Bright Lights, Dark Nights (15 page)

We got to the ice-cream place just out of the neighborhood and went inside. It seemed odd to have ice cream on a winter night, but there we were. I got a hot-fudge sundae. Naomi had mint ice cream. Mel got her usual vanilla milk shake.

“Our mom was babysitting the kids next door once,” Mel said. “Walter ran over there with a bunch of flowers he bought for her. He missed her so much, right next door. ‘Mom! These are for you!'”

“I didn't buy them,” I said. “I pulled them out of our own garden. That doesn't even count. I didn't have any money.”

“Oh, it counted,” Mel said. “She told everyone about that for months. He's a romantic, Naomi.”

“Not anymore, apparently,” I said. Regret was starting to sink in. “I probably shouldn't even go back there. I'll give it some more time.”

“My sister used to say there's millions of colors in the world, but most people only see a few shades of gray,” Naomi said. “She'd say everyone has their own story and something to offer. Basically don't think
do
or
don't
,
good
or
bad
, because life's always more complicated than that. So I think you should talk to your mom and just work with what's there. What's done is done.”

I nodded. I would do it for Naomi.

We talked more as we finished our dessert, about the board games Mel and I would make, our crowning achievement being the Piggy Police card game. The famous photos we'd re-create with Mel's stuffed animals. We told Naomi about how we drove Mom and Dad crazy. We'd hide in clothing racks at department stores and drive Dad nuts; he'd hated shopping enough already.

Mom and Seth were in the TV room when we got back. It was an addition to the back of the house with a huge TV, giant windows, and a sprawling couch-and-chair setup. “I'll take Naomi upstairs,” Mel said. “There's a treasure trove of photo albums she needs to see if she's going to spend time with my little brother.”

“Ooh, yes, please,” Naomi said.

I'd been through the albums more than a few times. Family vacations on the coast, camping trips with Mom and Dad, cousins, friends, our one trip to Disney World. It seemed crazy to think we'd done so many things and had so many memories.

I took ten long steps to the TV room. “Hey,” Seth said. To his credit, he was still friendly after my outburst. “How was the ice cream?” he asked. Not snarky or sarcastic like he could have been and I'd have understood.

“Can I talk to…” I started to ask, and Seth was already up. He put a hand on my shoulder as he passed me on his way into the kitchen. I sat down on the soft couch next to Mom and sank right into it. This room was really amazing. They were watching an episode of
Parks and Recreation
, Amy Poehler's close-up seemed to fill the room. Mom crossed her legs and clutched a sofa pillow.

“Nice couch, isn't it?” she asked.

“It really is,” I said. Maybe Mel made the right choice after all, staying with Mom. “I'm sorry. That was really rude, what I said before.”

“Me too,” Mom said, even though she hadn't done anything. I was the one who'd spazzed out. “You have to apologize for an outburst, but I have to apologize for a half decade. Or more—I don't even know.”

I placed my hand on the pillow Mom was holding, and she gave my hand a squeeze. It took me back in time for a second, when tears and laughing and embracing were common. I felt a tear coming on, and I looked up at the ceiling.

“It's okay,” Mom said, and smiled. “It's nice to hear your dad is doing well. I was worried about him.” She looked exhausted or relieved. It didn't feel like talking to my mom still. She truly felt like another person. Whether it was the meds she was on or the time that had passed. She had a new life. “I want to know how you're doing.”

“I'm all right,” I said. “High school is pretty different—the city is different. There's a lot of fighting and stuff, but I'm okay. I stay away from it. I met Naomi and she's really cool—that gives me a lot to look forward to every day.”

I hadn't planned on talking about Naomi; I still hadn't told Dad about her, or anyone, really. I hadn't talked to my mom in years, but there I was, thoughts pouring out of my mouth.

“We went to a Halloween party last week,” I said. “We were supposed to go as a detective and a femme fatale. I don't think she knew what that was, though. She still looked way better than me. I'd never been to a party, really, before that. It was lame, but it was fun going with her.”

Mom smiled.

“We're not dating or anything,” I said. “I mean, maybe it'll happen at some point, but I'm not really sure how to go about that. It's kind of stressful.”

“You'll get there,” Mom said. “I think she likes you. Why wouldn't she? Just enjoy the ride. Don't stress it.”

Why wouldn't she?
Such a simple question, but
Why would she?
was just as simple, and that was my default question. Other people must think
why wouldn't
. I wished I could.

After talking to Mom, I looked at more pictures with Mellie and Naomi before Mel was going to take us back to the city. I lay on my stomach and elbows as they passed through the pages. School pictures … myself in ninth grade, just a few years ago. Eighth grade, sixth, elementary school pictures.

“Aww, look at that hair!” Naomi said. “And those glasses!”

Pictures of Mellie and me as kids in the summer. Mellie hitting me like a grown adult—you could tell from the tears on my face. “You deserved it,” Mel said.

Pictures of me in a baby stroller. Me just as I was born. “Little baby Walter,” Mel said.

Mom and Dad getting married, as a young couple. Their moms and dads. My mom's family, in their big country home, somehow both clean and messy, full of food. Mom's family was right out of
Leave It to Beaver
. Mom's older sister. And Dad's family, all his brothers and sisters. They were louder, always laughing. And Grandpa Wilcox—Dad idolized him. He always had a story, knew all the people in the neighborhood. He was Dad's inspiration to be a cop. Kids loved him.

“What a sweet smile,” Naomi said.

Mel drove us back home, and we both fell asleep in the backseat. I woke up to Naomi's head on my arm, a few blocks from her home. I leaned my head on hers for the last few minutes, mad I'd slept through the ride.

 

Chapter Seven

 

I woke up to a voice mail from Mom.

“Hi, Walter,” she said. “It's your mother. I'm just thinking about you, how much you've changed. All in good ways, better than I could have hoped for. I'm so glad you came over, and I hope we can do it again. And I'm glad you brought your friend over. She's really a sweetie. I feel like a huge weight is off my shoulders. Do you feel that? I was really sick and really worried for a long time, and I want you to know how much better you made me feel. Anyway, I should get to bed. I love you. Talk to you later.”

I didn't know where things stood, and we couldn't go back to where things were before. I didn't think any of us could—me, Mom, Mel, Dad. We were all in different places now. But we could pick up from here and see how it goes. She wasn't the only one with a weight off her shoulders. That had been a lot of baggage to carry around.

Ricky came over in the afternoon. I was doing homework in my bedroom, trying alternately to ignore and eavesdrop on his and Dad's conversation. Dad was pacing back and forth. He was the pissed-off one and Ricky was trying to calm him down.

Dad drinking in the afternoon was rare. He didn't normally drink at all, so when he did, it meant something was different. Either he was celebrating and had company or he was especially depressed. Even when he was depressed, though, like right after the divorce, he didn't drink much. He turned to food more than anything. In this case, he was drinking angry.

From what I pieced together, everything that was going good for him was possibly out the window, just a week later. The confession was gone, his popularity at the precinct was gone, and he was back to square one. Or maybe worse.

“There's too many people involved,” Ricky said. “Too many loopholes. It's supposed to protect the innocent, but it protects the guilty—the system is flawed. The courts are flawed and they don't work one hundred percent of the time.”

“It doesn't work even fifty percent of the time,” Dad said. “It's not flawed; it's corrupt. These kids that go down to fight in the old basketball court have it right. You go there, state your business, and you settle it. Done. I'd thrive there, Ricky.”

“I know,” Ricky said. He was just listening and agreeing. Sometimes that was the best you could do.

“Since when is an outright confession not good enough?” Dad said. “I had the confession, the kid admitted to the crime, case closed, right? Red hat and everything, just like my neighbor had said, same kid. Not only does the punk take away the confession, he makes me out to be some monster. Profiling, assault. I'm a goddamn honest cop, straight up and down—all there is to it.”

“I hear you,” Ricky said. “I know it doesn't look like it, but it really does happen to all of us.”

“Well, that's a problem, then, isn't it?” Dad asked, and I heard his bottle hit the table. “The truth will prevail—that's what they say, right? It'll turn around again.”

One of our good-luck swings was tilting, but this could still work in my favor. It was getting difficult to be around Dad, ever since the Halloween party. He'd figured something was up, that I was a little more secretive, a little quieter. He asked outright if I had a girlfriend I was hiding and I said no, which was true. Naomi was not my girlfriend, much as I wanted her to be. But Dad knew something was up. I was on the phone more, not that we shared a phone, but he could hear me talking to someone through the walls for sure. I'd been grooming a little more, and I might have asked to borrow his weights, which certainly raised suspicion. Seemingly anytime we were in the same room, he found a new way to ask the same questions.

Like when I finally stepped out into the living room.

“And then there's this guy,” Dad said, holding out his arm toward me. “The case of my own son. Suddenly he's got places to be. Mr. Popularity over here.”

“There's worse things to be,” I said.

“He's a good-looking kid,” Ricky said, and gave me a tap on the shoulder. “He's coming out of his shell. It was only a matter of time, pops.”

“Did something happen with the burglar?” I asked Dad.

“Listen to him—he changes the subject,” Dad said. “He's a master, but I'm better. I'm gonna figure you out. I've got people all over the city. You can't hide anything from your old man. This is what I do.”

“Did something happen?” I asked again. Maybe I was a master.

“You really want to know?” Dad asked. He gave me a loose recap, holding up a finger for each item. “Half the crime in the city we can't even catch. We're hiring these young kids that don't know anything and cutting training time in half. People are working ten-hour days. Our city has a legitimate problem and I can help, but guess what? They don't want my help.”