by Karen Harter
A minimum of three and a half months in jail or eight-plus max. Sidney’s limbs went limp. Oh, God, could he survive it? Could she?
When the counselor finished, Leonard stood, still flipping through his papers as if something might jump out at him that he hadn’t previously considered. It wasn’t fair that their case had been handed over to this rookie at the last minute. At least Sybil had sounded somewhat competent.
“Your Honor,” Leonard finally said, “what we have here is a young man who made a stupid mistake, and he knows it. If you read the letters that he wrote to the victim and the court in this case, you’ll see that he is truly remorseful. Mr. Walker had no intention of threatening anyone with the pellet gun, which, by the way, he had not considered a real weapon due to the fact that it shoots only plastic beads. He realizes now, of course, that ignorance is no excuse for breaking the law. According to his statement, the gun had been in his pocket simply because he and his friends had been playing war in the woods earlier that day. He can provide witnesses to attest to that. I apologize for not having affidavits, Your Honor; this case was just passed to me this morning.”
Sidney and Millard exchanged hopeful glances. The kid was doing all right.
Leonard ran his hand through his mop of dark hair. “Tyson has been in confinement for eight days, Your Honor. He tells me he’s learned his lesson and that he will do anything to keep from going back to jail. Based on his repentant attitude and the fact that this is his first offense—after which he did turn himself in to the sheriff without force—I propose the following: not fifteen weeks but the entire thirty-six, deferred dependent on his adherence to all court stipulations during that thirty-six-week period, along with forty hours of community service. The defendant has strong family support.” Leonard glanced over his shoulder. “His mother and his grandfather are here in the courtroom. I suggest that my client be allowed to walk out of here in their custody today.”
Tyson turned around to get a good look at the grandfather he didn’t know he had. Sidney caught his eye, shrugging ever so slightly.
The judge raised one eyebrow, peering over his glasses at Leonard. “A slap on the knuckles considering the crime, don’t you think, Mr. Eggebraten?”
Sidney could see only the back of Leonard’s head, but he held it high. “Yes, Your Honor, but I feel strongly that locking the boy up will do more harm than good in this case.”
At that moment Sidney wanted to run up there and hug their scraggly young attorney. The judge perused Tyson’s file, making notes. He finally lifted his head.
“Let’s make it a one-year sentence. Since the minimum recommended detainment for count one attempted first-degree robbery is fifteen weeks, I’m going to require the defendant to do that much time, but at school and at home. You are not to be anywhere but those two places for the next fifteen weeks; do you understand, Mr. Walker?”
Tyson nodded. Leonard elbowed him. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Walker, that means if you fail to abide by every stipulation of this court within the next year, you will be arrested and put behind bars to complete your sentence. You will be accountable to an assigned probation officer, who will give you a call within the next couple of days. In addition to his recommendations, this court mandates forty hours of community service and a fine of $100 to be paid to the crime victims’ fund.” The judge adjusted his glasses and flipped through the file for a moment. “That is, assuming there is adequate adult supervision at home. Otherwise, those fifteen weeks will have to be done in confinement.”
Sidney’s mind began to spin. She couldn’t be there! She had her job.
Tyson whispered something to his attorney. Leonard leaned over and Sidney watched his profile. His brows drew together and he ran his hand over his mouth. “Your Honor, may I have a moment to confer with my client and his mother?”
“Certainly.”
At his beckoning, Sidney stepped forward and sat in a vacant chair to Leonard’s left.
“Mrs. Walker,” he whispered, “we have two issues here. The first one is that you work full-time. The judge is not going to agree to leaving Tyson unsupervised. Second, Ty tells me he’s been expelled from school for this entire semester. That’s going to be major. The court is adamant about kids getting their education.”
Sidney’s heart sank. “What can we do?”
“How about Grandpa? Is there any reason he can’t take responsibility for Tyson while you’re at work?”
She sighed, her eyes meeting Ty’s questioning stare. “Mr. Bradbury is not actually related. He’s just a close neighbor.”
Leonard winced and blew out a stream of air. “Okay, great. I just lied to the judge.” He glanced back at Millard. “Do you think he’d agree to watch out for him?”
Sidney shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know.”
Leonard motioned for Mr. Bradbury to join them. Millard stared at him blankly for a moment, and then turned to look over his shoulder for someone else the attorney might be summoning. The poor man. Sidney had not only inconvenienced him, but now it seemed she had lured him from his comfort zone to the dangerous edge of a cliff. She pleaded with apologetic eyes. The grooves in his face seemed to deepen as he stood, slowly making his way to the front of the courtroom. He leaned forward, resting his long arms on the table.
“Mr. Bradbury, we have a situation here,” Leonard said in a hushed voice. “Ty can’t stay home unsupervised while his mom is at work. Are you home during the day?”
Millard recoiled. “Well, yes, but—”
“Here’s the deal. You heard what the judge said. He’s going to send him out of here today in shackles and lock him up for three and a half months unless we can come up with a plan.”
Millard’s mouth hung open. He began to stammer, his gaze falling on Tyson, whose face was expressionless. He didn’t even know the kid. “There must be someone else . . .”
Sidney shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bradbury. Millard. I’m so sorry to even put you in this position.”
His eyes said it all. He looked at her like a cornered wild thing, his unruly brows clenched in worry. Clearly he wanted no part in this and she didn’t blame him one bit. His lips parted several times as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Ty was sizing the old man up, looking a little worried himself. Finally, Millard just shook his head.
“All right,” Leonard said. “Does anybody have a plan B?”
Sidney’s mind raced through her options in two seconds flat. Her mother lived in Ohio. Besides, even if she was willing to fly out to Washington, her mom was already obligated to watch her sister Alana’s kids while Alana was at work. There was no one else she could possibly ask. She lifted her eyes to her son’s desperate face. “Ty, I’m sorry.”
“Mr. Eggebraten,” the judge said, “can we move on here?”
Millard trudged back to his seat, his shoulders sagging. Sidney remained where she was seated.
Leonard sighed, shooting Tyson an apologetic glance as he stood. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Is there a problem here?”
“Your Honor, Mrs. Walker works full-time; however, her job is only minutes away from home. She could check in with Tyson throughout the day and could get there quickly if she needed to for any reason.”
The judge shook his head at Leonard like he was a naughty child. “You know better, Mr. Eggebraten, but nice try. You didn’t mention school. Why is that?”
“Tyson was expelled, sir, just for this semester.”
“Well, that wraps it up.” The judge looked directly at Tyson. “Young man, due to the circumstances, I have no choice but to return you to confinement in Juvenile Detention until you have completed your fifteen-week sentence. You can also get your schooling there. I will, however, withdraw the deferred sentence of one year, which was added in deference to allowing you to do this fifteen-week period on house arrest.”
Tyson had been stoic through the whole thing, but suddenly his head dropped and his chin began to
quiver. Tears immediately flooded her own eyes as Sidney reached behind Leonard to touch her son’s arm. She wanted Ty to shrink back to a practical size so that she could bundle him in her arms and carry him away from that awful place. The uniformed corrections officer stepped toward the wild boy whose native floor was moss and leaves, his ceiling as high and wide as heaven. There were no walls in the world Ty loved—just the trees that welcomed his coming like brothers and stood aside whenever he chose to come home for a while. But he was about to be locked up like an animal in a concrete cage. Ty looked over at her as if to say good-bye, tears beginning to form on his lower eyelids, his lips clamped into a quivering frown. He raised his hands in an angry attempt to swipe them away, but the chain attaching the handcuffs to his chain belt stopped them short. Sidney fought for control, but lost. Silent sobs overtook her and her shoulders began to shake.
“Your Honor.” Sidney whipped her head around. Mr. Bradbury was pushing himself up using the back of the oak bench in front of him for support. He cleared his throat. “May I address the court?”
The judge nodded.
“My name is Millard Bradbury. I live across the street from the Walkers.”
The judge glanced down at his paperwork. “Are you not Tyson’s grandfather?”
Leonard Eggebraten stood abruptly, his chair almost crashing to the floor. He caught it in the nick of time. “Your Honor, I was mistaken about that. I apologize. I had no intention of misleading the court. It turns out Mr. Bradbury is just a close friend of the family.”
The judge glared at the attorney, then switched his gaze to Millard. “Go on, Mr. Bradbury.”
“I could watch the boy.” His eyes darted to Sidney, then Tyson. “I’m home most of the time anyway. I guess he could stay over at my place during the day. I could teach him something, too. That’s what I did before I retired. Taught history and coached wrestling here in Dunbar, over at the high school.”
That wonderful man. Sidney wanted to jump up and smother him with kisses.
The judge’s pen tapped a slow, silent rhythm on his desk. His eagle-eyed stare burned a path to Leonard Eggebraten, whose face had grown noticeably flushed.
Sidney held her breath.
“Mr. Walker, are you willing to submit to Mr. Bradbury’s authority while your mother is away?”
Tyson nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Bradbury, this is a big commitment. Tyson is not to be left unsupervised for any length of time. Are you sure about this?”
Millard hesitated slightly before nodding.
“All right, then. Mr. Walker, you may walk out of here today under your mother’s and Mr. Bradbury’s custody. Your probation counselor will meet with you to go over the details of the court’s requirements, which will include satisfactory completion of all assigned schoolwork. Failure to comply will put you back in confinement, and your sentence will automatically increase from fifteen weeks to one full year.” His gavel smacked the desk and he stood. “Court is recessed.”
11
OUTSIDE THE COURTHOUSE everything looked brighter to Sidney. The sky was still gray and the streets wet enough to spray rooster tails behind passing cars, but the torrential rain seemed to have drained the saturated clouds.
Millard hardly spoke. He unlocked the doors of his red Lincoln and Tyson crawled into the backseat. Sidney sat up front, pouring out her gratitude to Millard for saving the day. He looked a bit dazed, probably still in shock from the overwhelming commitment he had just made. Tyson too was quiet. Sidney found herself chattering like a goldfinch just to fill the awkward silence.
It was all she could do to refrain from jumping into the backseat with her son where she could see him and touch him. He’d been gone so long, and she had feared that she might have lost him for good. Now here he was, safe. But of course, at fifteen, he was too cool for his mother’s coddling and she respected that. She could no longer play with his cowlick or smooth the worry from his forehead. Those things were taboo now. Ty was trying to be a man. If only he knew how. If only he knew what a real man—a man of character—looked like, talked like, lived like.
Once again her mind drifted back to her encounter with Jack Mellon at the Traders Market. It had been a week and he hadn’t called. She had watched him tuck her phone number into the pocket of his stained white apron before she wheeled her scantily loaded shopping cart down the pickle aisle toward checkout. Even if he had forgotten about the little scrap of paper and ran it through the wash, he could easily find her number through directory assistance. If he wanted to.
“Oh, look at those maples,” she said. “They’re as bright as pure gold. I just love this time of year, don’t you?” Millard only nodded. “I can’t believe it’s almost October already. It seems like we were just out baking in the sun a few days ago. Tyson, we’ll have to go get some pumpkins soon for our front porch.” She wished she could retract the “we.” Ty couldn’t go anywhere for fifteen weeks, not even the woods behind the house. He could make a straight line from his front door to Millard’s every weekday morning, and back again at night when she got home. The probation officer had warned against any detours en route. Ty was to be monitored by a telephone voice recognition system. A computer would call him at random throughout the day—weekdays at Millard’s, nights and weekends at home. He had all of two minutes to get to the phone—or else back to jail to do his time.
“What was it like in there, Ty?” she asked.
He grunted from the backseat. “Stupid.”
“Can you elaborate on that?”
“There are no stinkin’ windows.”
“Oh. What else?”
“The food sucks, it’s noisy, and there’s nothing to do.”
Millard clucked his tongue. “That’s why they call it jail instead of the Holiday Inn.” Sidney heard the theme song from the TV series Baretta in her head: don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time. She hadn’t seen or thought of that show since she was a kid. Her father had loved cop shows. She wondered if Millard was transmitting it somehow from his mind to hers when he added, “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.”
Sidney flipped down her visor mirror in time to see the scowl cross Ty’s face. He sat back against the seat, his arms locked tightly across his chest. Oh, boy. Perhaps Ty had just hopped from the frying pan into the fire, as her dear old dad used to say. Spending his days with old Mr. Bradbury might prove to be worse than a damp dungeon and a steady diet of bread and water.
After a while she gave up on making pleasant conversation. As the miles passed, she turned her thoughts toward seeing the girls, who would be home from school by now. With Ty back at their dinner table for the first time in weeks, they should have a celebratory meal. What would Ty like? Spaghetti with lots of fresh mushrooms, some crusty garlic bread. That would be easy and he loved it.
She breathed a relieved sigh as Millard drove up the hill toward their houses. The clouds parted and a beam of afternoon light shone through the trees on either side of the curvy road, lighting up the leaves like red and orange neon. Almost home. Everything was going to be all right now. Ty could sleep in his own bed tonight, and she relished the thought of tucking him in. He might talk to her more then. That had become his way, to open up to her in the dark where there were only words and no faces. But it had been a long time since even that dwarfed communication had taken place between them.
Her eyes followed the weathered posts and wire fence along the right side of the road to her mailbox—and the car in her driveway. Winger County Sheriff’s Department, it said on the door. Deputy Estrada sat inside and he was not alone. Adrenaline shot through her system. What was he doing here?
Tyson swore.
“What on earth do they want?” Millard asked. He stopped at the end of her driveway.
“I don’t know, but I guess I’m about to find out.” Sidney opened the car door. “Mr. . . . Millard. Thanks again.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw the two deputies getting out of the car. “I g
uess Ty and I will be over at your place about eight o’clock in the morning. I hope that’s okay.”
He winced.
“Eight-thirty?”
He nodded grimly. “That will be fine.”
“All right, then,” she said and closed the door. Ty got out and Millard turned into his own driveway across the street. She walked straight up to Estrada, who was leaning against the hood of the official sedan. Dry leaves scurried across the gravel near his boots like a herd of red land crabs.
“Hello, Mrs. Walker.”
“How can I help you?” She held her head high and her voice was terse. She felt Ty lingering just behind her.
The deputy looked right past her to her son and nodded. “Tyson. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Why?” Ty asked.
“Thought you’d be locked up for a while, that’s all. Who did you get for a judge?”
Ty shrugged. “I don’t know. Some old guy.”
“Deputy,” Sidney asserted, “what are you doing here?”
He pulled a folded paper from his shirt pocket. “I have the search warrant you suggested. I noticed your daughters were home, so I thought we’d wait for you.” He tipped his head toward his partner. “This is Deputy Shingle.” His sidekick looked a little frail and timid, younger than Estrada, with wide blue eyes peering through wire-rimmed glasses.
Ty stepped forward, his eyes narrowing into angry slits. “What are you looking for?”
“I think you know the answer to that question.” Deputy Estrada’s glare reflected the hostility in Ty’s face. Estrada turned toward Sidney and gestured toward her front door. “Shall we, Mrs. Walker?”
She had no choice this time. They all walked to the porch in silence, where Sidney paused. “Let me take care of the girls before you start anything.” He didn’t argue, so she went inside. Estrada leaned against the doorjamb, while the other deputy lingered just outside.
“Girls, we’re home!”
