The Kindest Lie(94)

“He’s a child! Don’t shoot!” Ruth screamed, choking on the cold air.

They stood there in this slow-motion standoff. To Ruth, it seemed like she was yelling behind a wall of soundproof glass, because the cops didn’t lower their guns even an inch.

The other officer had light brown skin and he looked familiar to her, but she couldn’t place him. Her eyes pleaded with him to understand, to stop pointing his gun at her son. But he stared at her blankly, showing no recognition.

“Miss Ruth.” Midnight’s voice.

She couldn’t look at him. Her eyes darted back and forth between the cops holding the guns. She said, “Stay out of the way, Midnight.”

“You don’t care about me. All you care about is Corey because he’s your son.”

He’s your son. How did Midnight know? Her mind scrambled to climb out of its fog when she heard a thud behind her. Corey had dropped the gun. She felt it smack the ankle of her boot.

The officers ran over, pushing her aside. The brown-skinned one snatched the gun from the ground, and the white officer told Corey, “Put your hands behind your head.”

This time, Corey listened and, moving like a robot, did as he was told. Ruth had flashbacks of the bucket boy on the el in Chicago. That same fear shot through her, much more magnified now.

The cop patted his shoulders, under his arms, along his rib cage, and then between his legs until he reached her son’s ankles.

Corey whimpered, and she glanced down at his face, his eyes squeezed shut, with thick black lashes curled upward like silk drapery covering a window. Just the way she remembered them the day he was born. A sharp stab of regret hit Ruth when she remembered whispering, I hate you, just before he’d opened his eyes for the first time.

The white officer kicked the back of Corey’s knee, buckling it until it bent, and Corey fell to the ground. Ruth knelt beside them and put her face next to the officer’s. “Why are you doing this? He’s just a boy.” She tuned her voice to peak performative articulation. “This has been a terrible misunderstanding. This is an eleven-year-old child. Let’s be sensible here.”

Ignoring her pleas, the officer finished his pat-down and determined that Corey didn’t have any hidden weapons on him. “You can put your arms down now,” he said, and Corey had to be told again before he lowered them.

“You’re Ruth Tuttle, aren’t you?” said the darker-skinned officer.

She nodded and then she remembered. The name on his badge was Jenkins. Kenneth Jenkins. The boy Eli had socked in the jaw defending her honor back in grade school.

Officer Jenkins asked, “Is this your son, and did you buy him this gun?”

“I’m—he’s, well, he has parents. They’re not here.” She lowered her voice as if Corey couldn’t hear, but of course he could. He stiffened by her side. “I don’t know where he got the gun.”

“It’s mine,” Midnight said in a shaky voice. “It’s just a toy gun. No big deal.”

“We see that now. But it is a very big deal. This wasn’t on the gun,” said the white cop, whose badge read Griffin. He bent down to pick up the orange muzzle tip.

“My daddy removed it when he took the gun apart to fix it. I guess it fell out in my bag. I tried to put the orange thing back on, but I couldn’t . . .” Midnight’s voice trailed into a barely audible whisper by the end of his sentence.

Ruth hadn’t thought about the type of gun it was when she saw Corey with it, but she knew her son wasn’t dangerous. “Yes, it’s a toy. He’s only eleven years old. Why are you treating him like a criminal?” Tears stung her eyes.

Officer Griffin fixed her with a harsh glare. “This kid seems a hell of a lot older, and these pellet guns look just like the real thing.”

With his slight build and baby face, Corey appeared young for his age, not older, but before she could say anything, Officer Jenkins added, “We responded to a call about a guy out here at the river with a gun.”

Midnight fidgeted and buffed a chunk of ice with the toe of his boot. Ruth grabbed him by the shoulders. “Do you know anything about this?”

Without looking at her, he mumbled under his breath.

“Speak up,” she said.

“Yeah, I called 911, but I was just playing. I didn’t mean for it to be a big deal.” His shoulders shook and he sniffled. “I guess I was mad.”

She withdrew her hands from his coat as if she’d touched a hot flame. Covering her mouth, she said, “You were playing? Playing? Corey could’ve been killed! How could you be so reckless?”

The police radio squawked, and Officer Jenkins spoke into it, letting someone know the situation was under control. But this day had moved far beyond anything they could control. She felt like she was sinking into a pit of helplessness.

“You’re Butch Boyd’s kid, aren’t you?” When Midnight nodded, Officer Griffin said, “I’ll have a talk with your dad. Calling 911 is serious business. Not a joke. You hear me?” Midnight nodded again.

Turning to face Ruth, he said, “In the future, they need to play with these in a safe, controlled location with special protective equipment. Not out here on the river. And this gun can’t be used until it’s fixed, with the orange tip put back on properly. If the wrong person had seen Corey out here swinging that gun around, things could’ve turned out real different.” She didn’t like the way he said real different, reminding her how this all could’ve ended. Ruth’s limbs shook, and tears leaked again from her eyes. If she hadn’t shown up when she did, those cops very well might’ve shot her son.