Monday 6:57 A.M.
Before going downstairs Paul tapped on Brian’s bedroom door. He’d heard the boy’s shower earlier.
“Yeah.” Brian’s voice sounded muffled.
Paul entered. Paul noticed the room had been cleaned. Everything was neat and in its place. There were no dirty clothes on the floor, dust on any surface, or crumbs piled in the corners. All clear indications that his son was very upset. His son wore silk boxers as he dried his hair with a large, fluffy beach towel.
Paul said, “You okay this morning? You don’t have to go to school if you don’t want.”
“Thanks. I’ll go.”
His son wasn’t meeting his eyes. After carefully folding the towel and placing it neatly on a chair, another unheard of activity, the boy pulled on jeans, socks, shoes, and a T-shirt.
“You need to talk about what happened?” Paul asked.
“I’m good.”
“You’re sure? You don’t save someone’s life every day.”
“I kinda really don’t want to talk about it. I did what anybody would have done. It’s no big deal.”
“Are you going to go see him or talk to him?”
“I don’t know.” Brian examined himself in the mirror above his dresser, nodded to himself as if he thought what he saw was satisfactory, said, “I gotta get moving.” He grabbed two books from his desk. He glanced quickly at his dad then looked away.
They left the room. Paul noted that his son did not bound down the stairs as he usually did.
Paul was tired. Work had been many hours of overtime. That plus the emotion of dealing with the attempted suicide and his son’s continuing upset were taking a toll on him. Through the front window he saw that a light rain had begun to fall. The weather forecast predicted steady showers developing during the morning.
Ben was in the kitchen with Jeff. The younger boy was using his crutches to maneuver from refrigerator, to stove, to table.
As they did every weekday morning, the Turner household had breakfast together. Paul insisted on them having at least this one meal together every day. Each week one of them took turns cooking. Jeff was on duty this week as he would be for the next as well as part of his punishment for telling his older brother to go to hell. This morning he’d made reasonably simple French toast with strawberries.
Brian ate only a small bowl of strawberries and drank no odd concoctions, made no comments about his brother’s cooking, and said little. All were odd. Usually they couldn’t fill him up or shut him up. Today, he rarely met the eyes of other family members.
At one point Jeff said, “It’s all over the Internet about you saving Shane.” Jeff seemed to be bursting with pride.
Brian said, “Thanks.” No teasing, no retorts, no details about the story.
Paul knew several things must be going on. Brian had to be still processing what happened. And what was proper teenage behavior the morning after you saved a friend’s life? And the feeling that nagged at Paul was that he suspected he didn’t have the full story.
After Jeff and his wheelchair were aboard his special needs bus, Paul returned to the house. Brian came down the stairs. They both stopped in the living room. Brian met and held Paul’s gaze for the first time that morning.
Brian said, “Gotta go.” But as he passed Paul, he grabbed his dad and flung his arms around him and held him tightly. As Paul returned the embrace, Brian whispered, “I love you, dad.”
Paul hugged him and said, “I love you, son.” His athletic son was now taller than he was. Visions of holding his boy when he was a baby sleeping in his arms flashed in Paul’s mind. He wished he could always keep the boy as safe and secure as he had then. And then the hug was over and the boy was out of the house.
He found Ben in the kitchen and helped with the final tidying up. He told Ben about the embrace. Paul finished, “Something is still wrong. I’m afraid we don’t have the full story.”
“We’ll just have to see. I wonder if their plans for the Prom have changed?”
“Maybe they haven’t thought that far ahead. Shane might still be planning on going. We’ll have to see what Brian says.”
Ben headed for the shop. Paul often caught a few more hours of sleep on those mornings during the weeks when he worked the late shift. He was too restless today. He tidied up their bedroom, put in a load of laundry, tossed a pile of newspapers into the trash, spent an hour with bills and email. He emailed his parents in Florida several paragraphs of news about the boys and the neighborhood. He included a description of the events of the night before. His parents still had a lot of connections in the neighborhood and would find out about what happened. Better they hear it from him first.
He stopped at Rose Talucci’s for a moment.
She asked, “Is Brian okay?”
“It’s a lot for him to get used to.”
“He did right without thinking. Like his dad.”
Paul blushed at the complement. He said, “Thanks for your help with the Cardinal.”
She gave him a grim smile. “Just let me know if he gives you the materials you wanted and if they help.”
He thanked her again.
Before he left for Area Ten, he walked over to Ben’s because he liked to see the man he loved before he left for work. Already by ten-thirty in the morning Ben smelled of grease and sweat. Paul loved it, hugged and kissed him, and left for Area Ten headquarters. He was going in early because of all the pressure coming down on them because of the Kappel case. He also needed to use one of the loaner cars from the shop. Ben said he’d send one of his workers over to get Paul’s car from the Area Ten parking lot and that Paul could use the loaner for as long as it took.
As he got in the car to head to work, his cell phone rang. It was Ian.
“You should get here.”
“Where’s here?” Turner asked.
“I’m at The Last Gasp and Gulp Coffee House next to the El at Ravenswood and Montrose. There are some people here who want to talk to you.”
“Who?”
“I’ve got Graffius along with my buddy from the Order. Tresca is expected.”
“I should call Fenwick.”
“You can do that, but I wouldn’t suggest bringing him. This is a skittish bunch. They’re willing to talk, kind of sort of. You better hurry.”