Digging In: A Novel(35)

The siren blared. It was getting closer. Some instinct, the sixth sense of one who has experienced tragedy, sent me walking to the front of the house just as a cop car cruised slowly down our block past the neighbors and, as my stomach sank to my knees, stopped directly in front of my driveway.

The siren cut off abruptly. Officer Leprechaun exited the vehicle with a nod to me and opened the back door. I recognized the boots that hit the pavement, the tattered jeans, the holey concert T-shirt.

Trey.

“What happened?” I didn’t know whom I was asking, but Trey didn’t answer, and focused his attention on the ground.

“I want to know what’s going on,” I said to Officer Leprechaun, but I moved toward Trey, protectively. “Was that siren really necessary?”

“I wanted to impress upon Trey the seriousness of his actions,” he said, and I wanted to extinguish the twinkle in his eyes with the hose I used for my garden.

“And those actions were . . . ?”

Officer Leprechaun glanced at Trey. “Shoplifting.”

“What?” It was my turn to bore a hole into Trey’s skull with my eyes. “Is this true, Trey?”

“Not guilty,” Trey said, but he wouldn’t look at me and instead stared at the house.

“The owner of Pizza City said he wouldn’t press charges if I spoke to you,” Officer Leprechaun said, with a note of something meaningful in his voice. What was it? Apology? Pity? Embarrassment?

Anger took over. I grabbed Trey’s chin and forced him to look at me. “What is he talking about? You stole some pizza?”

Trey didn’t respond. I thought about when he was a toddler and stuck a small rubber ball in his mouth. He had clenched his lips together and wouldn’t give it up until I’d pinched his nose and he had to open up to gasp for air. The ball had bounced on the floor in front of him and then into the toilet. The look on his face—horror, anger, astonishment—had surprised me. There was no fear. But now, now I saw the swirling mix of emotions in his deep brown eyes, and fear, well, that was front and center.

“What happened?” I asked again, but this time I tried to imply comfort with the words.

“I took the ketchup and mustard dispensers,” he said, voice monotone. “Someone saw me and called the cops.”

“That would be me,” Officer Leprechaun said. “I happened to be down the block at the coffee shop.”

Daisy’s Coffee Express was notoriously popular for its donuts. I swallowed my inappropriate laugh.

“I was going to bring them back,” Trey said. “I wanted to use them for an art installation.”

“We have ketchup and mustard in the fridge. Why would you need to take them from a restaurant?” I tugged on Trey’s sleeve, motioning toward the house. “Thank you, Officer. I can handle this now.”

“I’m sure you could,” the officer said, “but I told Richie down at Pizza City that I would have a talk with you, and I intend to keep that promise. Richie could have pressed charges, and that would have made a lot more work for me and a lot more stress for you, financial and otherwise.”

I noticed Mr. Eckhardt standing on his front steps, a look of disapproval directed toward us. I gave it right back, arching an eyebrow. I wondered what Officer Leprechaun would think of the clothes buried in the backyard.

“Let’s go inside,” I said tersely.

They followed me into the kitchen, none of us uttering a word. I put a kettle on and directed Trey to sit at one end of the kitchen table and Officer Leprechaun on the other side. I took the middle.

“You’re not a child,” the officer said to Trey. “Can you explain why you’d take something like that? Was it a prank?”

“Technically, I am a child in the eyes of the law,” Trey said under his breath.

I warned him with a kick under the table. “Then I’m going to treat you like one,” I said. “You’re grounded. You will also write a note of apology to Richie at Pizza City.”

Trey shrugged. “I did a stupid thing. People do that, you know.”

“Mistakes are different from conscious decisions to break the law.” Even Officer Leprechaun had to know that one wasn’t going to hit its mark. Sure enough, Trey snorted.

“Except for school, you are not to go out this week,” I said. “You’ll help me around the house and in the garden.”

“How’s that coming along?” said the officer, likely already bored by the domesticity of punishing a teen.

“It’s ridiculous,” Trey said. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

The officer straightened in his chair. “If I still had a mother, I’d show her some respect.”

The teakettle went off, and Trey almost did as well. His jaw clenched, and tension rolled off him and gave the room a feeling of oppression.

“Go upstairs,” I said. “We’ll talk more later.”

The chair scraped against the floor with the force of him rising. Without sparing either of us a glance, Trey bolted from the room. I listened to him bound up the stairs. When he slammed the door, I felt the sound in my teeth.

“Teenagers,” I said, hoping that would shut down the conversation.

Officer Leprechaun studied me for a moment. “That doesn’t explain much.”