They walk out together. Jewel between him and David John, holding each of their hands and talking nonstop. The adrenaline from the game has worn off, and Jessup is starting to feel sore. He’s got turf burn on his left forearm, a decent bruise on his right thigh, and the general sense that when he wakes up tomorrow morning he’ll know that he played football the night before.
The Cortaca PD cruiser is double-parked outside of the entrance. David John goes stiff as soon as he sees it. The reaction of a man who is afraid of going back to jail, Jessup thinks.
The car is running and there’s a single cop, a woman who Jessup hasn’t seen before, sitting in the passenger seat. She’s young and good-looking. A lesbian, he figures, with her short hair. Why else would she want to be a cop?
“Excuse me.” The voice behind them is bright and cheerful and, as they part, a cop brushes past them.
No, he doesn’t brush, Jessup thinks. The cop waddles. He’s five ten, five eleven, but he’s shaped like a beach ball. There’s a layer of hardness under the fat, but Jessup can’t imagine this cop running a mile in under ten minutes or doing push-ups or passing any fitness test. He’s carrying a paper takeout sack and holding a drink tray with three drinks on it. Three drinks? Two milkshakes and a soda, Jessup realizes, and then wonders if the fat cop is going to drink both shakes or if one of them is for the woman.
The cop smiles at them as he walks by and nods at Jewel. “You all have a good night, now. Drive safe with this snow.”
The four of them stay still for a minute, watching him lever himself into the car, the cruiser settling on its springs a bit as his weight hits the front seat. When the car pulls away, they move again. Jessup wonders if he held his breath. His mother touches David John on the back of his neck. “You okay?” she says.
“Just skittish. I’m sorry. It’s not going to be like this every time I see a cop,” David John says quietly.
“I know.” His mom might be trying not to cry, or she might just be happy. Jessup can’t tell, but she steps into her husband and hugs him, nestling her face against his neck. “I’m just so tired of all of it, you know?”
Jessup looks away.
Jewel is starting to crash already by the time she’s in the backseat of the car and buckled up. Jessup’s mom takes the passenger seat, leaving David John to do the driving.
David John pauses a second before getting in the car, looking up at the sky, letting the snow drift down on him. Jessup looks up, too. He loves watching the white kiss through the parking lot’s lights.
“We’ll have to do something about your mom’s car. Work van is no good for taking the family out, and your mom’s car ain’t exactly suited for the snow. A good SUV, or a pickup with an extended cab. I’ll ask around at church and see if anybody’s looking to sell and willing to work out some financing until we’re back on our feet.” He turns to Jessup and offers his hand.
It’s an odd thing for Jessup. He can’t remember ever shaking David John’s hand. He knows that’s the way with some families, but David John’s always been affectionate with Jessup and Ricky and Jewel. He’s a strict dad, but not in a bad way. Get your work done, do your chores, do the right thing, and there are consequences for talking back or failing to live up to expectations, but he was always quick to pull the kids in for a hug, to wrap an arm around you, always kissing Jessup’s mom. Telling all of them that he loved them.
Jessup shakes David John’s hand. It’s a firm grip, but he’s surprised by how cool his stepfather’s hand feels. They shake, and then David John clasps Jessup’s one hand with both of his and looks him full on. “You’ve turned into a man while I’ve been gone, Jessup.”
“Yes, sir.”
David John is still clasping his hand.
“And I’m proud of you, the way you’ve stepped up. I’m sorry for how much I’ve missed. But it’s good to be home.” He lets go of Jessup’s hand now and then winks. “Enough already. I know you’re itching to see your friends. Go have some fun.”
David John lets the windshield wipers clean off the new snow, and Jessup steps to the back of the car, pulls his gloves out of his jacket pocket, and uses his hands to clear the rear window. Wants to make sure they get home safely. Once the car pulls out, Jessup walks over to his truck and does a good job with the brush, making sure everything is cleaned off. Gets in, peels off his gloves, tosses them onto the passenger seat, pulls out of the parking lot.
He’s been driving a couple of minutes and is just near the edge of campus when he sees the cherries light up in his rearview mirror. A quick blat from the siren.
He pulls over, rolls down the window, and waits.