“Aiden, this instant!” his mom shouted while he continued to walk backward away from me. He rolled his eyes, shrugging playfully before he flashed me one last smile and jogged over to her car. As the car backed up, he sent me another little wave. I stood there for a long time. Part of me couldn’t believe it. Aiden had come over to me. He’d smiled at me. He’d talked to me. At that moment a large cloud moved across the sky to hide the sun, and I shivered with cold again and something more…something sad. I knew it was time to let the Aiden fantasy go. But it hurt.
The next day was a half day, and third period had just started when Mr. Chavez got a call on the phone next to the whiteboard. The room fell silent—the phones never rang unless something awful had happened.
I knew that from personal experience.
After answering, Mr. Chavez muttered softly into the phone, his back to us; then he turned and surveyed the room, his dark gaze stopping on me. With a mocking smile he pointed at me, then toward the door. “Go to the principal’s office, Fynn. There’s a police officer waiting for you.” I could tell he took some pleasure in saying that to me in front of the whole class.
I felt the blood drain from my face. I was so stunned that for several seconds I couldn’t move. “Fynn,” Chavez repeated, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Did you hear me? Get your butt out of that chair and down to the office.”
I could feel all eyes on me, and I knew exactly what they were thinking. I was finally being arrested. I’d be spending Thanksgiving in jail, but I was terrified that the police could also be here to tell me something bad about Ma.
As fast as I could I gathered up my things and hustled out the door. The officer met me at the principal’s office and Mrs. Richardson (2-29-2050), the vice principal, was standing next to him. “Maddie,” she said softly as I hurried over to her. “This is Officer Bigelow. Dear, your mother has been in an accident.”
I looked at the officer (1-17-2062) and cried out, “Is she hurt? Is my mom hurt?!” I was shaking head to toe and I felt like I was about to pass out. I knew Ma wasn’t going to die for another six years, but what if she was injured so bad that she ended up a vegetable or paralyzed or something equally awful?
Officer Bigelow laid a hand on my arm to calm me. “She’s bruised but not broken,” he assured me.
I blinked hard, but the tears still came. God, I was crying at everything these days. “Can I see her?” I asked in a squeaky voice.
“That’s why I’m here,” he said. “Come on. I’ll take you to her.”
Officer Bigelow drove me to the police station, which, ironically, was only a bit down from the FBI offices. Once we were out of the patrol car, he walked me to the elevator and we took that up to the fourth floor. Stepping out into a crowded hallway, I followed him until we reached a wooden door. He opened it and motioned me through. I came out onto an open floor with half a dozen cubicles that looked a lot like the setup at the bureau. “Over here,” he said, leading me over to another door. He opened it for me and allowed me to enter first.
The room was spacious, with a square oak table and several chairs. Sitting in one of them was a female officer, and next to her was my mom, slumped in her chair with her head on her arms, sobbing.
I blinked. This hadn’t been what I’d been expecting. “Ma!” I called out, rushing to her side. But she was so drunk and distraught that she could barely speak.
Belatedly, I noticed that she was in handcuffs. “Madelyn?” the female officer asked me, getting to her feet. “I’m Officer Dunn. I had my partner pick you up. Cheryl says she’s your mom…Is that true?”
“Yes. What happened?”
“She ran a stop sign, and before we could pull her over, she plowed her car into a tree.”
“She was driving?” I’d had no idea she’d taken the car.
Officer Dunn (6-3-2054) nodded. “She was behind the wheel of a black Thunderbird, registered to her and a Scott Fynn.” I winced. That car had been my dad’s pride and joy. “She was muttering when we pulled her from the car,” Dunn continued. “Something about finding money in the cookie jar, and taking the car out to celebrate.”
I put a hand over my mouth. Ma had found the money Donny had given me. “How bad is the car?”
Officer Dunn shook her head. “I’m no insurance adjuster, but I’d say it’s totaled.”
She didn’t have to be an expert. We had no insurance, because with Ma’s record, we couldn’t afford even the most basic policy. “Can you let me take her home?” I thought I might be able to coax Ma onto the bus if Officer Dunn would take pity on us and let Ma go.
“Afraid not,” said Dunn. “Your mom’s going to be staying with us for quite a while.”
I bit my lip and looked at the officer. She had such a look of compassion on her face that it hurt. “It was my fault,” I told her. “Ma never drives, and I was the one who hid the money in the cookie jar.”
The officer shook her head sadly. “Madelyn,” she said, “I’m the daughter of an alcoholic, too. It took me years of therapy and two failed marriages to realize that it’s never our fault. Your mom’s sick. She has a disease, and she needs help.”
I felt a lump form in my throat. “Then let me take her home! I promise, I’ll get her some help!”
But Dunn wasn’t budging. “I’ve asked your mom for your dad’s number, but all she’d give me was your name and where you went to school.”
“My dad’s dead. He died in two thousand four.”
Dunn winced. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry, honey, I didn’t know.”
I wanted so bad for her to give us a break and let Ma go, and I thought maybe she’d feel extra sorry for me if she knew that Dad had also worn blue. “He was Brooklyn PD. He died in a shootout with some drug dealers.”
Officer Dunn eyed me sadly, then turned to look at Ma, who muttered something and shifted in her seat. I could see she had a fat lip and a cut above her cheek, but otherwise she didn’t seem to be physically hurt. Just very, very drunk. Turning back to me, Dunn said, “Yeah, I think I remember that. Let me guess, though: your mom started drinking after your dad died?”
I nodded.
“Mine started right after my grandmother died. They were really close and Mom didn’t know how to deal.”
“There’s nobody else besides us,” I told her, pointing back and forth between me and Ma.
“No grandparents?” she asked.
I shook my head.