door.

  “Prom time!” the woman said cheerfully.

  “Yes. I need a dress,” Hanna replied.

  She could feel the clerk’s eyes look her over from head to toe. Hanna suddenly wished she hadn’t come in the shop. She was ashamed of her clothes, and panicked at the thought of seeing the pink price tags that hung from all the gowns.

  “With a cute figure like yours we can find something that will knock your date’s eyes out! Ready to have some fun?”

  “Oh, yes ma’am!” Hanna’s fears melted away and she was swept up in the clerk’s enthusiasm.

  Dress after dress, Hanna tried on gowns and formals. Sleeveless, long lacy sleeved, floor length, and almost indecent minis—it was like the best game of dress up ever.

  Finally she found “the one”: a strapless, lavender dress that clung like a spider web. It showed off her pretty legs, but not too much. It displayed just a hint of cleavage and made her feel very grown up.

  On the way to the counter, Hanna noticed the dress had no price tag. Some of the other dresses she loved were way out of her price range. Why didn’t she look? What if it cost more than she had? She still needed shoes. Hanna felt her face redden and her neck go splotchy like it always did when she was embarrassed.