Embers (29 page)

"
That depends on how you behave. Can you walk alongside me like a grownup? Or do I have to haul you around by the scruff of your neck?
"

"
You don
'
t have to do anything,
"
said Terry, falling in step reluctantly.
"
I don
'
t know why you don
'
t just leave me alone.
"

"
I
'
m not leaving you alone because
—
because I care about your aunt,
"
Wyler said, exasperated.
"
I don
'
t want you going around embarrassing her.
"

"
Oh yeah? Which aunt?
"

Good damn question.
"
Both
of them!"
Wyler answered sharply.
"
I care about your whole family. They deserve better than to have some squirt like you taking them for granted all the time.
"

"
What do you mean?
"
asked Terry, kicking a stone down the sidewalk.
"
I don
'
t take
'
em for granted. I don
'
t even know what that means.
"

"
It
means,
pal, that you
'
re a lucky little son of a
...
gun, living with your original mother and your original father. A lot of kids don
'
t. A lot of kids have no parents at all, in fact.
"

Terry plunged his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt.
"
So?
"

"
So let me tell you a little about what it
'
s like to live on the streets. What it
'
s like when your mother and father don
'
t care —
or can
'
t care
—
about you.
"

"
Yeah, yeah, I know: Cops like you round the kids up and throw
'
em in jail.
"

"
I
'
m not talking about this from a cop
'
s point of view, snot. I
'
m telling you I know what it
'
s like to be a kid on the street.
"

Terry shot a quick glance up at Wyler. His voice became more respectful.
"
You were a street kid?
"

"
Yeah. Before it was fashionable, even.
"

"
No kidding? You ran away from your mom and dad?
"

"
I hardly knew my mother,
"
Wyler said in a voice suddenly gone hard.
"
I
never
knew my father. I lived in a series of foster homes.
"

"
So how
'
d you end up on the street?
"

"
One of my foster fathers slapped me around a lot. He
'
s the one I ran away from.
"

"
And you lived in, like, refrigerator boxes and stuff? Like on TV?
"

"
Nah. Mostly in bus stations and subways and parks.
"

"
Did you ever steal?
"

"
I had to eat; sometimes the Dumpsters didn
'
t pan out.
"

"
Ick. Did you ever kill anyone?
"

"No."

"
Ever beat anyone up, at least?
"

"
In self-defense. Lots of times.
"

"
Did you always win?
"

"No."

"
How old were you?
"

"
Your age.
"

"
Wow.
"

The two walked along in thoughtful silence for a while. Wyler had no idea whether he was making the right impression on Terry or not. He had no idea what a child psychologist would recommend that he say. All he knew was that if it weren
'
t for his last set of foster parents, the ones who truly cared, he probably wouldn
'
t be alive to be having
any
conversation with Terry. And that
'
s what he wanted the boy to understand.

It was Terry who broke the silence.
"
So how come you ended up being a cop instead of a drug addict or
—?
"

"
—
or dead?
"
Bingo. A beautiful opening. Wyler took it.
"
I got picked up and sent back to the system. By some miracle, I ended up in a foster home with two really good people. My foster mom was
—
she was really good,
"
said Wyler in a
faraway voice.
"
Your mom reminds me of her. She really loved me. I didn
'
t want to screw up, to disappoint her. You know?
"

"
Yeah,
"
said Terry in a subdued voice.
"
They get disappointed so easy.
"

"
That
'
s because they want us to be happy. If we
'
re happy, usually they
'
re happy. It works out pretty well.
"

"
I guess,
"
the boy said uncertainly.

They were in front of Treats, a local ice-cream parlor. Wyler said,
"
How about a cone?
"

The boy shrugged.
"
I don
'
t have any money.
"

"
This one
'
s on me,
"
Wyler said.
"
You get it next time.
"

"
Okay,
"
Terry said, satisfied with the grown-up arrangement.

They went inside, ordered double-dip chocolate-Oreo
-
chunky cones, and headed home, licking like crazy. Sometime after Terry got his dripping cone under control, he said,
"
So you don
'
t mind being a cop?
"

"
It
'
s not bad,
"
Wyler agreed.
"
There
'
s lots of perks.
"

"
Oh yeah? Like what?
"
the boy asked.

Wyler told him a story he never got tired of telling.
"
I once got every single member of the Bulls, including Michael Jordan, to autograph a basketball for my son
'
s birthday present.
"

"
Wow
.
Whatta present!
"

"
Yeah,
"
said Wyler in a rueful voice.
"
Then I put it in the trunk of my unmarked car, and wouldn
'
tcha know
—
the car got ripped off.
"

"
Oh,
jee-e-ez,"
said Terry, wincing melodramatically. He was in real pain.
"
I saw a Michael Jordan-autographed basketball in a sports catalog once. You know how much they wanted? Two thousand
bucks!
And that was without the rest of the team! Wow,
"
he repeated, thoroughly impressed.
"
I don
'
t suppose you ever got it back?
"
he asked hopefully.

Wyler bit into the side of his cone.
"
Got the guys. Got the car. Never got the ball.
"

"Man
,
I
'
d want to pound
'
em until they told me where it was. Because that isn
'
t
fair
.
"

"
Yeah. But that doesn
'
t accomplish anything. It only lowers you to their level. Y
'
know?
"

"
I have to think about that,
"
Terry decided.

They were nearly home when Wyler tried one last tactic.
"
By the way, no one else but you knows about what I did when I was a kid. Not even my friends back in
Chicago
.
"

That impressed Terry more than anything else so far. With a surprised half smile he said,
"Really?"

"
Yeah. I
'
m thinking maybe we want to keep the whole evening just between us guys.
"

"
Yeah
,
"
said Terry thoughtfully.
"
I
'
m thinking the same thing.
"

****

The next morning Allie rushed into the kitchen with more flour from the supermarket, narrowly averting a mid-breakfast supply crisis.

"
You
'
re lucky Tom
'
s tenants need another day, Meg,
"
said her sister as she washed up.
"
Where would you be without me to do your stepping and fetching?
"

"
I know. You
'
re wonderful,
"
said Meg, rolling her eyes. She began mixing a second batch of crêpe batter.
"
All right. Now finish telling me about the Fourth of July dance. Are you sure Gordon Camplin
'
s going to be there?
"
Meg asked her sister.

Allie took a heated plate and transferred three exquisitely thin crêpes from Meg
'
s stack to it.
"
Of course he
'
ll be there; the dance is one of the big charity affairs of the summer. No one who
'
s anyone will miss it. And get this: we
'
ve even got ourselves a two-fer. Gordon
'
s ex-wife
'
ll be there too; Dorothea Camplin is actually chairing the event.
"

"
That
must be awkward.
"
Meg ladled runny batter into the sizzling brown butter and twisted the frying pan all around until the crêpe was membrane thin.
"
Isn
'
t it funny how neither of them would budge from
Bar Harbor
after they divorced all those years ago? Do you suppose they
'
re still on friendly terms?
"

Allie topped the crêpes with a thin slice of orange and a sprig of mint and headed out the door for the guest
'
s breakfast table.
"
Probably,
"
she said over her shoulder.
"
You know these society types.
"

Meg didn
'
t have a
clue
about these society types, which was why she was having second thoughts about hiring on to serve them cheese and wine. What if they saw right through her eavesdropping ways? And what could she reasonably expect to overhear, anyway? Gordon Camplin pointing to her and whispering,
"
Fine-looking woman. Reminds me of the one I killed that night in
'
47
"
?

No doubt about it, she was getting cold feet.

"
Let
'
s buy tickets ourselves,
"
Meg suggested when Allie came back for the next order.
"
It
'
s a charity; anyone can go.
"