Derailed (8 page)

“Uh, I know this is a trip,” he said, “especially with you guys movin' into your new pad an' all. But anything's better than Atlanta's ‘Gray Towers.' ”

“No doubt. Come on in.” I ushered him into our unit. “As you can see, nearly everything's still in boxes, and it'll be awhile before we get settled. But come on back here. I want you to meet my wife, Estelle.”

Estelle was still arranging the cupboards, making herself extra busy, though I knew she'd heard us come in.

“Estelle? . . . Estelle, this is Rodney.”

I don't know how hard she had to work up to it, but when she turned around, there was the warmest smile on her face I could've ever asked for. She reached out her hand. “So this is Rodney. I'm pleased to meet you.” She waved a hand at the kitchen. “Sorry for the mess. We just moved in.”

“No problem.” Rodney did the look-around. “Yeah. You got yourself some sweet digs here. Everything's new.”

“Harry, why don't you get Rodney to help you set up the beds and arrange some of the furniture? I tried to tell everyone where to put stuff, but we'll be lucky if they even got it in the right rooms.”

“Uh, Estelle, Rodney just got in. He probably—”

“No, no. That's okay. I'm glad to help.”

“And when you guys get done, I think we should go out to eat tonight. I won't have this kitchen up and runnin' in time to do any cookin'.”

“Yeah, Pops.” DaShawn started jumping up and down like a ten-year-old. “Can we go to Gulliver's for pizza like we did last time with Dad?”

The boy was at that age where he was a child one minute and all grown up the next—or at least, thinking he is. I looked at Rodney and raised my eyebrows in question.

“Sounds good to me. Haven't forgotten how awesome that pizza was—how long's it been? Two years? Bring it on, man. In fact, it's on me!”

Rodney said he still had some money when the county let him go, but I hesitated. What if it was drug money? Did I want to know? On the other hand, offering to do something nice for his son and for Estelle and me was commendable.

Decided I didn't want to know. If the State of Georgia hadn't confiscated it, well then . . .

The next morning Rodney slept in—meaning he stayed curled up on the couch with his back to the living room while the rest of us tiptoed around. It got on my nerves. We were the ones who'd exhausted ourselves with the move the day before. And now we were trying to go to church. If Rodney had turned over a new leaf like he claimed, a little church might do him good.

I went over and shook his shoulder. “Hey Rodney . . . Rodney! It's time to get up and get goin' for church.”

He rolled over and looked at me as though he had no idea where he was. Finally, he sat up and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, running his hands back over his head a couple of times. “So, Harry, where'd you say we were goin'?”

“Church. It's Sunday morning. Now, come on, get up. Breakfast is get your own. Estelle set out some cold cereal and milk. But if you want anything else, your guess where to find it is as good as mine.”

I was surprised to find Rodney ready to go when we left for church. He sat in the back seat of my old RAV4 with DaShawn, who kept up a running chatter about how great our new house was and how I'd promised to put up a hoop in the alley. “And Great-Grandma
was gonna live downstairs, but she had a stroke and now she can't, so maybe you could live there, Dad. How 'bout it?”

I flinched and didn't dare look at Estelle. We'd told Rodney about his grandmother's stroke the evening before while we ate pizza, and promised that later today we'd all go by the hospital to visit her. But DaShawn . . . huh! Leave it to a kid to introduce an awkward subject. Estelle and I remained silent, and to his credit, Rodney didn't pursue the subject.

But that afternoon, after we'd returned from the hospital and Rodney and DaShawn were playing cards, Estelle pulled me aside. “Let's go for a walk.”

“What? It's freezin' out there and windy too.” I'd been thinking of catching some March Madness basketball on TV.

“That's what coats are for. Come on, Harry. We haven't even had a good look at our neighborhood yet.”

I thought there was plenty of time to do that. But given how tense things were, I decided to humor her. When we got out to the sidewalk and turned north toward the cul-de-sac at the end of our street, Estelle grabbed my arm and pulled me tight as though she was already cold. Nobody else seemed to be out on the street on such a blustery afternoon.

I pointed at the yellow brick bungalow next door as we walked by. “Saw our neighbors yesterday as we were moving in. Sign on the side of his pickup says Farid's Total Yard Service. Might be Middle Eastern or something.”

“
Mm
, maybe.”

I could tell her mind was someplace else. “Nice little house. Maybe we shoulda kept looking until we found a single-family place like theirs.”

“What we better do is figure out what we're gonna do with what we've got. Harry, we gotta talk about Rodney! You heard what DaShawn said this mornin'. I keep wondering if that's God's answer to our downstairs apartment—”

“What?
God's answer
? Aw, I don't know, babe. We were so sure he led us to buy this place as a way to take care of Mom—and
now look. Can't believe you're suggesting ‘God's answer' might be for Rodney to live here. That was just DaShawn shootin' off his mouth.”

“You didn't let me finish, Harry. I wasn't saying we should get sucked into it just because DaShawn threw out the idea. We need to talk and pray about it. If the answer is still no, we should make that clear before expectations gain momentum. The last thing we need is for DaShawn to get all revved up over the idea and then we have to shut him down. We
do
need God's answer here.”

“Well, we need somethin', that's for sure. 'Cause we can't cover that mortgage on our own.”

After passing another tidy bungalow with its drapes pulled—seemed like everyone's drapes or blinds were pulled—we came to the cul-de-sac. I stopped and swept my hand toward the big, new house that took up the whole end of the street. “At least we don't have to pay
his
mortgage. Can you believe that thing?” All the other homes on our street were modest brick bungalows of one sort or another except for our greystone and a redbrick two-flat on the other side—classic Chicago neighborhood. “What possessed someone to build an enormous house at the head of the street? It's out of place. Doesn't fit.”

“Who knows? Maybe he grew up here and got rich and just wanted to come back to the old neighborhood. Wouldn't that be better than fleeing to the 'burbs the minute they make it?” She pulled on my arm. “Come on. It's cold just standing here.”

I looked back over my shoulder as we started down the other side of Beecham. “Yeah, but did you check out that big black Lincoln in his drive? Maybe he's a Lincoln lawyer like the guy in Michael Connelly's novel.”

“You and your detective books. We were talkin' about what we're going to do with our first-floor apartment. And I think . . . maybe we should consider Rodney—it could be temporary, at least until we know what's going to happen to your mom. He seems very cooperative. Except, what's with him callin' you Harry all the time? I thought he was callin' you Dad.”

“Ah, don't mean nothin'. Just street talk.” But I had to admit I'd liked it when at first he was calling me Dad.

“Well, if you say so. And you know, it might be good for DaShawn, havin' his dad around.”

I gave her a skeptical look, but I knew what it meant when she started spreading her mother-hen wings. I drew in a deep breath. “Aw, I don't know, Estelle. Too many maybes. Yeah, he's clean—but how long is he going to stay that way? And what if Rodney doesn't get a job and can't pay his rent? Then we'd be stuck. We'd have to kick him out so we could get someone else in there. Could get real nasty.” I shook my head. “Just wish we weren't dependent on that rent money.”

She loosened her grip on my arm and moved away slightly so she could look at me. “So, what would we do if we didn't need his rent money? Just let him keep on livin' there without payin' rent? He might need some tough love, Harry. Whether we needed the money or not, he needs to take responsibility for himself.”

I scratched my chin, thinking about what she said. “Well, you're right. If we had to kick him out, it could make a world of difference
why
we did it. Would we be doing it for his sake because moochin' off people ain't right? Or because we're desperate for the money? Hear what I'm sayin'?”

“Well, yeah, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.

When we were halfway down the other side of the block and she still hadn't finished her sentence, I prodded, “But what?”

“Oh, I don't know.”

“Estelle, think about it. Are you
really
open to him livin' below us?” I remembered what she'd said about family when she was talking about caring for Mom, but Rodney was a whole other ball of wax.

She heaved a sigh. “Well, you're right. If we end up squeezin' him because we're bein' squeezed, then it's not a good idea. But, Harry, maybe he just needs a second chance. He seems to have a decent attitude, better than how you've painted him in the past.”

I cleared my throat in a conspicuous way. “More like third or fourth chance.” But I felt guilty the moment I'd said it. After all, God
had given me a second chance in so many ways—a second chance at love, a second chance to be a father to my grandson. Still. “I'd like to, Estelle. I really would, but has he really changed? Or just become a better con artist?”

“Well, you're the cop, Harry. Thought you could read cons from a block away.”

I hunched my shoulders as the gusty wind picked up. “Yeah, but there's a reason doctors don't operate on family members. When people are too close, your vision gets blurry. Whadda they call that—myopia?”

We'd reached the end of the block. The cross street was one way going west. Kind of a pain navigating one-ways to get into your own block—especially one with a dead end. As we crossed Beecham and headed back up our side of the street, Estelle pulled me back into our conversation.

“What would we have to do so we could be more objective, so we aren't caught in the middle?”

“Financially?”

“
Mm-hm
. That seems to be where the rub is.”

I thought for a moment. “I s'pose we could set up clear expectations for Rodney, and to protect us financially, guess I could go back to work. Maybe I could get my old doorman job back at Richmond Towers.”

“Harry! You were bored silly at that job. Why not the Chicago Police Department?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Might have to take a cut in pay, maybe even in rank, but mostly it'd depend on whether they're hiring right now. The whole city's pretty much under a budget freeze, ya know.”

She sighed. “Well, let's pray, Harry. Let's pray about it.”

“Right now? Out here in this?” I waved my hand at the bare trees creaking in the icy wind.

She giggled. “No. I'm freezin' to death. I mean tonight, before we go to sleep.”

That was more like it. We stepped up our pace and were almost home, when Estelle gripped my arm and jerked me to a near stop.

“Don't look now, Harry, but that's the second time it's happened.”

“Happened? What happened? What're you talkin' about?”

“The blinds. Everyone on this street has their blinds closed or their drapes pulled. But somebody in that house right there—our neighbor—was peekin' out watchin' us until I noticed 'em. Then they jerked the drapes closed.”

“Estelle,” I moaned, “so what? Someone watched us walking by and felt embarrassed that you noticed 'em and closed their drapes. What's the big deal?”

“Yeah, but that's the second time. It happened when we passed that house right over there.” She pointed at the house directly across from ours. “It's creepy.”

“What if their drapes were open and they just happened to watch us pass? Would that bother you?”

“Of course not. It's just that . . . they obviously didn't want me to see them watching.”

“They're probably just curious—wondering about the new neighbors.”

“Maybe . . .” We started walking again and turned onto the walk up to our house. “Then I know what I'll do. I'm gonna go around and meet everybody. Bible says if you want to have friends, you gotta show yourself friendly. So I'm gonna . . . I'm gonna bake cinnamon rolls for everyone on this block.”

“Estelle, we're not even settled in yet.”

“Well,” she said, hustling up the stairs to our unit, “maybe not tomorrow, but I'm still gonna do it.”