“My dad’s an asshole.”
JD nodded. There was his opening. “I used to think my dad was an asshole, but now I talk to him every day. He was a teacher, and I used to hate him for that, but I wound up being a teacher. He inspired me.”
“Yeah, well, my dad’s a junkie, so I’ll get to wind up like him? Fuck that. Fuck my dad.”
That was understandable. “You probably have a good reason for feeling that way.”
“Yeah I do. Did you see the fucking…”
“Language.”
Mike put his notebook on the desk, covering up a pile of papers full of local and state testing data. “Did you see the video? Charlie the Spoon versus the squeegee man? Every kid in the school saw that. They were spraying me with squeegees in the cafeteria. Did you stop that? Did you?”
JD hadn’t known about it. “I would have, if I’d seen it. I’m sorry.”
“I got my homework messed up every day. I got soapy water in my eyes. One time it was even f… It was lemon juice. That burned like a motherf… It really hurt.”
“I didn’t know. Hang on a moment.” He called Gwen over the intercom. “Gwen, ask Vice Principal Knowles to step in here?”
They sat in silence. Vice Principle Knowles, a tall big-bellied man with a crewcut and a cheap suit, came in holding a massive donut shop coffee cup. “What’s up?”
“After lunch, we’re doing a surprise locker inspection. Whole school. You up for it?”
Knowles never smiled, but he nodded twice, which meant approval. “Locker inspections are my life.”
“Get after the usual contraband, but if we see any squeegees, we’ll take those too, and throw them out.”
The Vice Principal looked at Mike Byrne, making the connection. “Don’t worry, kid,” he said. “I won’t let on it’s about you.”
“Whatever,” Mike replied.
Once Knowles was gone, JD looked at the boy again. “If someone knocks you down or pushes you, just stand up straight, look him in the eye, and say, ‘It’s not fun anymore.’ Just in a normal voice. Then walk away. That’s all you have to say. ‘It’s not fun anymore.’”
The boy seemed confused as he gripped his knees. “That’s retarded. What’s that going to do?”
“It’s not what they’re expecting. It will mess with their heads, and maybe they’ll decide it’s not fun anymore, like you’re saying. Just don’t get mad, and don’t throw a punch, and don’t cry. Just don’t. Don’t let them see it, and don’t do it. Because you are not a victim.”
“But they’re bigger than me.”
“They’re bigger than you, but being big doesn’t make you a winner. Mike, I got pushed around at school, too. It was for a different reason. My mom and dad were both teachers at the school, so kids who were mad at them took it out on me. They also liked to pick on me because my mom’s Mexican and my dad’s white.”
This statement seemed to break through the boy’s anxiety. He eased his hold on his knees. “Really?”
“Sure. Mrs. Joselita Cabrera-West. She was the school’s French teacher.”
“Why not a Spanish teacher?”
“Well, you know, at my high school, and that’s in the 1970s, they thought French was a better language for smart people. You have French, right? Then you’ll get this. D’ou venez-vous? Je vien des Etats-Unis. Je vien de Louisville.”
Mike looked at him frankly and said, “Je vien de Hell.”
JD hadn’t expected it. This kid was smart, he realized. He just needed some resources to help him cope. “That’s why you punched the wall, right?” He looked at the wounds on the boy’s knuckles.
“Right.”
“Is your dad still at Apple Blossom?”
Mike tensed up again. “I don’t know where that motherf… I don’t know where he is. Maybe.”
JD decided at that moment to go and introduce himself to Charlie the Spoon.
Chapter Eight
Natalie decided to keep John Allen’s baby furniture after all, and thanks to a little after-hours help from Phil, they were now making good use of it at the daycare center. It had been a scheme by Natalie to get them to talk, but it hadn't worked. Vicki had made an excuse right as he arrived—a fake cell phone call she just had to take in the back yard.
It was time to have extra furniture there anyway with the three new babies they’d gotten in the past week. Natalie had spent hours on a Sunday afternoon repainting them bright red and yellow so they were harder to recognize. Roxie, a plump little 8-month-old, was sound asleep in John Allen’s crib now, her open mouth drooling contentedly and her fisted hands stretched above her head.
Natalie had just finished rocking three-month-old Trenton when she looked up at the security camera over the door and saw Phil standing there with a box. He waved up at the camera. She looked around for Vicki, who had just been at the sink a moment ago, but had apparently disappeared. Natalie sighed, put Trenton down in another crib, and went to let Phil in.
“Shh,” she said soon as he stepped inside. She gestured toward the sleeping toddlers and the older ones who were engrossed in a Word Girl episode.
Phil gave her the thumbs up in understanding and gently set the box of printer paper down. He stuck his handheld out for Natalie to sign. She looked over her shoulder. Vicki had probably sneaked out the back door for another phantom call or was hiding in the bathroom. That stinker.
“Thanks,” Phil whispered, looking wistfully behind her for AWOL Vicki. “I guess I’ll see ya later.” He headed back out the front door.
While she had the chance, Natalie tiptoed out behind Phil and closed the door behind her. “Hey, Phil, wait up.”
He turned around on the sidewalk. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for helping us move that furniture.”
“No problem. Anytime. I like some exercise after being cooped up in the truck all day." He flexed his fingers, which made his forearms ripple. Natalie hoped Vicki was spying on Phil’s manliness from the bathroom window.
“Wednesday night’s Karaoke night down at El Nopal,” Natalie said. “Vicki and I are going. Dinner and drinks on me.”
His eyes widened a bit, and he almost dropped his handheld. “You don’t have to repay me, but do you think Vicki will mind? I mean, I don’t know if she’s…interested.”
“Sure, she is.” She just doesn’t know it yet, Natalie thought with a wry smile. “What do you say?”
He lifted his lip in one of those cat-whisker grins. “Yeah, OK, what time?”
“How about seven?” She and Vicki were going at six-thirty, so it would look like Phil just happened to have a hankering for karaoke too.
“Sounds good. You sure she won’t be mad or anything?”
Natalie crossed her fingers behind her back. “Positive.” Well, not at you, anyway.
“All right, then. I’ll meet you there at seven.”
“Seven it is.” Since Phil was a delivery man, he’d most likely be right on the dot. She’d have plenty of time to get Vicki settled in and relaxed with at least one margarita down.
He practically bounced to the delivery truck. If Vicki really was looking out the bathroom window, she would be watching Phil’s retreating buns in the brown shorts. Natalie smiled as she watched him drive away. She reached around to her back pocket for her cell phone and got it out. Her finger hovered over the keypad. She sighed and put it back.
Calling JD had been her first instinct. He loved El Nopal, said their chalupas were just like his mom’s. Back when they still went out together, he’d want to eat there almost every weekend. She smiled, remembering how it took him exactly two and a half margaritas to have enough courage to sing karaoke. He wasn’t Frank Sinatra, but he wasn’t half bad.
Goose pimples prickled across her skin as she recalled him singing 500 Miles—the one-hit wonder by The Proclaimers—on their second date. She’d laughed so hard when he sang that bouncy rhythm, complete with jerky, tight-fisted marching:
“Da da lat da, Da da lat da…”He reall
y let go that night—nothing but a carefree, happy JD singing silly karaoke to her at El Nopal. Soon as the song ended, he leapt off the stage, ran to the table, and kissed her under the red chili-pepper lights. She knew right then he was the one she wanted to wake up with for the rest of her life.
With a shaky breath, Natalie went back inside and checked on the babies. They all slept the completely relaxed sleep of the innocent. She touched the crib that would have been John Allen’s and thought about JD. About how he used to look at her and how strong and warm his hands had felt on the small of her back when he pulled her to him. She missed him, but the chasm between them seemed too wide to cross, at least for now.
Vicki emerged from her hiding place in the bathroom. She strolled nonchalantly to the puzzle table where she knelt and picked up scattered pieces.
“I want us to go out Wednesday night,” Natalie said, coming up behind her. “You’re right; I’ve been moping around too much.
Vicki jumped, dropping pieces of a shape puzzle onto the table. “Oh, wow, ok. Where and when?”
“El Nopal. 6:30 sound good?”
“Sure.” She stood and propped a hand on her hip. “Wait a minute—is Phil going to conveniently be there, by any chance?”
“Oh come on, Vic. I want a quiet night out, just us girls. I’m not in the mood for male interference.”
Vicki frowned, but then she nodded. “Ok, want me to pick you up?”
“Sure.”
One of the babies whimpered, waking up from her nap. Vicki walked over to her, and Natalie headed to the sink to fix a fresh bottle of formula. She laughed quietly to herself and uncrossed her fingers. She sure was lying a lot today. Hopefully it would be worth it.
Chapter Nine
Apple Blossom Manor was bordered on one side by a residential neighborhood. High fences surrounded each house, JD noticed, and he could only guess the reason — NIMBY, “not in my back yard.” Someone must really have been able to pull strings to get city permission to convert this plain two-story residence into a halfway house. It was painted institutional beige and had ornamental bars over the windows. There were several vehicles in the driveway and the street in front, including a panel truck with an apple tree badly painted on it. On the other side of the facility was a brick building whose tiny signage indicated “City Water,” and behind that an actual water tower.
Apple Blossom had a small, neatly-kept yard surrounded by an ornate wrought iron fence. JD parked across the street.
As he entered the yard, a burly man emerged from a side door and met JD on the front walk. He had scruffy hair and a tattoo on his throat. He was carrying a tied-off plastic garbage bag. JD was pretty sure the Samson-sized man could end him with a single blow, but he smiled and nodded and tried to step around.
“Yeah, what do you need?” Samson asked.
“Charlie Byrne. He’s here?”
Samson shrugged. “You can go in and look.”
JD stepped around him and entered. Across from the entrance was a staircase, and to the right was a small office where a wizened woman sat behind a dented desk. Her bony fingers caressed a tiny scrap of paper. She was folding an origami swan, JD figured, because there were about twenty of them spread out in front of her.
“Charlie Byrne,” JD asked. “He here?”
“He expecting you?”
“I called here. I’m Principal West.”
Their eyes connected. She looked bored. “He expecting you?”
She knew the answer. She was just giving JD a hard time.
“I’m his son’s principal. It’s about his son.”
“Yeah?” She looked at JD cross-eyed, set down the paper swan. “Nice coat. That what principals can afford these days?”
“I guess.”
“I ought to be one of them, then. Hang on.” She got up and tottered to an intercom, punched a button. “Hey, Charlie, you there? Some guy to see you about your son.” She released the button. She looked at JD. JD looked at her. He smiled a little. She didn’t smile at all. She pushed the button again. “He’s got a nice coat,” she added.
The next few seconds lasted hours. At last there was a thumping noise as someone came down the stairs.
He looked different from the video, if not being blurry meant different. His beard was trimmed close, and his eyes were less wild. He wore a sweatshirt with the sleeves torn off and jeans and boots that looked as if they had been fished from a dumpster.
“Mr. Byrne,” JD said. He extended his hand. It wasn’t easy. This man was known to be violent. But then, taking care of kids often wasn’t easy.
“Who the fuck are you?” Charlie the Spoon demanded. “You ain’t a cop, are you?”
“I’m the principal of Mike’s high school. John Dewey West.” Again he offered his hand.
Charlie Byrne looked him up and down. JD returned the favor. The man had no track marks on his arms — no red spots, no bruises. His eyes were clear. JD hadn’t met too many heroin addicts, but the man looked to be in better health than he had been during his brawl with the squeegee man on YouTube.
Finally the handshake was accepted, weakly.
“The principal, huh? What’s it about? Cause I got no money for his supplies or nothin’. Ain’t easy to get a job when everyone in town thinks you’re a bum.”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” JD said. “I’m here because I want you to know what’s going on with your son.”
“You came over here for that? Shit, I was hoping you brought me a six-pack or something.”
“Oh.” JD was confused. “Are you allowed to drink in here?”
“Naw, I like root beer.” Charlie shook his head. “Okay, so, what’s up with Mike? He get a girl pregnant or something?”
JD looked at the old woman, then back to the man in front of him. “Talk here?”
“My room’s a pigsty. Roz, whatever you hear, you think you can shut the fuck up about it?”
The old lady lifted a book entitled Origami for Beginners in front of her face.
“See. She don’t care. Just spill, Mr. West.”
“He goes to every class, and he gets good grades, but he’s very withdrawn. He doesn’t seem to have any friends. It’s worse, actually. He’s being bullied. I’m helping coach him about how to resist. He’s very angry.”
“Angry with me,” Charlie said. “Yeah, he’s got the right. I ain’t seen him but once since I got out. I call, but he don’t get on the phone. It’s pretty fucked up, tell you the truth. But I don’t blame him.”
“Is that something I can help with?” JD figured he could, but he wanted the father to make the decisions.
“Why do you care?”
“I was a smart kid who got bullied at school. I guess I see some of myself in him.”
“So you want to be his new dad?” Charlie narrowed his eyes.
“If that was what I wanted, I wouldn’t be here talking to you, Mr. Byrne.”
The ex-con suddenly lunged his head at JD, who stepped back and bumped into the doorframe of the office. It was a fake-out.
“Yep, you’re soft. You’d be a good dad for Mike. He’s soft, too.”
“I don’t think so,” JD said. His heart was beating fast, but he knew how bullies operated and wasn’t giving this man the satisfaction of showing he was upset. “I think if he were soft, he wouldn’t be in school and keeping his grades up when he feels like the place is a living hell for him. You know?”
“Yeah, I know. I went to Elbridge Jones. Piece of shit school. Right, Mr. West?”
“Every school is a work in progress,” JD said. He wouldn’t let himself be provoked. “Look, I just want to help. Is there a way I can arrange for you and Mike to see each other? Or help you out some way?”
“Sure there is. I need some clothes. I can’t go to a fucking job interview dressed like this. I need some new clothes.”
JD considered Charlie for a moment. Pretty close in height and build, if he had to guess. He wasn’t about to take the guy’s meas
urements. He had some dry-cleaning in his car. “Hang on, I think I can help. Just wait right here.” He ran out to his car, accidentally kicked through some leaves the burly man was raking. “Sorry.”
“Whatever,” said Samson.
JD came back with a dress shirt and pants in dry-cleaning bags.
Charlie was leaning on the wall by the stairs. His eyes widened. “Seriously? You can’t be for real.”
“If they’ll fit,” JD said. “I think we’re pretty close in size.”
“You think?” Charlie held the shirt up to his chest. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Yours, then.”
“Just like that, huh? I don’t owe you nothin’?”
“Just like that. And no, you don’t owe me anything.”
“I could use a sport coat, too.”
JD considered this. He didn’t want to be conned, and this man was being a dick, but that was a defense mechanism used by wounded people. He might come around, and it was only a store-bought coat, not a family heirloom. He took off the coat and handed it over, realizing a moment too late that his Elbridge Jones insignia pin was still on the lapel. But, he didn’t want to impede any progress he was making with Charlie, so he let it go.
“Try it on,” JD said.
****
As he was nearing home — Dale’s apartment — his cell rang. In a flash, JD remembered Natalie had once called him every day at 5:00. “Okay, honey, we’re closing up. Whatcha want for dinner?” If only he could hear that call again. It had been weeks, and sometimes he still forgot for a few minutes that they were separated, and divorce lawyers had already begun to talk. He wanted to grab her and say, “Come on, this is ridiculous already. Let’s just go back to how things were. We can still make it work.” But he couldn’t grab her. She had closed the door in his face. She had moved forward with the separation and now the divorce with a relentless sureness that made no sense to him, not even willing to talk about it.
All this flashed through his mind, but he saw from his phone that the number was unrecognized. He pulled over to the curb to answer.
Chances Are Page 5
