Cicada Song

by Bradford Combs

  Chapter 27

  The morning came much too quickly but Sara opted not to linger in bed. She got up and passed the couch without looking to see if Stan was awake, not ready to deal with that yet. She prepared the coffee and fried up some eggs and bacon and, after some reluctance, decided to make Stan some as well. He was beginning to stir, so she poured two mugs of coffee and some orange juice, and then brought it all into the living room. Stan sat up and accepted the food without a word as Sara left to put his clothes in the dryer. He was nearly finished with breakfast by the time she returned.

  “Try eating a little quieter. The farmers might hear you.”

  “What?”

  Sara shook her head. The farmers might cook him up if they heard him eating like a pig. The joke sounded better in her head. Instead of explaining herself, which was never a good idea, she ate in silence until they were both finished. Then she sat back, the awkwardness of the previous night still heavy, and tapped her foot nervously.

  “Where’d you learn to hit so hard?” Stan eventually blurted out.

  “Nice icebreaker there.”

  “Why pussyfoot around it?” Stan said with a forced half-smile. Sara didn’t laugh, so Stan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Sara. I was just so upset already, and then you accused Leslie of cheating… I just wasn’t prepared for that. I thought about how you and Phil… before the accident. I overreacted.”

  “Yes, and not only about Leslie. I’m tired of you nagging me about Jake. I was wrong when I tried to kiss Phil, but Jake forgave me, and I was wrong to date Phil after the accident, too. I’ve already apologized for that and refuse to keep doing it. I have no desire to leave Jake again.”

  “Not even for Ellis?”

  “Not even for Ellis.”

  She watched as an invisible weight fell from Stan’s shoulders. It was none of his business, but the possibility of her leaving Jake for Ellis had been a burden for him all week. He had good reason to be concerned, but why tell him that? Bored of the tension, she opted to just let it go. With what strength she could muster, she swung Stan’s pillow at his head, catching him off guard and knocking him to the floor.

  They each showered and Stan dressed himself once his clothes were dry. The tension of the previous night ebbed away, and they found themselves laughing again before long, but there was still the lingering concern over Leslie. Sara could see it in Stan’s eyes, the fear of what transpired in his own home, but he refused to accept it, and Sara didn’t bring it up.

  “When do you have to be at work?”

  “I don’t. I called Percy while you were in the shower and took the day off. I didn’t have any specific tunes to play so he didn’t mind.”

  “Then let’s go do something.”

  “What’s today’s theme?”

  “Responsibility,” Sara said plainly. “Arthur Harris and Maxwell Cord put it together. I’ve not really heard what it’s about.”

  Arthur Harris had claimed one day of Cicada Song to help spread the message of safety and obeying the law. The board wasn’t fond of his ideas but allowed him his day, provided Maxwell Cord helped him with the creative aspects. Unlike Arthur, Maxwell had a great deal of personality; and, as Anderson’s fire chief, he also encouraged safety. Of all Cicada Song themes, this was the day that Sara was least excited for.

  “Oh! Thursday, right,” Stan said, shaking his head. “Arthur’s doing a special something for my dad.”

  “Good. I’m excited to see it.”

  Once ready, they opened the door and found an unexpected gift sitting on the porch. Sara smiled as she read the attached card.

  You have been dubbed a do-gooder of our fair Anderson. Show your Responsibility with pride.

  Fire Chief Maxwell Cord

  Police Chief Arthur Harris

 

  Sara opened the lid and laughed as she pulled out a folded police uniform, complete with a badge and handcuffs. It had been sized for her, likely with her mother’s help, so she ran back inside and quickly changed. The uniform was more generic than Arthur’s but it seemed genuine. The badge, customized with her last name, pinned to her breast easily enough and she slid the cuffs into a pouch on her belt.

  “No way Arthur thought of this,” Stan said.

  “Maxwell all the way,” Sara agreed.

  The two climbed into Sara’s car and headed toward Stan’s house. They noticed other police officers walking about, as well as several prisoners in orange jumpsuits. This tickled them, and when they reached Stan’s house they found two unopened boxes on the porch. Sara watched as Stan stared disappointedly at a green vehicle across the street. She didn’t have to ask who it belonged to. Stan hesitated before exiting the vehicle, and then lingered on the porch a moment before fiddling with the door knob. He shook his head and grabbed his present.

  “Thought I’d try it,” he said when he got back.

  “Don’t let it bother you.”

  “I’m not.”

  He opened the present and laughed as he pulled out a black and white striped jumpsuit. The left side of the breast read Cromwell with a series of numbers following it. There were also optional shackles for the feet or hands.

  “You’re the son of the greatest police chief Anderson’s ever known, and still they dub you a criminal?”

  “Sometimes there’s just no denying it,” he replied with a smirk. “I’ll change in the shed.”

  Stan jogged around the house to where the shed stood. Though Sara worried that something bad might happen, he returned a few minutes later no worse for wear. Then Sara froze. Leslie had opened the front door and was peering through the screen with bloodshot eyes and her hair a mess. Most shocking, however, was the fact that she was completely naked and hardly hiding it. It was as if she wanted Stan to see what she had been doing.

  Sara drove off before Stan could notice his adulterous wife. Every inch of her wanted to scream at Leslie, to tell Stan that she was obviously having an affair with the college boys, but that wasn’t a fight either of them needed right now.

  “Hey,” Stan said. “Check out Sammy.”

  The town photographer waved from the sidewalk, dressed in a fireman uniform minus the heavy jacket. They laughed as they noticed other firemen, and the town was soon alive with police officers, firefighters, and criminals adorned in stripes and jumpsuits. Signs were posted in windows along the main drag stating laws and the punishments for breaking them, Arthur’s doing obviously, but Maxwell’s creativity showed again as they came across Riley James. The taxi driver rode the same horse-drawn carriage from 1841 Anderson, but it was now decorated to look like an old horse-drawn fire engine, complete with a large hose and siren that he set off at regular intervals.

  They spied an old newsstand with the word Itinerary across it, built next to the fountain that marked Anderson’s center. The official lingo and uninspired print also screamed Arthur Harris.

  “Interesting,” Stan said as they approached the newsstand.

  Old newspapers detailed extinguished forest fires and major arrests from all around the country. They read through them and found articles detailing the firemen lost during 9/11, and of military operations in Desert Storm, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Sara picked up a newspaper and showed it to Stan. She didn’t linger on it but knew he would be appreciative. It was from when Stanley Cromwell Sr. was honored in the Warren Tribune for bringing in Office Clem.

  They each skimmed a folded up piece of paper with a schedule of the day’s events detailed inside. Sara found some of the events interesting, such as A History of Anderson Firefighters and Structural Tragedies of the Late 1800s, but Laws of the Land and The Arthur Harris Story were less appealing.

  “In about an hour,” Stan said, pointing toward the itinerary. “They’re celebrating former officers. That’s when they’ll honor Dad.”

  “Well then, we have time to go mingle with the rest of the riff raff, don’t we?”

  “My people,” Stan said with a smile.

>   He offered a hand and she grabbed it firmly, slapping a handcuff over each of their wrists.

  “Just in case you decide to make a run for it.”

  “Don’t make me drag you all over town, little girl.” Then Stan’s smile slacked a bit. “You do have the key, don’t you? I doubt Leslie would like seeing us cuffed together like this.”

  Sara didn’t respond.