really have. Last night I didn’t hear anything coming from the vents and there wasn’t any scratching at the window. It was quiet. Too quiet. Now I’m afraid I did something wrong and he won’t come back.
Beth Crow
Tuesday, April 17, 2018
I sit at the kitchen table, a lighter, a pack of cigarettes, a cup of coffee and a pocket-size can of pepper spray in front of me. I’ve been sitting here for hours watching in case whoever spray-painted our house comes back. When the sun finally comes up, I still can’t bring myself to move from this spot. I pick up the pack of cigarettes, tap one out and roll it around in my fingers. I haven’t smoked a cigarette since I found out I was pregnant with Violet, haven’t even craved them until I found the half-smoked pack and lighter in the pocket of Max’s jacket. I can’t even be mad at him.
I started smoking when I was in ninth grade and didn’t stop until I was in my midtwenties. I just was hoping he would be smarter than I was. I don’t even plan on saying anything to him about it. I suppose it’s the least of our worries.
As for the pepper spray, I bought it years ago after my purse was stolen while I was walking with Max and Violet through a mall parking lot. It was the middle of the day; we had just been to a movie and stepped out into sunshine, intense after the darkened theater. Max was doing an uncanny imitation of Jim Carrey and Violet and I were laughing. A man swept by, brushing roughly against my shoulder. Excuse me, he said apologetically and kept moving, taking my purse with him.
He was gone before I realized what happened. I lost my ATM card, my credit cards, my driver’s license and a bit of cash. Thank God I had my car keys in my hand at the time. After calling the police and filing a report I drove to the nearest Walmart and bought the pepper spray and clipped it onto my key chain.
I don’t know if it even works anymore but it makes me feel a bit better having it within arm’s reach.
Boomer whimpers from the top of the steps. Violet begged to have him sleep with her last night and his short legs and round belly make it impossible to manage the stairs on his own. My arms and shoulders ache from carrying him up and down the steps.
I sigh and push my chair back from the table but before I stand Max materializes from his bedroom. He is barefoot and wearing his favorite Star Wars T-shirt, fraying and thin from hundreds of washings, and an old pair of sweatpants that are an inch too short. With his tangle of black curls, he looks much younger than his sixteen years. “I’ve got him,” Max says, stifling a yawn.
I glance at the clock on the microwave. Eight thirty. Officer Grady will be here at nine. Grady wanted me to bring Violet to the station so he could interview her but I told him no way. That Violet got way too upset when she was there. He finally agreed that he would come to the house in the morning.
I made him promise not to upset Violet and he made me promise to keep my mouth shut while he asked the questions. He didn’t say it quite like that but I got the gist. He also promised to have an officer drive by the house a few times during the night to make sure that no one was sneaking around. That made me feel a bit better but I still slept with my pepper spray under my pillow.
I just have time to get Violet up and dressed and give her breakfast before Officer Grady arrives. I meet Max at the bottom of the steps. Boomer is cradled in his arms and I can’t help but smile at the sight. “Officer Grady will be here in a half an hour. Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll make you some toast.”
He grimaces and carefully lowers Boomer to the floor. “Do I have to be here?” he asks.
“I think you should,” I say and reach up to brush an unruly curl out of his eyes and he pulls his head back. “There’s no school and don’t you want to find out what’s going on?”
“I guess.” He shrugs and opens the front door to let the