I gave a half-hearted wave, rode the elevator to the ground floor, and scurried out into the cool and clear outdoor air. I took the concrete steps to the sidewalk three at a time, but stopped on the last one. What was I doing? I’d ridden with Dad and Josh, so I didn’t have a ride, and home was at least a thirty-block walk away.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I flopped down on the annex steps to wait, scooting over to one side, to be out of people’s way. My head was about to explode. Only two or three months before, I would have confessed, if not when Josh was first accused, at least by the time of the meeting in Marshmallow’s office. I would never have considered letting my little brother take the rap for me, but I wasn’t the wide-eyed innocent kid I was back then. My innocence was long dead and buried.
As I sat with my back against a steel handrail post, I heard the voice from over my shoulder, still deep and quiet, but this time, with a gleeful lilt.
“You can make it up to Josh,” said the voice. “You can help him out in some other way, later. Don’t ruin everything for yourself just to save his thieving butt.”
I covered my ears with my palms.
It didn’t help. If anything, the voice grew even louder. “It’s better for your dad this way. It really is. As hurt as he is now, think of how devastated he would be to find out both of his boys were common criminals.”
When it had first spoken, those many weeks ago, I’d assumed the voice was the devil tempting me toward wrong. Dad preached that we had to be on our guard against what he called the wiles of Satan, always tempting us to do wrong. Now, I wasn’t sure if I believed there was such a thing as the devil, or for that matter, a God. I didn’t dare speak that particular doubt aloud, even to myself.
Hoping to quiet the voice, I started singing. The only song that came to mind was “Dark Soul.” I sang quietly enough no one else could hear.
The world goes dark, heaven falls,
No one around to hear my calls,
Blind I wander, my blood runs cold;
As I search for my long lost soul.
I looked at my watch and bet myself that Brandon would be done before my dad. After forty minutes, neither had emerged, leaving me plenty of time to wonder and worry. I told myself that with all that had gone wrong in my life lately, I deserved a break. It might even be to Josh’s benefit to learn at an early age that life isn’t fair. Maybe the more serious punishment would be just what he needed to snap him out of his thieving ways. Who knew? If he continued breaking into cars, someone might have shot him. Yeah, I might even be saving his life.
That was pure and total bunk, and in the depths of my being, where that lost soul had once resided, I knew the truth. I had kept quiet for one reason: self-centered, self-serving, self-preservation—if not pure at least simple. I wanted what I wanted, and I didn’t care who I hurt getting it.
Is that who I am? Have I become one of those people?
“You can’t sit here.”
I looked up to see a uniformed deputy, arms folded and brow wrinkled. From my haze, I replied, “Huh?”
“You have to move. You’re sitting halfway on the wheelchair ramp. It’s against the fire code.” He pointed to a pole at the edge of the concrete. It held a sign so faded it was all but illegible.
“I’ll get up if someone needs to get by,” I argued.
“Are you trying to get arrested?” The deputy’s tone shifted from pleasant to combative.
I was in a foul mood and quite capable of a churlish reply. Thankfully, before I had a chance to speak, my dad came out of the courthouse door, but with no Josh in tow. Without breaking stride, Dad jogged down the stairs past the officer and me. As he passed, he gave a jerk of his head indicating I should follow.
In the car, I asked, “What’s up? Where’s Josh?”
“We’ll talk about it later.” Dad’s face wore another expression I had never seen. Eyes hollow, jaw slack, lips tight. It wasn’t sadness or anger. He didn’t appear preoccupied or frustrated either. I couldn’t read him, but I knew one thing. He was not going to discuss anything with me.
Since Mom’s death, there hadn’t been much communication in our family. Dad was sullen and quiet all the time. Josh spent most of his time in his room with the door closed, and I stayed away from both of them as much as I could. We weren’t a family anymore. We were barely housemates.
Dad pulled the car into the garage, but instead of getting out, he sat motionless. When I reached for the door handle, he reached out and placed his hand on my leg. “Todd, wait.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The judge released Josh into Brandon Lupo’s custody.”
“What? You’re kidding, right?” I knew he wasn’t kidding but it made no sense.
“I guess the judge thinks Brandon can do a better job of looking after him than I can.”
“I’m sure it’s not like that. You’re a good dad.”
“No, Todd, I’m not.” He hung his head. I wondered if he was about to cry. It seemed his eyes were red a lot lately, another new condition for him.
We sat quiet for another moment, then Dad said, “When this business about the judge releasing my own son into the custody of someone else because I’m not a fit parent gets back to the board…”
“Is that what the deputy said?” I felt the seeds of anger growing in my gut.
He didn’t answer.
I touched his forearm and said, “I’m sorry, Dad. You’re a good man. You don’t deserve all of this.”
In a soft and calm manner, he said, “Maybe I do.”
“No. No, you don’t.” Now, I was beginning to get mad at him. He was supposed to be our role model, our rock, the glue that held our riddled family together. He wasn’t supposed to crumble.
“Son, I’m sorry. The truth is, I haven’t been much of a father to you boys for a long time. I should have put you two first, and I didn’t. I shouldn’t have neglected you.”
What was I supposed to say? He lost Mom in the middle of fighting to keep his job, and yeah, he hadn’t been around for Josh and me. All of that was excusable, but now that we needed our old dad back, he was nowhere to be found. I didn’t even recognize the man next to me in the car. He was acting as lost and helpless as I was. That wasn’t my dad.
He opened the car door, but before getting out, he reached over and squeezed my neck. “You guys deserved better.”
If only he knew.
It was what he didn’t say that bothered me the most. He didn’t say, “Everything is going to be all right. Josh is going to be fine. We’re all going to be fine.”
Once in the house, Dad retreated straight to his study. He must have forgotten all about me going to school.
I grabbed a soda and headed to my room. I didn’t want to stay at home, but I didn’t want to go out either. There was nowhere to go and no one I wanted to see at that moment. Maybe I ought to climb into bed and go to sleep, sleep until next year, or maybe the year after that. There was an idea. Sleep until the whole mess was over and done.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I napped off and on until afternoon, but instead of feeling rested, I awoke more tired than before. A little after four, I emerged from my room to see what we had in the fridge. I heard Dad on the phone in his office. I couldn’t make out the words, but from his tone, Dad was obviously frustrated. I took my clandestine position up on the floor near the ventilation grill and listened.
“This is insane,” yelled Dad. “You didn’t give me enough time to find a competent attorney. How can you set the preliminary hearing for Tuesday?”
A few moments of silence, and Dad began talking again. “I didn’t already hire one because no one told me about all the new charges. Why didn’t the sheriff’s department have the courtesy to at least give me a heads-up? After all, I am the boy’s father.”
I heard a definite clunk. Could it be that Dad just slammed the phone in someone’s ear? Wow.
A brief pause, the clicking of buttons, and he spoke again. “Y
es. Is Dom D’Marco in?”
I recognized the name. Mr. D’Marco was a successful attorney who had recently defended the son of a wealthy local businessman. The kid pleaded self-defense to the charge of attempted murder and had been acquitted.
The case caught a lot of attention, first because everything that happens in a small town catches people’s attention, and second, because of the weapon the boy used—a blowgun with a dart tipped with rat poison. He claimed he kept the poison darts and blowgun around purely for self-protection.
If D’Marco got that rich kid off, he had to be good, and it looked like Dad was actually going to hire Josh an attorney, and an expensive one at that.
“This is Mister Douglas Nelson calling.” He’d reached D’Marco’s secretary, no doubt. I was surprised to hear my dad say “Mister.” He always called himself Reverend or Pastor.
I didn’t feel right about listening in to more. I stood and wiped off my jeans and the front of my shirt. The hardwood floor was filthy. It occurred to me that it probably hadn’t been mopped since Mom died. We kept the kitchen halfway clean and the clothes washed and dried, but other than that, we hadn’t given housecleaning much thought.
Dad kept to his office until six. He walked through the living room on his way to his bedroom and grunted something about not being hungry and me fending for myself for supper. When Mom was alive, she insisted we all sit down to supper together. I used to resent not being able to go out for a slice or a burger with my friends, but once Mom was gone, I missed those times, and not just because Mom was gone. I missed the serenity, and I missed the warmth and comfort those family dinners brought.
I stayed up late playing video games. A little after midnight, I tried to get to sleep, but I kept thinking about Josh. Sure, he was a pain, but he was my brother. I wondered how he was doing. He had to be scared about the charges, really scared. For the first time, I also wondered how he felt about being accused of breaking into the school. That had to really bomb his gourd.
I thought about Dad too. He was a total basket case, not even trying to put up a strong front any more. He was dying inside, and it showed on his face. His wife had just died, he was going to be fired from his church, and his two sons were an embarrassment to him. One son was the town pariah, and the other a felon. And he still didn’t know the worst part. My sin was the worst of all. I betrayed my little brother. Wouldn’t Mom be proud?
I tried to force my mind into something else. I thought about Lisa, beautiful, sweet, young Lisa, but that didn’t help. She’d dumped me before we even got started. The knot in my stomach only tightened further. I tried to tell myself everything would work out okay in the end, but that would never happen. As I stared at the ceiling, feelings of deep and dark depression rolled over me in waves of regret, guilt, and anger.
In my desperation, I prayed to God, just in case He did exist, but He didn’t reply. Tears ran down my face, and I cursed myself for showing weakness, but the more I fought back the sadness and emptiness, the stronger the urge to break down and cry like a little lost two-year-old girl.
I begged the sinister voice to come and comfort me. To say that Josh deserved his fate, and that my confession wouldn’t help. It would only heap more stress and sorrow onto Dad.
“Where are you, you evil imp? Are you going to abandon me too?” Silence.
I sat up in bed as a deafening pounding filled my head. The pounding was real. A mental illusion could never sound so genuine.
It came louder. Then, “Todd. Are you all right? Todd?”
My heart rate spiked, and then began to ebb.
It was Dad, calling from outside my door. “Todd.” His voice softer and oddly soothing, “Son, let me in.”
I didn’t realized I had locked the door. Taking a deep breath and wiping my eyes on the edge of the pillowcase, I blew my nose on a dirty T-shirt I’d picked up from the floor. Sorry about that, Mom. I wondered if she could see me. I remember Moses, Abraham, or one of those Bible guys being able to see things back on earth.
“Todd, open the door.” Dad’s voice grew louder.
“Yeah. I’m coming.”
When I opened the door, Dad put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a hug. So very un-Dad-like. He squared me up in front of him and looked me in the eyes. I bowed my head to look away, but he gently pushed my chin back up. He asked, “Would you like to talk?”
I did, but I didn’t.
His eyes were kind and steady. A few short hours before, my dad had been the world’s biggest loser, a bowl of mush in a sea of sludge, and now, my Dad again.
“Talk to me.” That was all he said, “Talk to me,” and the floodgates opened.
I turned and sat on the edge of my bed. I said, “I did it,” and the truth poured out. “Josh didn’t break into the field house and Coach Newcomb’s office. I did.”
I looked into Dad’s eyes for the look of shock or disappointment. I saw neither. He was slowly nodding his head as if to say “Go on.” From how calm he was, I could have been telling him about a new TV show I had seen or what changes they were making to next year’s Ford pickups.
“I know it was wrong, and I’m sorry, Dad. And it’s not just sorry I got caught either, ’cause I didn’t…get caught that is. Josh did.”
“Was he with you?”
“What? No. He had nothing to do with it.”
“How about breaking into those cars? Are you saying you did that too?”
“No, Josh really did do that stuff. I found out and made him give all of it to Brandon. I know I should have told you, but I thought I could fix it, and you were all wrapped up with this church thing.”
Dad’s expression didn’t change. When he spoke, he spoke softly, and I could tell he was listening. Really listening. As we talked, I half expected him to rise to his feet and take the disapproving stance all parents seem to have in their arsenal, but he didn’t. Instead, he motioned toward the two old desk chairs next to my TV. One of the chairs came with my desk when Mom bought it, and I rescued the other from the curb across the street where Mr. Keller, our neighbor, had tossed it with the garbage. I’d replaced the broken casters and put it in my room for Law to use when we played video games or watched TV.
We talked for what must have been hours. Dad said he’d suspected I was the one who broke into Coach’s office. Dad showed more patience than I thought him capable of showing. If I fumbled for the right words or to work up the courage to say something, he just sat there and waited. I was a little surprised when Dad looked at his watch and said, “It’s late. We need to get up and get ready to go.” I looked at my own watch. It was eight fifteen…in the morning. We had talked all night.
“Shower and put on something nice,” he said. “Church nice.”
“Why?” I knew Josh’s trial date was set for next Tuesday, almost a week away.
Dad stood and took on his normal air of confidence and composure. “We are going to see the DA and begin facing our challenges straight on.”
I didn’t care what came next. I was doing the right thing, and for the first time in a long time, I felt good about myself.
Dad said, “The sooner we start, the sooner it will end.”
I agreed.
Dad rose. He paused at the door, and said, “I’m proud of you, son.”
How can that be?
Chapter Thirty
There was quite a contrast between the annex and the actual county courthouse. The annex was an eighty-year-old, tired red brick building with black-and-green stains streaking from the roof almost to the ground. Its once-white limestone cap was now black with mold. At one time, it was probably a showpiece, but as they say, “The years have not been kind to the old girl.” Its limestone facade was in serious need of a cleaning.
The courthouse was almost new and five times bigger than the annex. There was a reflecting pool splitting the steps leading up to four sets of smoked-glass double doors. The roof was like a big concrete clamshell with scallops along the front edge and rounde
d edges on either side, rolled up under the eaves.
I knew the county courthouse housed the courtrooms and judges’ chambers, the county clerk, tax assessor, sheriff’s department, and the DA’s office. It was easily the largest structure downtown.
We arrived at eight forty, twenty minutes before the courthouse opened to the public. Dad didn’t say much, and his face didn’t give me any clues as to what he was thinking. I studied him closely. His brow was furrowed and his jaw was firmly set, just like old times.
When I couldn’t stand the silence any longer, I asked, “What are you thinking about?”
He smiled. “I’m thinking about the future.”
“It looks pretty bleak from where I’m sitting.”
“I don’t know.” He smiled again. “We’ll get through this, and we’ll have some good days again.”
“I don’t see how. My chances for a scholarship are shot. I’ll probably end up working as a bag boy at Grayson’s Grocery or a rack man for Smitty at the Lube-All.”
“There’s nothing wrong with those jobs. I know a lot of happy people working at jobs just like those, but if you really want it, you’ll go to college, somewhere.”
“Where? South Podunk Junior college?”
“Where’s that?”
Really, Dad? Which rock have you been living under to not know the word Podunk?
“It’s an expression. I’m just saying, it’ll probably be a really small school.”
“A lot of successful people started out in small colleges. Tom Ketchum, the president of High Q Grocery Stores, started out at a community college in Waco. He got off to a slow start, but he’s done all right for himself.”
“I don’t want to scrape and claw all my life. I always dreamed of going pro and signing a big contract.”
Dad slowly shook his head. “It’s true, what they say, you know, ‘Money can’t buy happiness,’ Todd.”
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