by L. N. Cronk
Bus 884.
Friday afternoon I let Laci and Lily pick Dorito up after school. Laci didn’t know it, but I was at the school too – parked in the parking lot, with my motor running.
When Bus 884 pulled away, I left my parking spot and followed it into town. Trailing a bus (it turns out) is very, very easy.
The bus had been dropping kids off for about half of an hour when I finally saw Amber get off all by herself. We were in an older neighborhood with large lots, ancient maple trees and a vast assortment of homes. I pulled over alongside the curb and watched as she walked up to a split-level house with overgrown shrubs. She reached into the front pocket of her book bag and pulled out a key. Then she opened the door, let herself in, and closed the door behind her.
“She’s only in the second grade!” I cried to Laci when I got home. “I can’t believe she’s going home to an empty house and having to let herself in!”
“I can’t believe you were following her!” Laci said. “Isn’t stalking illegal in this state?”
“I wasn’t stalking her!” I insisted. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s wrong and I’ve already found out one thing . . . there’s nobody there to take care of her when she gets home! That’s what’s illegal! Isn’t that illegal?”
“I . . . I don’t know, David.”
“Well, it should be illegal!” I said. “I mean, we’re filling out all this paperwork to become a foster care family and they’re worried about whether we have carbon monoxide detectors in our house or if we’ve ever had a speeding ticket, but they’re okay with a second grader coming home to an empty house every day?”
“You don’t know that it’s every day.”
“I bet DSS doesn’t know about this,” I said.
“Are you going to tell them?”
“Of course I am!”
“Do you really think this would be grounds for getting her removed?”
“Maybe not,” I said. “But I bet there’s a lot more going on than just this.”
I called DSS and told them I needed to speak with Amber Patterson’s caseworker.
“Let’s see,” the receptionist said. “That would be Erin Lamont. Let me see if she’s available.”
“Erin Lamont,” a voice answered after the third ring.
“Um, hello,” I said. “My name is David Holland.”
“Yes, Mr. Holland,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, um, I’m calling about Amber Patterson. I’m . . . I’m really concerned about her welfare.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, um, I think she’s being neglected.”
“Why do you suspect that?”
“It doesn’t seem that anyone is really taking care of her properly. I mean . . . I don’t think she’s getting bathed regularly and she cut this big chunk out of her hair that looks really bad and I don’t think she’s brushing her teeth . . .”
“I see,” she said. “What was your name again?”
“David Holland.”
“Okay. And how do you know Amber?”
“I do some volunteer work at Bluefield Elementary. She’s in the same class with my little boy. They’re good friends.”
“I see,” she said again. “Okay, well, I appreciate the information and I’ll certainly look into–”
“Wait!” I said. “She’s also going home alone every day. I mean . . . she’s only a second grader and she’s going home alone to an empty house.”
“And how do you know this?”
Isn’t stalking illegal in this state?
“I, um, my son told me.”
“I see. Okay, well, thank you for the information.”
“So you’re going to look into it?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thank you.”
~ ~ ~
MONDAY MORNING, AMBER started on a new story about an elephant who escaped from the circus and found a job in a peanut factory. That afternoon – after I’d given her social worker plenty of time to investigate what I’d told her – I drove down to DSS.
When I walked into the lobby, the receptionist looked up at me.
“David Holland, right?” she asked. Laci and I had been in there quite a bit last week, dropping off various forms and documents.
“Right,” I said.
“And you’re here to see Ms. Williams?”
“Actually,” I said. “I need to see Erin Lamont.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. I could’ve sworn–”
“Brooke is our caseworker,” I said. “But I need to see Ms. Lamont about something else.”
“Oh,” she said. “Certainly. Let me tell her that you’re here.”
A few minutes later a woman came out and walked across the lobby to me.
“Mr. Holland?”
“Yes. Hi,” I said, standing up and shaking her hand.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
“I just needed to talk to you for a minute.”
“Do you need to come back to my office?”
“Yes, please,” I said. “Thank you.”
She led me down the hall, a few doors past Brooke Williams’ office. Unlike Brooke’s office, Erin Lamont’s office was neat and tidy.
“Have a seat,” she offered.
“Thank you.”
“Now,” she said after I’d sat down. “What can I do for you today?”
“I was just wondering what you found out about Amber.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Holland. I’m not allowed to discuss that with you.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sure you understand.”
“But you, like, went out there and investigated, right?”
“I can’t get into specifics.”
“But, I mean, you can tell me that you followed up on what I told you, right?” I asked. “Even if you don’t tell me what you found out?”
“Amber is fine.”
“So, you looked into it?”
She didn’t answer me for a moment.
“Mr. Holland,” she finally said, taking a pencil from a cup on her desk and rolling it between her hands. “Why do you have such an interest in this child?”
“I’m just worried about her,” I said.
“No other reason?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure. Why?”
“Because, actually,” she said, tapping the pencil on her desk. “I looked into you.”
“What?”
“Just a quick search . . . to see if anything popped up.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I was surprised,” she went on, “to find that you and your wife have recently applied to be foster parents.”
“Yes,” I answered.
“I believe your caseworker is Brooke Williams?” she asked, pointing her thumb down the hall.
“Yes.”
“I had a conversation with her,” Erin Lamont nodded slowly, putting the pencil to her lips. “From what I understand, you initially came in because you were hoping to adopt Amber?”
“Um, well, yes.”
“But then – when you found out she wasn’t eligible for adoption – you suddenly decided you were interested in becoming foster parents.”
“Yes.”
“I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps you were going through the certification process for the sole purpose of getting Amber?”
“Well,” I said, shifting uncomfortably in my seat, “I mean, if she became available, obviously we’d be interested, but that’s not why we’re getting certified.”
She eyed me.
“Ms. Williams explained to you that Amber wouldn’t be moved out of her current home unless there was justification.”
“Right.”
“I’m wondering,” she said, tapping the pencil again, “if maybe you’re looking for reasons why Amber shouldn’t be in her current home because you wan
t her in your home.”
“No!” I said. “I . . . I’m just worried about her. I had a concern and I called you about it. I thought that’s what you’re supposed to do!”
“No ulterior motive?”
“No!” I said, shaking my head.
“I hope not,” she said, putting the pencil back into the cup. “Our office has to put in many, many hours for each and every family that goes through the certification process. It would be unethical of you to try to get certified in the hopes of getting a child you’ve been told is not available.”
“I’m not,” I said, weakly.
“Wonderful,” she said, standing up. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No.”
“Wonderful,” she said again, reaching out to shake my hand. “Have a great evening.”
~ ~ ~
TANNER AND I had reserved a racquetball court for seven o’clock that evening. Before we got out of the locker room, I’d told him everything.
“Do you think she even looked into what you told her?” Tanner asked.
“No. I think as soon as she figured out what I was up to she just blew the whole thing off.”
“So what are you gonna do?”
“I’m gonna stake out that house until I get some evidence she can’t ignore.”
“Are you serious?” Tanner asked.
“Yeah.”
“I wanna go on a stake out!” he exclaimed.
“You’ve always secretly wanted to be a spy, haven’t you?” I asked, and he grinned at me.
“Seriously, though,” he said as we left the locker room. “I wanna help.”
“Really?”
“Heck, yeah!” he said, except that he didn’t really say “heck.”
“I can use all the help I can get,” I admitted.
“Is it legal?” he asked.
“Do you care?”
“No, not really,” he admitted. “I just wondered.”
“I have no idea,” I said. “Laci seems to think not.”
“She’s probably right,” he agreed.
“Wanna start tonight?”
“Oorah!” Tanner grunted.
“Oorah?”
“Haven’t you ever seen Jarheads with Jamie Fox?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said as we reached our court.
“It’s a classic,” Tanner said, opening the door. “You should see it. But anyway . . . you know! Oorah is what they say in the military when they’re ready to go do something!”
“You’re not in the military,” I pointed out.
“I know,” he said. “But I’m not really a spy, either.”
We only played two games instead of our usual three or four (he slaughtered me in both games, just in case you’re wondering) and then we cleaned up. We left my car in the parking lot at the YMCA and hopped into his truck.
When we got to Amber’s house we parked across the street and one door down.
“Now what?” Tanner asked.
“How do I know?” I said. “You’re the one who’s always wanted to be a spy.”
“We need a camera,” Tanner mused.
“For what?”
“Evidence.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“I dunno,” he shrugged. “You said you needed evidence. Seems to me you need a camera if you need evidence.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bring ours next time.”
“We need some doughnuts, too.”
“We could go knock on the door and ask them if they’ve got any,” I suggested.
“Who keeps doughnuts around the house?”
“We’ve got doughnuts,” I said.
“You do?”
“Yeah. Those little mini, powdered sugar ones.”
“Why didn’t you bring ’em?” Tanner asked.
“Trust me,” I answered. “If I’d known I was bringing you along, I would have. I promise I’ll be better prepared next time.”
“You’d better be.”
We sat there for about an hour, but saw absolutely no activity.
“I’m gonna go see if I can see in the basement windows,” Tanner said.
“Seriously?”
“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”
“Ummm . . . ’cause you might get arrested?”
“You’re a lousy spy,” Tanner said.
“I know,” I replied. “That’s why I brought you along.”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.
It was more like fifteen minutes. My stomach was in knots the whole time he was gone.
I was staring intently at the house, imagining what I was going to tell Laci if one or both of us got arrested, when suddenly there was a loud rap on my window.
I spun around to find Tanner’s face pressed against the glass. He laughed at me and then jogged around the front of the truck and climbed in.
“What are you scaring me like that for?” I yelled after he closed his door.
“I wanted to see if I could make you jump,” he said.
“Congratulations.”
“Do you need to change your pants?” he asked.
“Just about.”
“You never even saw me, did you?”
“No.”
“I’d make such a good spy.”
“So, what’d ya find out?!”
“Well,” he said, “the basement windows are all blocked. You can’t see anything through any of them.”
“Blocked?”
“Yeah, thick black curtains on some of ’em. Cardboard with duct tape on other ones.”
“Why?” I said.
“Obviously they don’t want anybody seeing what’s going on in there.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, nodding. “I mean, I can see wanting your privacy and putting some curtains up or whatever, but this is different. There’s no way to see anything in any of those lower windows. Who’s that careful unless they’re hiding something?”
“Do you think they’re running a meth lab?” I asked him.
“What makes you ask that?”
“Remember how I told you she smells really bad? I’ve heard about kids who are living in meth houses smelling really bad.”
“Could be,” Tanner said. “Something’s going on in there, that’s for sure.”
“What should I do?”
“Let me think on it for a while,” Tanner suggested. “We’ll figure out a way to find out what’s going on.”
“You really would make a good spy.”
“I’d also make a very good serial killer.”
“Trying to scare me again?” I asked.
“No,” he said, matter of factly. “I’m just saying. I think I’d be a really good serial killer.”
“Good to know.”
“They’d never be able to catch me,” he mused.
“Great,” I said.
“You wanna sit here any longer?”
“With a serial killer?”
“I mean, I don’t mind staying longer if you want to,” he said.
“No, I guess not. I don’t see the point,” I said. “It’s not like they’re gonna come out onto the lawn and start baking meth or something.”
“Baking meth?”
“Yeah.”
“I think it’s called cooking meth.”
“Whatever. You wanna go?”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Probably there’s not gonna be much meth baking going on tonight.”
~ ~ ~
BY THE END of the week Amber had finished her story about the elephant. After he had escaped from the circus, he’d obtained a job working in a peanut factory, but was quickly fired because he kept eating the profits. After a brief stint at a cheese factory (which didn’t work out because there were too many mice), the elephant had found happiness working at a car wash. I personally thought it was a particularly brilliant story.
On Saturday – three days before Laci was scheduled to fly to Texas – my mom calle
d.
“You need to get over here and get the rest of your stuff out of your room,” she told me.
“What stuff?”
“All those boxes in the closet.”
“How are they hurting anything in the closet?” I asked.
“I can take them to the dump for you if you’d like,” she said.
“I’ll get them,” I sighed.
“Today?”
“Well, I’m supposed to play racquetball with Tanner this afternoon,” I said.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll get them tomorrow. Or Monday.”
Now it was Mom’s turn to sigh.
“I promise,” I said. “I’ll get ’em by Monday.”
“You’d better,” she said. “Or they’re going to the dump.”
Tanner picked me up at my house on Monday during our regular racquetball time.
“You got doughnuts?” he asked.
“Yep,” I said. “Brought the camera too.”
“Your regular camera?”
“Yeah.”
“Here,” he said, handing me a bag. “Check this out.”
I reached into the bag, pulled out a camera, and whistled.
Periodically my company sent me to areas that had experienced earthquakes. Part of my job was to inspect structures that had been minimally damaged and to assess whether or not they needed to be condemned. The company always provided us with good cameras to document our findings . . . but I’d never held one as nice as this.
“Whoa!” I said. “Where’d ya get this?”
“I bought it.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “You need to figure out how to work it. I don’t have a clue. They put the lens on for me at the store.”
“How much did it cost?”
“Nothing a month’s worth of teaching unruly teenagers won’t cover.”
“I hate that you spent a bunch of money on this,” I said. “I’ll be glad to pay you for it.”
“I don’t need your money,” he answered, sounding offended.
“No, I didn’t mean that, but–”