didn’t faint. Not even close. She suddenly bucked up and seemed several inches taller, some maternal thing I didn’t understand at the time and probably never would. Meanwhile, Kevin sat dumbfounded, like a friend was playing a practical joke on him and he couldn’t figure out how the chief had gotten pulled into it.
“ Now, Justine,” Chief Fred said, standing, “I know this is upsetting but we need to take Kevin here down to the station, check his hands for gunshot residue, get a statement, some DNA samples, the whole shebang.”
My mom filled her lungs with a deep inhale, turning stoic and certain in the course of the one breath. “He just told you, Fred. He was shooting the gun last night. They all were. Of course there’s going to be gunshot residue on his hands. I watch the shows, for God’s sake.”
“ All the same, he’s a suspect until we get this thing straightened out.”
“And where is Artie?” she asked, her hand subconsciously touching her mouth as if she didn’t want the chief to speak the answer.
“We have him down at the station. He’s in bad shape.”
I pictured the cops beating my dad to a pulp, his lips bloody and eyes swollen shut. Why else would he be in bad shape ?
“I’ll get my things,” my mom said.
The next few minutes passed in a blur as I tried desperately to blend into the shiny wood of the kitchen cabinets my dad had refinished the month before. In what seemed like an instant, my mother was changed and ready to go, her hair fluffed yet stiff, her skin sporting a thin, flattering coat of make-up. When she opened the door to leave the house, cold air rushed in. So unusual for that time of year. Chief Fred wouldn’t allow her to ride with Kevin so she was forced to follow alone in her own car. I couldn’t imagine the mad swirl of thoughts flying through her head during that short, lonely drive. Peeking out the kitchen window, I saw Kevin sulking in the back of a regular squad car, confusion turning his pleasant features dark. He looked cold, too, his shoulders hunched forward with his hands cuffed behind him. He’d only been allowed to slip on a thin shirt and some jeans and hadn’t eaten or drunk anything to help combat what must have been a massive hangover. The brisk scent of the coffee filled my nostrils. It already smelled burnt.
My mother’s final words to me that morning were, “Be good, Allison.” Ha! I could have set the house on fire and danced on the embers and still have been an angel compared to my dad and brother.
I relayed most of the story to Detective Barkley, the parts I thought he could handle, anyway.
“Wow,” the detective said. “A lot for a kid to handle. Had to affect you.”
Little did he know. No close friends. Few serious ex-boyfriends. No desire for either. A lack of confidence in human beings. And the constant sensation that life was a slippery mat off which I might slide any moment without caring too much about the landing.
“Yup,” I said simply.
He leaned onto the car, crossed his arms and stared at me until I met his gaze. “I’d like to hear about it. Someday.”
I didn’t outright fall and break a hip upon hearing the words, but they did pack a wallop. Maybe because I never discussed the case or dwelled on it for more than a moment’s time, the idea of someone wanting to explore its personal effects jarred me hard and fast from my comfort zone. I showed it with the subtlest of nods.
“ So no thoughts about your dad doling out his own justice?”
“Capit al punishment for petit larceny? Seems a bit severe, even if my father would smack someone upside the head for an overcooked steak.”
The bright whites behind the blue of Blake Barkley’s eyes flashed at me. Maybe he hadn’t known that tidbit about Daddy Dearest. I watched him file it in his brain under P for Potential Asshole. “But who’s to say my dad didn’t rouse himself into a homicidal state over a few tools?”
“Me ,” Barkley said.
“Okay,
“ Now, Justine,” Chief Fred said, standing, “I know this is upsetting but we need to take Kevin here down to the station, check his hands for gunshot residue, get a statement, some DNA samples, the whole shebang.”
My mom filled her lungs with a deep inhale, turning stoic and certain in the course of the one breath. “He just told you, Fred. He was shooting the gun last night. They all were. Of course there’s going to be gunshot residue on his hands. I watch the shows, for God’s sake.”
“ All the same, he’s a suspect until we get this thing straightened out.”
“And where is Artie?” she asked, her hand subconsciously touching her mouth as if she didn’t want the chief to speak the answer.
“We have him down at the station. He’s in bad shape.”
I pictured the cops beating my dad to a pulp, his lips bloody and eyes swollen shut. Why else would he be in bad shape ?
“I’ll get my things,” my mom said.
The next few minutes passed in a blur as I tried desperately to blend into the shiny wood of the kitchen cabinets my dad had refinished the month before. In what seemed like an instant, my mother was changed and ready to go, her hair fluffed yet stiff, her skin sporting a thin, flattering coat of make-up. When she opened the door to leave the house, cold air rushed in. So unusual for that time of year. Chief Fred wouldn’t allow her to ride with Kevin so she was forced to follow alone in her own car. I couldn’t imagine the mad swirl of thoughts flying through her head during that short, lonely drive. Peeking out the kitchen window, I saw Kevin sulking in the back of a regular squad car, confusion turning his pleasant features dark. He looked cold, too, his shoulders hunched forward with his hands cuffed behind him. He’d only been allowed to slip on a thin shirt and some jeans and hadn’t eaten or drunk anything to help combat what must have been a massive hangover. The brisk scent of the coffee filled my nostrils. It already smelled burnt.
My mother’s final words to me that morning were, “Be good, Allison.” Ha! I could have set the house on fire and danced on the embers and still have been an angel compared to my dad and brother.
I relayed most of the story to Detective Barkley, the parts I thought he could handle, anyway.
“Wow,” the detective said. “A lot for a kid to handle. Had to affect you.”
Little did he know. No close friends. Few serious ex-boyfriends. No desire for either. A lack of confidence in human beings. And the constant sensation that life was a slippery mat off which I might slide any moment without caring too much about the landing.
“Yup,” I said simply.
He leaned onto the car, crossed his arms and stared at me until I met his gaze. “I’d like to hear about it. Someday.”
I didn’t outright fall and break a hip upon hearing the words, but they did pack a wallop. Maybe because I never discussed the case or dwelled on it for more than a moment’s time, the idea of someone wanting to explore its personal effects jarred me hard and fast from my comfort zone. I showed it with the subtlest of nods.
“ So no thoughts about your dad doling out his own justice?”
“Capit al punishment for petit larceny? Seems a bit severe, even if my father would smack someone upside the head for an overcooked steak.”
The bright whites behind the blue of Blake Barkley’s eyes flashed at me. Maybe he hadn’t known that tidbit about Daddy Dearest. I watched him file it in his brain under P for Potential Asshole. “But who’s to say my dad didn’t rouse himself into a homicidal state over a few tools?”
“Me ,” Barkley said.
“Okay,
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