to stay out of trouble, leaving him behind to pick out his own damn formula.
Up at the register, I pay for my item and a $50 gift card as well. The cashier makes a side comment about being unaware they were still carrying that brand. She must be surprised this place is selling them so cheap. I smile and tell her I was happy to get a good deal. She seems uncomfortable so I don’t engage her further.
“So,” I address the cashier after she rings me up. “This gift card is for the teenage kid that walked in a few minutes ago. His name is Joe. He’s got blond hair.” The cashier just stares at me like I’m speaking a foreign language, so I lean in to emphasize my point.
“Tell him someone left this behind and use it to pay for his purchase, and then give it to him. Tell him you can’t tell him how much is on it but he can call that number on the back.” And she just continues to stare at me. “Okay?” I ask, a little annoyed at her ineptitude.
“You don’t want me to tell him it’s from you?” she asks, finally catching on. I shake my head no.
“My name is Officer Bradley Patrick, so I urge you to take this seriously. Make sure he leaves with that card.” I walk off, hoping she does as I ask. I’d hate to have to come back with my badge, not that it can really do anything.
In my car, I watch and wait for Joe to leave the store. He looks lighter, relieved. His eyes scan the parking lot looking for me, but I’m without my truck so he doesn’t find me. I know he knows the gift card is from me. A genuine smile crosses his face and he walks home, I hope feeling just a little better about his day.
I think about Joe and the other kids at the Boys & Girls Club whom I’ve met over the years. Colleen used to volunteer as a big sister before she started at the firm and got too busy for all of us from the neighborhood. She used to be really something special, she still is, but I hadn’t seen it in a while. If there’s one positive outcome to this marriage it’s that my old Colleen is coming back little by little. I remember the day she told me she was going to Harvard. I didn’t understand. She’d spent two years at the community college and then got into state and from there, Harvard for grad school. I didn’t really understand why she would want to be a lawyer, but then she told me, and I couldn’t help but support her. She wanted to be able to help kids like Joe, like all of them at the club. She wanted to work in family law. I don’t know when things changed, but they did. She became more concerned with the almighty dollar and her reputation and appearance than she was actually helping people.
James, Colleen and I started volunteering back in high school. Our dads always made sure we knew how lucky we are. My time with the kids has dropped dramatically since the Vegas trip as I’ve been distracted with the old lady; and work hasn’t been easy, either. Those stupid college kids and their “study aids” have been keeping me pretty busy. Just as I walk into the house, I resolve to spend more time at the center. I wonder if Colleen will come with me or if she hasn’t come back to herself as much as I think she has.
Upstairs, Colleen is sitting in the center of our bed, chewing her bottom lip right off. She’s wearing one of my old t-shirts-- her favorite night wear-- and her long blonde hair is down and damp. She picks up a water bottle, takes a gulp and then squirms in place. I chuckle at the sight. What in the hell is she doing?
“Oh, thank God!” she exclaims, tosses the capped water bottle to the side and jumps up. She grabs the small plastic bag from my hand and rush to the bathroom. In a matter of seconds, I hear the bag crinkle, the box opens, and plastic being ripped apart.
“Took you long enough!” she shouts. I round the corner to find the bathroom door wide open and Colleen peeing on the stick. I walk over to her and pick up the directions as she continues