by Joseph Lewis
“We know you’re a Colts fan, Angel,” Monique said.
“But we’re Bears fans, so when you wear this, you have to think of us,” Carol said.
Brett smiled at them and fought back tears. He looked down and blinked rapidly, and swallowed mightily at a lump in his throat that seemed to grow to the size of a boulder.
“Thank you,” he said thickly.
Rodney gave him a ‘man hug’ and a high five. Dee gave him a hug and a kiss on the top of his head, as did Carol.
Monique held his face in his hands and said, “Angel, we’re gonna miss you!”
She hugged him once, twice, and kissed the top of his head, and then brushed tears off her face.
CHAPTER FOUR
Waukesha, Wisconsin
Jeremy Evans lay in bed enjoying the silence of his house and the light, cool breeze puffing his bedroom curtains, knowing George would be up shortly. Jeremy had become a morning person during his undergrad years at the University of Wisconsin – La Crosse. Morning was his time to say his prayers, read some scripture and think. Perhaps worry, because he was a first class, A-number one worrier.
He was single, had never married, and in fact since the sixth grade, had toyed with the idea of becoming a priest. However, the idea of celibacy drove him crazy, not that he was ever promiscuous. It was the concept of priesthood he had thought about very seriously: the mysticism, the prayer life, the religiousness all appealed to him. Just not the celibacy.
Jeremy generally had a ready laugh, was quiet in new situations and surroundings, and was considered by others to be friendly. His brown hair had thinned out and had begun to turn gray. His face was scarred from a major bout with acne as a teenager, but everyone seemed to look past it because he was considered kind and understanding. Jeremy, however, saw it each and every time he looked in the mirror.
At thirty-six, he was a high school counselor who was on-call for police and sheriff departments and the FBI. Formerly, he was a social studies teacher and a head boys’ basketball coach, but never a priest. And to top it all off, he had a set of twins, and quite possibly, George might be joining his growing family.
It had been a long, strange road. Some people collected coins or stamps. Others collected beer cans or some dumb thing like that. Jeremy collected kids, not that he had ever tried to do so.
Fourteen year old Randy, his first, had run away from an abusive home and was placed into foster care. Because Jeremy was on the foster list in hopes of eventually adopting a child, he ended up with Randy a little over two years ago. Billy, Randy’s twin, came along a little over a year later.
It was a confusing mess.
The twins were born to a school-aged mom and were given up for adoption, and because neither family had wanted a set of twins, the agency agreed to separate them.
Randy had known from little on that he was adopted because his adoptive father had shouted it with every punch and shove he had given him, along with the admonition, “We should ship your ass back to Milwaukee where you came from.”
Billy had no idea he had been adopted until Randy had shown up, because his parents hadn’t told him. A picture and story about Jeremy and Randy appeared in the paper, and Billy was the first to see it, starting a war in the Schroeder household that ended when Robert and Monica divorced.
Monica had moved out of the house to live on the east side of Milwaukee, and Billy had refused visitation weekends so eventually Monica gave up trying. The boys met and became very close friends. One would begin a sentence and the other would finish it. They didn’t need words to communicate, and it was scary how much conversation took place nonverbally.
Billy stayed with Jeremy and Randy on weekends and for long stretches during the summer, including some holidays, and it infuriated Monica, whereas Robert saw it as only natural, even though it had saddened him.
One early September afternoon, Billy had come home from school and found Robert lying in the upstairs hallway clutching two chocolate chip cookies, dead from a massive heart attack.
There was a legal battle.
Robert’s will gave most of his money to Billy, with Jeremy the executor of a trust set up by a huge life insurance policy. Monica had a lawyer who demanded not only the money, but also that Billy live with her because she was the original adoptive mother. Jeremy had a very high priced lawyer bought and paid for by his best friend, Jeff Limbach, an international bestselling author. No way could Jeremy have afforded the meetings, the briefs, the- crap- as he put it, without Jeff’s help.
Billy refused to speak to her or to her lawyer, but it was his threat to run away any and every chance he could that eventually wore Monica down. So, she gave up and moved out of state, and Billy hadn’t had any contact with her since, even though Jeremy had encouraged him to. Eventually, Jeremy had given up too.
So, Jeremy had a set of twins, each going by different last names: Randy Evans, who was eventually adopted by Jeremy, and Billy Schroeder. He was also adopted by Jeremy, but out of respect for his original adoptive father, he had kept his original last name. It was confusing to outsiders, but perfectly normal to those who were close to the twins.
And now there was George.
Two days previous, FBI agent Pete Kelliher, a guy Jeremy had never met, called and asked to meet him. Being curious, Jeremy agreed. Kelliher brought George in tow and asked Jeremy to watch over him while he and the members on his team investigated a human trafficking ring across half of the United States. Pete had no idea when George would go home, and now it seemed that he might not ever go home except to tie up loose ends.
The problem was that George didn’t have a home to go home to. He had witnessed a murder- an execution, really- of a boy his own age while tending his family’s sheep on the Navajo reservation in Northeast Arizona. He stepped forward as a witness, and in retaliation, his grandparents, his mother, his sister and two brothers were murdered and his house set on fire. The only reason George wasn’t murdered was because, at the request of Kelliher and the FBI, he was in Wisconsin at a scene of yet another child murder, identifying two perpetrators- found dead alongside the boy.
And to make it all the more interesting- and gruesome- on the night of the sieges in Chicago, Kansas City and Long Beach, George had fought and killed a man sent to kill him and Jeremy and the twins. The man died on the side of the house among the Tea Roses and Chrysanthemums. Had that man made his way into the house undetected, Jeremy, the twins and George would most certainly be dead.
George had never really known his father, and the only living relative he had was a twenty-six year old single cousin who was a Navajo Tribal Policeman living in a trailer by a creek bed that was more dry than wet.
What worried Jeremy, what kept him awake at night and the puzzle he prayed about and tried to solve early each morning before the boys awoke, was how he was going to afford the twins and a third fourteen-year old boy, on a high school counselor’s salary. George hadn’t come with anything other than the clothes on his back, the Addidas shoes on his feet and a small, beat up duffle bag that contained his cowboy boots and moccasins, and a small plastic Target sack that included a toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant, socks, two t-shirts and three pair of boxers purchased by Kelliher when he had dropped the boy off. Thankfully, the three boys were almost the same height, though George was more narrow and lankier.
Jeremy had also wondered and worried how the boy was coping. He couldn’t fathom the loss, the loneliness, the emptiness, and the confusion the boy must be feeling. Only knowing George for a day, Jeremy and the twins had asked the boy to live with them. They hoped he would, but George hadn’t given them a clue as to what he was thinking.
The toilet down the hall flushed. Water ran in the sink, and a moment later, a shadow appeared in the doorway. At first, nothing was said.
Then in a whisper, George said, “Mr. Jeremy?”
“Good morning, George. Come in.”
George stood at the foot of the bed, hugging his bare chest.
“You’re making me cold, Kiddo. Get yourself warm,” Jeremy whispered in a laugh.
George sat down on the edge of the bed, still hugging himself.
“What’s on your mind?”
George didn’t answer. He merely lowered his head, his shiny, shoulder length, black hair obscuring his face. Jeremy could see the knots of the boy’s spine as George hunched over. He could even count his ribs. He waited patiently.
“I don’t know what to do,” George finally said.
Jeremy got up out of bed and sat next to him on the end of the bed.
“What are your options?”
George looked up, and Jeremy saw tears.
“Move back home to Arizona or live here,” George said quietly.
“What are the advantages of moving back to Arizona?”
George lowered his head and was silent for a time, and then said, “I’d be back among my people, in my land. I’d be with my cousin.”
“Any other advantages?”
His friend, Rebecca, and her brother, Charles, flashed through his mind, but in the end George shrugged and then shook his head.
“What are the disadvantages?”
Without much hesitation, George said, “I don’t have a family anymore. I have nothing.” He began to weep.
“Hey, Kiddo,” Jeremy said, slipping his arm around the boy’s shoulders.
It broke his heart to see the boy like this, any kid like this. He kissed the side of his head.
“If you live here, what are the advantages?”
George shrugged, wiped his eyes with his hands, and then wiped his hands on the sheet beneath him.
“Randy and Billy and you. Mr. Jon and Miss Bert next door.”
“And?”
George shrugged and said, “What?”
“You’d have a home. You’d have a family. You’d have people who care about you and want you.”
George wept, and Jeremy gave his shoulder a squeeze and kissed the side of his head again.
“The Navajo believe in balance.”
“I know . . . I mean, I don’t know a lot about Navajo customs or beliefs, but I’ve been doing some research,” Jeremy said softly.
“I think I’m upsetting the balance between Randy and Billy.”
“Huh . . .” Jeremy said. He hadn’t noticed any rift between the boys, so he asked, “How’s that?”
“Randy and Billy are best friends. They’re different, but the same. They had their own bedroom, but now I’m there.”
“I thought it was Billy’s idea to move the double bed into their room and move the single bed into the spare room,” Jeremy said.
“It’s their room. I feel like I don’t belong,” he answered and wept some more.
“But again, it was Billy’s idea to move the bed into the room and to sleep with you. I think Randy agreed to it, didn’t he?” George nodded. “Why else do you think you’re disturbing their balance?” Jeremy asked.
“They don’t get to spend as much time with each other. You don’t get to spend as much time with them.” He shrugged and said again, “I’m upsetting the balance.”
“The boys will always be together, George. Billy walked away from his adoptive mother to be with Randy, and Randy ran away from home to find Billy. I don’t think anyone will come between the two boys . . . ever.” He paused to let that sink in and then said, “I play tennis with Billy and golf with both boys. We go to Billy’s baseball games. Randy and I find things to do together. But honestly, I think I need to spend more time with you.”
George turned to look at Jeremy and wiped some tears off his face and dried his hands on the sheets.
“George, love isn’t like a cake you divide up into pieces. Love is magical in that the more you give it away, the more you end up having. Randy finds time to be with me. Billy spends time with me. They will find time to be with each other and with you. You and I will spend time together. And much of the time, just like any family, the four of us will spend time all together.” George shrugged but didn’t say anything. “I have an idea, Kiddo, but I need you to hear me out before you say anything, okay?”
The boy nodded.
“Don’t make any decision yet. Later this morning, my friend Jeff Limbach and his son, Danny, will pick you guys up, and you’ll drive to Chicago to meet me. Just like we planned, we’ll travel to Arizona so you can see your cousin and make peace with your family.
It will take ten days, maybe longer, and along the way, we’ll spend time together and see parts of the country you and the twins have never seen. Jeff has to drive Danny back to Omaha because that was the arrangement he had with Danny’s mother, but I’d like you to come back with us for the rest of the summer. Make your decision then, after you get to know us. It’s a big decision, and you shouldn’t rush it. Take your time. Get to know us.”
He stopped, and George didn’t say anything. Jeremy stroked George’s hair and kissed the side of his head again.
“George, I promise whatever decision you make, the boys and I will support it. If you decide to live in Arizona with your people, I hope you’ll stay with us during the summer and for some of our holidays. If you decide to live with us, we’ll make sure you get to visit your people and your cousin. That’s a promise.”
George turned towards Jeremy, pulled a leg up under him, faced him, and pushed his hair behind his ear.
“If I live here, I might lose who I am. My grandfather warned me about living with the biligaana, white people, because Navajos who do lose their way. I’m Navajo.”
Jeremy took hold of George’s hand and smiled.
“Absolutely. You’re Navajo, but being a Navajo is more than just a name. It’s a way of life. It’s being.” Jeremy tapped George’s bare chest. “Being a Navajo is in your heart.” Jeremy tapped George’s head. “Being a Navajo is in what you believe. It’s in your blood, your skin. It’s a way of life.” He paused and asked, “How many mornings did you miss practicing with your knife in the backyard or saying your morning prayers facing the rising sun?”
George frowned and said, “None.”
Jeremy smiled and said, “Exactly. Even though you’re two thousand miles away and living with people you just met, you still kept up the Navajo traditions your grandfather taught you.” George nodded. “I think you’ve learned more from your grandfather than you give yourself credit for, George. No matter where you live, you’ll always be Navajo. That’s something to be proud of, something to share and teach others . . . like Randy, and Billy, and me. We can learn from you, and I think you can learn from us. That’s what being a family’s all about.”
George nodded again. Jeremy thumbed some tears out of George’s eyes and held his face gently.
“Don’t make your decision yet. You’re not ready. When you are, you’ll know.” He tapped George on his chest. “When it’s time, you’ll know.”
George didn’t say anything. He didn’t nod and didn’t attempt to move. He had a distant look in his dark eyes, and Jeremy thought he could hear gears spinning.
“What are you thinking?”
He had thought about sharing the dream with Jeremy, but instead, George shook his head once and said nothing.
“You have a lot to think about. Promise me you and I can talk like this every now and then in the next few days?”
George nodded.
“Kiddo, I have to get moving so I can get to Chicago before this one boy’s parents arrive.” Jeremy got up off the bed and stretched. George climbed off the bed and moved towards the door, but turned to face Jeremy. “Come here, Kid,” Jeremy said, holding out his arms.
George stepped quietly towards Jeremy, and they embraced. They stood there and held onto each other. Jeremy let go but held George’s face in his hands.
“You’ll be okay, George. It won’t be the same. It will be different, but you’ll be okay. I promise.”
George nodded and hugged Jeremy again and then turned and left the room.
CHAPTER FIVE
Waukesha, Wisconsin
Like most of America, he had watched the news reports coming out of Chicago, Kansas City and Long Beach. A cold sweat broke out over his skin. His stomach lurched, and he had to run to the bathroom so he could throw up. When he was finished, he rinsed his mouth out with water from the sink and came back and sat on the edge of his couch and stared at his TV. He had tried three times to access the website but couldn’t get to it. It had disappeared, so he decided to stop trying because he was afraid his efforts might be traced back to him.
He nearly passed out when the reporter spoke of the arrest warrants. He hastily threw some clothes and toiletries in a duffle bag. He gathered his checkbook, laptop, cell phone and wallet. He grabbed his keys, locked up his house and drove to the Holiday Inn Express on Bluemound Road. After checking in and dumping his duffle on the bed, he turned on the TV to catch the latest. There wasn’t anything new, so he made a quick run to an ATM, withdrew cash, drove to a 7 Eleven and picked up a six pack of cold Mt. Dew and a family-sized bag of Peanut M&M’s, and drove back to the motel and hunkered down in front of the TV, zoning out on caffeine and sugar and hoping against hope his name wouldn’t be mentioned.
He had a lot to lose.
He didn’t have a wife or any children, but he did have a mother who lived in an assisted living complex in Whitefish Bay and an older brother and his wife and their two children living in Wausau. What would they think if he was arrested- not to mention his partners and co-workers?
Yes, he had a lot to lose.
He got up from the edge of the bed holding his can of Dew, stepped to the side of the window, moved the curtain with his forefinger, and peered out into the parking lot expecting to see squad cars with cops pouring out of opened doors, all running to the lobby.
Nothing except for a few parked cars. No one running in the parking lot or even walking for that matter.
Bluemound Road, which stretched out like a long gray arm just beyond the Holiday Inn Express parking lot was a two-, sometimes three-lane road running east and west from Milwaukee to Waukesha and beyond. Traffic was heavy any time of day or night, and it was no less heavy now.
