Too Close to Home

We had ice cream around ten, and then Derek said he wanted to go to bed. He’d hardly slept since his arrest. He’d told us only a little about what it was like living in the Promise Falls jail. Those days were clearly not something he wanted to relive at the moment. Maybe some other time.

When we turned out the lights that night, we felt as though we might be seeing some light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.

Funny how wrong you can be about these things.

THIRTY-TWO

"Technically speaking,” I told Derek before we headed out Monday-we’d spent Sunday catching our breath and doing as little as possible-to pick up Drew, “you’re the boss. It’s your dad’s truck and equipment, you’re the boss’s son. But don’t go telling Drew what to do or anything. You’re a kid-a smart kid, getting smarter every day-but you’re a kid, and ordering an older guy like that around, it gets kind of awkward. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Yeah,” said Derek. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Bingo,” I said. “Mom and I will take the car, you follow us in the truck, once we’ve got Drew and I’ve introduced you, your mom’s going to drop me off down at city hall.”

“I can’t believe you’re really going back to work for him,” Derek said. “I mean, I’m not saying whether you should or not, I’m just surprised.”

“Me too,” I said. “But you do what you have to do.”

“I can pay you back,” Derek said. “I’ll work for free, that’ll save some money. It was my fault. Being in the house. That’s what got me into trouble. You and Mom shouldn’t have to pay for my stupidity.”

“Get in the truck,” I said.

Ellen and I got in her Mazda, Ellen behind the wheel, and I gave her directions that led us to Drew, standing on the curb in his usual spot. Ellen pulled over, I got out and waited for Derek to pull over, get out and join us.

“My son,” I said. “Drew, this is Derek; Derek, this is Drew.”

They shook hands.

“I’d have called and explained, but I realized I didn’t even have your number,” I said.

“And I don’t have a cell,” Drew said. “Not really money for it in my budget at the moment.” To Derek, he said, “So, you’re out. Congratulations.”

“I’m going to spend the next few weeks working for the mayor’s office.” I couldn’t bring myself to actually say Randy’s name, not after Drew’s judgmental comments the day before. “Derek’s going to fill in for me in the meantime. He knows the drill, the customers, all that stuff.”

“Okay,” Drew said.

“So, I’ve gotta take off,” I said. “Talk to you at the end of the day,” I said to Derek, gave him a hug he wasn’t too embarrassed to receive, then walked back to the car. Ellen slipped out, gave Derek a hug of her own, then settled back in behind the wheel.

The last thing I heard was Derek saying to Drew, “So, like, my dad says you robbed a bank.”

Maybe I should have given him just a little more advice.

I was dressed a little differently for work today. Black dress slacks, black shoes, off-white dress shirt, gray sports jacket. I had a tie rolled up and tucked into my pocket for emergencies, but given that the heat was still with us, I was going to try to get away with an open collar.

I had forgotten that there’s a lot of sitting around in this job, and that was how I spent most of my morning. I got caught up on news with some of the office staff, who were both sympathetic and congratulatory about our home situation.

Shortly after lunch, Randy said we had just a few items on the agenda for the afternoon. He was trying to keep his schedule light, since tomorrow was his news conference, where he intended to officially announce that he was running for Congress.

The first thing on today’s schedule was a car dealership opening, where the mayor cut a ribbon and ate some cake and glad-handed and had his picture taken pretending to close a door on his hand. I hung out by the Grand Marquis, preferring to keep as far away from this sort of stuff as possible, although I did score a free barbecued hot dog.

After that, we were off to the Swanson House, the place where single mothers and their babies could find support and a place to live. This was the mayor’s second stop here since barging in unannounced that night the week before. He’d already cleaned the rug he threw up on, but now he was there to present the home’s manager, Gillian Metcalfe, with a check for five thousand dollars. I was pretty sure the city came up with more than five thousand a year for Swanson House-it was probably more in the range of fifty or a hundred grand-but if you handed it all over at once, that tended to limit the number of photo ops. Better ten to twenty stops with a five-thousand-dollar check each time.

Randy was visibly pissed as we walked up the sidewalk to Swanson House. “I don’t see any media,” he said. “You see any fucking media?”

I did not. There were no TV vans, no cars with the logo of the local newspaper plastered to the door. Could it be that the mayor handing over a measly five grand to the single mothers’ residence wasn’t particularly newsworthy?