Loyal Subjects

by Eva Charles

  I hadn’t had an opportunity to make friends, since moving. I’d been working and getting us settled, and I wasn’t someone who made friends easily. I never had been. At least not real friends, the kind you share secrets with and lean on when life throws curves. When Alexa reached out, I gladly accepted her offer. “I’d love to have dinner with you. But you have to let me bring something.”

  We exchanged email addresses and made a plan for the following Saturday night.

  Teddy and I arrived home late Sunday afternoon, and I had so much to do before Monday morning rolled around. But it had been a wonderful weekend, and it was worth it, even if I didn’t get to bed until the wee hours of the morning.

  I threw in a load of laundry, changed the beds, and quickly ran the vacuum while Teddy went upstairs to say hello to Grammy Ruth.

  After a quiet dinner, Teddy showered, and I supervised from the other side of the bathroom door, trying not to imagine the trouble he could find, alone in the bathroom. He was still learning the fine art of showering without giving the entire bathroom a shower, too. What if he slipped on the wet tile and banged his head? Tile and porcelain were hard, unforgiving surfaces.

  My phone vibrated with an incoming text, pulling me from the bottomless pit of what-ifs.

  Mark: Hey, Sunshine. Jake gave me your number

  Mark: Had to beat it out of him

  Mark: I have your necklace

  Emmie: Hello, Mark Harrington. Thank you for saving my necklace again.

  Emmie: Would you mind putting it in the mail, or giving it to Jake next time you see him?

  Mark: Meeting a client at Hancock Field on Thursday. I’ll deliver it in person

  Mark: Over coffee

  Emmie: If I don’t have coffee, I don’t get the necklace?

  Mark: Smart woman. You must have a big brain

  Emmie: Not really. But I am nice.

  Emmie: No coffee, no necklace. Sounds like blackmail

  Mark: Or Nicholson in Chinatown

  Emmie: ?

  Mark: No tickee, no washee

  Emmie: I still don’t get it

  Mark: Your film knowledge is sorely lacking

  Mark: It’s an easy fix

  Emmie: Too busy learning to swim.

  Mark: Thursday. 9AM. No excuses. Put it in your calendar

  Emmie: Bossy

  Mark: Oh, Sunshine, you haven’t met bossy

  I was still grinning at my phone when I noticed the water was off. A small panic gripped me. “Teddy!”

  “I’m drying up.”

  “Okay. Make sure you dry in all the creases, so you don’t get a rash.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  After giving him a few more minutes, I knocked on the door. “Everything all right in there?”

  “I have hair!”

  “Hair?”

  “In my armpits. Like all the big guys. But it’s not like a giant dust bunny. It’s kinda squiggly and dark.”

  A dust bunny. I suppose there was a strong resemblance between dust balls and men’s underarm hair. I covered my mouth with both hands, so he wouldn’t hear me laugh. “You’re a little young for hair. And it probably won’t come in dark. Maybe it’s a shadow. Or dirt. Did you wash under your arms?”

  “I don’t know.”

  That meant no, in boy-speak. “I think it’s time for me to come in.”

  After I broke the news that the “hair” under his arms was nothing more than grungy lint, we curled up in Teddy’s bed, to read a chapter from a book in the Magic Tree House series. He loved the adventures of Jack and Annie, and we took turns reading. I wondered how much longer he’d let me sit on his bed and read stories with him.

  “Mom, when can we go back to Meadows Shore?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you like it?

  “Yes!” I tickled him, until he erupted into a fit of laughter. “It was so much fun. And you learned to float.”

  “And I can put my face underwater. I love it there. Can we go back soon, please?”

  “We’ll have to wait to be invited.”

  “Mark invited me. And Jake, too. And Vovó. And everybody.”

  Vovó. I smiled. I’m not sure when, but sometime over the weekend, Angelina had become Mark’s grandmother, instead of Sophie or Jake’s. Just like Meadows Shore had become Mark’s home, instead of Jake’s. At least in my head.

  Vovó was the kind of woman who welcomed everyone to the table and fed them generously. She indulged Teddy endlessly all weekend, coaxing him to try a variety of unfamiliar food by telling him that’s how the big boys got their muscles. She warmed his milk, because cold milk wasn’t good for a little boy’s stomach first thing in the morning. From the way he gulped it down, I suspect she stirred a little sugar into it too.

  “When can we go back? Maybe we can bring Grammy with us. Do you think she’d like the food? I bet she’d like the pool. Would she get a headache?”

  “She does get a lot of headaches, doesn’t she?” Grammy was Tim’s mother, my motherin-law, Ruth. She moved with us when I took the job with the Hawks, and lived in the upstairs apartment. Her headaches started after Tim died, and got worse when her husband left. The frequency and severity seemed in direct proportion to her level of unhappiness.

  Ruth had become more severe and less generous after she lost her son, toward everyone, but especially to outsiders. She’d always been the kind of woman who cooked one piece of chicken for every person expected for dinner. But she’d often divided at least half of her portion between her son and husband, because one piece never seemed enough to satisfy men with hearty appetites. Still, she rejected the idea of cooking one extra piece. I was never sure whether she truly enjoyed playing the martyr, or whether it was a deeply ingrained habit she couldn’t break.

  Ruth loved in her own way, and on her own terms. Controlling, and at times smothering, doling out affection like she doled out chicken. But she adored Teddy, just like she’d adored Tim, unconditionally. I never once questioned her love for either of them. And although I’d never really be one of hers, she’d been good to me, too.

  She opened her home to me when I was barely seventeen, after Mrs. Rose was diagnosed with colon cancer, and could no longer stay at home. Ruth’s kindness saved me from another foster home, or more likely, because of my age, a group home.

  Ruth took me shopping for a prom dress, and later a wedding dress. She taught me how to line cupboards and strip wallpaper when Tim and I moved into our first apartment. And it was Ruth who sponged my parched lips during labor, and let me squeeze her hand with each contraction. She fussed over my son when he was born, crocheted him blankets and booties, and soothed him when he cried. She was the closest thing I’d ever had to a mother.

  Tim’s death reduced her to a fraction of the person she’d been, and although she rallied a bit when Teddy was born, she never fully recovered. A year and a half after she buried her son, her husband left. Greg didn’t actually leave Ruth. He ran away from everything and everyone who reminded him of Tim. He left without saying good-bye and I never heard from him again. If Ruth did, she didn’t share it with me.

  Tim had been everything to them. Everything.

  Many days, if it weren’t for her grandson, I think Ruth would run away, too. Teddy gave her purpose, a reason to get up in the morning, a reason to go on living. Nothing else brought her real joy.

  “Mom, Mom!” Teddy tugged at my sleeve. “You fell asleep before the story was over.”

  “I’m not asleep. I just shut my eyes to rest for a few minutes.”

  “When can we go back to Meadows Shore?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  8

  Mark

  I met Emmie outside near the players entrance to the stadium. Hancock Field was an enormous complex with a variety of shops and restaurants within easy walking distance.

  “Did you bring the necklace?”

  I slapped the side of my head, before dipping into my pocket for a small envelope. “Oh,
I knew I forgot something.” Before she could grab it, I pulled the envelope out of reach. “If I give this to you now, you’re not going to bail on coffee, are you?”

  “Bail on coffee? Me? Never.”

  “Auntie Em!” A defensive tackle approached from the direction of the parking lot. He was quite a sight, all three hundred pounds of him swaggering over, in sweatpants and a T-shirt, with a ball cap on backward, and designer shades covering his eyes. “Where’s Toto?”

  “If I was Auntie Em, you’d be a Chief by now.”

  He tossed his head back and laughed. “You know the Chiefs are in Missouri, right?”

  “Close enough.”

  He jerked his chin in my direction. “Hey, Harrington. One of your guys in trouble, or is she making you watch the movie on how to behave around women, too?”

  “No movies, and no trouble yet, but it’s early.”

  “You blew me off, Deej.” Emmie’s tone indicated she expected an explanation from the big guy.

  “Oh, come on. Be nice, baby. I don’t need that shit. I’m woke. I know everything there is to know about how to treat a woman right. You don’t pull it out until she says yes. Isn’t that what you told us last week? How many times do I need to hear it?”

  I was about half a second away from punching this dickwad in the face. I’d only get one shot before he flattened me, but I’d make it count.

  “You have until two o’clock to make up the time. If you don’t make it up by then, you don’t practice, and I believe missing practice comes with a hefty fine. That’s how it works. Up to you.”

  “Oh, come on.” He might be three hundred pounds of pure muscle, but he whined more than Lily.

  “I have some time around eleven. I’ll expect you then, if you plan on practicing this afternoon.”

  “My team needs me on the field.”

  “They absolutely do. That’s why I know you’ll make the right choice.”

  He muttered and huffed away.

  “Eleven. I might even have some good snacks,” Emmie called after him.

  I unclenched my fists, slowly, letting the blood circulate through my fingers. “What a piece of work.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For not involving yourself in that discussion. I spied a little foam gathering at the corner of your mouth.”

  “Trust me, it wasn’t easy, but I didn’t want to undermine you. Besides, you held your own pretty well against that idiot. Impressive.”

  “He has a special gift, which is highly profitable, and most of his life, he’s been allowed to do whatever he pleases. He just needs clear expectations, and firm boundaries. He’s the least of the problems. Let’s go to Sally’s. It’s close and she makes the best berry muffins. I’ll buy you one with your coffee, since you were so well-behaved.”

  “My treat, Sunshine.”

  “But you brought my necklace all the way over here.”

  “My treat. I want to enjoy my coffee, and I won’t be able to if you pay.”

  “You did not just say that.”

  “Oh, but I did.”

  “You’re ridiculous. Maybe you do need to watch the movie on how to behave around women.”

  “You’re free to bake me a muffin. You can show up at my office and surprise me with a muffin from a bakery. But if we’re going into that bakery together, I’m buying the muffin.”

  “That is so wrong.”

  “I open doors, too.” I swatted her hand away from the handle at the entrance to Sally’s. “Live with it.”

  We ordered coffee, along with a berry muffin and chocolate croissant to share.

  “Guess what I did?” She cut the muffin down the middle and took the smallest half for herself.

  “Watched Chinatown?”

  She shook her head. “Better. I signed Teddy up for swim lessons at the Y. They have an adult class that runs at the same time. I signed up, too.”

  “That’s great.” A pang of disappointment settled in my chest. I wanted to be the one to teach her to swim.

  “I don’t ever want to fall into the water and feel the panic of drowning again. And you were right—I can’t let my fears hold Teddy back.”

  I cupped my hand to my ear. “Say that again.”

  “I don’t ever…”

  “No. The part about me being right.”

  She shook her head, and dumped a packet of sweetener into the coffee. “I suspect that probably happens as often as leap year comes around.”

  “Maybe less often.” I stirred my coffee, and set the spoon aside. “What else are you afraid of, Emmie?”

  “Snakes. I don’t like snakes.” She sipped her coffee, knowing full well she hadn’t told me what I wanted to know. “Jake told me a little about it, but what was it like growing up in such a large, noisy family with all that testosterone in one place?”

  “Nice pivot.”

  She smiled.

  “I loved it. Still love it. As far as I’m concerned, the more people in my life to love, the more tumult, the better. I thrive on it.”

  “You like kids, big families, dogs, and women.” She ticked the list of her fingers. “Yet, you collect ex-girlfriends like Pokémon cards, rather than take the plunge.”

  I shrugged. “I want a family. I just haven’t met the right woman. Forever is a long time to spend with the wrong person.”

  “Forever.”

  There was an air of wistfulness when she said it.

  “I’m the kind of guy who envisions growing old with the same woman, raising a brood of kids, and spoiling grandchildren at every opportunity.”

  “It’s a nice dream.”

  “I like to think it’s more than a dream. What about you?”

  She hesitated briefly. “I hope one day to spoil grandchildren, too. But for now, I have my hands full with a sweet little boy who still lets me read him bedtime stories. Although I’m not sure for how much longer.” She lifted the mug to her mouth with two hands, and took a careful sip.

  “Do you have siblings?” She froze, and a filmy cloud dropped over her eyes, like the final curtain in a tragic play. “Emmie?”

  “I had…have…two younger brothers. Twins. But I haven’t seen them since I was nine.”

  “Were they in foster care with you?”

  She pulled in a long breath, and exhaled slowly, playing with the crumbs at the edge of her plate. “We were together for a few weeks in an adoptive home. But the foster parents were young, and three kids was more than they bargained for.”

  Her eyes were still filmy, and once or twice I felt as though she were somewhere else. But as long as she was willing to talk about it, I would continue to prod her, as gently as I knew how. “They separated you?”

  “The twins stayed with the family, and they eventually adopted them. They were just three. And so adorable and sweet. They were such good babies.”

  I needed to touch her. The pull was overwhelming, and I reached for both her hands. “Where did you go after they separated you from your brothers?”

  “To another foster home. A regular foster home. I wasn’t adoptable.”

  She appeared lost. There was no other way to describe the look on her face. I stroked her palms with my thumbs, pressing small circles into the smooth skin. She seemed oblivious, and far away. I wondered whether I should stop asking questions, whether it was too much. But I didn’t. Because I wasn’t sure she’d ever open up to me again.

  “Do you have any contact with your parents? Your birth parents.”

  “I haven’t seen my mother since she left us at the bus station. But to be honest, I’m not really sure who my father is, or if the twins and I have the same father. There were a lot of men for a while, and I wasn’t old enough to be able to figure it all out at the time, and it’s too difficult to recreate now.”

  “At the bus station?” She’d moved miles beyond me. I was still stuck at the thought that her mother left her children in a place filled with danger and unsavory characters, an
d walked away.

  “One day, my mother packed up and said we were going to a new city. It wouldn’t be so expensive, and we would have a beautiful, brand-new apartment. We moved a lot, and there was no money, so we didn’t accumulate many things.

  “We went to the bus station, and she told me to stay with the babies, while she and Ron—Ron was the new guy—went to get a birthday cake and some presents. We were going to have a party. They wouldn’t be long, she said. I should have known when they took their suitcases. But I was so excited. We never had cake, or presents, or parties.”

  She was sitting across from me. I was massaging her fingers. But she wasn’t really with me.

  “Whose birthday was it, Emmie?” I knew what she was going to say. I knew she would break my heart, but for some reason I needed to hear it. I needed to feel some of the pain inside her.

  Emmie’s lips disappeared in a tight line and her shoulders hunched, while she shrank in front of me. Her voice was so small, I almost didn’t hear it. “Mine.” She swallowed, and gazed at me, her sparkly blue eyes vacant. “She never came back.”

  I’d heard enough. More than enough, but she kept talking. “It got late and the twins were hungry. A woman noticed me rummaging through the trash, and asked where my parents were. She bought us peanut butter crackers and water from the vending machine. Then the police came.”

  “Emmie.” I squeezed her arms. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  It hadn’t been long enough to erase the sadness. What kind of animal—monster—abandons her children in a bus station? A little girl—old enough to be raped or trafficked—and toddlers. Where did that kind of evil come from?

  She sat up tall, with a strong, clear voice. “I’m not a victim, Mark. I’m a survivor.”

  “That you are, Sunshine. That you are.”

  “I never would have met Tim, or had Teddy, if my life had taken a different path. If you think of it that way, it was a small price to pay.”

  A small price to pay. That’s when I should have known that what appeared to be simple resiliency was actually a coping mechanism that had become a way of life, a survival instinct tattooed on her brain. She didn’t know another way. But it would be months before I figured it out.