We sat there in silence. I wished Thomas would burst through his bedroom door and ask for cereal. Or that the dog would come to the back door wanting to be let back in. His voice hissed the last part, Right?
How can he sit across the table from me drinking his coffee like that? My fingers pinched the skin between my eyes as I strained to figure out if I was awake or still asleep. Is he really saying this to me right now?
“Good,” he said, accepting my silence as confirmation. “In that case, I think we need to talk about your bedtime being changed.”
“Dad, I said I was sorry.” I spoke carefully, pleading.
He held up his hand. “I think a girl your age deserves to go to bed at… I don’t know, nine o’clock every night. No more eight thirty. What do you think?”
I hated the smile that spread across my face. A half an hour increase in bed time meant a less amount of time I had to spend in my bedroom at night.
“Aunt Jean and Uncle Bruce are here,” Adam screamed, running from around the corner and almost into the kitchen table.
“Shut up, I don’t need you running around here like a god damn wild animal.” Dad pushed his newspaper away and stood up to adjust his bathrobe. “Sure, just stop on in anytime,” he mumbled. “Molly, get in here!”
Mom appeared from the bathroom as she threw her head back and popped two white pills into her mouth. I had trouble swallowing medicine when I was sick but Mom could swallow multiple pills and without water.
“What, Dave, whatdya want?” Her words sloshed around. “I’m right down the hall, not across the street.” The comment made me cringe as I waited for Dad to take offense to it but two heavy knocks on the front door diffused the moment.
“I’ll get it,” I said, sprinting towards the door.
“Brooke! Honey here, take these bags.” Aunt Jean handed me two grocery bags of food. “Go go, you know where they belong. Molly! How are you, so good to see you.”
The yellow plastic brushed along the ground as I fought with the weight to get it into the kitchen in one piece. Adam and I spent the next fifteen minutes dragging yellow bags inside as Mom put on tea and Dad changed out of his robe. I loved visitors.
“Dave, how’s work, keeping you busy?” Uncle Bruce outstretched a firm hand.
“Doesn’t need to. I got four kids at home to do that for me.”
Uncle Bruce smirked at the comment. “Yea, Jean is about ready to pop any day now.” He rubbed his middle section. “Can’t wait to meet the little guy.”
“Mmm.” Dad chugged the last of his coffee.
“I can’t believe how tall Adam is getting,” Uncle Bruce continued. “Where’s Thomas? I must have missed him when we walked in.”
Dad didn’t even try and guess. “Brooke, go find Thomas.”
A statement more than a demand. Thomas had spent most of his day out front yesterday poking ants with a safety pin, so I had a pretty good idea of where he was. I left the chatter of the kitchen and pushed open the front door.
Alyssa was walking up to the house as I let my eyes adjust to the sun. We had a bet going on how many people were living in the blue house three houses from mine. Last time we counted there had been over twelve people. This time I was betting on at least fifteen and Alyssa thought maybe there would be eighteen.
“Spanish families live like that, all of them together,” Alyssa taught me, “This way they have more money and more people to do the chores.”
“Ohhh,” I nodded. “Maybe that’s what my parents are trying to do, keep having kids, make a Spanish family.”
“Maybe,” Alyssa said. “Aren’t you Irish?”
Slurpee’s from 7-11 were riding on our bet, and I was expecting an update. My quest to find Thomas was forgotten and we paid little mind to the police car that pulled up in front of the house. Then I noticed that Thomas was sitting teary eyed in the back.
The police man was tall and brushed the sweat off his forehead as he went around to the passenger side to fetch him. He opened the door and said something in a lowered voice. My throat tightened.
“Is that..?” Alyssa asked, staring through the summer sun. She strained her neck to get a better view of the kid sitting in the back seat. A piece of hair fell from her ponytail and she tucked it behind her ear, her eyes never leaving the street.
“I think…Ohhhh no, that’s THOMAS!” Alyssa gushed, wide eyes shooting towards me.
“Something’s wrong,” I said, heading toward the house to get mom.
“Yea something’s wrong. Thomas is in the back of a cop car. Where’s his bike? Didn’t he ride his bike to 7-11? Hey, where you goin’?” Alyssa’s voice trailed behind me.
I had already reached the front door and was pulling it open before I could answer. I knew that look on Thomas’ face. He wasn’t in trouble, I knew. Something had happened to him. I knew when Adam was about to cry, and when Kat was scared. The amount of time I spent with them, watching over them, it was like I could read their minds now.
I spared Mom the rush of panic that was bound to set in and gushed out before she could process what I said, “Thomas is outside in a cop car! Come quick!”
Panicked voices, mainly Aunt Jean’s, followed behind me as I turned on my heel to head back outside. “What? Thomas? What are you talking about?” The only footsteps I didn’t hear following were Dad’s.
I opened the front door and almost fell off the front step in a flurry of curiosity. If I stood far enough on the edge of the house I would be able to listen to their conversation without Mom telling me to go inside. I chose a place under the boy’s bedroom window and sat on the ground, putting my finger to my lips in a non-verbal cue for Alyssa to keep quiet.
Thomas had been crying. Luminous trails where tears slid down his dirty face reflected in the sun. Mom had buzzed his hair yesterday and his white scalp was bright against the sun. At eight years old he was only a year younger but he had at least fifteen pounds on me. He kept his head down but the second he saw Mom he broke down into a fit of sobbing.
“Are you okay? Thomas what happened?”
“Ma’m, are you this boy’s mother?” The officer stood in front of my mom, nodding his heads in Thomas’ direction.
“What’s going on?” Mom demanded. Her eyes revealed no room for patience.
“Ma’m a clerk from the 7-11 called 9-1-1 because they saw your son get assaulted. Two teenage boys held a knife to your son’s throat for his bike. They got away on it, and a good Samaritan tried to follow them, but they had a truck on the corner and they threw the bike into the back and took off.”
I turned towards Alyssa and her eyes were as wide as mine.
“I’m sorry.” Thomas sobbed while wringing his hands in his shirt. “I’m sorry they took my bike, Mom.”
“How many times have I told you that you go to the store with someone? See what happens? You think you can just go anywhere? Well, you CAN’T.”
At this point several neighbors had gathered outside. They pretended to water dead flowers on their porch or sweep, anything to have a reason to be outside at just this moment.
“Ma’m,” the policeman tried again, “Your son was just assaulted. Would you like us to escort you to the hospital, have him checked out?”