by Mary Calmes
“You could e-mail him.”
He nodded. “I think you’re right though, ’cause in my book the sailback one was a fish and then a lizard then a dinosaur.”
“There, you see?” I felt validated because my six-year-old agreed with me.
“Okay, so then fish don’t count.”
“Meaning?”
“They just stayed fish,” he concluded.
“That’s right,” Hannah nodded, putting that part of the discussion to bed.
“Then what about bugs?”
“Like what did bugs turn into?”
“Yeah.”
“Robots?” I offered after a second. “Transformers?”
He started giggling. “I don’t think you get evolution, Pa.”
No, probably not, but he hugged me so tight and kissed my cheek, so really, I didn’t care.
Chapter Eight
SAM’S family came home on Sunday, and since I knew they would all be exhausted from the trip, I invited them all over to the loft for a quick dinner before they went home. Regina was so thankful, and said the antipasto salad I made, along with lasagna and garlic bread was a blessing.
When Chaz and Pat showed up with wine, I fed them too, and they got to add to what I was telling my mother-in-law, my father-in- law, and Sam’s siblings. Everyone loved the hideout, as they called it, and over dinner and after, we all talked about Sam’s case and the missing witness and the handsome man—Rachel’s words—who had left with Sam.
“He’s not handsome,” Pat assured her. “He’s a—”
“Kids,” I cut him off.
“Jerk,” Pat finished, passing judgment on Detective Stiel.
“He is handsome, though.” I smiled knowingly, thinking of the detective’s impressive build, sharply cut features, and gunmetal-gray eyes. The man was gorgeous, actually, and I would have been impressed if an even more beautiful man didn’t sleep in my bed.
When Sam had called the evening before to say good night to the kids, it had been quick. But he had called back right before I went to bed to rumble in my ear that he missed me and he loved me and to please keep his side of the bed warm.
“Dane moved us.”
“I know, he told me. I liked his idea better, and the Chicago PD really appreciated not parking a patrol car in front of our house indefinitely.”
“I bet.”
“Hey, tomorrow Chaz and Pat are gonna come check up on you, okay?”
“Yes, dear.”
Heavy sigh. “I really do.”
“What?” I fished.
“Love you.”
“I know, Sam.”
“’Kay, good. It’s good you know.”
My whine was soft, but he still heard it.
“I’ll be home soon, baby.”
I could only nod.
The second night, that Sunday after the talk, after everyone went home, after I set the alarm and did the dishes and put the kids to bed, I waited for another phone call. But all I got was a text message to say that he loved me and that he was going out of cell range and wasn’t sure when he would be in touch. I figured I had to prepare myself for the silence.
THE following morning I got to work fast. It was easy to just zip down to my office from where the hideout was. Dane was right; there was something to be said for a quick commute. I greeted Dylan with her six-shot vanilla latte, gave Fallon his scone, and was about to sit down at my desk when I got a call from Hannah and Kola’s school. True to her word, Hannah had packed a water gun—the same Super Soaker her uncle had made sure to bring from our house—and tested her theory on witches and melting. Kola was in trouble as well. He had apparently taken exception to being told that his set painting for the school Thanksgiving opera was not good. We were working on him accepting constructive criticism, but at present he didn’t like to lose—his tantrums gave new meaning to the words “poor sport”—or be told something he was doing wasn’t right. Questioning him to try to bring him to the right conclusion was also on his list of pet peeves. The thing was, he was a sweet kid, loving and considerate, but he was turning into a real brat. But only sometimes. Playing anything with him was getting harder. I, of course, gave him chance after chance, and Sam just stopped whatever they were doing as soon as he showed even a hint of a tantrum. We had to come to some agreement until he either grew out of it or we changed the behavior. Sam had suggested we beat him, and I had just shaken my head. I knew he was kidding, but I really did want to wring Kola’s little neck sometimes when he was crying and stomping his foot.
At the school, Hannah was sorry about the water gun; Miss Chun, her teacher, was biting her bottom lip every five seconds so she wouldn’t laugh; the principal, Mrs. Petrovich, had her closed fist pressed over her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh. The only one who was annoyed at all was, of course, Ms. Brady, their music teacher. So not amused with being soaked with a water cannon.
“I am so sorry, Ms. Brady. It will never happen again.”
Miss Chun nodded and squinted before turning around fast to hide her face.
Mrs. Petrovich let out one snicker, looking very pained, and then gestured for Ms. Brady to go ahead out. Hannah was sent to sit in the hall, and as soon as the door closed behind her, both women dissolved into fits of rolling laughter.
“You guys aren’t helping,” I scolded them.
“It’s not even the first time it happened,” the principal told me as tears ran from her eyes. “I had a kid two years ago wearing a lei made of garlic because he thought she was a vampire!”
Miss Chun was wheezing.
“Three years ago, three kids kept spilling water on her to see if she’d sizzle.”
I squinted at them. “Maybe it’s time to look at what she’s doing around here, education wise.”
“Oh no, she’s a very good teacher, it’s just that—”
“She’s a witch!” Miss Chun announced, falling down onto the couch, just done.
I threw up my hands and went to go find Kola.
His teacher, Mr. Michaels, who was just as cute as he could be, was sitting with Kola in the front row of the auditorium, watching the other kids paint and hammer and hang lights. There were a lot of parents there, and I got many waves as I came down the aisle.
Kola saw me, got up, and ran to meet me. He threw his arms around my waist and buried his face in my stomach.
“What happened?” I asked him.
“I didn’t do it this time, Pa. Ollie did.”
“Tell me,” I said, leaning him back as I went down on one knee so I could see his eyes. His face was streaked with tears and his eyes were red.
“Ollie wanted to use the hammer, but it was my turn, but he went and told his dad that it was his turn, and Mr. Parker didn’t even ask Mr. Michaels, he just came and took the hammer away from me.”
“Okay. What happened then?”
“Then I got upset and said it wasn’t fair, and Mr. Michaels brought me down here even though I told him that Mr. Parker bent my finger when he took the hammer away.”
“What finger, buddy?”
The ring finger of his left hand, his writing hand, was huge. It was red and swollen and at least three times its normal size.
My eyes flicked to Mr. Michaels.
“Mr. Harcourt?”
“Did it escape you that his finger might be broken?”
He was up out of his chair and over to us in seconds. “He didn’t show it to me and—” He turned his head and yelled up to the stage.
“Mr. Parker, could you come down here, please!”
A big man I didn’t know—obviously a new parent who had just enrolled his child, as I had never seen Oliver before—came down off the stage and lumbered over to us.
“Chet?” He addressed Mr. Michaels by his first name—not the way we were asked to address the teachers at school.
“Did you peel Kola’s fingers off the hammer when you took it from him?”
He shrugged. “Sure, he didn’t want to let it go and it wasn’
t his turn.”
“As I told you, it actually was his turn, but that’s not the issue.
Did you hurt him when you took it from him?”
“Nah.” He shook his head, reaching out to tousle Kola’s hair.
I knocked the hand away. “Don’t touch him.”
“Okay, sorry.” He put up both his hands. “But I didn’t hurt him.”
I gestured at his hand. “I think you broke his finger.”
“I did not. I didn’t apply that much pressure.”
The man was big, though. He was not as powerfully built as Sam—there were no cording muscles—but he was certainly strong enough to hurt a little boy.
I looked back at Mr. Michaels. “You’ll both be hearing from my lawyer because you”—I pointed at Mr. Parker—“should never be touching any other kids but your own, and you”—my gaze fell on Mr. Michaels—“should have been there to protect him.”
I turned, pulled my phone at the same time, and called Aja. She had been the principal of a public high school; she would know what to do.
“Hi, honey, you’re not calling to cancel on my—”
“If a man just broke Kola’s finger at school, what can I do?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
I repeated what had happened, and she gave me a barrage of quick questions.
“I’m on my way to the hospital now.”
“Which one? Saint Joe?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I’ll call Rick. Either he or someone else will be right there.”
“Thanks.”
“Baby, do you need me there? Dane?”
“No, I’m fine.” I took a breath, because who I needed was Sam.
“All right.”
I hung up, held the door of the auditorium open, and had Kola and Hannah walk out before me.
“So we have to go to the hospital now, okay?”
Kola nodded and leaned into me, head on my hip. “I didn’t throw a fit that time, Pa, I promise.”
“I believe you, buddy, and I’m glad that you know when you do it and I’m glad that you’re working on it. We just have to—”
“Mr. Harcourt!”
Turning, I saw Mr. Parker charging down the hallway after me. I shoved Kola and Hannah behind me.
“You don’t threaten me! It was an accident,” he yelled as he reached me.
“It wasn’t,” I corrected him, standing my ground. “You hurt him on purpose, and there’s no excuse for that. Like I said, you can talk to my lawyer.”
“Listen, you little faggot,” he sneered, driving his fingers into my collarbone. “You’re not gonna make any trouble for me. That pissant kid of yours—”
“Mr. Parker!” Mr. Michaels yelled—terrified, I could tell—as he came hurrying down the hall to us.
“No! This is bullshit! I—”
“Step back,” I told him, my voice cold and hard. “I’m feeling threatened, Mr. Parker, and I don’t like it. I don’t want you within a hundred feet of either of my kids. So step… back.”
His eyes locked on mine.
He glared, but really, compared to others I’d known, the man was not scary at all. A few days ago a man had pointed a gun at me; a man without one was not about to inspire any terror.
After a minute, he took a step back. I whirled around, grabbed Kola’s right hand and Hannah’s left, and walked toward the front of the school. Mrs. Petrovich tried to stop me to talk, but I was too upset and walked straight to my minivan and put them in. As I was driving out of the parking lot, I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw all three of them—the teacher, the principal, and the parent—on the front steps.
At the hospital, I went to the emergency room, and within minutes, we were in a room. An adult could wait for hours, but not little kids. Hannah sat on the bed beside her brother playing LocoRoco2 on her PSP. She loved it—she sang along to songs that I didn’t think were actually in any real language, and it was mindless. Her brother watched her, doing his damnedest not to get sucked into what he called a baby game but was really not.
I was not pleased that Dr. Varma thought his finger was broken, not just sprained.
“But we’ll take an X-ray to be certain.” He smiled at Kola, holding his good hand in his. “So you’ll be here just a little bit, buddy, okay?”
Kola nodded.
“Okay.” He looked up at me. “How did this happen?”
Once I told him, he said that the police would have to be notified.
“I’ll call them,” I told him.
He nodded and said that he would give a statement. While we waited for Kola to go down for an X-ray, I called Pat.
Hannah and I went with Kola when they came to take him, because my kids didn’t go places without me. I didn’t take my eyes off them. I had been called a nervous mother many a time, but it didn’t matter. It was why they didn’t spend the night over at the houses of people I didn’t know, or walk to the park without me, or talk to strangers. And it was funny how many times Kola or Hannah came up to me after school with some kid I’d never met in my life, and said that so-and-so’s mother said it was fine if he or she came over to our house.
The parents had never even met me, and we had never spoken, but they were sure, since our kids went to the same school together, that it was safe to send them home with me. It was mind-boggling. I had to know people before I trusted them with my kids.
One time Kola called me from his friend Owen’s house because Owen’s mother, Georgette, had left and Owen’s uncle was there watching them. The uncle, Georgette’s little brother, was seventeen. He had taken Owen and Kola to the store, where they had gone to pick up cigarettes and beer and some beef jerky. Owen lived downtown, which meant my little boy, without close adult supervision, had walked through not the greatest neighborhood to wherever the drug store was. I thought I was going to pass out.
I had called Sam, completely unglued, because his office was closer and in traffic it would have taken me more than an hour to reach our son. He had left work and gone right over and collected Kola. In the process of picking him up, Sam had apparently scared the holy crap out of the brother after confiscating both the beer and the cigarettes.
Georgette called me later that night to apologize, and I invited her for coffee after school the following day. She was surprised when I brought her back home with me, sat her down in my breakfast nook while the kids played upstairs, and made her a latte with my espresso machine.
“I love your house,” she told me, and I appreciated that, even though it was messy. “It’s just me and Owen at my house, and… this is nice.”
Working mothers—I understood that they needed help. I offered to take Owen on holidays, like the Fourth of July or the day after Thanksgiving, when she had to work her retail job. Owen was on scholarship at the school; she didn’t have the money to just send him there. She was alone; her ex-husband had walked out on her and her son and never looked back. Currently she was in the midst of suing him for child support. When Sam came home and the kids flew through the house to greet him, even Owen shuffling forward to say hi, I watched her eyes fill and her bottom lip tremble. The way Owen looked up at Sam Kage with greedy eyes as Sam tousled the little boy’s hair was hard for her to see. And it wasn’t me and it wasn’t Sam, it was just the illustration of the family in front of her. I was still amazed sometimes that all the things I had thought I would never have were now all mine.
So because of that, because I took nothing for granted, letting my son go down to X-ray alone was not an option. He had to know that I was right there and that I would always be.
When we got back, Chaz and Pat were waiting in the room for me.
The kids were happy to see them, and I noted, as I always did, the differences in the two men: Chaz in his suit and tie, Pat in the sweater under the leather jacket, with jeans and work boots. They could not have looked like more of an odd couple. Chaz was smooth and sophisticated, and Pat was the one who would hold you off your feet against
the wall while the good cop asked you questions. They had been partners forever, and neither had any desire to change it. Sam had told me that either one of them could take the captain’s exam and move up, but neither of them ever would. Bureaucracy and politics you could keep; they would just do what they did best and solve crimes.
“Hey, J,” Chaz greeted me. “Long time no see.”
Since it had just been the night before, I got the joke.
“Hey, Steph wants you and Sammy and the kids over at our place as soon as he gets back, okay?” He tipped his head at Pat. “She said she already told E.”
“I’m sure she did.” Pat smiled back at Chaz because their wives, Stephanie Diaz and Ersi Cantwell, were as thick as thieves. When your husbands were as close as Chaz and Pat were, you prayed you got along. Ersi always said that, in Stephanie, she had been blessed with both a best friend and a sister. What was nice for me was that they had both taken to me as well. I was so very thankful.
“As soon as Sam gets home, we’d love to.”
Chaz nodded.
“Okay, so,” Pat said, moving over beside Kola, “what happened, Kage?”
Kola loved it when Pat called him “Kage.” It made him feel big and strong because it reminded him that he was Sam’s son, and that was always good. I was sure during the teenage years it would be a problem, but at six, it was still a source of pride.
“Mr. Parker bent my fingers way back when he took the hammer away from me, and one of them hurts real bad.”
Pat’s eyes flicked to mine, and they were scary.
“Oh.” Chaz shook his head. “You realize you’re like the luckiest guy on the planet that Sam’s not actually here right now.”
“I am aware,” I told him.
“Can you show me how he did it?” Pat asked Kola. “I’ll be you and you be Mr. Parker.”
“Okay.” Kola nodded.
To bring the tension down a little, I asked about Chaz’s three boys and Pat’s four girls. Pat’s oldest was graduating from high school in June, and the idea that her college acceptance letters would be coming soon was freaking Pat out. Not that he had to worry—I knew Iris was thinking of the University of Chicago, if not for her first choice, then certainly her second.
