in touch since Christopher had left the hospital. When his deputies found nothing in the woods, the sheriff made sure to call her. And before she put the offer in on the house, she made sure to call him. Christopher’s safety came first. The sheriff did his due diligence, and after combing the last decade of police reports, he assured her that the house was safe. The neighborhood was safer. But if she’d like, he’d walk the area with her to make triple sure.
“Not necessary,” she said, much to his disappointment. “But if you want to come on moving day, I’m buying the pizza.”
Deal.
All day, Kate watched Christopher and his friends try to act like real men. When the sheriff helped her carry in the new furniture (from the outlet mall), the four boys were there to volunteer. When Big Eddie stopped to have his beer, they stopped to have their lemonade. And when the house was done, and Big Eddie fired up the grill to cook his famous “pancake dogs” to “wash down” the pizza, the boys studied his technique with a trained eye and listened to him talk to the sheriff and nodded along as they pretended to be grown men.
After all, Eddie was the only father any of them had known in a couple of years.
And the sheriff was the sheriff.
When their feast was over, the family of friends said their good-nights. Sage and Virginia promised to swing by that week to help Kate clean. Betty promised to swing by to help her drink and watch them clean. Big Eddie said that if she ever needed any hardware to fix the usual first-month-in-a-new-house pain-in-the-ass problems, he’d help out. And Christopher told his friends he’d see them all Monday.
The sheriff was the last to go.
“It was nice of you to come and help, Sheriff,” she said, shaking his hand.
The sheriff nodded, then turned his eyes to the floor. He shuffled his feet like a middle school kid, and his words suddenly sounded as if his chest was beating like a ball in a racquetball court.
“Yeah, well. I know what it’s like to move to a new place and have no one pitch in. I only came from the Hill District a year ago.”
She nodded. And he swallowed. And he tried.
“Mrs. Reese…have you been to Primanti Brothers yet? It’s a real Pittsburgh institution.”
“No.”
“Can I take you?”
Maybe not as elegant as he’d planned. But there it was.
She looked at him. This big bear of a man who suddenly looked small. She had known enough bad men in her life to recognize a good one when she saw one. But she wasn’t ready. Not even close. Not after Jerry.
“Give me some time, Sheriff,” she said.
That seemed to be enough for him.
“I have plenty of that, Mrs. Reese,” he said, smiling. “Good night.”
With that, he walked to his car. Kate stood on the porch and watched him drive away through the first few drops of rain. Then, she went inside her very first house and locked the door.
As she listened to the rain pitter-pat the roof, she walked up her very own stairs to her son’s bedroom. Christopher was already in his pajamas, curled up in bed, reading Robinson Crusoe. Mrs. Henderson recommended the book after Christopher loved Treasure Island so much.
Kate couldn’t believe how far he had come with his reading in the past month. His math, too. He had started preschool shortly after his father died. After struggling for so long, he was finally thriving. So, maybe his early learning problems had as much to do with stress as anything. Whatever it was, she promised herself to get Mrs. Henderson and Ms. Lasko extra-special gifts at Christmas.
Those women were miracle workers.
She sat next to him and read a few lines over his shoulder, tucking his hair behind his ear. She looked around his bedroom at the two things she’d promised to get him with the lottery money.
The first was a bookshelf.
This didn’t come from an outlet mall or IKEA, either. Oh, no. For her son’s first real bookshelf, she had combed all over town until she found a lovely antiques shop. She said he could have any he wanted. There were beautiful ones. Oak. Pine. Cedar. But instead, Christopher picked out an old one covered with this ridiculous duck wallpaper. It was the bookshelf equivalent of Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree.
“You can have any bookshelf you want. Why do you want that one, honey?” she asked.