29
Nothing scares me as much as a spider. I don’t necessarily enjoy the company of a snake, but spindly, creepy, lanky spiders turn me into a screaming lunatic. I dislike them and don’t want them near. And if they are, there’s no reasoning with me.
I woke up around two o’clock in the morning to use the bathroom, flipped on my flashlight, and found at least a thousand of them hanging from the ceiling above my head in the tent. I flung myself out of my sleeping bag, into the yard and ran for the house, determined to stay there the rest of the night. Timmy slept hard, and Aaron snored so loudly I hoped they couldn’t hear me shooting through the night like Haley’s comet.
Goliath, snoozing on the porch, just lifted his bear-sized head at me and gave me a look like, “there she goes again,” dropped his head down, and went back to sleep. It was nice to know I could depend on my troops to protect me.
Around seven in the morning I stepped out of the shower and heard the growl of a few engines come and go. When I looked outside, I saw Truman Bailey, the local donut man, standing at the back of his delivery truck handing Atticus enormous boxes of donuts. I’d been so tired the night before I’d forgotten to ask anyone what they wanted for breakfast.
Lord, what kind of pastor’s wife am I? My hospitality is sorely lacking.
By this time, Timmy was wide awake and ready to dig into the donuts like a steam shovel on nitrous.
“Timmy!” I yelled from the bathroom window. “Rice cakes!”
Thankfully, rice cakes were a part of Timmy’s routine from the beginning of our journey with autism. And since he was a stickler for routine, he easily turned down the donuts and came running. Dried fruit and rice cakes would have to do this morning for Timmy and me.
After I settled Timmy into his breakfast, Aaron came into the house looking like the donut man had run him over with his truck.
“Where are the other boys?” I poured Aaron a cup of coffee and handed it to him.
Aaron greedily sipped from his steaming cup. “Filling up on donuts I imagine. I know Daniel is, I saw sprinkles all over his shirt.” He yawned and scratched his head.
I giggled. Daniel loved sprinkles. “The shower’s all yours. I’m sure you know you’ll have to make it fast—none of the boys are ready yet.”
Aaron stumbled upstairs to his shower, and I wandered out to the front yard to find Daniel and Patrick. Daniel looked like he’d been dunked in a vat of pink frosting.
“Where’s Patrick?” I scanned the yard and didn’t see him anywhere. He loved Bailey’s donuts. It wasn’t like him to miss them.
“Still asleepth,” Daniel spoke through a mouth full of pastry. Little sprinkles shot out of his mouth.
“He can’t be asleep with all of this noise.” I headed toward his tent. “Patrick!” I hollered above his little pup tent and shook it. “C’mon, you need to get up and shower before church.”
I walked back to the house, parked Timmy in the shower, and met Aaron in the bedroom.
“Thought you went to get the boys.” Aaron looked for a shirt in his closet.
“I did. Can you believe Patrick’s still asleep?” I went to the hall closet and found clean underwear and socks for Timmy. We had to keep them locked up, or he’d try all of them on over and over again all day long.
Aaron left to unlock the church and do some last minute preparations for the service.
I helped Timmy with his shower. “Remember, Timmy, armpits. Ten times.”
“Ten times, Mama. 1-2-3-4…” He scrubbed dutifully.
I ran downstairs and found Daniel looking for clean clothes to wear. “There are some shirts hanging in the laundry room.” I looked out the window for Patrick. There was no sign of him. Maybe he was already at the church in the clothes he’d slept in. I threw up my hands. I wouldn’t put it past him.
The boys and I finished getting ready and headed out to the car. “Patrick!” I shouted as lady-like and pastor’s wife-like as I could.
Most of the bikers had already gone up to the church parking lot and were hanging around there. I couldn’t help imagining the looks on people’s faces when they drove into the parking lot today and saw bikers standing around in their parking spots. I cringed at the thought of dealing with Bernice.
As I pulled into the parking lot, my cell phone rang.
“Hello?” I tried not to sound annoyed. I hated phones. Especially when I ran late on Sunday morning.
“Hello, is this Mrs. Donovan?” The woman’s voice sounded terribly official.
“Yes, yes it is.”
“Mrs. Donovan, this is Officer Olson. Do you know a Patrick Donovan?”
My heart stopped. Did I know a Patrick Donovan? Why would someone want to know that?
“He’s my son. Where is he? Is everything all right?” I tried to swallow, but my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“He’s fine, Mrs. Donovan. But he was arrested last night for underage drinking.”
“What?” I planted my hand over my other ear. Surely I heard wrong.
“Yes, and we need a parent here in order to release him.”
“Well, I—I—I can’t right now. I have church. I mean, his father will want to…”
My husband was about to preach. People stood in the doorway waiting for me to come in to greet them, and bikers waited for me in the parking lot to walk in with me.
I couldn’t think straight. No thoughts could come. All I could picture was Patrick sitting alone in a jail cell.
“I don’t have anyone to come get him right now. His father and I are working. Can I send someone in my place?” Was this the right thing to say? To do?
“As long as they are able to sign the papers.” The officer said good-bye.
“Go, Mom. We gotta goooo.” Timmy flipped the car door handle repeatedly.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Daniel helped Timmy out of his seatbelt.
“Nothing for you to worry about, sweetie. Can you help me get Timmy into the church and to his class?” Did my voice sound normal? It felt like my lips moved outside of my head someplace.
“What about Patrick?” Daniel was far too intuitive for a young boy.
I cleared my throat and took a deep breath to steady my voice. “Patrick isn’t here. I’m going to have to pick him up. Go on now. We’re late already.”
To keep from crying on my way into the church, I whispered prayers and tried to breathe. I wanted to tell Daniel to stop staring at me, but I didn’t. Bless him, he knew something was wrong and looked worried.
We maneuvered carefully past all the motorcycles parked in various parking spots. I knew that Norman, Bernice, and some of the others would be upset. “Their” parking places had been taken. Mine hadn’t, of course, because it had a “Pastor” sign on it. Which embarrassed me now. Are people whose kids are in jail allowed to park in the pastor’s parking space?
What was I going to do? I couldn’t leave Patrick sitting in jail—could I? But it was Trace’s first Sunday at church, and how would Aaron handle all the bikers? Where was my duty now?
“C’mon, pastor’s wife. Slap on that old time religion smile and get to it,” I muttered to myself.
“Good morning.” I waved to the bikers standing about the parking lot watching us.
“Mornin’!” They shouted and waved.
Bikers were everywhere: in the foyer, on the steps, in the sanctuary, the nursery, and when I went downstairs, there were more bikers in the fellowship hall sipping coffee and munching on donuts. Most of the church regulars mingled with the bikers, talking excitedly and welcoming them. But there were other members who were clearly annoyed and avoiding the entire scene.
Thankfully, the first people I saw when I went downstairs were Trace and Reba visiting with Lily, Opal, and Atticus.
“Good morning.” Atticus smothered me in a powerful Sasquatch hug.
“Good morning,” I murmured and looked down at the ground.
“We know all about it,” Reba whispered in my ear.
“About Patrick? But how?”
“The whole church knows, hon.” Lily took a sip of her coffee.
“How do you know?”
Opal squeezed my hand. “Because Bernice knows. And if Bernice knows, well, then.”
I took my hand out of Opal’s and held it up. If Bernice knew, the entire town knew, because she had the gift of spreading news faster than the Emergency Broadcast System.
“But how can she know? Aaron doesn’t even know yet.” I struggled to swallow more tears.
“Her great-nephew is on the force, remember?” Opal rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Of course. Bernice was related to nearly everyone in town.
“I don’t understand how it could have happened. Where’d he get the beer?” I looked up at the ceiling tiles and noticed a penny stuck in one of them. What a strange thing to take note of at a time like this.
Atticus leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Apparently he stole it out of one of the biker’s coolers. I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again on my watch. I told everyone this was a no-alcohol event, but we have a few rebels in the bunch.”
A few rebels in a bunch of bikers? I wanted to giggle at the irony but wasn’t in the mood. “It’s not your fault, Patrick knows better than to steal. Or drink. I don’t know what I should do. Aaron is going to be overwhelmed with all the visitors today, but the police called and asked me to come get Patrick, and I can’t just send someone else up there to get him.”
“What is your heart telling you to do?” Reba placed a hand on my shoulder.
Unwelcome tears spilled out of my eyes and landed on my blouse.
Atticus wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “We’ll take you. C’mon. I have a friend who’s a lawyer in Indianapolis. I’ll tell him your situation, and he’ll help you out. He owes me a favor.”
I looked up into his clear blue eyes. “Lately, you’re always bailing me out, Atticus. I don’t know how to thank you.” I sobbed, and Atticus wrapped his burly tattooed arms around me again and rested his chin on my head.
One of Bernice’s friends, Mrs. Cole, saw me in the biker’s arms and shot up the stairs like a Bernice-seeking missile.
I stopped crying and tried to get my thoughts together. I inched out of Atticus’s bear hug. Tears weren’t going to help things right now. “Reba, can you tell Aaron an emergency has come up, but don’t tell him what it is until after the service?”
Reba winked at me. “You got it, Sugar.”
“And can you keep an eye on Daniel and Timmy for me, too?”
Trace patted my shoulder. “No problem. You just go on and do what you gotta do. We’ll be fine.”
I gave Trace a quick hug. “Aw, Trace, I hate missing your first Sunday. I’m truly sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad to be here. I’ll be back.” He gave me a nod.
Atticus took me under one arm and Opal under the other and ushered us out the door so quickly not a soul noticed us leaving.
I don’t think there’s anything quite as humbling as walking into a police station to claim your child. I felt like a neon sign hung over my head blinking: BAD MOTHER. Where did I go wrong? How did my precious baby end up here?
I pictured the little boy who collected worms in his pockets and said his bedtime prayers every night from the time he could talk. Where was the little boy who rejoiced over new additions to his rock collection and chased me with spiders? Oh! How I missed him!
What would I say to him? What would he say to me? How should I act? Should I be angry? Should I not speak to him? Scold him? Wait until we get home and put on a united front with his father?
“Mrs. Donovan?” A female officer spoke to me from behind a glass window.
“Yes?” I felt like someone in a stranger’s movie. This was not me standing here in a police station, scared and helpless.
“Your son will be coming through those doors right over there in just a few minutes. I need you to sign this, and here are his personal effects.”
She handed me an envelope with Patrick’s watch and class ring. I signed the paper and turned toward the doors to see a pale, disheveled young man resembling my son walking toward me.
“Oh, Mom.” He fell into my arms, sobbing. “I’m sorry. Thanky-you for coming to get m-me. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry.”
“Shhhhh.” I stroked his hair. “Shhhhh.”
I held my son in my arms.
All was right with the world.