All About The Treats

by Parker, Weston

  “Jace likes Theo, and I think Theo likes him. They have such a unique connection. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him happy. I’m excited for them to spend some time together. Even if it’s for just a little bit. He needs someone to talk to. Someone that isn’t me.”

  She smiled. “He talked about him a lot the other night. He talks about him like he’s a god.”

  “I think he’s been starving for male attention, which makes me feel like shit. I shouldn’t have deprived him all this time. I should have found a way to get him hooked up with a strong male figure.”

  “You’ve done well. He’s not in bad shape. He’s a good kid. Maybe you were just waiting for the right guy to come along.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe, but I hope this is a good thing. I hope Theo and I don’t have a falling out and Jace ends up being collateral damage.”

  “I understand,” she said. “It’s scary, but you might as well live in the moment. Don’t worry about what might or might not happen.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said. My cell phone rang. I glanced at the number and recognized it as the school. I knew there was no way it was going to be a good call. “Shit.”

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Mrs. Pinkston?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “This is her.”

  “There’s been an incident. Is there any way you can come to the school?”

  “Is Jace okay?” I asked.

  There was a pause. “He’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I said and ended the call.

  I was out of my chair and grabbing my keys within seconds, my heart racing.

  “What’s wrong?” Kylie asked.

  “I don’t know. Something happened to Jace at school. I’ve got to go.”

  “Call me and let me know what’s going on.”

  I nodded and rushed out the door. I got to the school within eight minutes. It was usually a fifteen-minute drive.

  There were about a million scenarios running through my mind. I was pissed and scared at the same time. I was desperate to get my arms around my baby. I would kill someone if my child was hurt.

  I went directly to the office. “Hi, I’m Mrs. Pinkston. I got a call—”

  “Oh, yes. I’ll take you into the principal’s office.”

  I walked into the office and saw Jace sitting quietly in one of the chairs. His eyes were on the floor. The principal gestured for me to sit down.

  “What happened?” I asked him, then looked at Jace.

  “There was an incident—” he started.

  I held up my hand. “I got the company line. Tell me what happened. What was the incident?”

  “There was an altercation.”

  I dropped to my knees in front of Jace, putting my hand on his chin and forcing him to look up at me. I saw a red mark on his eye. I turned his face to the other side before looking him over. I got to my feet and looked at the principal. He looked scared.

  “Jace, go sit in the office, and I’ll be there in a couple of minutes, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said in a voice so low, I almost didn’t hear him.

  I closed the door behind him before turning to look at the principal. “This will be the last time I’m called down here because my son was beaten up.”

  “Mrs. Pinkston, I am sorry.”

  “You should be sorry, but that doesn’t fix this. I know you can’t tell me, but the kids that did this had better have been punished. I will talk to Jace and get their names. This is your one chance to fix this. If you can’t fix it, I will.”

  He nodded. “They have been dealt with.”

  “Good,” I said, keeping my voice calm when inside, I was ready to rip small humans to shreds. “I’m going to take my son home. I’m going to help him feel better about this situation. I expect you to talk with your teachers and aides and come up with a plan to prevent this kind of thing from happening to another student. Again, you fix it, or I will.”

  “Jace is excused for the rest of the day.”

  I scoffed. “As if I was asking for permission.”

  I walked out of the office, saw Jace waiting for me, and took his hand in mine, leading him out of the school. After I got him in the car, I took a second to breathe. I had been in mama-bear mode and hadn’t stopped to breathe or think. I had just acted.

  I got into the car and looked in the mirror. Seeing his little face hurt broke my heart. I had to do something. I had to make a change. I could not send my little boy to school to be hurt. It wasn’t the first time, and despite my threats, it wouldn’t be the last.

  “Why don’t we go get some ice cream?” I suggested.

  “I don’t want any.”

  “What? Ice cream is exactly what this day needs.”

  He shrugged a shoulder. I was going to get him high on ice cream. I started the car and drove to one of our favorite ice cream shops. He was not enthused at all. I ordered him a scoop of Rocky Road and a bubblegum for me.

  We sat down at one of the small tables to enjoy our ice cream. “Are you okay?” I asked him.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” he said with exasperation.

  I nodded. “Does it hurt?”

  He shrugged. “Not really.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  We finished our ice cream in silence. I told myself not to push him, but by the time we got home, I had forgotten all about that unspoken promise. He headed for his room. I stood in the kitchen, trying to decide what I was going to do. It was like being on a speeding train. I could see the train was out ahead and knew we were headed for imminent disaster, but I couldn’t stop it.

  I had to stop it. I couldn’t let it go on like this for him. He was a good kid and didn’t deserve to feel miserable. I wanted him to be happy. I wanted him to have a good life. How could he have a good life if he was miserable?

  I walked into his bedroom. I had to know what happened. It was the only way I could help him. If I knew, I could help solve the problem. If that didn’t work, I was going to enroll him in karate class. He could kick the asses of his bullies the next time they tried to mess with him.

  “Jace, will you please tell me what happened?” I asked gently.

  “It was Robbie and Tyler.”

  I nodded, happy to have him finally talking. “Were they mad at you for something?”

  “No.”

  “Then how did you get the bruise on your cheek?”

  “Robbie hit me.”

  “Why did he hit you?”

  He looked down at his hands. “Because I shoved him.”

  “Why did you shove him, Jace?”

  “Because he made me mad.”

  “You don’t shove someone because you get mad,” I lectured. “You know better than that.”

  “He wouldn’t stop saying mean things,” he argued.

  “What kind of mean things was he saying?” I pressed.

  He shrugged. “Just stuff.”

  “Nope. I want to know what it was that made you so angry.”

  He looked up at me, pain in his eyes. “They made fun of me because I don’t have a dad. They said no dad would want me. They said my dad ran away just to get away from me.”

  My heart hurt hearing his pain. “You know that isn’t true. If your daddy could be here, he would. You know he tried to get back home to us—to you. You were his everything. You meant more to him than anything else.”

  “That doesn’t matter. He’s not here. Why did he have to go there? Why did he leave me?!” He ran out of his room.

  I heard the bathroom door slam. “Good job, Mom. Way to kill it.”

  I had never felt like more of a failure than I did in that moment. I didn’t know how to fix it. I felt lost. I wondered if there was a class I could take or a book I could read. How did I tell a little boy he was loved by his father?

  “Dammit, David, why did you have to die?” I whispered, looking up at
the ceiling.

  He’d left me to raise a little boy who needed him. He needed his father’s love and attention. I couldn’t give that to him. I couldn’t give him the one thing he needed most in the world. I felt absolutely helpless.

  I got up from his bed and walked into the kitchen. I needed to do something to keep my mind busy. I was overthinking it. I started to clean, spraying bleach over the counters before scrubbing furiously. I heard the bathroom door open and then the sound of his bedroom door closing. I imagined he was on his bed with a book open.

  It was good for him to have an escape. I wanted him to be able to take his mind off of his problems. He was too young to have problems. I slapped my hand against the counter. He’d already paid a high price for the freedoms those little shits took for granted.

  I tossed the sponge into the sink and went for my laptop. I typed out a very direct, yet professional letter to the principal. I let him know in no uncertain terms what the fight had been about. I suggested they have an assembly to explain to the kids what it meant to be a gold-star family and how it was something to be appreciated, not disrespected.

  I offered to organize the damn thing. Hell, it was what I did. I was thinking about doing it myself and inviting the community. Little shits like Tyler and Robbie needed an awakening, and I was going to give it to them.

  Chapter 19

  Theo

  It had been a countdown to this moment since I had left Harper’s house in the early hours of Wednesday morning. I had been anxious to see her again. I was excited to see the art museum and hopefully steal a few kisses. I wasn’t sure if the kissing was allowed to happen in front of the kid. The whole situation was a new one for me.

  I pulled into her driveway and smiled when I saw the Halloween decorations on the front porch. It was very homey and welcoming—just like Harper. I rang the doorbell, expecting to have Jace open the door. It was Harper. She smiled at me and leaned forward to give me a quick kiss. I immediately noticed it wasn’t her usual vibrant smile. Her eyes weren’t sparkling.

  When she pulled back, I studied her face and noticed there were dark circles under her eyes. She’d done her best to cover them with makeup, but it was still evident to me. There was a pall about her that I wasn’t used to seeing. Usually, energy flowed from her veins. I didn’t see that now. It was as if she was going through the motions but her excitement for life was gone.

  She was wearing a light pink sweater that complemented her hair and those gorgeous blue eyes. She had on a pair of jeans that were a little tight and looked absolutely stunning on her. Everything was perfect—except her usual enthusiasm was missing.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  She offered another weak smile. “Yes. I’m glad to see you.”

  I nodded. “I’m happy to be here,” I said, following her into the living room.

  Jace came down the hallway. “Hi, Theo.”

  I smiled at the kid. “Hi, Jace. I heard you’ve been working hard on that candy report.”

  The boy grinned and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “It’s right here.”

  When he looked up at me, I saw the redness on his cheek and eye. I knew Harper would never hurt her child. “Thank you. This is awesome. I can’t wait to review it. I hope you weren’t too hard on me.”

  Jace smiled bigger. “I wasn’t.”

  Harper came to stand beside us, her purse thrown over her shoulder. She looked at her son with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was love and sadness and maybe guilt.

  “Are you boys ready to go?” she asked.

  Jace nodded. “I am.”

  She looked at me.

  “Definitely,” I said. “Should we take my car?”

  “Sure,” she said, looking at her son. “You good with that?”

  “Yes.”

  We loaded up, and with Harper’s instructions, we were at the museum in twenty minutes. The ride had been quiet, thick with tension between mother and son. The energy was very different than it had been at my house a week ago.

  Once inside, we meandered through a few of the exhibits before Jace sat down at a table to paint a picture. Harper and I stood back with some of the other parents, watching the kids create little masterpieces.

  “What happened?” I asked her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I see the mark on his face.”

  “I didn’t do it!” she quickly answered.

  I grabbed her hand. “I know you didn’t. Kids at school?”

  She sighed and nodded. “Yes.”

  “Does he get bullied a lot?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know what’s a lot. I think one time is too many. It’s been worse this school year, and we’ve only just started. I’m not sure he or I can last another six months with it like this.”

  “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to be in his shoes. I was always the odd man out.”

  She softened a little. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how isolating it is. It breaks my heart to see him suffering. I’ve spoken with the school on several occasions. It just seems to be getting worse. I don’t understand why kids have to be such assholes. It isn’t like he’s done anything to them. He’s quiet and minds his own business.”

  “Kids pick on those they think are different. Truthfully, I think they pick on the kids they are intimidated by. Jace is obviously far more intelligent, and that probably annoys them. He’s smart and they aren’t.”

  “I suppose that’s true, and I’m sure it’s something that has been going on since the beginning of time, but I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I especially don’t like it when it happens to my baby. I want to scream and rage and beat the hell out of those kids.”

  I smiled. “You’re a good mom.”

  She scoffed. “I question that. Would a good mom let her son be abused?”

  “Unfortunately, this is one of those things that has to be handled at school. Jace is going to have to stand up for himself.”

  “How do I give him the courage and strength to do that?” she asked. “I try to tell him he’s good and loved and he doesn’t need to listen to those brats, but it doesn’t work.”

  “What are they picking on him about specifically? Is it his looks? Academics?”

  She shook her head, a sadness in her eyes as she looked back at Jace happily painting a rendition of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. “His father.”

  “His father?” I asked, anxious to know the story behind it.

  “More like his lack of a father.”

  “Where is his father?” I pressed, hoping I wasn’t being too nosy.

  “Dead.”

  “Oh,” I said, not expecting that. “I’m sorry.”

  She looked up at me. “His father, my late husband, was in the Army. He died while deployed.”

  “When?”

  “Four years ago. He’d been close to the end of his tour. Jace really didn’t know him all that well, and as horrible as it sounds, part of me was glad that he didn’t. I had hoped it would lessen the pain and grief he felt. I was wrong.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the loss of your husband, his father.”

  “Thank you. I just don’t understand how kids can be so cruel. Why would anyone think it’s okay to tease a little boy about his dead father? It makes me crazy. Those parents are doing a pretty shitty job of raising good kids.”

  I nodded. “I completely agree.”

  “I’m sorry to be a downer.”

  “You’re not a downer. You’re a real person, and you’re dealing with something big. I get it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “He seems to be doing pretty good now,” I said, watching him paint.

  She nodded. “He loves art. Maybe I’ll buy him an easel and make the spare bedroom into his art studio. It will be his own safe place.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  “I’m going to go grab us some water,” she said. “Can you keep an eye on him
for me?”

  I felt honored that she would trust me to do so. “Yes.”

  She walked away. Jace turned around just in time to see her leave. I waved, letting him know I was still there. He grabbed his picture from the table, carefully carrying it on the edges, and walked toward me. “Where did Mom go?”

  “She went to get us some water. Can I see your picture?”

  “Be careful. It’s still wet. I don’t want to leave it there to dry.”

  I nodded. “Understandable. Let’s go sit on that bench and wait for your mom. We can watch other people look at art.”

  “Why?” he asked with a quizzical expression on his face.

  I smiled. “I like to watch other people’s expressions when they see art. I like to see them get excited, or sometimes, they scrunch up their nose because they don’t like it. I find it really interesting when two people can look at the same piece of art, and one will love it and the other will hate it.”

  He looked thoughtful. “You like to watch that?”

  I nodded. “Yes. It shows me that some people just like different things. We’re all different. It doesn’t mean any of us is wrong or broken. We just have different views and likes.”

  That seemed to sink in. “I get it.”

  “You’re a smart kid, Jace. Never let anyone tell you different. Never let anyone tell you that your opinion or your feelings don’t matter. They do matter.”

  He smiled. “I know.”

  “Your mom tells me you like to draw and paint?”

  “I do.”

  “I like to paint too. I’m not very good at it, but I like to do it. It makes me feel calm inside. Does it do that for you?”

  He nodded. “I like the way it feels when I paint. Sometimes, I like to smear paint on the paper and just swirl the colors.”

  “You like the way it looks when you do that?”

  He nodded again. “Yep.”

  “I think you should do it whenever you can,” I told him. “If you’re feeling sad or angry, painting is a great way to get those feelings out.”

  “Do you paint when you’re sad or angry?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Sometimes. Usually, I like to play the piano or listen to music while I’m sitting outside. It helps calm me. I think it feels like a warm blanket wrapping around me.”