Tommy's Mom

by Linda O. Johnston

  Evangeline ducked out of the small room, and in a minute Edie came in. She was very tall and very curvaceous. Today, she was clad conservatively, for her, in a leotard top and abbreviated green skirt. Though the short pixie style of her platinum hair emphasized that her nose was too large for the rest of her features, it somehow made her appear stunning.

  “I hear I’ve got some good company in here ready to come for a walk with me,” Edie said. “Is it…Mr. Sperling?”

  Tommy shook his head in the negative.

  “Is it…Mommy?”

  Again her son shook his head, and Holly smiled.

  “Well, then, it must be Tommy!”

  This time he nodded and smiled. But he still didn’t speak.

  It’ll come in time, Holly told herself. She hoped.

  “Please keep him in the garden,” she told Edie. The funeral home had a secluded garden for the family of the bereaved. Their privacy was maintained by high, thick hedges. No one would bother them there.

  After Edie and Tommy went through the exit into the garden, Evangeline, at the doorway to the chapel, motioned to Holly.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to do this just because Evangeline told you to,” Sheldon whispered into her ear. “It’s not normal protocol. People will understand.” He probably hadn’t spoken aloud out of fear he’d be royally reprimanded by Her Honor, the Mayor.

  But he had managed to contradict her nonetheless, and Holly smiled at him fondly. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. But thanks.” She felt the warmth and comfort of having friends around in this very difficult time. She appreciated them all. A lot.

  Thomas’s parents had died years ago in a car accident. Her own family hadn’t come to the funeral. They lived a thousand miles away in Chicago. Her mother, recuperating from pneumonia, was too ill to travel. Her father had made appropriate noises about needing to stay home to take care of his ailing wife. Holly knew better. What her mother said—and didn’t say—made it clear her father, a long-time detective with the Chicago Police Department, hadn’t made time to come. He was on yet another big case. Holly wasn’t surprised by his absence, but it still hurt.

  Holly figured she should muster her courage, square her shoulders and march into the chapel like a brave trooper. After all, most of the people out there who waited to greet her were troopers. Cops. As Thomas had been. As her father was.

  But she wasn’t. Still, letting her overwrought emotions hang out like freshly washed underwear on a towel rack would only embarrass her in the long run. She was expected to take it.

  For now, she would do what she could to meet those expectations.

  After all, she was the widow of a cop.

  “I CAN’T TELL YOU how sorry I am, Holly,” said Al Sharp. He was dressed in his blue uniform. Al was about forty years old, and he had an extra chin despite how lean his body remained. His hairline had receded, and what was left was cut into a stubble. He had delivered the news about Thomas’s death, for he had been his partner. He had also come to see her the next evening and talk to Tommy.

  “I know, Al,” she said. She stood at the front of the large, high-ceilinged chapel, near where Thomas’s closed casket lay on a bower surrounded by huge flower arrangements. The luscious, vibrant aroma of once-living blossoms whose lives had been cut short to mourn her husband’s death wrapped around Holly and choked her. She wondered vaguely if she would ever be able to work in her own garden again.

  Behind Al, other cops lined up to pay their respects to her. Lots of cops—men and women. Maybe hundreds, certainly more than the entire Naranja Beach force. Some stood in the chapel’s center aisle and others at the sides before the stained glass windows. She recognized a few, but most she didn’t. Some were in different uniforms, indicating they had come from other jurisdictions to salute a fallen comrade. Some wore suits, signifying they were detectives, not patrol officers.

  No cameras, at least none that she could see. Maybe the reporters who had hounded her since Thomas’s death were somehow intimidated by such a large showing of law enforcement, but she doubted it. Wouldn’t it instead act as a magnet to them?

  She swallowed hard. Could she take this? There were so many people. And despite her resolve to show only courage, she wasn’t certain she could continue….

  Chief Gabe McLaren joined them. “Mrs. Poston.” He took her hand once more and shook it, as if in greeting. But he had shaken her hand before. “May I talk with you for just a second? I need to tell you what I started to say earlier.”

  She had the impression that what he intended to communicate was private, yet they were in the midst of a flood of people. Shouldn’t he wait until later? But he obviously didn’t want to delay it.

  He was the chief of police. He had been her husband’s superior. Courtesy dictated that she not brush him off. And he clearly wasn’t about to leave her alone until he’d had his say.

  She looked up at him, waiting for him to speak.

  “I want you to know something, Mrs. Poston.”

  “What’s that?” She didn’t exactly feel comfortable held in his unyielding grip, the subject of his frank stare, but she didn’t pull away.

  “I’ve instructed the entire Naranja Beach Police Force to do two things. First, to find out exactly what happened to Officer Thomas Poston and bring his killer to justice.”

  That was no less than what she had expected. Another stanza of the same old song she had heard sung throughout her life, first as the daughter of a police officer, then as the wife of one: cops take care of their own.

  He continued, “Second, everyone on the force is your family, and they’re to treat you as such. Myself included. Every need of the wife and son of a fallen officer will be taken care of, I promise. Anything you want, anything bothering you, just let me know. House or car repairs, gardening, you name it.”

  Sure, Holly had heard that was supposed to happen. Other cops’ wives had told her so. The spouses even had a coalition to share mutual concerns. She’d gone to some of their meetings. A bunch were here to show support—including, she’d been told, representatives of a national group for widows of fallen law enforcement officers.

  Plus, a collection might be taken up for her. She would want to refuse their check, no matter how kindly it was meant, but she wouldn’t because of Tommy. Thomas had left insurance and sales of her artwork would help, so she wouldn’t need to get a job at least until Tommy was in school. Still, she wanted to start a college fund for Tommy.

  But in her experience, anything more—anything requiring more than a check and an occasional visit from the cops themselves—was just another unsubstantiated urban legend, which was fine with her.

  Yet Chief McLaren’s gaze was so straightforward that it shouted of sincerity. He meant every word he said. Didn’t he? And if so…

  She had sudden disquieting visions of cops everywhere, well-meaning but underfoot, not allowing Tommy and her to get on with their lives.

  And that, she was certain, would include Chief Gabe McLaren—perhaps the most disquieting of them all.

  HE WASN’T her family. He didn’t even know her. But to emphasize his words, the show of support he’d offered, Gabe took his place beside Holly Poston in the makeshift receiving line.

  He caught her sideways, questioning glance—like, who was he to hang around her?

  “I know there’re a lot of people here, Mrs. Poston,” he said. “They all want to say how sorry they are for your loss. If you don’t feel like talking to any of them, you don’t have to. I’ll thank them for you. Or you can wait till later, after the service. Just let me know. We’ve already excluded the media from the chapel.”

  She faced him directly, her expression surprised and, if he read it right, outraged at his audacity. But then it softened. She even managed a small, tight smile. “Thanks, Chief McLaren.”

  “Call me Gabe,” he said. She nodded in acknowledgment.

  Sure, it was damned presumptuous for him to stand here with her, but his p
resence emphasized a message he’d already communicated to his own officers: we’re all members of the same family, and families stick together.

  Holly Poston appeared exhausted, with dark circles beneath her stunningly doelike brown eyes. She was most definitely a beautiful brunette. Her hair was a shade of brown he’d describe as deepest, darkest chocolate. It was cut unevenly in a becoming style, longer in back, swept away slightly to show her ears, and fringed along her forehead. Her eyebrows were an even darker shade, arched but not plucked thin the way so many women did. Her mouth was full and lush, moist-looking despite the fact she wore no lipstick. Her cheekbones—well, he’d never really noticed cheekbones much, but he noticed hers. They helped to add definition to the oval shape of her face.

  All in all, she was a stunningly beautiful lady despite the pain so obvious in her eyes.

  Thomas Poston had been a lucky man—until someone had stabbed him to death four days ago.

  Poston was the first police officer lost during Gabe’s tenure as chief, though he wasn’t the only one whose death had been suspicious lately. Gabe hoped Poston would be the last, but he, of all people, knew exactly how dangerous being a cop could be. Even in an area as laid back as Naranja Beach.

  He didn’t know whether Poston had been murdered because he was a cop, but Gabe sure as hell would find out.

  REVEREND MILLER had appeared. It was time for the funeral service to begin.

  “Excuse me,” Holly said. “I have to get my son.” A small sense of relief passed through her at this perfectly logical reason to flee not only the continuing parade of well-wishers but also the presence of this intense and disturbing man.

  This man who wasn’t merely a cop, but a leader of cops.

  Who had made it clear he intended to inflict more cops on her, in the name of helping her.

  The kind of help she really needed required that she never again, for the rest of her life, see a policeman.

  “Of course,” he replied. “I’ll come with you.”

  “That’s all right,” she said quickly. “I can—” But he took her elbow and began politely bulldozing a path through the crowd toward the door from which she had previously emerged.

  She should despise his take-charge attitude. And yet, for this moment, at least, it felt good to have someone deal with the crowd on her behalf.

  She’d been handling ninety percent of the things in her life and Tommy’s by herself for quite a while now. There was time enough for her to learn to deal with the other ten percent alone.

  But perhaps she should just let Tommy stay outside during the memorial service. She knew Edie would continue to watch him, for her friend was like a second mother to her son. He was so young, after all. The funeral wouldn’t bring any closure to someone so unknowledgeable about what it was supposed to mean. And although Holly had checked with the child psychologist and been given the go-ahead, she wondered if it was a good idea to have him here after what he’d gone through.

  Still, whatever he experienced here might allow him in the future to deal with his father’s death better. Thomas was about to be given a hero’s sendoff. That might help little Tommy remember his daddy. Whatever else Thomas had been, he had been a good cop.

  Chief Gabe McLaren’s vast shoulders appeared to shrink the size of the already small waiting room once more as he led her through it and outside the door to the adjoining garden. There, Edie was pointing to something on a flower. As Holly drew closer, she saw it was a butterfly.

  Tommy was laughing, and Holly felt herself smile in response. It was the first laughter she had heard from her son since that awful morning four days earlier. She soaked it in as if she was the butterfly, and the sound was the nectar from the loveliest of blossoms.

  Edie looked toward her, and their eyes met. “It’s time,” Holly mouthed. Edie’s nod didn’t dislodge one hair in her short pixie hairdo, and she stood.

  Even as tall as her friend was, she still seemed almost petite compared with Gabe McLaren. Edie clearly noticed, for she smiled up at the chief from beneath flirtatiously lowered lashes and held out her hand. “Hi,” she said, and introduced herself.

  “Hi,” Chief McLaren said in return. He extracted his hand from Edie’s and extended it to Tommy. “I saw you before, but we didn’t get a chance to talk. You’re Tommy, aren’t you? I’m Chief McLaren. Your dad and I worked together.”

  Tommy’s smile faded. He regarded the large man with huge, solemn eyes. He held out his small hand that was dwarfed by Gabe McLaren’s much greater one and received the polite handshake in an adult manner that nearly made Holly cry.

  Holly couldn’t help liking the way Gabe hadn’t diminished Thomas in his son’s eyes by stating the truth: that his daddy had worked for him.

  “It’s time to go inside, Tommy,” Gabe said. “Is that all right with you?”

  Tommy nodded, still not speaking, not even to another man. But of course this man was a stranger. Holly took her son’s hand and together they walked toward the chapel. She didn’t look to see if anyone followed. She knew Edie would, and most likely Gabe McLaren would, too. Maybe she shouldn’t leave the flirtatious Edie behind. She certainly didn’t want her best friend to wind up involved with a cop.

  What was she thinking? This wasn’t a singles bar. Edie and the chief weren’t here to make small talk to one another. This was a funeral. Thomas’s funeral. And Chief McLaren was probably already married.

  Holly felt sorry for his wife…didn’t she?

  They went through the door from the small waiting room into the chapel. The minister stood at the front of the room at the pulpit overlooking the closed casket and its surrounding garden of aromatic, dying flowers.

  Holly took a deep breath as a thick lump formed in her throat. She somehow had to get through this.

  The seats right beside the door where they entered were all occupied by police officers. As Tommy and she entered, everyone stood. A sea of uniforms surrounded them.

  And suddenly, unexpectedly, Tommy began to scream.

  Chapter Two

  Holly quickly knelt before her son, held his small, shaking body against hers as he continued to sob and shriek wordlessly. “What is it, honey? Tell Mommy. Please, Tommy, it’ll be all right.” Her own voice cracked with all the emotions evoked by Tommy’s terrified screams. The loud, heart-rending noise resounded in her ear, pulsed through her brain like a siren that was the herald of an indescribable disaster.

  But even her tight hug, the attempt to soothe her panicky son with quiet, loving words, didn’t calm him.

  “What’s wrong?” Edie stood beside them, her hand lightly on Tommy’s head. Tears filled her wide eyes as she caught Holly’s gaze. “What can I do to help?”

  Holly didn’t know. She noticed Sheldon and Evangeline hovering about, too. Evangeline turned and began talking to Reverend Miller, taking charge of the situation, as usual.

  But still Tommy screamed.

  “Tommy?” Holly said. “Tommy, please hush, honey. I can’t help you while you’re crying so loud. I need to understand what’s wrong.”

  She knew what was wrong. His daddy was dead. Tommy had probably seen Thomas’s bleeding body. There was even the possibility that he had seen his father being murdered, though Al Sharp and the others had reassured Holly it was unlikely. Someone with as little compunction about killing as the fiend who’d stabbed Thomas would probably have had no scruples against killing any eyewitnesses—even one as young as Tommy.

  Scant comfort, but Holly had understood its logic. And it had given her hope that whoever it was would not, after the fact, harm her son.

  But what had triggered Tommy’s agonized reaction now? Had the sight of the coffin upset him so much? Did a four-year-old even understand the significance of a coffin?

  “Hey, sport.” Gabe McLaren knelt beside them, talking softly despite the likelihood that Tommy could not completely hear him over his own screams. “Know what? You’re right. This place sucks. I noticed you were in that garde
n outside. I liked it, too. And those butterflies? Awesome. Would you like to see if they’re still there? I’m not from this area. Are there monarch butterflies around here? They’re those pretty, bright-colored ones, oranges and browns and yellows.”

  That had been the exact right thing to say to distract Tommy, though Holly doubted that Gabe realized it. Her son liked nothing in this world more than colors, the brighter the better.

  Tommy’s screams subsided into sobs that indicated he was gasping for breath. He seemed near hyperventilation.

  “Slowly,” Gabe said. He reached over and gently took Tommy from her. He held his shoulders. “I was taught in police school how to breathe when I’m upset.”

  Holly doubted it, but this wasn’t the time to call him on his veracity. Unless maybe he had paramedic training, too. She looked around. No paper bags here. Wasn’t that what was needed when a person hyperventilated, to breathe into a bag?

  Tommy regarded Gabe with wide, frightened eyes that asked a question.

  “Here. Like this.” Gabe took an exaggeratedly deep breath, and let it out very slowly. And then another. “You try it.”

  Tommy coughed, then stilled his panting long enough to studiously inhale, then exhale.

  “Hey, that’s great! It took me a lot of practice to get it right, and here you’re doing it first thing.”

  Tommy smiled as he breathed the same embellished way once more. His respiration grew more regular.

  “Good deal,” Gabe said. “Now, are you ready to see if we can find some of those butterflies?”

  Tommy gave one decisive nod.

  “Do you remember their names, the kind I told you about?”

  Again, Tommy nodded.

  “And what is it?”

  Tommy stopped smiling. He blinked.

  He obviously wasn’t ready to talk yet.

  “You can tell us later, okay?” Holly said.

  He nodded and held out his hand. She took it and rose to her feet, then glanced around. Edie still stood beside them. Reverend Miller, on the pulpit, regarded her questioningly, with Evangeline standing beside him. Sheldon had taken a seat nearby.