by Marisa Logan
I was almost to Tom's house when he called me. I put the phone on speaker and answered while I drove down the highway.
“Hey, babe. I'm getting close to your place. Are you guys all packed?”
“Actually,” he said, “I'm stuck a bit late at work.”
“Oh. Oh no.”
“No, don't worry,” he said. “I'm going to be done soon. I just wanted to ask you a favor.”
“Sure thing.”
“Can you pick up TJ from the daycare? He took the bus there after school, but I won't have time to come get him until later, and I'd rather not have them call my ex about it. She'll raise a fuss.”
“No problem,” I said. “Is it going to be okay for me to pick him up? I mean, don't they need authorization?”
“I called and let them know you'd be coming. Normally they'd need to check ID and everything, but it's your cousin. She told me there'd be no problem.”
“Right,” I said. I'd almost forgotten that Kimmy was the one watching TJ after school. “I can be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Great. Thanks. Just take him to my place. He's got a key. I shouldn't be too late.”
“All right,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said. “I love you.”
I was silent for a moment, stunned. That was the first time he'd said those words to me. Part of me was almost mad that he'd done it for the first time over the phone instead of in person. But on the other hand, it had sounded so natural. Like he had said it without thinking, speaking from the heart.”
“I love you too.”
I hung up the phone and used my GPS to check the directions to Kimmy's daycare. I'd never actually been there before. I got there a bit later than I expected, and by the time I walked in the door, TJ was the only kid left in the after school program.
Kimmy looked up at me with a concerned expression on her face. “Hey, Amy. Tom called, said you were coming.”
“Yeah,” I said, waving to TJ. I looked at the expression on Kimmy's face. “Is something wrong?”
“Well, there was a little incident.”
I looked at TJ and saw his face was streaked from tears. I walked across the room and sat down next to him, though the little chairs designed for second-graders didn't hold me too well. “You okay, big guy? Was someone giving you a hard time?”
“It's nothing,” he said, keeping his head down. He was coloring in a coloring book I'd brought him from the museum last week. The steam locomotive on the page was colored an angry red and black, with thick black slashes over the eyes making it look stern and irritable.
“It was no big deal, really,” Kimmy said. “But they kind of got physical.”
I looked TJ over for signs of injuries. He didn't look hurt, though I realized some of the redness on his face might not have been from tears.
“The thing is,” Kimmy said, “I had to call his mom.”
“What?” I looked up at her, my jaw dropping. TJ kept on coloring, the crayon moving in quick, sharp slashes.
“I had to.” Kimmy held her hands out to either side as she explained. “It's the company's policy. The primary caregiver has to be notified when this sort of thing happens. She's coming down here to—”
“TJ?” a voice called out.
I turned to the door to see a woman I could only assume was TJ's mother. She was average height and weight, with red hair that had just a touch of premature gray. She was dressed in business clothes and had a leather handbag in her hand.
“Hi, Mrs. Conklin,” I said, rising from my seat.
She stopped in her tracks and looked me over, frowning. From the deep-set lines on her face, I guessed that she did a lot of frowning. “It's McAnally,” she said. “Ms. McAnally. Do you work here?”
I winced, realizing too late my faux pas. I should have realized she wouldn't have kept her husband's name after the divorce.”No, umm, I don't work here. My name is Amy. Amy Loch.” I held my hand out to her. “Tom sent me to pick TJ up.”
“Oh,” she said. She didn't take my hand, and after an awkward moment, I lowered it. “You're the girlfriend.”
My face felt warm. I wondered how much Tom, or TJ, had told her about me. “Yeah, I am. Tom and TJ are coming to the fair with me this weekend. Tom was running late, so—”
“So you thought it would be okay for a total stranger to come here and take my son?” She glared at me, pressing her lips together in a thin line.
“Actually,” Kimmy said, “Ms. McAnally, Tom did call and say—”
“I don't really care what he said.” Ms. McAnally turned her glare on Kimmy for a moment, then looked back at me. “I'm sorry, Miss, but I don't know who you are, and I'm not about to let you take my son. Tom can come pick him up at my house later.”
“No,” TJ said, slamming his hand down on the table. “I want to go with Amy. We're going to go see the steampunk stuff!”
“Thomas Joseph, you don't take that tone with me,” Ms. McAnally said. “Get your things. We're going.”
TJ got up and moved to the other side of the small table, putting it between him and his mom. “No. Dad said we're going to the fair. I'm not going with you.”
“TJ, you get your butt in the car right now,” she said, pointing a stern finger at the door. “I don't have the patience for this. Especially not after I find out you've been fighting.”
“I'm sure that wasn't his fault,” I said.
“You stay out of this,” she said, snapping her head towards me. “You're not a part of this family, and I don't want to hear a word out of you.” She turned back to her son. “TJ. Car. Now.”
“I'm not going,” TJ said. He lowered his head and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs.
Ms. McAnally moved around the table towards him. I moved to step in her way, but Kimmy held me back. I shot a glare at Kimmy, but she leaned in and said in a low voice, “You can't stop her from taking him. She's his mother.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” she whispered. “Technically I'm not even allowed to let you take TJ, since you're not registered as a legal guardian or authorized relative. I was going to let that slide since Tom said it was okay, and I know you're not a kidnapper or anything, but if she insists...”
Ms. McAnally grabbed TJ by his arm and hauled him out of the chair. He screamed in protest, struggling against her, but she kept him in an iron grip. She dragged him to the door, showing no sympathy for his cries. I wanted to go after her, to stop her, but I knew she was right. I was nothing but Tom's girlfriend. I had no legal right here. And as much as I disagreed with the way she was treating TJ, it wasn't like she had hit him, or done anything that could really be considered abuse. I hated what she was doing, I hated the cold way she ignored her son's needs, but I knew he wasn't in any danger with her. There was nothing I could do without bringing more trouble down on myself.
She was gone before I could think of anything to say. She hadn't even let TJ gather his books. I collected them and took them to my car so I could give them to him later. I talked to Kimmy for a few minutes, though I knew that her hands were tied. I gave her a hug and said goodbye, then got in my car and immediately called Tom.
“Hey,” he said. “I just got finished here. You guys okay?”
“No, actually,” I said. I explained everything that had happened, and told him that TJ would be at his mother's house. “There was nothing I could do. She didn't want to listen.”
“That's typical of her,” he said. He sighed into the phone. “Okay, I'll go over there and get him. You can wait for us at my place, if that's okay? I shouldn't be long.”
“Okay,” I said. “Good luck. I love you.”
“I love you.” He hung up the phone, leaving me sitting in my car until my hands stopped shaking.
I drove to Tom's apartment, though he wasn't there when I got there. I sat on the steps outside to wait. I lost track of time for awhile, checking the fundraiser on my phone, and tweeting out links to it, trying t
o raise some interest in the project. We were up to a few hundred bucks, which still wasn't much compared to the $15,000 goal, but it was a start.
It started to get dark. I still hadn't heard back from Tom. I sat on the steps with my phone in my hand, wondering if I should call him. He was probably still talking to his wife about what had happened. Or arguing with her. I didn't think I would help the situation any by interrupting them with a phone call.
I decided to send a text, figuring that he would get it when he was done talking to his ex. Then I sat, and waited, shivering a bit as the temperature dropped. As more time passed, I was starting to get worried. We were supposed to be on the road already. We had a couple more hours of driving to do, and the hotel would already be crowded, making check-in a nightmare. I had hoped to get there early. Now I was starting to wonder if we'd make it at all.
More than two hours had passed by the time I saw Tom's car pulling into the parking lot. I stood up and stretched my stiff legs, hugging my arms around myself. TJ got out of the car and stalked right past me, heading up the stairs and into the apartment. Tom walked up to me, a tired expression on his face.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.” He forced a smile. “I'm sorry about that. I really am. We got into this whole...thing. About you, and how she didn't want you picking him up, and...and I'm sorry.”
“It's okay.” I pulled him into my arms and held him close. He leaned his head against my shoulder. The tensions lowly left his body and he relaxed into my embrace. I stroked his hair, savoring the moment.
When he finally pulled away, he looked calmer. “I can get the rest of our stuff packed up quick. It shouldn't be long, then we can leave.”
“Okay. Yeah. Sure.” I gave him a kiss, then got into my car and sat to wait. I watched him climb up the stairs to get TJ and collect their bags, wondering if I'd ever truly be a part of their family, or if, like his ex-wife had implied, I'd always be an outsider.
Chapter 9
We got to the hotel late. TJ was already sleeping in the backseat by the time we got there, and Tom had to carry him upstairs. By the time we got our bags into the room and got everything situated, Tom and I were so exhausted that we crawled into bed with our clothes still on and fell right to sleep.
We were up early the next morning, getting everything set up downstairs. The hotel had devoted several rooms to vendors, with tables lining the room and forming multiple aisles for the guests to weave between. There were people selling toys, jewelry, clothing, books, comics, and all manner of homemade artistic creations. I ended up at a table in the back corner, next to a man selling pewter statues to my left, and a couple selling copies of their urban fantasy novel on my right.
I was dressed in a steampunk-style cowboy outfit, complete with brass goggles on my cowboy hat and a sixshooter/death-ray holstered at my side. I set my paintings out, spreading them across the table and standing a few up on the ground, leaning against the table legs. At one end of the table I set a big five-gallon jug from the museum's water cooler, with a “Save the Clock Tower” flyer taped to the front. I set the flyers and pamphlets on the table where they'd be within easy each of the customers, then settled in to wait.
It took awhile before anyone made their way back to my part of the vendor room. A few people politely looked at my paintings without making a purchase. Some tossed a bit of loose change into the donation jug. We handed out some flyers, and explained the story of the clock to anyone patient and polite enough to stand there and listen. Though by the time a couple of hours had passed, we had barely raised any money, and I'd only managed to sell two paintings.
“We need to rethink our strategy,” Tom said. “Is it always like this? People browsing and moving on?”
“Most years, yes.” I sighed. “It gets busier in the afternoon, and there's still tomorrow, too. But we're nowhere close to getting the ball rolling yet.” The jug probably had less than $50 in it, and while the online fundraiser was picking up some steam, it still hadn't come close to the first $1000 yet.
“We've got to ask for help,” TJ said. He grabbed an armful of flyers and moved around the table into the aisle. “I bet everyone will help if we ask.”
“TJ, don't go bothering people,” I said, holding a hand up in protest. But it was too late. He was already talking to the man selling the pewter statues and handing him a flyer.
“Excuse me, sir.” TJ looked up at the man with a bold posture, his back straight and his chin raised. “Will you help us save the clock tower?”
“What's up, little Marty McFly?” the man asked. He looked over the flyer. “That poor clock. Looks like a thing of beauty.”
“It's been broken for years,” TJ said. He launched into an explanation about the clock's history, repeating all the details I'd explained to him. When he finished his pitch, he asked, “Can you help?”
“Sure thing, little man,” the vendor said. He opened his metal cash box and pulled out a five dollar bill, then dropped it into the jug. “Happy to help the cause.”
“But can you help tell people about it, too?” TJ handed the man a dozen flyers. “We need everyone to help.”
The man looked at me and Tom, smirking. “Sure thing,” he told TJ. He set the flyers at the front of his table, where they were flanked by pewter automatons and statues of men wearing goggles and holding wrenches. “I'm sure I could send some people your way.”
Tom and I watched as TJ moved from table to table, recruiting one vendor after another to our cause. I would never have been so bold as to bother strangers who were here trying to sell their own goods, but TJ seemed to have no problem with asking anyone and everyone for help. And he didn't just settle for people saying “Sure” or “No Problem.” He didn't let people ignore him. He pressed until people promised to help, declaring their support for our cause.
And somehow, it worked. I didn't know if it was because he was a cute kid that people couldn't say no to. Or if pledging their support out loud made people feel a personal sense of obligation to follow through on their word. But dozens of other vendors in the room started sending their customers down to our table, where people tossed their change, and sometimes bills, into our donation jar. Others started going online to pledge a donation through the fundraiser site, and whenever I checked my phone, I saw the #SaveTheClockTower hashtag exploding with tweets from people I'd never met.
The biggest help, however, came when TJ headed into the next room, where some of the fair's celebrity performers were signing autographs. The fair didn't draw any big time movie stars or anything like that, but there was a huge niche for steampunk-style music and chap hop, and some of the singers and musicians were really big in the indie scene.
I followed TJ into the autograph room to try to stop him before he got into trouble, but by the time I got there, he was already talking to the performers from one of the bands. A woman dressed in a pseudo-1800s costume and wearing makeup that made her look like a robot was listening to TJ's pitch with a big smile on her face.
“Will you help us get people to save the clock tower?” TJ asked, handing her a flyer.
“Aww, well how could I say no?” the woman said. “Tell you what, sweet boy, I'll make sure to let people know. Can't let that poor clock stay broken. For all I know, it's a relative of mine.” She winked and tapped on some of the clockwork parts sewn into her wardrobe, all part of her character as a steam-powered automaton.
“Thank you,” TJ said.
“Thanks,” I added, putting an arm around TJ's shoulders and steering him away before he embarrassed me in front of one of my favorite bands. I almost stopped and asked for an autograph, but unlike TJ, I just didn't have the nerve.
I brought TJ back to our table. We were a little bit swamped, and the water jug was starting to fill up nicely. I had no idea how much money was in it, but I saw a few people dropping in $5's and $10's along with all the loose change. Tom was handing out museum tickets to everyone who made a donation in any amount, even just a handful
of change. I had no idea how many of these people would actually drive all the way out to Western Pennsylvania to come to our little railroad museum, but if even a handful of them were from that area, it would be worth it.
The live music shows started later that night. One of my regrets every year was that I usually didn't get the chance to actually see the bands perform. Going to see the show would mean spending a couple of hours away from my table, and that was time I needed to spend selling paintings and collecting donations. Though the good news was that the hotel piped the band's music through the speakers, so everyone in the vendor room still got to hear it, even if we couldn't see the band on stage on the other side of the hotel.
After they'd played several songs, the band took a break. And that's when I heard the woman TJ had talked to speaking into the microphone. “Hello boys and girls! Thank you all so much for coming. We hope you're having a great time. And if you are, don't forget we've got CDs and merchandise for sale after the show, or you can check out our website.”
There was a pause while the audience cheered. I could hear their shouts without needing the speakers. Then the singer continued, “And I've got a special little story to share. I met a little boy not long ago who I think was a mini-Marty McFly. He asked me for some help with a special mission, and now, my wonderful people, I'm asking you. They're trying to raise money to save the clock tower!”
There were more cheers, while the singer read off the details from our flyer, including the fundraiser website and our #SaveTheClockTower hashtag. “So, beautiful people,” she said, “spare these poor folks a buck and help them get their clock fixed. Cause we all know, there's nothing more tragic than clockwork that doesn't tick!”
After that, the online fundraiser simply exploded. We started getting a landslide of donations, and when I checked my phone, Twitter was abuzz with people tweeting pictures of the band along with links to the fundraiser and our hashtag. The band's official Twitter account even posted a link, and it picked up thousands of retweets. Before I knew it, our donations crossed the $5000 mark, then $10,000. The surge trickled down within a few hours after the show ended, but the signal boost had helped get us enough attention that there was a slow but steady stream of support after that.