We made small talk. That’s what we did these days. He continued to touch base with me often but had stopped any form of flirting. He no longer mentioned dinner or touched my hand. And yet, the touch of another person would have gone a long way toward melting the ice forming around my heart.
A few minutes of small talk and he walked back to his office, his absence increasing the melancholy that followed me to work that day.
A few hours later, I heard my name mentioned at the front desk.
“I’m looking for Claire Bassett.” The voice belonged to a man.
“Claire’s desk is back there, last one on the left.”
I heard the clunk of footsteps before I saw him in my limited cubicle view. A well-dressed man, tall with a clean look and a dimpled chin.
I stood as he approached. “I’m Claire. Can I help you?”
“My name is Scott Harrington. Is this a good time and place to talk with you?”
I eyed him with suspicion. “Regarding?”
“Regarding Andrew.”
While I felt the skip in my heartbeat, I still approached this conversation with reservation. If he’d come to tell me Andrew was homeless and freezing on the streets, I already knew that.
I motioned to the door he’d just entered. “Let’s go somewhere more private.” I led the way, and he followed. Walking past the front desk, I called to Susie. “I’m taking a short break. I’ll be back soon.”
We continued to an empty conference room used for student advisement. I motioned to the chair.
“Please, sit. Do you know Andrew? Do you know where he is?” While desperate for the answer to that question, I remained guarded.
“He’s at my home, staying with me. Temporarily.”
My eyes betrayed me as they pooled with unshed tears. I covered my mouth. I had lost the ability to form words into a logical thought.
“He’s hurting, Claire. He needs help.”
I nodded, recovering from the shock. Of course he needed help. “Does he want help? Is he ready for it?”
“Yes, he is. He doesn’t know I’m seeing you. He’s convinced you’ve moved on and that he can’t return.”
“When can I see him? I can leave here now.”
“I think tomorrow would be better. There are some things I have to do today that are taking me away from home.”
“I’m afraid he’ll disappear if I wait.”
Scott wore a burdened look. “He won’t disappear.”
I would have said the same thing a year ago. “Please don’t let him leave. My biggest fear is he’ll run again.”
“He won’t run. He’s befriended an old man who’s at my house getting hospice care. D.J. won’t run out on Pete.”
But he ran out on me. “D.J.? Is that what he calls himself?”
“Yeah, it’s what he’s been going by.”
“Drew. Our baby. He’s sixteen months old now. Those are his initials. We debated whether to call him Andrew, Jr., D.J., or Drew. We decided on Drew.”
He pulled out his wallet and retrieved a business card. “Here’s the address. What time do you want to come? I’ll arrange some privacy.”
“Nine? I can drop Isabella at school and come from there.”
“Nine it is.”
“Will he know? Are you telling him we met?”
He appeared to ponder that and shook his head.
“No, Claire. Let’s just do it. I think the element of surprise would be better. If he knows, he’ll spend a lot of time worrying.”
As he left the conference room, I clasped my hands in front of my face. This is what I’d hoped for. It would happen tomorrow.
~*~
I packed my things to leave early. I didn’t know what would become of my job. Once I had Andrew in my grips, I’d be afraid to leave him.
I glanced around my little cubicle, my refuge from the reality of life. The plaque still sat atop the desk. The earth laughs in flowers. Maybe spring would come.
Who knew what tomorrow held. I should see Jonathan before I left. His schedule said that he had office hours right now. He may have had a student meeting with him, but I took the chance and walked up the hallway that held the professors’ offices. He was alone in his office and working at his computer.
He glanced up at the slight rap on the door, his eyes widening. He gave a tentative smile. “Well this is a pleasant surprise.”
I pulled his windowless office door until it clicked. “Mind if I sit for a few minutes?”
Without answering, he came out from behind his desk and sat in the chair across from me. “Do you think I would ever mind that?”
I smiled at his sweetness, not sure how to begin.
“Are you OK, Claire? I’ve been worried about you.”
That exemplified Jonathan, his sweet caring nature. “I think so. A lot of things are going on right now. I feel like I owe you an explanation.”
“You don’t owe me. But I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
“I do. There’s so much you don’t know. I’ll start with my daughter’s fifth birthday party. We had a small family gathering. An hour before the rest of our family planned to arrive, my brother-in-law and sister-in-law came early to help me set up. We were close in those days. “
Jonathan listened as I rambled on. “I thought we might need more ice cream, so I asked Andrew to run to the store before anyone else came. Matthew and Jenny were arriving. Jenny came into the house. Her daughter, Ellory stayed out with her dad.”
I squeezed my eyes against the scene about to come. “I never heard the hit, but I heard Matthew screaming. Jenny darted out the door before me, and her screams followed.”
Jonathan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
I went on to tell him the horrid details. “When the doctor said she was gone, Matthew went crazy. He attacked Andrew, pushed him against the wall, and called him a murderer. He said it should have been his own daughter, my Bella.”
Jonathan reached for my hand, shaking his head against the awful picture.
“Andrew wasn’t held liable. The investigation called it an accident. But he went downhill, every day for three weeks. The deepest depression held him, he stopped talking, and sometimes didn’t get out of bed. After three weeks, he disappeared.”
I told him the rest, the cell phone picture, canvasing the city, St. John’s. And today’s visit from Scott Harrington. I would be seeing Andrew tomorrow and hoped to bring him home.
We both knew this meant the end of any possibility of a future. And yet sweet Jonathan, who for some reason adored me, was the most gracious friend.
“I am so, so sorry for all you’ve been through. I wish you’d told me sooner. You know how I love my little niece, Hannah. I can’t fathom being in that position. I may have done what your husband did. What can I do to help you, Claire?”
“You have done more than you will ever know. I have something I want to give you.”
I reached into my pocket and retrieved the note I, for some unknown reason, had kept. I handed it to him and he read aloud his own words. “You brought light into my darkness.”
Looking puzzled, he said, “I wrote this for you.”
“Yes, and those are the exact words I want to say to you. You kept me going, kept shining light into my dark world. I’m giving that back so you’ll know what you’ve meant to me.”
Our eyes locked until I stood. “I need to go. Thank you for being you.”
I stepped into his hug. He held me, brushed his lips across my cheek. I separated from the closeness. I was a wife, and my husband waited. He walked me to the office door, held it open, and squeezed my hand.
“Good-bye Claire. I’ll be praying for you and for your husband.”
~*~
I told my parents that night but refused to have them accompany me. Instead, they entertained the kids that evening.
Once in my bedroom, I hit the floor with my knees, folded my hands, and rested them on the side of the bed.
“Lord, please, please let him still be there. Help me to find words to say, words to show him there’s help and hope. To show him how much I love him. Ready his heart to see me. Let him know the reality of forgiveness. Yours, mine, and Jenny’s.”
29
Scott Harrington
The Allegheny County Jail sat in the heart of downtown. I had only been inside once, while doing an interview. Walking in the main door, I supplied my photo ID and emptied all of my belongings—wallet, cell phone, belt, coins—everything came out of my pockets before walking through the security scanner. I kept two small items tucked in my shirt, hoping they wouldn’t be noticed and confiscated.
A guard escorted me to the visiting room through two sets of electronic doors that opened and locked at his command. The guard left me alone and the door lock clicked behind him. I scanned the small visiting area, noting a small table and chairs, and multiple cameras aimed at a variety of areas. A visitor couldn’t move more than two feet without being in some camera’s view.
Thirty minutes passed before a female guard escorted Caroline in. Her thick hair was pulled back and secured with a band. Leg shackles peeked through the base of her orange jumpsuit, and handcuffs held her arms in front as she walked. One sculpted eyebrow rose as she saw me, but neither of us spoke before she sat down.
The guard removed her handcuffs but secured her leg shackles to a loop on the floor. She moved away but never left the room. Caroline massaged her wrists where the cuffs had rubbed. I noticed her flawless red nails. That would be her last high-end manicure for a while.
She spoke first, breaking the silence. “Why are you here?”
“I missed our last date.” My attempt at humor fell flat, and she remained silent. I moved on, letting it pass. “Why, Caroline? I need to know why.”
She focused on her wrist, rubbed it, turned it over, and moved her hand back and forth to stretch the joint. Then she glanced up. “You’re assuming I’m guilty?”
“Are you?”
She shrugged. “My attorney has counseled me to keep my mouth shut.”
“A difficult task for a sassy young lady.” I leaned in closer. “Was it the money? The power? What?” My head tilted with each question.
Stone silence.
I glanced at the guard, who paid no attention to us, and pulled out the two pictures.
“I want you to see this.” I turned the first picture toward her.
“Is that you?” She pointed to my image.
“Yeah, me at ten years old.”
“And your friend?”
“My brother, Edwin. Fourteen months older than me.”
“Cute. And why do I need to see this?” Snarky even in her prison garb.
I turned the next one face up and rotated it toward her.
“This is Edwin’s school picture in his sophomore year. I don’t have a photo of his junior year. He OD’d three days before they were taken.”
She glanced and turned away. Typical. No one wanted to see the faces behind the crime.
“Look at it.” My voice filled with agitation as I pushed the photo closer. “That’s what you did. Lured kids into that lifestyle, supplied them with lethal chemicals that ruined and stole their life. Did you ever think of that when you padded your bank account?”
She turned toward the guard, showing no emotion, no remorse. Lifting a hand, one finger extended, she summoned her as she had done with our waiter. “Guard, I’m ready to go back.”
I ran my hands through my hair and shook my head.
The guard came over and reattached her handcuffs. Another escorted me through the doors that automatically locked behind me.
I left the jailhouse feeling more frustration than before. I wanted her to know there were kids dying, kids with families who loved them and brothers that would be forever consumed by the guilt of living.
I couldn’t go home where I’d face people who could read my mood, where I’d hear Pete dying, cough by painful cough, and where I’d see D.J. and wonder what tomorrow would bring.
As I drove around, aimlessly crossing bridges, I made my way to the Fort Pitt Tunnel just so I could cross back to the spectacular view. Exiting the tunnel onto the Fort Pitt Bridge, the magnificent city skyline greeted me. It had been penned as the best way to enter an American city. The familiar sight somehow brought clarity to my muddled thoughts.
Turning again, I entered the Liberty Tube and made my way to the South Hills. I’d ride past Sam Pulkowski’s home to locate it. I had no expectation that he would be there on a workday, but I plugged the address into the GPS and headed south.
The directions took me to a small neighborhood in the community of Dormont. The houses were dated, but it appeared to be a well-kept street. The hilly terrain elevated most of the two-story brick homes, requiring a long, outside stairway to reach the porch. I stopped in front of the house and parallel parked along the street.
A worker was cutting spindles to replace some on the front porch. I jaunted up a few steps and called toward him.
“That’s looking good. You live here or work here?”
“Both. I live and work here. You’re never done when you own a home. Can I help you with something?”
“Scott Harrington.” I ascended the stairs and reached out to shake his hand. “I saw you working and thought I might get a business card. I guess if this is your own place, you don’t do this work for others.”
“I do, and I can give you a card. Most jobs are bigger, new home construction, but if I can fit you in, I’ll give it a try. What are you needing?”
No more deceit. I glanced at his business card. It did indeed read “Sam Pulkowski.”
“Sam Pulkowski. You have a son named Tyler?”
With that, he stood up. “You know Ty? You know where he is?”
“I do. He’s staying with me, trying to get his life together.”
He removed his tool belt, and tossed it onto the porch. “I need to see my boy.”
“Hold on a few minutes. Let’s talk.”
“Hey, I’ve been looking for that kid since his mother snatched him out of my grasp ten years ago. She didn’t stay in one place long enough to give him any roots. No trail to trace. I’m ready to see him now.”
I made a downward gesture with my hands to indicate we needed to take this slower. “Tyler doesn’t know that. He thinks you abandoned him.”
“Abandon Ty? He knows better.”
“No. Actually, he doesn’t know. He was nine and you never came back. That’s all he knows. You’re aware that his mother moved to Texas?”
“No. I didn’t know. But he’s here? How’d he hook up with you?”
“Tyler lived among the homeless men in Pittsburgh. It scared him to death. I’m trying to help him find a way out.”
Sam turned from me and kicked his work boot into a stack of wood, scattering it over the floor of his front porch. I took a step backward, but his anger was not at me.
“I should’ve taken him when I left. I had nowhere to live and wanted to get settled. I went back for him in three weeks, and they were gone. I never should’ve left without him.”
“Sam, he’s a great kid. Smart, respectful. Right now, he’s at my place, helping to take care of an old man who’s dying of lung cancer. Not many eighteen-year-olds up to that task. I’ve grown fond of him.”
“Can I see him? I don’t want to wait.” His eyes were pleading as much as his words.
I hesitated for one moment. Tyler might be upset with me, but I believed Sam. “Sure. Why don’t you follow me?”
Sam went around back to the alley where he parked and met me at the corner intersection. I had given him the address in case we became separated, but I drove slow and kept my eye on the rearview mirror.
We pulled in front of the house, and I paused. A small house with four occupants limited privacy.
“Give me a minute, Sam.”
I made a quick call to the café and got the OK from Stella before taking Sam into her home.
>
“Hey, Tyler. Can you come up here?”
He took the stairs two at a time.
“Pete fell asleep, and I thought it would be OK to leave him for a half hour. D.J.’s been with him.”
“No problem. I need you to go over to Stella’s”
“Sure. What for?”
I better tell him. I didn’t need any more reasons to upset him. “Ty, I’ve been in touch with your dad. He wants to see you.”
He took a step backward and sucked in his cheeks, all defenses up.
“I told you I didn’t want to do that.”
“I had to know, Ty. I couldn’t believe he’d leave you. Do you know he spent years looking? He went back for you, like he said he would.”
“You sure about that?”
“Very sure. Go see him, Ty. He’s waited a long time.”
Tyler paced for a moment. He looked like a scared kid. “Will you walk over with me?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It feels kinda funny walking in and saying hi like nothing happened.”
I patted his back. “OK, buddy. Let’s go.”
We walked over to Stella’s. I opened the door, stepping aside to let Tyler walk in. He hesitated, but when Sam saw him, he bolted toward the door and scooped Tyler into his strong arms.
“Ty. Ty. I can’t believe it.” His voice cracked with emotion. “Ty, I’m so sorry. So sorry. I tried to find you.”
I closed the door and left them to their reunion. Well, one piece of the puzzle worked out. It struck me that it was a big jigsaw puzzle. Matching pieces. Moving them around. Finding fits. I never saw that coming when I dreamed up this project.
I could only hope D.J. would share the same success. Those problems were an ocean deep.
30
Scott Harrington
Tyler and Sam spent three hours at Stella’s house. I took them coffee after an hour, mostly to make sure the reconciliation was going well. I found them relaxed and catching up on nine missed years. Sam stopped in to say good-bye, and Tyler showed no signs of leaving with him.
“I’m going to stay here to help with Pete. When he’s gone, I’ll move in with my dad.”
The Least of These. Page 18