Family Blessings

  Judd contemplated the news. His face remained impassive but there were things going on behind his unblinking eyes. After some time he withdrew even his glance, turning back to the view out the windshield.

  “Man, that sucks.”

  Chris said nothing.

  They rode awhile before Judd said, “So you bummed out or what?”

  “Yeah. Imiss him. It’s bad in our apartment without him there.”

  They rode some more while Chris sensed Judd pondering the idea of the death of a friend, changing subtly, losing some of his defiance. He had no frame of reference, however, for dealing with grief or doling out compassion, so he only repeated, “Man, that sucks.”

  In a while Chris asked, “You hungry?”

  Judd shrugged and looked the other way. Chris pulled through a drive-in window and got a double order of chicken McNuggets, a side salad, four packets of sweet-and-sour sauce and two small cartons of milk. They went to the Round Lake boat landing and sat on a picnic table, watching sunset stain the water.

  “Sorry I wasn’t there Saturday night,” Chris said.

  “That’s bad, about your friend.”

  “I’ve got to get over it though. Nobody said life was fair.”

  “Nobody I ever knew.”

  “Still, we’ve got to keep on keepin’ on, you know what Imean?”

  Judd ate another nugget and nodded.

  “Eat the salad, too. It’s good for you. And drink all that milk.”

  Judd tipped his head and swallowed three times, then swiped his mouth with the back of a hand. “This friend—he got people who treat him good, or he like you and me?”

  “He’s got a good family. The best.”

  Judd’s head bobbed as he studied his badly worn high-top sneakers planted a foot apart on the picnic bench.

  “Want to know something?” Chris said. He let a few beats of silence pass, leaning forward on his knees like a basketball player on the bench. “When I was your age I used to be jealous of the kids who had decent parents. I used to treat them like worms, not talk to them—you know? Problem was, the only one it hurt was me because I didn’t have any friends. Life is a bitch without friends. Then I grew up and realized that it was nobody’s fault my parents were alcoholics. I could go on carrying a chip on my shoulder or I could shrug it off. I shrugged it off and found out that there are some fine people out there in the world. I decided I was going to be a fine person, too, and not do like my old man and old lady did. And that’s why I became a cop.”

  They sat in the twilight thinking about it while Judd finished his food. In time they walked back to the truck with Chris’s hand curled around Judd’s skinny neck. Just before they reached the Explorer, Judd said, “This some bitchin’ ride, man. Gonna have me one like it someday.”

  THEfollowing day Christopher returned to work. He was scheduled on the dogwatch, 11 P.M. till 7 A.M., and reported with a full half hour to spare, as required. In the locker room the radio speaker crackled from the wall while metal doors clanged and officers exchanged small talk. Nokes came over and hung a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “How you doin’, Chris?”

  “The locker room seems strange without him.”

  “Yup, it sure does.” Nokes squeezed his neck and shuffled to his own locker to get dressed.

  With twenty-nine sworn officers on the Anoka force, Chris wasn’t always scheduled on the same shift as Greg, but often enough the two of them had stood back to back in the aisle between the lockers, exchanging small talk and wisecracks that were missed tonight.

  Chris got into his bullet-proof vest and shirt, then knotted his tie before the tiny mirror on his locker door where most people kept family pictures. His held only one snapshot of himself and Greg by a black-and-white squad car. He loaded his belt with the paraphernalia of his profession: silent key holder, radio in a leather holder, stream light, Cap-stun, rubber gloves, handcuffs in their leather holder, a 9mm Beretta in its holster and two extra magazines. When he was completely dressed, twenty-six pounds of gear hung on his body, and tonight he felt every one of them.

  Fifteen minutes before the shift change, he reported to the patrol room for roll call and sat down with the four others who were coming on duty to watch the updates on LETTN—the Law Enforcement Training Television Network. Today, however, the large-screen TV got sporadic attention. Instead the men, their voices subdued, exchanged remarks about the funeral and Greg’s absence, asked Chris questions about the Reston family and whether or not he was going to get a new roommate. Somebody passed him the roll-call book and he took his turn acquainting himself with information on missing persons, stolen vehicles and arrest warrants faxed to the department from the jail since he’d been gone. When roll call ended, Chris wandered into the communications room, greeted the dispatcher and checked the past four days’ shift reports, which listed every call answered by the department. Though only twenty miles from Minneapolis, the city of Anoka, population 17,000, had far less crime than the big city, and needed a much smaller police force to fight it. On Saturday night the department had responded to a total of twenty-three calls; Sunday night only seventeen. Same things as usual: suspicious person, disturbing the peace, simple assault, disorderly conduct. After scanning the clipboard, Chris hung it back on the wall, realizing that apart from the fact that memories of Greg lingered throughout the familiar rooms of the police station, it felt good to be back, occupied once more.

  He collected his hat from the patrol room table and said, “I’m outta here, guys.”

  “Me, too,” Nokes said, and together they headed out to their squad cars.

  He spent the night as he’d spent hundreds of others, guarding the sleeping city. Sometimes he prowled. Sometimes he sat, listening to channel one crackle ceaselessly with the voice of the county dispatcher. He and Nokes both responded to a domestic and found the apartment door open, the TV on and nobody home. He got badmouthed by two other apartment tenants when he knocked on their doors to ask questions. Back in his squad car, he cruised until a call from the dispatcher sent him to check out an alert from a motion alarm, which he discovered had been tripped by a falling ceiling panel. He sat in the parking lot of Carpenter’s Hall beside a shadowy pine tree and watched cars come over the Mississippi River bridge from Champlin, tracking speeds on his radar. He watched the two red lights on his radar screen and listened to the sound of the signal change as the cars swept abreast and passed him.

  He thought about how close he was to Benton Street. Nine blocks away Lee Reston probably lay in bed—asleep or awake?

  Resting after the past four exhausting days or wide-eyed, in the company of sad memories? He started his engine and rolled out of the Carpenter’s Hall parking lot, onto Ferry Street, then left on Benton. A dark, sleeping neighborhood with nothing more than a pair of cat’s eyes gleaming at him from beneath a clump of shrubs before it shot across the street. He slowed to a crawl as he approached her house. The lights were off, the garage door was down. Janice’s old car was parked in the driveway. Greg’s Toyota was nowhere in sight, probably in the garage.

  Are you sleeping? he thought. Or are you lying awake wishing you were? Are you wondering whose headlights are sliding down Benton Street so slowly at this hour of the morning? Well, don’t worry. It’s just me, keeping watch. Did you work today at your shop or stay home and write thankyou cards? I see you closed your garage door. That’s better. Now you keep it closed every night, okay? How are the kids doing? I suppose they’re a help to you, reasons for you to make it through another day. I could use a little of that. It was sad in the locker room tonight, Greg’s locker closed and locked and no Greg clanging the door open and lipping off. I suppose we’ll all get used to it, but it’ll take time, won’t it?

  At 3 A.M. he ate a full meal at Perkins Restaurant.

  At five, when the sky had begun going pinkish in the east, he checked her street again.

  At six he cruised it one more time and discovered an oscillating sprinkler fanning back and forth o
ver her front lawn: she was up. Was she having coffee in the kitchen the way the two of them had a couple of days ago? It took an effort to roll past without stopping to ask for a cup.

  At seven he left his bullet-proof vest in his locker and went home to bed.

  THEphone rang at 1:30 that afternoon and woke him up. “Hello, Chris, this is Lee.”

  “Lee . . .” He twisted around to peer, one-eyed, at the digital clock. “Hi.” His voice sounded like somebody scraping paint.

  “Oh, no . . . did I wake you?”

  “That’s okay. No problem.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have called the station for your schedule before I dialed. Did you work last night?”

  “Yeah, dogwatch, but that’s okay.” He settled on his back and wedged a pillow beneath his head, squinting at the bars of sunlight just beginning to peek through the blinds.

  “I really am sorry.”

  “I usually get up around two anyway. Don’t give it another thought.” He dredged some sandmen out of his eyes, thinking she could call and wake him every day and he wouldn’t mind. “There’s stuff I want to do this afternoon anyway. I’ve got a little rattle in one of the doors on my Explorer and I want to take it in and see if they can get it out of there.”

  “Everybody got a ride in your Explorer but me. How do you like it?”

  “Love it. I’ll take you for a ride sometime and you can see for yourself. Joey really liked it, too.”

  “So I understand. You let him drive.”

  “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, of course not. If it were one of his friends I’d be madder than heck, but with you—one of our men in blue—how can I object?”

  “We talked a little . . . about Greg. Got some feelings out in the open.”

  “He needed that very badly, to talk to a man.”

  “How’s Janice doing?”

  “She’s very blue and sleeps a lot. I think she’ll have more trouble than Joey will, getting over this.”

  “And you—I won’t make the mistake of asking how you’re doing. What are you doing?”

  “Trying to face the idea of going back to work again. It’s hard when your thoughts are so scattered. I can’t seem to concentrate on anything. But I’ll have to go back soon and relieve Sylvia. She’s been pulling double duty. Today I’m facing a stack of post-funeral business items that seems endless. That’s what I’m calling about. Greg’s things.”

  “I told you there’s no rush. You don’t have to get them out of here until you’re good and ready.”

  “I know, but it’s hanging over me like a storm cloud. I want to get it done with and put it behind me. I thought, if it’s okay with you, I’d come over on Sunday. My shop is closed that day and Janice and Joey should both be around to help me.”

  “I’ll still be working the night shift so I’ll be here all day. You can come anytime you want.”

  “You said you usually get up around two?”

  “Give me till noon.”

  “Five hours of sleep? Christopher, that’s not enough.”

  “All right, how about one o’clock?”

  “Two is better. I don’t want to mess up your sleeping schedule. You cops get little enough of it as it is.”

  “All right, two. What are you going to use to haul the furniture in?”

  “Jim Clements next door said I could use his pickup.”

  “You okay driving it or do you want me to come over and drive?”

  “Jim offered, too, but I’ll be just fine. See you Sunday at two.”

  “Fine.”

  “And, Christopher?”

  “Hm?”

  “Please go back to sleep. I feel so bad I woke you.”

  * * *

  SHEplanned to ask the kids at supper that night if they’d help her. Before she could do so, Joey announced that Denny Whitman had asked him to drive up to the lake that day with his family. “Oh,” she said, halting in the midst of setting a bowl of scalloped potatoes on the table. “I sort of made plans for the three of us to go over to Greg’s apartment and pack up his things that day. I was counting on both of you to help me.” She sat down at her place and Joey began filling his plate.

  “On Sunday?” he complained. “Couldn’t we do it on Saturday so I could still go up to the lake with the Whitmans? They’re only going for that one day.”

  Lee hid her disappointment and reminded herself he was only fourteen. At that age kids had a lot to learn about their parents’ needs, especially in a situation like this. The Whitmans had undoubtedly invited him with the best of intentions, realizing that he needed diversions now more than ever.

  “Janice?” she said, glancing at her daughter.

  Janice put down her fork and shifted her gaze out the kitchen window while her eyes filled with tears. On her plate, her favorite food in the world was scarcely touched. “Mom . . . I . . . I’m just not ready for that yet. Can’t we put it off for a while?”

  Lee set her fork down, too.

  Janice added, “And anyway, I’m supposed to work on Sunday.” She clerked at The Gap store at Northtown Shopping Center. “I’m afraid if I don’t go back pretty soon I might lose my job, and I need the money for college. Can’t we put it off for a while?”

  Lee took Janice’s hand and held it on the tabletop. “Of course we can,” she said quietly. “Christopher says there’s no rush at all.”

  Janice blinked and her tears fell. She withdrew her hand from Lee’s, swiped beneath both eyes, retrieved her fork and filled it with chunks of potato and ham, then stared at it for some time before the fork handle clinked against her plate. “Mom, I’m just not hungry tonight.” She lifted her brimming eyes to Lee. “The scalloped potatoes are great—honest. But I think I’ll just . . . I don’t know . . . go to my room for a while.”

  “Go ahead. The potatoes will keep till another day.”

  When Janice was gone Lee and Joey fought the feeling of abandonment, but it won. Joey had eaten only half of his dinner when he, too, said, “Mom, I’m not very hungry either. Could I be excused?”

  “Sure,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe go over to the ballpark, watch a couple games.”

  “All right. Go on,” she said understandingly.

  He rose and stood by his chair uncertainly. “Want me to help you with the dishes?”

  “I can do them. Give me a kiss.” He pecked her on the cheek while she patted his waist. “Have a good time and be back by ten.”

  “I will.”

  He left the house and she sat at the table, listening to him raise the kickstand of his ten-speed bicycle, then whir away on it until its clickety-sigh disappeared down the driveway. She sat on, lonely beyond words, willing herself to get up and put away the leftovers, rinse the plates, load the dishwasher. These were healthy pursuits that would help lift her spirits. But she was so tired at that moment of falsely trying to lift those spirits. Instead she remained at the table, her chin braced on a palm, staring out the window at the backyard. She could go pull a few weeds in the garden, stake up the delphiniums, which were blooming heavily, pick a bouquet for the kitchen table. She could call her mom or Sylvia, ask Janice if she’d like to go to a movie, go outside and wash the car, get into it and return the various cake pans and Pyrex dishes that people had left here and never come back to collect. She could scribble a few thankyou cards.

  She sighed, weary of being the strong one for everyone else’s benefit, wishing someone else would take over the duty for just this one evening. She sat on at the table, overcome by a lassitude so enormous it seemed insurmountable.

  She turned her head and stared down the front hall at the sunshine bouncing off the white siding and lighting the front entry. Such a sad time of day, suppertime, when you were sitting at a table alone. Jim Clements’s truck rolled past; he was a construction worker and just getting home from work. Two young girls in bathing suits rode past on their bicycles. Their ten-year-old chatter fil
led Lee with sadness. Everybody busy, heading for someplace, to do something with someone.

  She was still sitting there morosely when a black-and-white squad car rolled past her line of vision and pulled into her driveway. She was up and out the front door before she realized she felt rescued.

  She got outside in time to see Christopher, in full uniform, getting out of the car. His unexpected appearance filled her with sudden happiness.

  He slammed the door but left the engine running, and came around the front of the car. She moved toward him eagerly, energized by some new reaction she had not expected. She had always rather clumped him with Greg’s friends and thought of him as a boy. But the police officer approaching her was no boy. His navy blue uniform granted him a stature, a respectability, a maturity that caught her unaware. His visored hat was anchored low over his eyes. His uniform shirt, pressed to perfection, was tucked in smoothly, holding chevrons, pins and badges of all sorts. His tie was neatly knotted beneath his tanned chin. The heavy black leather holders on his belt lent him additional authority while his bullet-proof vest added girth to his overall shape.

  They met at the front of the car, beside the hot, running engine.

  “Hi,” he said, removing his sunglasses and smiling.

  “Hi.” She stuck both hands into the front pockets of her white shorts. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “Some mail came for Greg.” He handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” She glanced down and leafed through four envelopes. “I guess I’d better go to the post office and fill out a change-of address form. I’ll have to add it to the list. I’d forgotten how much paperwork has to be done when someone dies.” She looked up again. “I thought you were working the eleven-to-seven shift.”

  “I’m supposed to be, but one of the guys asked me to exchange shifts with him today.” The radio on his belt began crackling out a dispatch, and he reached down without looking to adjust its volume. Greg used to do the same thing. She could never figure out how they could decipher the stuttering radio and carry on a conversation at the same time. “I just passed Joey back there. Said he was heading over to the ballpark.”