Autumn Blue

by Karen Harter

  She wandered down the hall, still in her bathrobe. The girls could sleep in for a while, but she would have to wake Ty. She entered his room softly and sat on the edge of his bed.

  “Hey, Ty,” she whispered. He needed a haircut. Tufts of dark hair spread in all directions on his pillow. “Happy Saturday,” she said, knowing that for Ty it was not a happy day at all. His lips formed a frown; he blinked and closed his eyes again, rolling away from her onto his side. “Deputy Estrada will be here in forty-five minutes.”

  He groaned.

  “Eggs and toast?”

  “Okay,” he murmured.

  She went out to the kitchen, warmed her tea, and began cracking organic eggs into a poaching mold. Her conversations with Ty had flowed about as freely as cold lava since Millard brought him home during the wee hours of Thursday morning. He had come in head down, his face pink from the cold, eyes betraying the fact that they had recently shed tears, and headed straight for his room. Just like that. No “Sorry, Mom,” no explanation at all for stealing from her and attempting to flee by freight train from her and his sisters, not to mention his legal responsibilities. His whole idiotic plan or lack thereof alarmed her. She did not want to think that her son had inherited his father’s genes—that he was somehow preprogrammed to be a lying, thieving flake. She didn’t believe in that. Yet Ty was showing all the signs.

  She hadn’t confronted him about the cash and jewelry missing from her bedroom until Thursday night when he returned home from Millard’s. That was another bad night. First of all, Millard informed her that Ty had still not cracked a book. Instead he had spent most of that day sleeping on the sofa, catching up from the sleepless night before. She had waited until after dinner before confronting him in the privacy of his room.

  “Why did you steal from me, Tyson?”

  His eyes had narrowed and his jaw went tight. “I did not steal anything.”

  “Well, that’s really strange. At the beginning of the week, my jewelry was in my jewelry box where it belonged. I put it there myself. Then the same night that you stuff your bed with pillows and crawl out your bedroom window to head for Timbuktu, everything turns up missing. Even the cash from my secret box. It took me a long time to save that up, Ty. That was our emergency fund.”

  He had slammed his computer mouse on his desk so hard that it should have broken, then stood glaring down at her where she sat on his bed. “How about Sissy and Rebecca? Did you ever think they might have done it? Or are they too sweet and perfect?”

  “I don’t think so, Ty. I asked them and they both denied it. Besides, I don’t think either one of them could figure out how to open that box. It’s too complicated.”

  He had gone into a rage then. “I don’t want your stupid jewelry or anything else! Somebody’s lying to you, but it isn’t me! Believe me or not—it’s up to you.”

  Sidney sliced whole-grain bread and popped two pieces into the toaster. He had been so outraged that she had almost believed him. But when she questioned each of the girls again the next day, she was even more convinced that neither of them was the guilty party. She was thankful that they were still transparent with her. On the few occasions when one of them had tried to lie to her, her conscience still manifested guilt all over her face.

  “Tyson! Breakfast is ready.”

  When he didn’t emerge, she went back to his room to find him sound asleep. “Hey, come on! The sheriff will be here in twenty minutes.”

  This time he sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Why can’t I just pick up trash from the side of the highway?” he mumbled. “At least I know how to do that.”

  “You’ll figure it out. It’s an opportunity, really. A chance to learn a new skill. You know what they say: if it doesn’t kill you, it’s good for you.” He gave her a sour look and she shrugged. “Throw some clothes on. Breakfast is getting cold.”

  She went to her room and began pulling clothes from drawers. For Jack’s sake, she chose her tight-fitting jeans and a soft V-neck sweater, but before she could slip them over her naked body, there was a knock on the front door. “Tyson, will you get that?”

  “I’m in the bathroom,” he called.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” She grabbed her yellow robe, tying it around her as she stomped to the door. She peered out the peephole. Deputy Estrada. Frowning, she opened the door slightly. “You’re early,” she said.

  He glanced at his watch. “Is Tyson ready?”

  “No. Not quite. He hasn’t even eaten.” She hesitated before swinging the door open. “Why don’t you come in? He overslept, but he’s getting ready now.”

  The deputy nodded, stepping in and standing awkwardly on the square of vinyl tiles that was her foyer. He looked so different wearing faded jeans instead of his stiff green and khaki uniform. Like a regular guy—but with biceps that swelled from beneath the sleeves of his T-shirt. The way he looked at her made her hand go up to her chest, pinching the lapels of her robe together.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked, immediately realizing that he was probably not an herbal tea kind of guy. “Or coffee?” She was sure she still had a bag of ground Sumatra in her freezer leftover from a summer evening when she had entertained Micki and some other women friends from the office.

  “Coffee would be great.” He glanced around the living room, shoving his hands into his back pockets and blowing out a stream of breath.

  “Sit down, then. I’ll get your coffee going and then see what I can do to light a fire under Ty.”

  Ty was sitting on his bed, tying his shoes. “Get out there and scarf down your eggs,” she said. “Don’t keep the man waiting.”

  She hurried down the hall, slipped her clothes on, and ran a comb through her hair, congratulating herself for taking the high road by not insisting that the deputy wait in his car. She had decided to be civil today. When she returned, the single cup of coffee had dripped through its filter into a mug. Ty stood by the sink, devouring an egg folded into a slice of toast. She delivered the coffee to the deputy in the other room. “Sorry about the wait. He’s almost done.”

  “Thanks.” He took a sip and seemed to relax. “No big rush. Except it looks like the rain’s coming. We’ll be working outdoors.”

  “You’re working with him?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He sounded like he was from the South, addressing her like that, though she knew by his features and the name Estrada that he must be Mexican by descent. Even his dark eyes looked softer without the uniform. “Is that in your line of duty?”

  He shook his head, averting his eyes over his shoulder toward the window. “No, it’s my day off, actually.”

  Sidney didn’t know what to make of that. “Your day off? Shouldn’t you be spending the day with your family or raking leaves or flying a kite or something?”

  The corners of his lips twitched. “I’ll be seeing my dad today.” He sipped his coffee. “I gave up flying kites. Too many trees around here.”

  “True. I heard that Ty’s project is building a wheelchair ramp,” she said tentatively. Ty was probably listening to every word from the kitchen so she didn’t mention her concerns. She had never even shown her son how to nail two boards together and now here he was, fifteen already. So close to being a man. What else had she forgotten to teach him?

  Sidney saw the deputy’s face flinch, a shadow passing over his eyes as Tyson came around the corner, finishing off a glass of orange juice. “Yes. It’s for a handicapped woman down on Digby Street. The one who was recently robbed.”

  His bullet hit its target. Ty glared back at him.

  Deputy Estrada stood, passing Sidney his half-empty mug. “Thanks for the coffee. We’d better hit the road.”

  Sidney’s heart began to throb in her ears. A handicapped woman. Estrada still thought Ty was guilty of that other crime, and now she had reason to believe that he was right. What would happen to Ty if the deputy could make a case against him? She followed them to the door. “Where exactly on Digby? I
’d like to bring Tyson some lunch.”

  The deputy glanced at her sideways. She regretted saying it, knowing that she sounded like a doting mommy, some kind of airhead who thought her child could do no wrong even when the evidence against him was piling up and smelling bad. If Tyson wanted lunch, he should have gotten himself out of bed early enough to make it himself. “I could bring you some too if you’d like.”

  He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. It’s a pink house: 2128 Digby. There’s a little windmill in the yard.”

  “How long is this going to take?” Tyson asked as they stepped outside.

  “I’ll let you know.”

  Ty trudged behind him but stopped halfway to the patrol car. “I forgot my hat.”

  “Get in,” the deputy said gruffly, jerking his head toward the car. Tyson obliged with a scowl. Estrada glanced up at Sidney where she stood on the porch, gave her a grim nod, and slid onto the seat, slamming the car door.

  REBECCA AND SIDNEY appointed themselves to be cheerleaders for the peewee football game. Rebecca already had pom-poms; Sidney couldn’t remember when or how she acquired them. Sissy practiced her cheers noisily in the backseat of the car, using a pair of canary-colored feather dusters. After a bout of sneezing, Sidney asked her to refrain from slapping them together until they arrived at the field where they were to meet Jack.

  “How come we have to bring Ty his lunch, Mom? He should have just brung it himself.”

  “Brought,” Sidney corrected. Sissy was right. Ty was old enough to take responsibility for himself. She had to let go, for his sake as well as her own.

  “Mom”—Rebecca hesitated—“I know this doesn’t sound very nice, but sometimes I wish Ty didn’t live with us anymore. It was happier at our house when he ran away. I wish he could just live with Mr. Bradbury.”

  “Yeah,” Sissy added. “We could wave at him sometimes from across the street.”

  Sidney laughed at the comment despite its deep connotations. “I know he’s not nice to you lately. He’s not very nice to me either. But we’re a family. We’re going to stick together and get through this. Ty is not a happy young man right now. Something has hurt him. Our job is to love him no matter what. Can we agree to do that for your brother?”

  “Okay,” Sissy chirped.

  Rebecca didn’t respond for a moment. “But what if he never changes? What if he gets worse?”

  Sidney glanced over to where Rebecca sat in the passenger seat. She took her daughter’s hand. “Love never fails, Becca. It’s never wasted.”

  Here she was echoing her own mother, that wonderful, wacky woman of faith. It occurred to Sidney that she was passing on mere tidbits to her children instead of the smorgasbords of truth that her mother had served up to her. This world was a dangerous place to venture without it. Ty had blasted through childhood like a movie on fast-forward, and the girls were right behind him. She was running out of time.

  She drove down Digby. It was easy to spot the house. It was the only pink one in the neighborhood, and a Sheriff’s Department patrol car was parked out front. She pulled into the driveway of the modest little cottage. Tyson and Deputy Estrada looked up from their labors on the front porch. “I’ll only be a minute, girls. Wait here, please.”

  She stepped out and walked up to the porch. “How’s it going, guys?”

  “Good.” They looked as excited to see her as if she were an approaching rain cloud.

  “Here’s your lunch, Ty.” She turned to the deputy. “What time should I expect him home?”

  “About three. Maybe three-thirty.” The deputy wiped sawdust from his brow with a bare forearm. It was a shame that he had the personality of an abused guard dog; he was an incredible specimen of a man.

  The front door opened. “Hello.” Sidney turned to see a pleasant-looking gray-haired woman.

  “Oh, hi.” She held out her hand to the woman. “I’m Sidney Walker.” She gestured toward her son. “Tyson’s mother.”

  “I’m sorry.” The woman laughed. “I’d better not take my hands off this doorway. I’m Amilia. Amilia Vargas. Please come in.”

  The deputy dropped his hammer to his side and huffed, obviously displeased.

  “My girls are in the car. I just came to drop off Ty’s lunch.” Amilia had already turned her back, leaving the door open as she gripped the handles of a rolling walker, and began shuffling away from the door. Sidney glanced over her shoulder. The car was bouncing, pom-poms and feather dusters shaking wildly. Ty passed the deputy a slat for the porch rail and the deputy grabbed it, a spray of nails protruding from between his lips. She followed Amilia inside.

  “Sit; sit.” Amilia wore blue jeans, suede moccasins, and a man’s button-down shirt with the tails hanging out. Her silvery gray hair was swept into a neat French roll, sweeping across one temple like a swag valance. Amilia dropped into a brown reclining chair surrounded by baskets of books, yarn and knitting needles, mail, and magazines. “I don’t suppose you have time for tea?”

  Sidney smiled at the rosy-cheeked woman. “No. I’m taking my girls to a peewee football game.”

  “Oh, they play football?”

  “Today they’re just cheerleaders. We’re meeting a friend who coaches the team.” Sidney glanced around the humbly furnished room. Why would a robber choose to break in here of all places? She glanced at Amilia’s hands. No rings. The only jewelry on her body was a dangly pair of colorful bird earrings. She leaned forward. “Amilia, I understand you were robbed.”

  She nodded. “A few weeks ago.”

  “Deputy Estrada thinks my son, Tyson, did it. I’m sure that’s why he’s got him here.”

  “Yes, that’s what he says. Alex wants the boy to feel real bad about it.” She chuckled. “Wants to rub it in good—even though they still can’t prove anything. Alex is very protective of me. He doesn’t like me coming out on the porch while they’re working. I think I’m supposed to look all sad and pathetic, moaning about how I can’t sleep nights anymore since my home was invaded.” She clucked her tongue. “Truth is, I doze off during Jeopardy! and I’m a goner for the night.”

  “Alex? Are you related to Deputy Estrada somehow?” The strokes of the hammer outside rattled the windows.

  “I’ve scrubbed his butt and cleaned wax out of his ears, but no. Not by blood. His papa lives next door. Rosa Estrada died of the cancer when Alex was eight. She was my best friend. We came and went between our places like Lucy and Ethel.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “For a couple of field workers, we had some good times.”

  Sidney was shocked. “You worked the fields?” She glanced at the books lining Amilia’s shelves. American classics, theology, politics, a travel series. Though Amilia had Mexican features, there was no hint of a Spanish accent. “I had you pegged for a college professor or something like that.”

  “That was a long time ago. It’s what our families did—about all they could do when they came up from Mexico, not speaking English. But God bless America, nobody held a gun to our heads and made us stay on our knees, cutting cabbage for the rest of our lives.”

  A couple of birds twittered and flapped in a cage suspended from a stand behind Amilia’s head. Sidney watched as they scattered seeds through the cage bars onto the large, worn area rug. “Pretty birds,” Sidney said. They were smaller than robins, with smooth, honeydew green bodies and peach-colored heads. “What kind are they?”

  “Lovebirds. Kate and Spencer, after Hepburn and Tracy. I love old movies.”

  Sidney had been anxious at first. This was the woman that Ty supposedly burglarized, though he still denied stealing a thing from her. There were sparks of animosity crackling in the air out there on the front porch, her girls were waiting in the car, and it was time to meet Jack. But for some reason she wanted to linger. There was something about this woman that Sidney wanted to explore. She stood, glancing out the front window. Sissy was hanging out the car window now, dragging one end of her long knit scarf back and forth on the g
round.

  Alex Estrada glanced up from his work, and their eyes met. His darted away, and at that instant his hammer came down on his thumb. They heard a loud expletive. A giggle escaped unexpectedly from Sidney’s throat. She spun back toward her hostess, pushing the laughter back with a hand over her mouth.

  Amilia raised her brows in question.

  Sidney let out a roll of laughter. “I’m sorry. The deputy—Alex just hammered his thumb.”

  The older woman looked delighted. “Did he? Well, I think I’d better bring him chocolate. That used to be all he needed to fix his hurts. Chocolate raisins were his favorite.” She rummaged through a basket under the table by her chair, producing a handful of wrapped chocolate candies. “This is the best I can do right now. Leftover from Easter.” She made no attempt to get up, but stretched out her hand until Sidney took the candies from her. “You tell those boys that Amilia said it’s time for a lunch break.”

  “Amilia, could I come back and visit you sometime?”

  Amilia grinned. “I’d like that. Next time, you let me know you’re coming and I’ll make tamales.”

  She got Amilia’s phone number, leaving her own with an offer to run errands for the handicapped woman, and they said their good-byes.

  Out on the porch, Sidney was surprised to see that the pounding sounds were being made by Tyson now. Alex pushed a two-by-four through a whining saw blade, holding a flat pencil between his lips. “Wow. Look what you guys have done!” Tyson glanced up slightly, then went back to hammering. He was trying, she realized, to duplicate the deputy’s rhythm, one-two, one-two. She had been hearing it for the past ten minutes. Two hard strokes and the nail was home. Ty averaged four strokes, but when he sunk one in only three without bending it, his jaw softened and he looked up as if to make sure she noticed. She smiled proudly, then stepped down to where Alex stood, holding out her handful of stale chocolate. “For your boo-boo.” She tried to keep a straight face. “Amilia says it’s time for lunch.”