Jake did not like being lectured like a delinquent father, and had to bite down hard to keep from arguing that Cole had plenty of adult supervision, that his problems had more to do with his search to find himself in this world than lack of supervision. “Yes, sir,” he said tightly.
The judge had a lecture for Cole, too, telling him he would attend group counseling sessions once a week as well as drug counseling sessions until a date was set in juvenile court to dispose of the case against him. “I’m warning you, son, if you don’t do exactly as I tell you, you are most certainly not going to like what we have in store for you. Mr. Perez, will you please set this young man up in the counseling classes I have ordered?” he asked, then looked at Jake. “Thank you for coming down, Mr. Manning,” he said, dismissing him.
Jake waited another two hours for Cole to be processed out, angry that he had lost almost a day’s worth of work, angrier that Cole had gotten himself into this mess. It was so damned frustrating—he wanted to take him and shake him until he heard some sense rattling around in there. He wished there was some magical projector that could make Cole look at his future if he kept on this path. Lord, the child was only fourteen.
He stood around, growing angrier. But when Cole came shuffling out of detention hall, he approached Jake warily, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes downcast. He looked alone and frightened as he came to stand in front of Jake. And by some divine miracle, all the feelings of anger suddenly flowed out of Jake—he suddenly felt nothing but compassion for Cole, empathy for the harrowing day he had been through, sympathy for the rotten hand fate had dealt him. He looked Cole up and down. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” the boy answered quietly, still unable to look up.
Jake put his arm around his shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get a burger, you want to? I’ve had a hankering for a burger for a couple of days now.”
Astonished, Cole peeked up, warily assessing Jake. But he nodded cautiously, and more importantly, didn’t try to escape Jake’s loose embrace as they walked out of juvenile hall.
Chapter Twenty-six
Evan was resourceful, Robin would give him that. Just as she guessed, he refused to ride in Bob’s truck and instead got on his cell phone. A used-car dealership delivered a 1985 pink Cadillac for their use for the day at a price they obviously could not refuse.
As they drove down the two-lane road toward the Wirt warehouses, Robin could see David outside under a cottonwood, strapped to his wheelchair, sitting next to a woman who was quietly reading a book.
“That’s David,” Robin informed Evan. “He’s Girt’s son.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Cerebral palsy. He apparently needs round-the-clock care, which is why Girt wants to sell the business.”
“Ah,” said Evan, as if that was significant somehow. “That’s good to know. It might come in handy.”
Puzzled, Robin glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“Just that it’s information we can use in the negotiations.”
“Wait . . . you wouldn’t use her son’s condition against her,” she said incredulously.
Evan laughed. “Of course not! Come on, let’s go. If you want to get back tonight, we need to wrap this up.” He was out of the car before she could say anything.
Robin followed, pausing to say hello to David, who half grinned up at her. Girt was waiting for them inside, her hair occupying two zip codes that muggy morning, and her black jeans, as usual, painted on her thin body. Robin instantly grinned. “Girt! How’s it going?”
“Oh, I can’t complain,” Girt said, flashing her yellow teeth. “Nothing hurts or won’t work, so I guess it’s a good day, ain’t it?” she asked and punched Robin playfully in the arm. She turned to Evan, stuck out a hand with fingernails gnawed to the quick. “Eldagirt Wirt. But you can call me Girt.”
“Girt,” Evan said. “Is there somewhere we might talk?”
“You bet.” She pointed to one of the overstuffed offices on the perimeter of the warehouse. As they started in that direction, she tapped Robin’s arm. “Guess what? Remember that nursing service I was telling you about? I talked to ‘em last week, and they think they have a woman in Burdette who can care for David. Whoever she was staying with died. Now, I have to provide her room and board and all that, but it’s definitely a maybe.”
“That’s great!” Robin said genuinely. It was huge for Girt to have found someone, she knew—Burdette was too small and too poor to keep qualified medical help in town, and Girt had confided that she might have to move to Baton Rouge to get David the care he needed—a possibility that had Bob in obvious distress.