A Roof Over Their Heads

by M. K. Stelmack

  “Look at this.” He held it up for the boy. “My team jersey. Brand-new.”

  The boy’s brown eyes locked on to the bright blue-and-white jersey, emblazoned with the Lakers name, the bottom stroke of the L in a sweeping Nike-like check. “Put it on,” Seth said. “You can’t be naked in my truck.”

  “Is that the way it works?”

  “Yep.”

  The boy took the jersey and examined the back of it. “Fifty-three. Why fifty-three?”

  Not getting into that. “It’s my age,” Seth said, seventeen years off the mark.

  That seemed reasonable to the boy, who nodded and wiggled into the jersey, tucking it under his butt. “To the lake!”

  Seth saw an opening. “Good idea. We can get your brother and you two can play together.”

  “Okay! But we have to include my sisters, too. And Mom. We can’t go to the playground without her. That’s the rule.”

  Fine by him. The boy glanced from one side of the street to the other. “Wait! Where are they?”

  Probably calling the police. “I know where they are.”

  Seth pressed the child lock button—a feature he’d never used before—then lost no time turning the corners to pull up behind a U-Haul trailer. On the paved driveway were clustered the kids, and the mom on the phone. He could only hope she was talking to the dad who was looking for the boy.

  The second Seth hit the release on the lock, the boy hopped out, and for a wild moment Seth considered driving off. He’d brought back her kid, nothing wrong had happened, case closed.

  But if the mom had involved the police, Seth was known to them and doing a kind of drop-and-run wouldn’t look good.

  This was his one chance to clear himself. He picked up the old bat the boy had abandoned and prepared himself for whatever might come out of left field.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AS SETH WALKED toward the family, the boy announced, “Come on, guys. We’re going to the lake!”

  None of them moved. Then the boy who had been on the sidewalk earlier strode over and slapped his brother upside the head.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “For running off. Go tell Mom you’re sorry.” Attaboy. Any brother worth his salt kept his siblings in line.

  A little girl with Asian features was the next to break from the bunch, doing a kind of hop-run with her right leg in a brace. She was hands-on with her runaway brother, too, except with a hug so hard it nearly knocked them both to the cement. The mom was close behind, a black girl with thick glasses riding on her hip, the phone still at her ear. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay...”

  She slipped the girl down and reached for her lost boy, gathering him to her, his face mashed against her flat stomach. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

  Seth couldn’t tell if she was talking to the person on the phone or the boy. Or, from the way her voice shook, herself.

  She lowered the phone and bent her head, her hair—a big, dark, squiggly tangle—tumbling onto her runaway’s head. She kissed his spiky hair long and hard.

  “Bryn,” she said, her voice steady now, “glad you’re back home.”

  He mumbled something and she pressed him tighter against her. “It’s okay.” This time it sounded as if she believed it. “We’ll work something out. How about you go with Matt and Amy to the garden right there? While I finish up with this call? Matt has your shorts.”

  Bryn followed the other kids, while the smallest stayed glued to the mom’s leg, her brown eyes behind the smudged lens monitoring Seth’s every move. The mom brought her phone back to her ear to resume her conversation.

  No way. His turn. He stepped forward. “Hello there. Bryn’s your boy, I take it.”

  She held up one long finger as if he were a number at a bureaucracy and spoke into the phone. “We found him. A...man brought him back.” She paused, and her eyes lifted to his. Her deep blue eyes. The color of the lake at the far shore. “The police want to know your name.”

  Just what he didn’t want. “Seth Greene.”

  Those blue eyes pinned him as she silently mouthed his name, the tip of her tongue flicking against her front teeth to form the th, her full lips puckering on the opening of his last name.

  She repeated his name aloud into the phone. She listened, frowned and passed him the phone. “The officer wants a word with you.” She drew the girl against her leg even closer. This was rich. He’d brought back the kid she’d lost, and she doubted his integrity.

  “Careful,” she said, “with my phone.”

  And his ability to hold her phone. Seth switched hands with the bat to take it, and walked over to the semiprivacy of his truck before identifying himself.

  “Hello there. This is Corporal Paul Grayson. I have a few questions.” Suppressed laughter made the words come out choked.

  Seth blew out his breath in relief. And then, because it was Paul, again in annoyance. “I’ve got to get to a store before it closes in twenty minutes and then I’ve got to get back up on a roof and finish there so I can make it to the game. You remember the game, right? Do we really need to do this?”

  Seth watched the mom edge to the front garden with a limp-swing to accommodate the child still stuck to her leg. Her very long leg. The other three kids were pulling out weeds up to their chests—couldn’t Connie pick up a hoe for once?—and whipping each other with them. The youngest broke free of her mom to pull up her own weapon.

  Paul cleared his throat. “I have to confirm your identity. Not like you to offer rides to boys.”

  Kid-free, the mom banded one of her arms across her middle and tapped her fingers against her mouth. Long fingers. Long legs. Long hair. And from the looks of it, having a long day.

  “I didn’t,” Seth told Paul. “He crossed in front of my truck. I hit the brakes and he got in. Wanted me to take him to the lake.” Seth left out the part about the boy being naked. It would bring up a whole bunch of questions he didn’t have time for. He checked his own phone. Twenty-three minutes before Tim-Br-Mart closed.

  “You were hijacked?” Again the choked-back laughter.

  Seth clamped down on his back teeth. “Am I free to go, Officer?”

  “How does the mother know Connie?”

  “How should I know?” Seth knew what Paul was getting at, and made a decision. “She looks legit to me. She has four kids and—” he dropped his voice and turned his back to the mom, even though she was probably out of earshot “—all of them except for the oldest have one sort of disability or another. I think she’s flat-out busy with them.”

  “Is a dad there?”

  Something he’d like to know, too. The woman clearly needed help. “Don’t see one.”

  Paul made a noncommittal sound, one that had gotten him through a few tense situations with Seth’s sister.

  “Okay, then. Could you put the mom back on, please?”

  Seth walked over and passed her the phone, trying to check for a wedding ring but she took it with her right hand, her left slotted into the front pocket of her jeans. As if it was any of his business, anyway. If he hurried, he might yet make it to the store. He turned to go.

  Then, on his bare arm, the feather touch of her fingertips. Her left hand. No ring.

  “Don’t leave, Seth.”

  * * *

  WHAT HAD SHE DONE? She’d reached for this near stranger as if she’d done it a hundred million times, as if he were— She snatched her hand away, snapped her attention back to the cop.

  “...number of resources available to newcomers such as yourself. Are you aware...?”

  As the officer’s advice rolled on, Alexi’s attention drifted as always to the kids. Just in time to see Callie whack Bryn square in the back with a weed taller than her, roots first. A splotch of dirt appeared on the 53 of Seth Greene’s bright blue jersey.

  “He
y!” he called and strode toward them, his big stick in hand.

  No. Callie.

  “...the town office is probably the best place to start—”

  Callie took one look at the big man with the stick and screamed as if on fire. She shot past him to collide against Alexi’s leg with enough force to throw her off balance.

  Alexi hopped about on her sore ankle, sucking in the pain, and pulled the phone away from her ear. “Bryn, you need to give the shirt back to this man.”

  Bryn crossed his arms and gripped the jersey sleeves. “But he gave it to me.”

  Steady again on her feet, Alexi fought for a way to get through to Bryn. Seth beat her to it.

  “I gave it to you to wear home,” he said to Bryn.

  “You said the deal was I had to wear it. And I am.”

  “Only while you were in my truck, bud.”

  “But then I’ll be naked again.”

  Alexi heard the cop. “Hello? Is everything okay, Ms. Docker?”

  “Yes, yes, everything’s just fine. Mr. Greene is meeting the kids, is all.”

  Seth closed the distance between them and motioned for the phone. From the downturn of his mouth, she wasn’t sure if she should. Then again, if he was talking to the officer, he wasn’t with the kids. She handed it over.

  “Listen, Paul,” Seth said, “You need to let the mom get back to being a mom before the kid bolts again.”

  There was a pause.

  “No, she doesn’t need assistance. I’m here.”

  He listened a few more seconds before rolling his eyes. “Later,” he said and ended the call. Clearly, Seth Greene and the cop were bros.

  Bryn pointed at Seth. “You want my shirt and my stick.”

  Seth stared at the odd-shaped stick in his hand as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Tell you what,” he said, “you give me my shirt and I’ll give you back your bat.”

  “A bat?” Bryn asked, echoing Alexi’s thought.

  Seth put a choke hold on the thinner end of the bat and swung it, only a little, but Callie suctioned even tighter on her leg. Seth stilled his swing and eased his grip into a limp hold. He looked at Bryn. “We got a deal?”

  Bryn hesitated and then said, “Okay, but first I’m going to get water. I’m thirsty.” He headed to the house.

  No, not a repeat of the last time he went inside. Alexi jumped—sore ankle, Callie and all—in front of Bryn. “How about I take you all for slushies?” She looked over to Amy and Matt. “All of you.” She switched back to Bryn. “But first you have to take off the shirt.”

  Bryn gripped the back of the jersey to do just that, but Matt and Amy yelled the naked consequences of that move.

  Alexi could feel Seth Greene taking all this in, drawing his conclusions, passing them on to his cop-buddy tonight.

  “Bryn. Look at me.” She waited until his gaze connected with her collarbone. “Go to the backyard. Get on your clothes. Okay? Backyard. Clothes on. Bring me back the blue shirt. What are you going to do?”

  “Backyard. Clothes on. Bring you the blue shirt.” He headed off and Amy followed. She’d make sure it happened. Matt lingered. A double helix of pride—that Matt would protect her and sadness that he felt he had to—twisted inside her. She depended on him far more than was healthy for a boy his age and with his background.

  She extended her hand to Seth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I haven’t thanked you for bringing back Bryn. Thank you. I—well—it’s been a day. There have been...a few problems.”

  He looked at his truck, looked at her hand. The instant he took it, she wished he hadn’t. Her sweaty palm slimed his dry, muscled grip. Hot embarrassment flooded her already overheated body, cresting when he quickly released her hand. “How so?”

  How so? She aimed for a light remark. Instead out poured, “The place reeks of paint. There’re no floors. No floors, no fridge, no stove. No kitchen sink. It’s what made Bryn run off.” She licked her lips. “Worse, no water.”

  He straightened. “No water?” He was tall; she barely reached his shoulder. “You might need to just turn the valve. It’s by—it should be downstairs in the furnace room right against the far wall. Usually about a foot or two off the ground.”

  “Did that. Only the valves to the taps weren’t shut off and water sprayed everywhere, so I have to figure out what goes where.”

  “You called the owner?”

  “Yes, but she’s not picking up.”

  He hefted the stick in his hand and his thick arm muscles corded. Callie whimpered and Alexi lifted her into her arms. Seth glanced at the stick, walked to the garden, set it down and returned without a word. Alexi felt Callie’s body sag with relief against hers.

  “Until you sort it out with her,” he said, as if there’d been no interruption to their conversation, “the outside tap runs—usually runs—through a separate pipe. You could try it.”

  She’d never thought of that. “Of course.” She leaned to check the side of the house, Matt leaning with her. She couldn’t see anything.

  “Might be on the other side,” Seth contributed.

  Matt moved to check but halted at the man’s next words. “You on your own?”

  Alexi stiffened. One act of kindness didn’t give him access to her life file. Besides, she wasn’t about to admit to a stranger that she and the kids were alone.

  Before she could answer, Matt spoke. “Daddy-R died a year ago.” He swallowed. “A year ago today.”

  He’d remembered. Alexi had hoped that the excitement of today would make the kids forget the anniversary. Matt lifted his eyes to her, deep brown eyes Richard had described as rock and wood and land, all things solid. Right now, they’d gone soft with unshed tears.

  “I’m sorry,” Seth said. The standard words of condolence were low and distinct as if the man well and truly was sorry.

  Matt squared his shoulders and gave a short nod. Putting on a brave face as usual.

  “Thanks again for all your help,” she said to Seth. “Matt, could you check—”

  Bryn came up the side of the house, twirling Seth’s jersey about his head like a lasso. Seth made a low grumbling noise, and Matt jumped to sort out the mess.

  The jersey-for-bat exchange was made with few words and fewer movements. Alexi and the kids watched as the first person they’d met at Spirit Lake strode off and pulled away in a truck with the lettering Greene-on-Top Roofing on the doors.

  Alexi turned to Matt, his face pale as he tracked the progress of the white Ford down the street. “You okay?”

  Matt wiped his forehead, leaving behind a streak of dirt. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  His voice was sad and shaky. When Alexi leaned to kiss him, he tilted his head away and quickly said, “Hey, I was thinking that we could set up the tent in the backyard. Be just as comfortable as sleeping inside and it wouldn’t stink, either.”

  Alexi let him have his evasion. The whole point of coming here was to start over. Time to get on with it.

  “Why not? We deserve a little fun.”

  * * *

  UNBELIEVABLE. THERE WERE no baseball bats. Seth had reserved the diamond, answered obvious questions, posted all week to the Facebook group with reminders about the switch in dates from their regular Thursday meetup to today, Friday, and to bring bats and balls because he had neither. The result was thirty-three people, sixteen balls and no bats. And to think he had one in his hand not two hours earlier. Homemade, but enough to get the game underway.

  Everybody arranged themselves on lawn chairs or bleachers, or leaned on trucks, content to have him deal with the consequences of their forgetfulness. Fair enough. He was responsible for—how did the legal wording go?—“generating, overseeing, implementing and attending all events associated with the recreational club, Lakers-on-the-Go.”

  He was about to haul his own butt off
a bleacher and shoot over to Canadian Tire for a couple of bats, when Ben texted to say he’d bring over his two.

  Seth wondered if one of them was a girl’s bat.

  Back when he and Ben were thirteen, they’d hiked across town to this same ball diamond with a bat and ball. Mel, when he wasn’t roofing with their dad, came along, but Connie, four years younger, had been too much of a pain. She’d pestered him to come, and so he told her that there was only one bat, it was his, and he didn’t want to share it with her. The next time they’d played, Ben had showed up with a pink-and-purple bat he said he’d share.

  Seth learned then that Ben was a loyal friend unless Connie was involved.

  That summer it had turned into the four of them. They’d start off taking turns pitching, hitting and fielding, but soon enough it would fall into the pattern of Connie pitching, him hitting and Mel fielding, with Ben rotating among the positions. When it had been Ben’s turn to hit, Seth always moved to the field with Mel. No need for a back catcher because Ben could hit whatever Connie threw at him.

  Heavy footsteps sent quivers through the stretch of metal bleacher under Seth’s butt. He glanced up to see Mel plunk himself down beside him, deadening the vibrations. He carried the same box of Timbit donuts he’d had up on a roof this afternoon.

  Seth jutted his jaw at the yellow box. “Aren’t those hard and dry by now?”

  Mel looked offended. “These are good a week later.”

  Mel opened the box for Seth. Seth took a plain bite-size donut ball. “How would you know? They don’t last the day around you.”

  Mel took two sugared ones. “Sometimes they get away on me, and I don’t find them till later.”

  Seth opened his mouth, then shut it. The less he knew, the better.

  “Forty percent chance of severe thunderstorms tonight,” Mel reported. “Good thing Ben and me finished off the roof.”

  “Yep.”

  Like with little kids, Mel didn’t always need a lot of feedback to hold a conversation.

  “Hot enough for it, humid enough, too. And it’s July. Anything can happen in July.”