Fook (14 page)

“Whoa there, Pelé!” Jennifer laughed as she
battled to keep Oliver under control as she slid the onesie over
his head and released the tabs of his diaper.

For a newborn, Oliver was a complete
contradiction to everything she'd read prior to the adoption.
According to the books, at this age, he shouldn't be able to do
much more than cry and poop, but already Oliver seemed to have
developed amazing dexterity and control in not only his limbs but
his neck as well, making him an unexpected handful at times. While
this development had struck her and Bill as odd, it hadn't raised
any real concerns. The doctors had declared him perfectly healthy
and that was all that mattered.

Oliver let out a squeak as both legs began
kicking in unison the moment the cool air breached his diaper.

“Seriously Oliver, you’re going to kick
yourself right off this table,” Jennifer took on a more serious,
yet still light hearted tone as she removed the thankfully, gift
free diaper and lifted the excited infant into her arms.

Being picked up only excited Oliver even
more as he was now closer to his new, favorite toy. Getting a
handful, he pulled on the long blonde strands of excitement.

“Ow, hey,” Jennifer laughed as she freed
herself from her son’s surprisingly strong grip and much to his
displeasure, swung her hair over her other shoulder. “It’s not time
to pull mommy’s hair because what time is it?” she went back into
her high pitch baby talk. “It’s bath time! Yay!”

Oliver just stared at his mother, perplexed
by the sudden changes in her voice as they entered the kitchen and
approached the sink.

Testing the water, which had been hot when
they’d left the room but had since cooled to the perfect
temperature, Jennifer shifted Oliver in her arms and began lowering
him into the sink. As his butt made contact with the mysterious
liquid, Oliver’s look of playful excitement switched to that of
complete and utter shock. If the look of surprise wasn’t enough to
indicate his displeasure with this new experience, the tears that
followed were. With no interest in the wet chair, Oliver let out a
howling cry.

“Oliver, sweetie,” the baby talk ceased,
replaced by a tone of comfort. “It’s just bath time. Everyone takes
baths. There’s nothing to be afraid of."

Oliver didn’t care as his cries
continued.

Worried that the water may have been too hot
after all, Jennifer lowered her hand into the shallow tub. The
temperature seemed right; just slightly warmer than room
temperature. To be sure though, she reached for the cold faucet,
giving it a slight twist and allowing a few seconds of cold water
to mix with the warm.

Oliver paused at the sound of the running
water, but losing interest quickly, he turned his attention back to
the fact that he was naked, wet and scared and continued his
rant.

“It’s okay,” Jennifer continued as she
proceeded to wash her son, convinced that the water was fine and
that Oliver’s negative reaction was nothing more than confused fear
over the unfamiliar situation. “Next time will be better,” she told
herself as she poured water over his chest, rinsing away the soap
that she’d just applied. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she
continued to comfort her son, though probably more in an effort to
make herself feel better since she would’ve felt horrible just
standing there in silence while her son cried for her help. “Shh,
nothing bad is going to happen.”

Instantly, she wished that she’d chosen a
different set of comforting words as a loud crash and sounds of
shattered glass boomed from the front guest room, followed by the
ear piercing siren of the new alarm system and a monotone female
voice repeating the phrase, “Intruder alert. Guest room. Intruder
alert. Guest room”.

Jennifer screamed, hoisting Oliver out of
the water and into her protective arms. Either satisfied that he
was no longer lying in that horribly, wet place, or simply startled
silent by his mother’s scream, Oliver ceased all noise as he and
his mother hurried out of the kitchen, down the hall and into the
master bedroom at the back of the house, but not before grabbing
the phone from the receiver hanging just inside the arched kitchen
entry.

Closing the door behind them, Jennifer stood
at the foot of her bed, not sure where to go from there. Catching a
glimpse of the partially open, closet door to her right, she and
Oliver slipped inside, crouching beneath the neatly hung clothes in
hopes of concealing themselves within the dark shadows. Holding the
phone receiver in front of her face, she pushed a random button as
the keypad sprang to life. Quickly she dialed 911 but as she held
the phone to her ear, there was nothing on the other end. No
dispatcher, no dial tone...nothing. Hitting the end button, she
dialed again and again got the same lack of response.

“Shit!” she exclaimed as Oliver just stared
up at his terrified mother, confused by what was happening, but
obviously not as scared as he had been only moments ago in the
sink, since he didn’t make a sound. “Okay, the phone is out which
is why the alarm company hasn’t called to confirm the alarm like
the man said they would,” Jennifer attempted to calm her nerves by
talking herself through the situation. “If they can’t get a hold of
me they’ll probably call Bill who will, of course, tell them to
send the police. And if they can’t get a hold of him, they’ll send
the police anyway.”

Jennifer pulled Oliver close to her chest.
What was she going to do? Was she really going to just hide in this
closet while that son of a bitch from the other night came back to
finish the job. A flash of the previous night’s horror overtook her
thoughts as she looked down at the innocent life held firmly in her
arms. It was her job to protect Oliver, no matter what that meant.
Bill had fought off the attacker the other night. There was no
reason to think that she couldn’t do the same, or at least slow him
down and possibly divert his attention away from her son just long
enough for the police to arrive and take out the bastard.

Spotting the shallow, half empty laundry
basket on the other side of the closet, Jennifer slowly crept
toward it and lowered Oliver inside, covering him with a couple of
shirts, careful not to cover his face or tangle anything around his
neck.

“You stay right here and be quiet,” she
instructed her son as if he understood and might issue an, “I
understand mother,” in return. “I love you.” Leaning over, she
kissed Oliver on the forehead and stood to face the closed, closet
door. To her right was Bill’s golf bag from which she withdrew an
iron and slowly exited the closet.

Standing just inside the closed, bedroom
door, Jennifer scanned the bedroom windows, overjoyed to see that
she’d forgotten to open the blinds that morning, which prevented
anyone from looking in and possibly spotting Oliver’s hiding spot.
Reaching for the doorknob, she listened but heard nothing but the
sounds of the alarm and the repetitive female voice. Cautiously,
she stepped to the side of the door and raising the club, ready to
strike anyone who might be hiding on the other side, she slowly
pulled open the door to the empty hallway.

The pounding in her chest felt like a
drummer who’d lost his rhythm as overwhelming fear caused her heart
to skip a beat or two. Poking her head out of the bedroom, she
scanned the hall. It was empty. Cautiously she crept out, quietly
closing the bedroom door behind her and keeping as close to the
wall as possible as she made her way past the linen closet and past
Oliver’s bedroom, pausing as she approached the large opening that
lead to the living room. The guest bedroom stood just off the
living room to the left.

“Do you think they’re inside?” a faint,
unfamiliar voice competed with the alarm from within the guest
room.

“I don’t see anybody in there,” a second
voice responded.

“This is crazy,” Jennifer whispered as she
took a moment to think about how ridiculous she probably looked,
pressed against the wall clutching the club, but Oliver’s life
depended on her. Placing her hand on the brass handle, she pressed
down but stopped as a police siren cried out from down the
street.

“Thank God,” she sighed as she released the
handle and retreated back to the bedroom for Oliver. As she opened
the closet door, light from the bedroom poured in, illuminating the
small hamper and the tiny life within it. Oliver was just laying on
his back as she’d left him, the word
Angel
printed across
his chest in big, pink letters as she noticed the pair of
Victoria’s Secret shorts that she’d used to keep her son warm as
well as hidden. Lifting Oliver out of the basket, keeping him
wrapped in the fitting garment, she returned to the hall just in
time for the doorbell to ring. Still cautious about who it might
be, but confident that the intruder was likely long gone, given the
police presence outside, Jennifer made her way to the front door,
peeking out of the narrow, curtained window beside the door and
spotting her savior dressed in blue.

Unlocking the door, Jennifer yanked it open,
greeting the officer with a “Thank God you’re here!”

“Ma’am, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine but somebody tried to break
into the house! I think they broke the window in the guest room!
It’s over there!” she began rambling.

“Ma’am,” the officer attempted to
interject.

“I was so scared! Last night someone
attacked my son!”

“Ma’am.”

“My husband fought him off but I think he
came back!”

“Ma’am!” the officer finally stopped the
hysterical woman with a raised voice.

Jennifer just stared, shocked and a bit
perturbed by the officer’s rudeness as she waited for him to
speak.

The officer just glanced in the direction of
the keypad, mounted on the wall beside her.

“Oh,” Jennifer finally realized that she’d
been competing with the alarm and the electronic voice, still
announcing the location of the breech. Fumbling with the new
keypad, she finally managed to enter the correct four digit code
and with the press of the disarm button, the siren and the female
voice fell silent. “As I was saying—,” she instantly went back into
her rant before being cut off once again by the rude man before
her.

“—You don’t have an intruder, ma’am,” the
officer explained.

“Bullshit!” she wanted to respond but kept
her mouth shut.

“It was just a tree,” the officer
continued.

“What?”

“A tree, ma’am. Those men were taking down a
tree next door and lost control of it. It looks like it crushed
your fence and some of the branches went through your window. There
was no intruder.”

“I’m so sorry!” a man shouted from the
sidewalk.

Jennifer looked around the officer to see
two men standing beside the police cruiser. One man was shaking his
head, seemingly unable to make eye contact with her while the
apologetic man strangled his hat in his hands.

“But what about the phone? It’s dead,”
Jennifer asked confused.

“Are the connections on that side of the
house,” the officer asked.

“They are,” she thought as she shook her
head in the affirmative.

“The tree probably took out the box or
severed a wire. Just give the phone company a call and they’ll come
out and fix it. You never answered if everyone was alright.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re fine.”

“Is anyone else in the house?”

“No. My husband’s at work. No one was in
that room so everyone’s okay; just a little shaken up,” Jennifer
nervously laughed at the situation.

“Understandable,” the officer responded, he
too showing signs of relaxation, now that he was sure that no one
was injured and that this was simply an accident easily fixed with
the exchange of information and a few phone calls to the insurance
companies. “I’m going to need you to come outside for a minute so I
can get your information and take a brief statement.

“Can I put some clothes on my son first?”
Jennifer glanced down at Oliver wrapped in her shorts.

“Of course ma’am. Come out when you’re
ready.”

“Thank you officer.”

Leaving the door open she retreated back
toward Oliver’s room as the officer made his way to the two men
waiting beside his car.

“This is not your typical bath time,”
Jennifer looked down at Oliver who stared back, offering his mother
what appeared to be a slight grin.

FIFTEEN

“Katie. Hey girl,” Latisha waved as she shoved her
way through the crowded hall to her best friend’s locker. “Where
were you this morning? I didn’t see you on the bus.”

“Yeah, my dad thinks he should drive me from
this point on,” Katie answered, looking down at the lately, unable
to be concealed lump beneath her blouse.

“You know he’s just trying to look out for
you, right? He loves you.”

“I know. He really has been great, with this
whole baby thing and all,” Katie smiled as she placed her hand on
her stomach. She’d been terrified from the moment she’d seen the
blue plus symbol. Ever since her mother had died, she’d felt lost,
not sure how she would be able to move on with her life. Her mother
had been everything to her. Though a small town, her father had
always taken great pride in his work, which meant long hours and
many nights and weekends away from the family. But she hadn’t
faulted him for that. They had a great life. They lived in a great
little town and in a big, comfortable house with everything they
could ever want, and she understood that it was all because of her
father’s hard work and dedication. In his absence though, her
mother had, at times and in essence at least, acted as a single
parent which had only made the bond between her and her mother that
much stronger.

She’d been devastated the night that her
parents had sat her down to tell her about the cancer. She hadn’t
really understood what the whole thing had meant at the time,
except that it was bad and that her mother would likely not live to
see her reach adulthood. She wouldn’t be there for her graduation.
She wouldn’t get to witness her vows in St. John’s cathedral at the
center of town and she wouldn’t get to be there for the birth of
her first grandchild.