Reunion at Red Paint Bay - By George Harrar Page 0,12
His clothes weren’t torn. He didn’t look like he’d been in a fight at all, which made Simon feel a little proud. Apparently he had gotten the best of it. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Yes, Simon thought, say yes for once in your life. “What happened?” Davey kicked at the gravel in the driveway. Simon looked up at the officer.
“Why don’t you send him inside and we can talk?”
“Go in and wash up for dinner, Davey. You’re late, and you had Mom worried.”
“It’s nothing serious,” Daly said as the youngster trudged across the lawn. “I was driving by the bandstand and saw a scuffle going on. I separated the kids and thought it best if I brought Davey home.”
“Is the other boy okay?”
Daly rubbed his hands over his face. “Actually, it was a girl.”
“A girl?”
“Tina Squires. She’s a pretty big girl, I’ll say that. She could have hurt him if she’d landed a punch.”
Simon tried to picture the scene. “You’re telling me my son was fighting with a girl?”
The policeman nodded. “Seems she called him a little shrimp.”
That was, Simon figured, the worst insult that could be hurled at the second-smallest boy in his class. And not just from a girl, but from Tina, his girlfriend.
“Kids can be cruel,” Daly said, “that hasn’t changed since I grew up. Still …”
“Yes,” Simon said, “still.”
Simon stared at the rack of summer shirts in his closet. He reached for a green-striped one, which he often wore to the office, then slipped it back on the hanger. He pulled out a blue linen, his going-out-to-dinner-with-Amy shirt, and held it up. “Is this dressy enough or too dressy?”
She leaned on his shoulder to steady herself putting on a shoe. “It’s dinner at the River View in Bath. A sweatsuit is too dressy.”
He returned the blue linen and took out a basic black cotton shirt. “This guy might be bringing a camera to capture the moment when he hands me a thousand-dollar check for something I did for him. I’d like to look sharp for that.”
He put on the shirt, and she licked her finger and rubbed at a spot on the front. “I still wish you’d change your mind.”
“If someone was planning to shoot at me, they wouldn’t have to lure me to Bath to do it. They could drive down Mechanic Street and fire away at me through the window.”
“That makes me feel better.”
He pulled her toward him and felt the whole shape of her pressed against him. He loved her firmness, nothing frail or brittle about her. She wouldn’t break easily, but she did worry. “I really don’t need a bodyguard,” he said.
“If you go, I go.”
Simon picked up the car keys from the hall table and called upstairs, “We’re leaving, Davey.”
The boy jumped out at the top of the steps as if hiding there. “See ya,” he said, then pushed in his earbuds. Amy motioned for him to pull them out.
“Check the back door for Casper in a little while and feed her the soft food when she comes in.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“And remember, you’re grounded.”
“I remember.”
“We’re going to the River View Restaurant up in Bath. I left my cell number on the kitchen table if you need us.”
“I know your cell, Mom.”
“If you have any problem, just go next door to the Benedettis’. They’re always home.”
“I thought I was grounded.”
“If there’s an emergency, we’ll suspend that so you can go over there. I put some chicken nuggets in the microwave for you. Just heat them for two minutes.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t forget …”
Simon took her arm. “You almost done with the reminders?”
“Almost.” She looked upstairs to give her last instruction, but Davey was gone.
On the long, winding road to Bath, Simon imagined the moment opening the door to the River View. All eyes would turn toward him, everyone let in on the surprise. He would survey the crowd, face to face, until one would stand out. He’d point and laugh—“You? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Then it would all come back to him, the gesture he had made that seemed so small at the time but became a life-changing act.
Amy fished in her pocketbook and pulled out lipstick. “You think we were too hard on Davey?”
“Too hard? He hit a girl on the Common. A girl.”
Amy applied the lipstick. “He says he only shoved her, and he was provoked.”
“He still can’t be shoving girls around.”
“Shoving boys is okay?”
“In some circumstances, yes, I’d say shoving boys is an appropriate response to a provocation.”
“I assume you didn’t tell him