Jingle Bell Hell (Bad Luck Club)

by Denise Grover Swank

  “You bet,” she says, grabbing him around the waist and tickling him. “I’m jealous of any woman who commands your time.”

  He kisses her, and even though it’s just a quick kiss, I feel a nip of envy. Because I never had that kind of easy affection with Glenn. There’s a part of me—maybe all of me—that does want to be loved, and by a man who makes me feel like a woman.

  It turns out that both of my sisters are busy tomorrow afternoon too, so Aidan will have to attend his usual after-school program, which he doesn’t have any more enthusiasm for than he does for school itself. It feels like another defeat, heaped onto what is already a mountain of it.

  Still, they agree to keep their phones on, should Aidan need anything, since I won’t be able to have mine with me in court.

  There’s one saving grace: Aidan doesn’t mention Jace again, not for the rest of the night or even the next morning during our daily struggle to get him ready for school. (He never wants to go, both because school is hard for him and because transitions aren’t easy). I notice that his ankylosaurus painting, the one he made for Jace, is still carefully tucked inside his bag, but I don’t say anything. I know better than to think his silence means he doesn’t care, but I also don’t want to shake our fragile peace.

  When I arrive at court that afternoon, there really is a clerk waiting to take our electronic devices. She collects them in a woven basket, the kind of thing you’d expect to see in a manger scene holding the baby Jesus. It amuses me to see that one of the phones is pink and bedazzled and another has a sticker from a brewery. You can tell a lot about a person by their phone.

  My gaze drops to my phone. It’s black, without any identifying features, nestled into a gray case. Clean. Safe. Boring.

  As I hand it over, I’m beset by the wild urge to go online and find a sticker for it, or maybe a case with some personality. Something.

  “Where’re you going to put them?” I ask, suddenly fearful that they’ll end up in the trash can.

  “Oh. We have a special locked cabinet in the bathroom,” she says, her tone very serious. “The judge doesn’t like to bring negative energy into the courtroom.”

  I’d rather not leave my phone locked up in someone’s dirty bathroom, but it’s obvious I have no choice. I’ll just have to disinfect it later.

  The judge has an enormous cloud of curly salt-and-pepper hair and wears a perfume that’s heavy on the patchouli. Something tells me that she is a regular customer of Tea of Fortune.

  Someone should warn her about the cleansing sandwiches, but it won’t be me.

  The hearing goes on for longer than it should, and I start darting anxious looks at the clock as three rolls around, then three thirty. Court is finally adjourned at four thirty, leaving me with plenty of time to get Aidan.

  Better yet, everything went in our favor. The judge hasn’t made any decisions yet, but I think we’ll win.

  The clerk from earlier comes back with the basket of phones, having retrieved it from the bathroom of questionable cleanliness, and she proceeds to hand them back to the line of waiting people. The opposing attorney somewhat shamefacedly claims the pink one, and the brewery one goes to an elderly woman. There are a few of us left, and the clerk has to actually turn on the lock screens of the last few because they look so much alike. I’m the only one who kept the factory setting, but I don’t have time to explore my feelings about that because suddenly the ground under my feet has turned to quicksand.

  Ten missed calls.

  I rush from the courtroom, continuing on even as someone calls my name.

  Eight of the calls are from Ms. Liu. Two are from the principal.

  Chapter Eight

  Jace

  I’m roughing out a fireplace at the Garcia house by myself, while Travis and Chuck work at the house on Vine Street. It’s a complicated design with plenty of angles, and it’s taken most of the day to get right. Measure twice and cut once, as my dad used to say.

  I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot over the past couple of days. How disappointed he was in me when he died. How disappointed he would be in me now…

  After Dad died, I was so full of anger at the world, and at myself for refusing to give him what he’d wanted most—a son who wanted to take over his company. When I found out what Lester had done to Dad, I finally had a tangible object to turn my anger toward. So I took the car he’d always talked about as his baby, and I destroyed it.

  I tried to make up for my mistake afterward, to be the kind of man my father would respect. But it was too late to turn things around for our family company. Even before I was arrested, Hagan Construction had been on the verge of folding. When I was sent to jail, the business went under for good, and the whole mess literally broke my mother’s heart. My sister buried her without me.

  And now Amanda will never forgive me.

  The incident with Mary has brought all those feelings rushing back, and I don’t like it.

  So framing this fireplace is a welcome diversion to the chaos spinning in my head. I have to focus or I’ll screw it up.

  It feels good to be creating something. To know I’m doing something good, even if it’s just creating the framework of what will be a stunning fireplace.

  But beneath that thin layer of satisfaction, I feel like shit. I keep replaying my conversation with Mary—both before it went to hell and during. Part of me thinks I should have kept my mouth shut, but if Aidan were my son, I’d want to know if the people who were working with him had a criminal past. That doesn’t mean I’d cut them off from my kid, but I’d want to make the judgment call myself. I’d owed it to Mary to let her know so she could decide for herself.

  I’d predicted her reaction, so why do I feel so gutted?

  Roger and Mrs. Rosa knew something had happened the moment they saw me last night, but I didn’t go into great detail. All I said was that I’d told Mary about my record and she’d chosen to discontinue my meetings with Aidan.

  The thing is, I really like Aidan. Ben was always slow to warm to strangers, so I didn’t expect such a quick connection with Aidan. And I definitely didn’t plan on being attracted to Mary. So maybe it’s a good thing they are out of my life. There’s no way it wouldn’t have ended messily.

  Susan Duckworth called last night to tell me that Mary had officially cancelled her son’s association with Butterfly Buddies. She apologized profusely and offered to set me up with another kid.

  “I’m so sorry, Jace,” she said. “If you’d like, I can tell the next family myself.”

  I told her that I’d need to think about it, but honestly, I’m not sure I can go through this again.

  After I screw in the last piece of wood, I inspect the framework to make sure it’s damn near perfect for the finish carpenters, then clean up the tools and load them into the back of my truck. My phone rings just as I’m about to lock up the house.

  I don’t get many phone calls, so I dig my phone from my back pocket and eye the screen curiously, not surprised to find it’s a number I don’t recognize.

  “Mr. Hagan?” a woman asks when I answer. She sounds vaguely familiar.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Ms. Liu at Thomas Edison Elementary. Ms. Duckworth said you weren’t planning on coming in today, so I’m sorry to bother you.” She paused. “But we have a situation.”

  My heart skips a beat. “That’s okay. What’s up?”

  “It’s Aidan.” She lowers her voice. “He’s had a meltdown, and we just can’t seem to get him settled down. His mother’s phone goes straight to voicemail, and neither of his aunts are answering either. He’s asking for you.”

  She shouldn’t be calling me. Mary will be furious, but the thought of Aidan asking for me unfurls something tight in my chest. “What about Ms. Duckworth?”

  “We called her,” Ms. Liu says. “She was the one who suggested calling you.” I hesitate, and she misinterprets my response. “I’m so sorry to have bothered you. I’m sure we can find someone else.”
>
  Only I don’t think there is anyone else.

  “Wait,” I say in a rush. I know I should tell her that Mary doesn’t want me anywhere near her son, but all I can see in my head is my nephew after a meltdown. Besides, Susan knows Mary doesn’t want me with Aidan, yet she suggested they contact me anyway. I need to put his needs before my own. “I’ll come. Give me about five minutes.”

  Thank goodness I’m close.

  “Thank you so much.” The relief in her voice is palpable. “You’re doing us all such a big favor.”

  Then she hangs up, and I draw in a ragged breath. I’m happy to try to help Aidan, but I’m worried about Mary’s reaction. Nevertheless, there’s only one thing to do. I get in my truck and head straight for the school.

  When I press the intercom at the school entrance, I tell them who I am, and I’m buzzed right through. A woman I don’t recognize walks down the hall toward me.

  “Mr. Hagan, thank you so much for coming.” When she reaches me, she holds out her hand. “I’m Brenda Killigan, the school principal. Rebecca says you’re a miracle worker with Aidan.” When I give her a questioning look, she adds, “Ms. Liu.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” She’d told me her first name before, but I obviously wasn’t paying attention. “Sorry. I’m just surprised you all called me.”

  She gestures down the hall and starts walking. I follow and quickly catch up.

  “As I’m sure Rebecca explained,” she says, “he’s very upset and has been asking for you. We hated to call you, but there was no one else.”

  “We were supposed to meet today, and it got cancelled,” I say, my mind inevitably shifting back to Mary. I can’t imagine her knowingly ignoring a call from her kid’s school. Despite myself, I’m worried about her. Where is she?

  “So we gathered from Ms. Duckworth,” the principal says as she moves briskly down the hall and takes a right when it dead-ends into another corridor. “But she said she thought you’d be willing to step in and help.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” I’m nervous, not just because I’m worried about Mary, but because playing games and drinking hot chocolate are totally different than helping to settle a raging child.

  I can hear him before we reach the office doorway, and I take a deep breath as I follow Aidan’s sounds of distress. He’s sobbing and shouting my name.

  He’s in a small conference room, lying on the floor, kicking as he shouts, “I want to see Jace! He’s supposed to be here.”

  My heart breaks, and I want to gather him in my arms, but I suspect that’s the last thing I should do. Instead, I say, “I’m here, buddy,” as I slowly walk into the room. He’s too worked up for my words to sink in, so I lower myself to the floor and sit crossed-legged close to him, my back against the wall. I’m hoping my presence will comfort him when he starts to calm down.

  I glance up at Ms. Killigan. “How long has he been like this?”

  “Thirty minutes? Long enough that we tried calling his mother and his aunts.”

  I remember Ben’s rages. Once he was in a full-fledged meltdown, there was no bringing him out of it. He just had to work through it. I imagine the same is true of Aidan. But I knew Ben’s triggers and what would soothe him after he settled. I don’t know Aidan very well, but I do remember something Susan shared with me.

  I glance up at Ms. Killigan. “Does Aidan have his weighted blanket here?”

  “No,” she says sheepishly. “I’m afraid it was misplaced.”

  I slip off my heavy jacket and lay it atop him, although I’m not sure it will work. A weighted blanket is heavier, the weight more evenly distributed, but at least it’s something. After a couple of minutes, his sobs and shouts begin to subside, and soon the sounds coming from him are soft whimpers.

  Scooting a little closer, I croon, “Aidan. It’s Jace.”

  He looks up at me with bloodshot eyes. “You’re here.”

  I give him a reassuring smile. “Yep.”

  While some people would see this as rewarding bad behavior, it doesn’t even register as a concern. For one thing, autistic kids’ brains don’t work that way. Aidan isn’t acting out because he didn’t get something he wanted. His system is completely overrun by emotion he can’t process, physical triggers that would be annoying for most people but which are excruciating for him, or both, and he’s lost control. My biggest worry is that he’ll go through this all over again when he realizes I still can’t be his buddy.

  I look over at the principal. “Can you get him some water?”

  “Of course,” she says, then disappears from the doorway.

  “Do you want to keep lying there or sit up?” I ask quietly.

  “Sit up.” He gets up and scoots next to me, pressing his side to mine, his back against the wall.

  I rearrange my coat so it’s draped over his lap and chest, tucking it around him so he feels cocooned. Honestly, I’m a little worried I’ll set him off again, but I figure it’s worth the risk.

  I press my side to his again just as Ms. Killigan returns with a paper cup of water. I reach for it and glance down at Aidan. “Are you thirsty?”

  He nods. His face is red and sweaty, which makes me second-guess tucking my jacket around him, but it seems to be comforting him. Since his arms are tucked to his sides, I lift the cup to his lips and let him take several sips before I set it down.

  He leans his head into my arm and closes his eyes.

  I want to ask what upset him, but I suspect he won’t even know. It’s better to let him just sit here and rest. In less than a minute, I can feel his body relax and hear his soft, even breathing. He’s fallen asleep, not that I’m surprised. If he raged for that long, he has to be exhausted.

  “Is it okay if we just sit here for a bit?” I quietly ask Ms. Killigan.

  Her gaze drops to Aidan, and in a soft, gentle voice, she says, “Yes, of course. School is out for the day, but our after-school programs are running, and the office is open for another half hour. We’re still trying to reach his mother.”

  She leaves us, and it feels strange to be sitting in the conference room of a school I’ve only been in once, comforting a child I just met two days ago. And yet it feels right too. Like I finally found a purpose.

  Ms. Liu walks in a few minutes later and squats next to me, offering me a warm smile before she turns her attention to the sleeping child next to me. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Of course,” I say. “I’m not sure I really did anything. When my nephew got like this, he just had to work it out. The key is to redirect him before it gets this bad. Do you know what set him off?”

  She grimaces. “We were supposed to have our art class this afternoon, but there was an assembly instead. I’ve learned that Aidan likes routine, so that unsettled him, and he was already upset that you weren’t coming. The loud noises in the gym didn’t help.” A guilty look washes over her face. “He had his headphones, but I don’t think they were enough to drown out the shouting. I should have taken him out of the gym sooner.”

  “You’re just getting to know him. It’ll take some time to figure out all of the signs that point to an imminent meltdown,” I say, looking down at him. Some of his dark hair is plastered to the side of his face, and his long dark lashes are pressed to his reddened skin. His lips are parted in repose, Aidan having completely surrendered to exhaustion. He has this peaceful look about him that twists something in my chest. How can I be getting so attached to this kid already? Maybe it’s transference, my feelings for Ben spilling over to him.

  Ms. Liu’s gaze drifts to my arms and the thermal shirt stretched over my chest. She leans in, her eyes softening, and parts her lips as though she’s about to say something. Probably something that will make this uncomfortable, because while she’s very attractive, I’m not interested.

  “Have we heard from Aidan’s mother yet?” I ask to distract her.

  A guilty look fills her eyes, and she leans back a bit. “Not yet.”

  An image of Mary smiling pops into my h
ead, her cheeks flushed with lust and embarrassment. But it’s quickly replaced by an image of her in the parking lot yesterday, her face twisted with disgust and outrage.

  I can’t imagine what she’ll do when she finds out I’m here. Will she follow through with her threat to call the police? Now that Aidan’s settled down and sleeping, I wonder if I should leave before she shows up. But that’s the chickenshit way out, and if I’m gone when he wakes up, it might set him off again.

  Ms. Liu stands. “I’m sure Ms. Killigan’s told you that school’s been dismissed for the day, so Ms. O’Shea doesn’t have to worry about signing him out.”

  “Thanks.”

  She leaves, and it’s just me and the sleeping child for another ten minutes before I hear Mary’s frantic voice. “Where is he?”

  There’s a hushed voice that sounds like Ms. Killigan, and then Mary rushes into the room, coming to an abrupt halt when she sees Aidan sleeping next to me.

  Her face softens, and tears come to her eyes as she takes a tentative step forward. “How long has he been asleep?”

  “About fifteen minutes,” I respond.

  Aidan stirs and lifts his head. He blinks, sounding groggy when he says, “Mom?”

  She closes the distance between us and squats next to him. “I’m here, baby. I’m so sorry.”

  He looks confused as he sits up straighter, my jacket falling to his lap. “You lied,” he says matter-of-factly. “Jace came to see me.”

  I expect her to look furious, but instead there’s only gratitude on her face. Still, there’s hesitation there too. Like while she’s glad I’m here, she doesn’t really like it.

  “Yeah, well…” Her voice trails off.

  “Now that you’re here, I’ll take off,” I say as I get to my feet, my legs stiff from being stretched out so long.

  “No!” Aidan says, starting to get worked up again as he looks up at me. “I haven’t given Jace his dinosaur painting, and we were supposed to play Race to the Treasure. You said the new game you ordered was supposed to come today, Mom. The mail truck always shows up at 3:30. It’ll be there by the time we get back.”