“Then what?”
“I heard someone running behind me, and then I was slammed to the ground.”
Harvey checks his notes. “One person, or more?”
“More.”
“Did they tell you to empty your pockets? Give them your wallet?”
“They didn’t say anything, just pushed me down and kept beating me.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. I woke up in the hospital.”
“Think back. Did you see anything? Anything at all?”
“Everything was black.”
“You couldn’t see anything, but what were you hearing?”
Ever since yesterday when a time was set for the interview, I’ve been thinking about what they might ask. What I might answer. Trying to find more memory, but there’s not much there.
“Try to relax, Eddie,” Mario says. “Any little detail might help.”
Long pause, then Harvey says, “Do you think your injuries came from fists? Clubs? Any ideas?”
I try to remember what I felt, run my fingers lightly along the long gash in my head. “Kicks. Boots, maybe,” I say. “I remember rolling into a ball, covering my head. I guess that’s how my hands and arms got so messed up.”
I glance over at Max, who looks like she could cry. She says she’ll bring coffee refills and goes into the kitchen.
“You think maybe someone was kicking you?” Harvey says.
I nod. “And Buddy...” At the sound of his name, Buddy slowly gets up off his bed next to William’s chair, limps over to me and leans against my leg. I give him a scratch and a pat. Harvey sits watching, pencil ready to go. “I heard Buddy growl, and then yelp.”
“What else did you hear?”
I think, try to remember, then... “William. I heard William close to me, asking where I was hurt, but I couldn’t talk.”
“And then?”
“Screeching tires, shouts at William to get away, lots of shuffling around...”
“And then?” Harvey asks.
I shrug.
“What’s the next thing you remember?”
“Max’s voice. In the hospital.”
“How about the ambulance? Did you hear the siren?”
I try to dredge up any other details. Did I hear the siren? “Okay. Yeah. I heard a siren, and a lot more shuffling around, and William telling me over and over that I was going to be okay. Oh, and before that, I forgot to say that I heard William yelling that I was his son.”
Max and Mario both turn to look at William, who’s looking at me. We haven’t talked about the son thing since we used it to get the cops off him.
Harvey flips back through his notebook and glances at a few pages. “Okay. Good, Eddie. Now tell me...”
Officer Romero glances at her big-faced watch. “Let’s take a short break.”
“Just a few more...” Harvey starts.
“A short break,” she says, giving him one of those “Don’t mess with me” looks like the kind Max has perfected.
I stand. Slowly. Everything hurts. I get my phone from the tray next to William’s chair. A text from Rosie: after sch?
I text back a thumbs up. Better. I feel better knowing I’ll see Rosie in...I check the clock...in about three hours.
Max has again topped off coffee for William and Harvey. Romero skipped the top-off. Max brings out a plate of cookies that look homemade but aren’t.
“Just a few more questions,” Harvey says, motioning me back to the table. I hobble over and lower myself into the chair. Damn, I hurt!
Harvey reads his notes, reminding me of what I’ve said so far—I heard running, was thrown to the ground, beaten, kicked, maybe with boots, heard Buddy yelp, heard William ask where I was hurt, couldn’t answer, heard screeching brakes, shouting at William to get away, William yelling that he’s your dad, a siren, William whispering you’d be okay, then waking to your mother’s voice in the hospital.
“Have I got that right?” Harvey says.
I nod.
“Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else? Anything at all?”
I shake my head.
“What about from whoever jumped you. Any sounds from them?”
“Just running coming up behind me.”
“Nothing else?
“No,” I say, even as I’m hearing Jason’s Miss Piggy voice in my head.
“Okay,” Max says to Romero. “It’s time for Eddie’s pain meds, and he needs a rest.”
Officer Romero nods. Max tells me to get comfortable. That would be William’s chair. She brings me one of those little plastic containers of applesauce, fresh water, and a pill. I take them all in that order, recline back, close my eyes, and doze off to the murmur of voices, Harvey asking William a bunch of questions, Max fussing around in the kitchen, Mario’s occasional comments.
Again, I remember the kicks, hear Jason’s squeaky voice, “Enough. Let’s get outta here,” and I’m filled with a white-hot anger at Jason.
I should have told Harvey about that too, I guess. But maybe it seemed like it would take too much energy. The telling. The questions and more questions. Maybe another time, I tell myself.
Next thing I know Max is standing over me, nudging, whispering, “Rosie’s here. She can come back later if you’re too...”
“I’m not tired,” I say, raising the recliner, trying to look wide-eyed and awake.
“Come on in,” Max calls to Rosie. She, Max, fluffs my pillows, takes dirty dishes from my tray and goes back to the kitchen as Rosie comes in.
“Hey, Rosie,” I say, my voice hoarse and weak sounding.
“Hey, Eddie,” she says, giving me a tight smile. She stands a few feet away, watching me, like maybe I scare her or something.
I pat the arm of the recliner. “Sit. What’s up?”
She half stands, half sits, all stiff like, on the arm of the chair, facing me. “How do you feel?” she asks.
“Better.” I’m not sure that’s true, but I want Rosie to think I’m better, to stop being afraid to touch me, or look at me. “What’ve you been doing?” I ask.
“Well...I took Zoe shopping so she could get something for Mom and Dad for Christmas. That was a pain.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to get them a ‘Frozen’ jigsaw puzzle and her favorite Bundt cake, never mind that it’d be stale by Christmas. I tried to get her to think about what they might like, the joy of giving a gift that someone might actually like rather than something that she’d end up getting the benefit from.”
“She’s so like the pest,” I say, managing a small enough smile that it doesn’t hurt.
“And then we go to the bookstore to find something for mom, and she decides on a book about dolphins ‘cause, you know, dolphins are Zoe’s next big obsession after Elsa and Anna.” Rosie laughs and relaxes onto the chair arm, letting her legs dangle above the floor.
I didn’t even notice I was holding my breath, but I guess I was because as soon as I feel Rosie relax, I exhale a double lungful of stale air.
I have less to talk about than ever. I slept. I sipped soup. I took my meds. I answered some police questions. I slept. I sipped soup. I took my meds. I mean, how boring is that?
“What else?” I ask Rosie. “What else have you been doing?”
“Sofia’s parents are talking about transferring her to St. Francis. Fatima’s, too.”
“Because of that scarf-pulling asshole?”
Rosie nods. “But Sofia wants to stay at Hamilton. Especially for choir and soccer.”
Text ding. Rosie glances at her phone. “Gotta go,” she says. “Give me a joke for Zoe?”
It’s funny how I can barely remember stuff from when I got beat up, but all of those corny jokes are still stuck in my brain. “Did I already give you some bird jokes?”
“Just the one about elephants being smarter than chickens.”
“No, I mean jokes with real birds, like the kind that fly around.”
“Chickens are real birds!” Rosie says.
“Okay, so why do birds fly south for the winter?”
“Why?”
I wait. Rosie always tries to get out of guessing, but no guess, no joke. She looks up at the ceiling. I look at her.
“Ummm...because winters are warmer in the south?”
“Nooooo. Because it’s too far to walk.”
I WAKE TO THE SCENT of soup. Still chicken, I think. And not that I don’t like chicken soup, but I wish I could chew again. Mario comes in with a bowl of soup and a slice of bread, and clears a space on the tray. I raise the recliner.
“Wanna milkshake?” he asks. “Help replenish a little fat?”
I nod.
By the time I’ve soaked up all of the bread until it’s soft enough to eat, then tipped the bowl up to drink the rest of the soup, Mario’s back with two tall vanilla milkshakes. He pulls a chair up beside me. After a big gulp of the shake, he lets out a long, satisfied, “Aaahhh.”
“I’m practicing my culinary skills,” he says. “Francie says that when we move in together, we’ll be sharing kitchen duties. So far I’ve mastered milkshakes and cereal.”
I laugh. It hurts.
“Listen, Bro. I know you’re tired of talking about this, but you must have at least heard something from those guys the other night.”
I take another sip of milkshake. Something about the look on his face, intense concern? Curiosity? He looks like the seventeen-year-old brother who so wanted the truth from me back when I was nine. I trust him. I should tell him. But then what? The police take control? Suddenly, I realize the reason I’ve kept the Jason part of things to myself. I don’t want the police to deal with Jason. I want to deal with Jason myself. I finish the milkshake, feeling better than I have since before I got beat up. I smile at the thought of giving Jason what he has coming.
“Eddie?” Mario says. Eyebrows raised in a question. “You’re sure? Nothing?”
“Nothing,” I say. God, I hate lying to Mario, but not as much as I’d hate not getting my chance at Jason.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A Late Christmas
Ten days after Christmas, we gather around the tree as if it’s Christmas Eve. They’ve waited until I’m strong enough to laugh and to play a lame—literally lame—round of fetch with Buddy out in the yard. He’s got a lighter splint now so he hobbles a little more easily. And I’ve still got a cast on my left arm, and my right hand still hurts so I don’t throw the ball very far.
Max and William and the pest waited until I was strong enough to join in before they opened any gifts. Well, that’s not quite true. Imani got to choose one gift to open on the real Christmas Eve. Some kind of “Frozen” backpack, I think. But all the rest of the presents are wrapped and waiting, like on a real Christmas Eve.
It’s dark out and only the lights from the Christmas tree and the little blinking lights across the mantle are on. White lights on the mantle and the tree. William has a thing for only white lights on the tree, maybe because he’s constantly dealing with color, mixing colors, painting a color a customer wants, then painting over it because it’s not what she (usually she) wanted after all. So, the tree is all lit up with white lights, and Christmas music from Max’s phone is playing through the Bluetooth speakers. We’re sipping hot spiced apple cider from Christmas cups, like we always do on Christmas Eve. In the glow that is Christmas Eve, even if it’s a delayed Christmas Eve, I think how lucky I am to have this family, this warm, safe place. How lucky I am to be alive. It could have been different.
The tradition for opening presents is that the youngest goes first. Imani rips open her first package, lets out a squeal, then pulls this big, velvet cape thing out of the box. It’s reddish-purple, Cherry Cola, I’d say, with Cornstalk Gold trim. She drapes it over her shoulders and runs her hand across the velvet.
“You like it, Baby?”
“Thank you!” she says, then runs to William and throws her arms around him.
“It’s from Maria, too,” he says.
She runs to Max and gives her an equally enthusiastic hug. “Thanks, Mommy!” Imani twirls in a circle and the cape billows out, then wraps around her. “I’m Anna of Arendelle!” She twirls in the opposite direction. “I’m never taking it off!”
“Well...you might change your mind come summer,” William says.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Max says. “Look at the lining, and the gold beading. Carla’s such a meticulous seamstress.”
“Aunt Carla made this?”
“We couldn’t find anything like it in the stores,” Max says.
Imani wraps the cape closer around herself.
“Your turn, Eddie,” Max says, bringing a big, fancy-wrapped box over and setting it on the couch beside me.
I feel bad. In all the pile of presents under the tree, there’s not much from me. The only present I bought is the necklace for Rosie and I haven’t even given it to her yet. I want to save it for a private time, and there haven’t been any private times in weeks. Feels like years. Soon though.
“Open it, Eddie! I hope it’s Kristoff’s furry coat!”
I shake the package. “Maybe it’s Simba’s mane.”
“No! Open it!”
I look over at Max. “I’m sorry...”
“Just open it, Eddie,” she says with a laugh. “We know you’ve not exactly been up for shopping.”
I tear off the paper, open the box, and find it crammed full of art supplies: different sizes of sketch pads, ArtGraf stuff from Portugal! Graphite sticks and a whole bunch of special pencils.
“They didn’t have Simba’s mane at the store,” Max says, “and Carla was too busy with capes to make a mane.”
“This is awesome,” I tell her. “Thank you!”
“It’s from William, too.”
“Thanks, William.”
I open the sketch pad and lightly outline Simba in a crouched, hunting position, then start on the background.
Imani finds a package for Max under the tree and takes it to her.
“Aren’t we going in order of age?” William asks, pretending to be offended. Imani gives him a puzzled look. “I’m younger than old-lady Maria,” he laughs.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Imani says.
“Thanks, Imani,” Max says.
Imani finds a package for William and takes it to him.
“No, you first, Maria. I’ve been waiting weeks for you to open this,” he says, flashing her a big smile.
She looks at the box. “Nordstrom?” she says.
“Open it.”
She carefully removes the fancy ribbon and lifts out a sweater. “Baby blue! My favorite color!”
“Ocean Front Blue,” I say.
“Umm. Maybe closer to Chill Blue,” William says.
Max feels the sweater, rubs her face against it. “Cashmere? William...?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Customers were generous this season.”
She gets kinda teary. Max is like that sometimes when someone does something extra nice for her. Like maybe she doesn’t deserve extra nice. But she does. Everybody who knows Max knows she deserves extra nice.
“Not that you don’t look great in that Target sweater, but what do you think? Like it?”
“Oh, I love it!”
She leans into William and gives him a long kiss. I look away. I mean, I’m glad they love each other, but that part of it’s kinda weird.
“Yuck!” Imani yells. They pull away, laughing. “Your turn, Daddy! Open mine first!” Imani reaches past two larger packages from Max to get a small red and green gift bag.
William opens it slowly, making a big deal of “What could this be?” and “If it’s a jacket, I hope it fits...” No way could a jacket fit in that bag, and Imani laughs and laughs at William’s remark. He takes his time, poking around in the bag. “I wonder...”
“Daddy!! Open it!!”
William reaches in and pulls out a small meta
l thing, about four inches long. Imani grabs it away from him.
“It does twelve things, Daddy! See. It’s a screwdriver, and a bottle opener, and a knife, and a keychain...”
William eases the gadget back. “Cool!” he says. “This will be so useful! Go get my keys, Sugar.”
She runs into the kitchen and grabs William’s keys from the hook by the door. He switches key chains. I remember what he said about how he could have ended up like Devon Parker and how awful it would have been if he couldn’t raise Imani. It totally sucks that Devon Parker doesn’t get to raise his little boy.
Imani hands the last two fancy-wrapped packages to William. They’re from Max. The first is a set of wireless headphones, so he can listen to music when he’s working and not have any wires get in the way. The second is a book by Barack Obama, Of Thee I Sing: A Letter to My Daughters. He thumbs through it, remarking on the beauty of the illustrations, then hands it to Imani to look at. He leans in for another of those kisses with Max and I look over Imani’s shoulder at the book. It’s about thirteen different American heroes—Abraham Lincoln, Sitting Bull, Helen Keller, Martin Luther King, even Cesar Chavez.
“Hey, Imani,” I say. “Hand out the last gifts, will you?” She looks puzzled. “Those big envelopes under the tree.”
Since I couldn’t get out shopping, and I had plenty of time on my hands, I did cartoons for everyone. Imani opens the one with her name on it and starts laughing. It’s Simba the cat, eyes gleaming, ears back, pulling the pants off the pompous Duke of Weselton. William’s is a bossy-looking Simba in a paint spattered cap, sitting on William’s shoulder. William is in his usual painter’s clothes, roller in hand, and Simba’s pointing out a place William missed.
For Max, Simba is dressed in one of those white coats that dentists and hygienists wear. He’s standing on the dental tray, next to Max, a long strand of floss pulled between his front paws, ready to floss the patient’s teeth. The patient, who’s reclined back with an overhead light shining into his mouth, is a scared-looking William. Well...I don’t do people well, so Max and William aren’t exactly recognizable. Everybody’s laughing and making a big deal about the cartoons. I feel a little better about not having any real gifts for anyone.
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