On Best Behavior (C3)
Page 12
His lip quivered. What if I do need drugs? Weed sounds really good right now.
“Okay?” she repeated.
The faces of Dr. Hunter, Sophie, and Uncle Grant swam through his mind. “Okay.” His voice warbled like a baby’s.
“So…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “You’re, um, you’re grounded for two weeks.”
“What?”
“Come home after practice and do your homework. No going out with your friends.”
“That’s so unfair! I didn’t have to tell you any of this.”
“You’re right, but I’m glad you did.” She studied him. “And I want you to tell Grant.”
A jolt of fear rushed through him. “No! He’ll hate me! Please don’t make me tell him. Please, Mom. You and Dr. Hayes don’t know how mad he’ll be.”
“Dr. Hayes wanted you to tell Grant too?”
“We’re not talking about that jerk.” Ben laced his arms in front of his chest.
“If Dr. Hayes thinks it’s a good idea, then I do too.”
“Mom, please. I’ll be good. I’ll be home when I’m supposed to be. Just please don’t make me tell Grant.”
“I think you need a man in your life knowing what’s going on.” She hesitated. “You know, when I was your age, my dad wasn’t around either. He’d split long ago. Mom worked two jobs to support us…” She looked toward the window. “When Mom found out I was dating your father, and he had a criminal record…” Her eyes turned back on him. “Do you know what she said?”
He shook his head.
“She said, ‘Don’t you dare get pregnant ’cause I can’t pay for a baby too.’ Great advice, huh? I wish she would’ve forbidden me to see him. I wish she would’ve grounded me, but she didn’t. She didn’t care.”
“Okay, I get it. You care about me. But don’t make me tell Uncle Grant!”
His mother studied him for a few long moments while he muttered silent prayers. “I’ll think about whether or not to tell Grant. But you are grounded for two weeks. And that’s because I do care.”
His cheeks felt hot again, and he wanted to yell at her, but he couldn’t find the words. She’d never talked to him like that before—it was usually ignoring him or screaming at him. He squirmed when she wouldn’t stop looking at him.
“Your mom warned you not to get pregnant…How long did it take for you to get knocked up with me?” he asked.
“A few months.” Her head dipped. “Like I said, I wasn’t very smart.”
“What’d your mom do?”
“Of course I didn’t tell her,” his mother said. “I moved in with your dad, and I finally told her about you after you were born.”
“What’d she say?”
“She said I screwed up my life.”
Ben looked down, uncomfortable with the conversation.
“But I don’t see it that way.”
He glanced up.
“I’m so glad I had you, Ben. I know it’s been hard, but we’re making it, right? We’ll make it.” She coughed.
It was hard to believe her. Maybe she would’ve been much better off if she’d actually listened to her mom…or if she hadn’t met his dad, if she hadn’t gotten pregnant with him.
“Now go dry your hair,” she said, sitting up, “and I’m going to make you dinner.”
“That’s okay, Mom, I’ll do it—”
“No, I’m home, and I’m making you dinner.” When she stood, she swayed a bit on her feet, and he jumped up to help her.
“Scoot,” she said, waving him away.
He gave her a sideways glance, wondering why she was ordering him around all the sudden.
“Don’t worry, I promise I won’t cough on your food.”
He took tentative steps toward his bedroom and looked over his shoulder at his mother, who now peered blankly into the cupboard. Had he screwed up her life? Or was she screwing up his? He rolled his eyes as he went into the bathroom. He now had two whole weeks of boring nothingness to sit and figure that one out.
10. Conceal
GRANT SQUINTED at the shore patrol officer manning the naval base gate two cars ahead of them and blew out a breath. “Good, he’s new. He won’t recognize me.”
“It’s been a long time since you worked here, right?” Agent Bounter asked from the driver’s seat.
“Almost ten years.”
Bounter tugged his collar away from his bulging neck. “Damn, this collar’s tight. What’re they trying to do? Choke me?”
Grant grinned. “Hey, don’t blame me. Your guys got these uniforms. When’s the last time you even wore a tie?”
“Every Sunday for church,” Bounter answered. “But my dress shirts aren’t as tight or scratchy as this uniform. This has got to be the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever worn.”
Grant glanced down at his khaki jacket. He couldn’t disagree more. Since he’d slipped on the US Navy uniform in Agent Bounter’s office, he’d felt a confident swagger possess him. His spine lengthened, and his shoulders retracted. He should’ve been wearing this every day, not the stupid dress shirt and slacks of a lounge singer. “If you think this is scratchy, try a prison jumpsuit.”
“Hmph.”
Bounter didn’t look at him, and silence filled the car as they inched forward, next in line. Grant wondered why he’d brought up his time in prison. He scanned the expanse of the Naval Station Great Lakes. Oh. He was about to reunite with the man who’d turned him in. Of course he was thinking about Gurnee State Penitentiary.
“Just play it cool,” he said as Bounter eased the government sedan toward the security checkpoint. “Show him your ID and stare straight ahead.”
Bounter’s right hand began to lift.
“No,” Grant hissed. “Don’t salute! He’s an NCO like you.”
“Afternoon, gentlemen.” The SP saluted once he noticed Grant’s uniform. “Lieutenant,” he added after Grant returned his salute.
Grant gave him a curt nod.
As the SP took Bounter’s fake military ID, he said, “State your business.”
“We have a meeting with Lt. Davis,” Bounter replied.
The SP stepped into the small guard station. Grant watched him type on the computer. He peered at the monitor for a full minute, and Grant held his breath. Captain Lockhart could’ve easily put the kibosh on this sting operation, and that was before Agent Bounter had suggested they wear uniforms to blend in.
“Oh, here ya are,” the SP said, returning the ID to Bounter. “Proceed east…” He karate-chopped his arm to point straight ahead. “Then take your third left. Visitor parking’s one hundred meters down on your right.” The SP lowered his head to look in the vehicle. “Y’all know where the lieutenant’s office is?”
“We’ll find it,” Grant said. “Thank you.”
“Yes, sir.” The SP reached into the booth, and the fence slid to the right.
As they entered the base, memories of his childhood here flooded him…
His backpack had shifted from side to side as he raced inside the military family housing unit. He heard the screen door slam behind him.
“Shh,” Uncle Joe whispered as he dashed through the kitchen. “Your mother’s asleep!”
Grant froze. What was his uncle doing home in the middle of the afternoon? And why hadn’t he learned to stop slamming the front door after three years of living with Uncle Joe? “Sorry.” He peered up at his uncle. “Why’s she sleeping?”
“She’s not feeling well. She asked me if I could come home early and watch you.”
“I’m eleven. I don’t need a baby-sitter.”
Joe seemed to suppress a grin. “You’re right. But your mom worries about you, you know.”
“She shouldn’t. I can take care of myself.” He dragged his backpack over to the kitchen table.
“Do you have homework?”
“Yes, sir.” He took a seat.
Joe joined him at the table. “Does your mother usually make you do homework right after school?”
“I know.” Joe shook his head. “I keep telling her to see the doctor, but she won’t go.”
Grant dropped his head to hide his blush. His eyes drifted down the page of vocabulary words. He wondered how he’d use concealment in a sentence if he didn’t know what the heck it meant.
“Grant?”
He looked up.
“Seems like you’re hiding something. Do you know why your mom won’t go to the doctor?”
He paused, chewing his lip. “No?”
“It’s okay, you can tell me.”
“But Mom’ll be mad.”
“Then we’ll say I ordered you to tell me.” Joe leaned forward. “Talk, Grant.”
Joe wore his uniform, and the sharp fold of his khaki collar matched the tone of his voice.
“She…she said we can’t afford it. Not until she gets a full-time job.”
Joe sighed. “How’ll she get a full-time teaching position when she’s been too tired to substitute one day the past three weeks?” He shook his head. “I’ll pay for the doctor. That’s ridiculous.”
“No. She said we take too much already.”
“Nonsense. I like taking care of you.” He smiled. “I like taking you to Sox games.”
“The new park’s sure awesome!” But when his uncle smiled back at him, Grant felt his excitement fade. “Mom said I shouldn’t go next time. The tickets are too expensive.”
“What? I need you with me. I need your moral support when our team loses to Detroit sixteen-zip on opening day.”
He groaned. “That did stink.”
His uncle reached into his back pocket and extracted a couple one hundred dollar bills from his money clip. “Give this to your mother,” he said, pushing the money into Grant’s hand. “And tell her to go to the doctor tomorrow. She’ll accept this easier from you than from me.”
“We can’t take this!” he gasped.
But Joe had already headed into the kitchen. “I’m making you a snack,” he called quietly.
Grant stared down at the bills in his hand. His father had carried around wads of hundreds, but he’d never let him touch them, and now the money seemed frightening to hold. He wondered how he’d get his mom to accept it.
“Here you are,” Joe said a couple of minutes later as he set down a plate with two pieces of buttered toast. Grant’s eyes lit up at the hefty dose of cinnamon sugar sprinkled on top—much more than his mom typically allowed. “So tell me about this Mother’s Day present you were going to make…”
“Here we are,” Agent Bounter said, easing the sedan into a parking space.
Grant started, then focused on the base ahead of them. Was it the cloudy day or the passing years that had dulled the finish of the concrete structures? He climbed out of the car to join Bounter near the hood.
A seaman approached them. Once the boy noticed the stripes on Grant’s jacket, he executed a quick salute, which Grant promptly returned. The seaman scuttled past them in seconds.
“Why don’t I get to be the commissioned officer?” Bounter pouted.
Grant chuckled. “Because you don’t know how to carry it off.” He nodded toward the three-story building. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the captain.” Though he felt jittery, his feet took off on their own, trekking to the office where his uncle’s best friend worked. He knew the way quite well.
He’d been there many times when he’d worked on the base, and before that as a child…
The screen door slamming behind him had made his Uncle Joe jump in his chair. Grant winced and mumbled an apology as he shrugged out of his backpack. He hadn’t expected anyone to be home.
Joe quickly shuffled some envelopes on the table, and something made him suspicious.
“What’s that?” He came to the table.
His uncle swiped at his cheek and kept his head down. “Nothing.”
Oh God, was he crying? His knees almost buckled. “Is…is Mom okay?”
“She’s fine.” Uncle Joe cleared his throat and looked up. “I mean, her doctor said she’s stable. No change.”
“Oh.” He grasped the back of the chair and drew it to his chest, lifting the chair’s front two legs. Then he leaned forward, bringing the back of the chair toward the table. He rocked the chair back and forth on its legs for several moments. “Does that mean she can come home soon?” he finally asked.
“I don’t know,” Joe said.
“Can we visit her tonight?”
“Sure, buddy.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “How ’bout I get you a snack first?”
“Um…I’m not hungry.”
Joe sighed. “Me neither.” He looked back at the mail on the table. “I’ll put those away later. Captain Lockhart gave me the rest of the day off. I’ll clean up for a sec, then we’ll go to the hospital, okay?”
“Okay.”
His uncle disappeared into the back of the apartment, and he heard the rush of the bathroom faucet. He looked over at the TV, which held no interest for him. His mom didn’t like him to watch it anyway. He tightened his grip on the chair. He wished he’d never made her take that money and go to the doctor a year ago. Things hadn’t been the same since he’d overheard her and Joe use that word—that awful C word. His mom had been in the hospital for weeks now. Grant bet his dad didn’t even know she was sick.
A glossy store circular sat atop the mail on the table, and Grant reached for it. Thumbing through the pages, he paused at the toy section. Bummer—the Creepy Crawlers set he wanted was still too expensive. He wondered if he could somehow make his own molds to create realistic insects. That’d really freak out the girls at school.
He didn’t want Joe to know he coveted the toy—he’d already spent way too much on him—so he jettisoned the advertisement to the table. It came to rest near an opened letter, and he noticed the hospital’s logo on the envelope. He slid the paper from the stack and found himself looking at a bill. His eyes scanned the number listed next to You Owe.
Fifteen thousand dollars? How would they ever pay that? Though Uncle Joe had tried to hide it, he knew money was already tight. His mother’s tests and doctor visits had to be the reason Uncle Joe hadn’t let him play any sports this year—not his claim that he wanted Grant to become more well-rounded by reading the military history books that lined the bookshelves in the apartment.
“I told you not to look at that!” his uncle boomed from behind him.
Grant spun around and pressed into the edge of the table as Joe charged forward. His heart galloped as he saw the fury in his uncle’s eyes. “Sorry, sir!” He tried to get away, but the table held fast. He reached out to catch himself on the corner before he fell back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
His uncle instantly stepped back, splaying his hands out and offering his palms. A look of sadness and anger filled his eyes: the look he always gave when Grant messed up. The anger Grant understood, but the sadness confused him. Joe reached for his hand and led him away from the table.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower, calmer. “I didn’t want you to see that bill.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” He looked down. “How…how many pushups should I do?”
Joe made a strangled noise, and Grant looked up just as his uncle lunged for him—he’d finally made him mad enough to hit him, he realized—but instead Joe grabbed him in a fierce hug. His mind raced as his cheek pressed into his uncle’s uniform. Why was he hugging him?
“You’re not in trouble, Grant,” he said, his deep voice echoing in his chest. “I just didn’t want you to worry about this. You worry about too much already.”
“But how can you pay that bill?” He tried to breathe—tried not to let his voice shake so much. “What’ll they do if we can’t pay? Will they make Mom leave the hospital?”
Joe pulled back and stared down at him.
“You see? This is what I wanted to avoid. This isn’t your problem, Grant…You’re twelve years old. I’ll take care of this. I’ll figure it out.”
He nodded.
“Don’t tell your mother about the bill, either.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You ready? Let’s go, son. Let’s go see your mother…”
“You ready for this?” Agent Bounter asked.
Grant glanced at the nameplate next to the door: Captain Archibald Lockhart. It hadn’t been until after his mother’s funeral that Joe admitted Captain Lockhart had loaned him the money to pay the medical bills.
He closed his eyes and exhaled. “Ready.”
Bounter entered first and approached the lieutenant seated at the desk in the outer office. Captain Lockhart’s door was closed.
“We’re here to see Captain Lockhart, sir,” Bounter told him.
The lieutenant looked up in surprise, then frowned as he examined his computer screen. “The captain told me to expect two civilians.”
Grant glared at Bounter. “Petty Officer Hunter, you didn’t inform the captain of our arrival?”
“I…” For a second the FBI agent’s mouth hung open. “I must’ve made a mistake…sir.” He turned back to the real lieutenant. “Please notify the captain that Lt. Saylor and Petty Officer Hunter are here to see him, sir.”
The lieutenant shrugged. “All right. You gentlemen can hang your coats there and take a seat.”
Grant found a hook for his jacket and cover as Archie’s assistant announced their arrival over the phone. When he sat down next to his fake subordinate, he felt a sharp elbow stab his rib. Bounter mouthed, Next time I’m the officer. Grant grinned.
His grin vanished when the captain’s door flew open, revealing eyes that sliced into him with their wrath. He’d known the captain would never forgive him for holding him at gunpoint, but Lockhart had agreed to this meeting with the FBI, hadn’t he? Grant popped off his chair and braced to attention, feeling Bounter follow suit next to him.
Captain Lockhart stood at six-four, his brown hair now completely gray, the slight protrusion of his belly the only soft part of his physique. He studied them for what felt like almost a minute. “Inside, now.”