All at once, the financial ramifications of Trey’s tomfoolery hit me. “Oh, God. The school’s going to sue me for damages. And my car! My insurance premium!” I wanted to howl in anger, but I knew Griffiths was only doing his job and didn’t deserve to be the recipient of my wrath.
“Don’t think about that now,” Griffiths counseled. “What’s important is that none of the kids were hurt. However, you’ll need to come down to the station and sign some forms.”
“But I don’t have another means of transportation,” I told him. “My mother has a pickup truck, but I can’t call her at this time of night. Besides, she lives in Inspiration Valley.” I allowed a bit of ire to rise to the surface. “Maybe Trey should spend some time in a cell until I can find a ride. It would give him a chance to think about what he’s done.”
Griffiths spoke softly. “If it makes you feel better, ma’am, your son is not being charged with driving under the influence. His Breathalyzer test showed him as not having alcohol in his system.”
“Well, I guess I should be grateful for small miracles,” I said with a sigh.
“Trey could face charges of trespassing and the destruction of public property.” Griffiths sounded as though he regretted having to give me more bad news. “Ms. Wilkins, I’m not officially on duty right now, but when I can’t sleep I often tune to the police scanner. When I heard what had happened at the high school, I called the station and learned that Trey was your son. Considering how we met earlier today, I know you’ve already had one hell of a day, so…I wanted to see if I could help in any way. For starters, I could pick you up and bring you to the station.”
I felt a rush of gratitude toward Griffiths. I’d only met him this morning, and yet he was being so kind, so gentle with me. In my hour of need, this veritable stranger was stepping forward as my friend. If he’d been in the room with me at that moment, I would have thrown my arms around his neck and kissed him.
Instead, I thanked Griffiths and asked him to call me Lila henceforth. After I put the phone down, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the framed photograph of seven-year-old Trey on my dresser. He was dressed as a cowboy and wore a faux leather vest and red boots with silver plastic spurs.
Even then, his eyes glimmered with mischief.
A line from The Tale of Peter Rabbit flitted into my head. I picked up the photograph and murmured, “‘But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor’s garden, and squeezed under the gate!’”
I touched my fingertip to the glass protecting the photo as though I was caressing my son’s cute little face. “Oh, Trey. I’m afraid you’ve lost more than a blue jacket with brass buttons this time.”
TEN MINUTES LATER, a dark blue Ford Explorer pulled into my driveway. Officer Griffiths got out and opened the passenger door for me. Looking at his tired face and concerned eyes, I resisted the urge to sag against his broad chest in the hopes he’d wrap his arms around me. Instead, we drove to the Dunston Police Department in silence.
Inside the station, our footsteps echoed on the tiled floor. Vacillating between anger and anxiety, I searched for Trey. In the main area, two policemen at steel desks were typing on computers. Behind a counter sat a stern woman in uniform who looked up as we approached, holding out papers. Officer Griffiths handed me a pen and showed me where to sign, then pointed to one of four empty chairs set in a row against a wall.
“Wait here,” he directed, giving my arm a quick squeeze. “I’ll get Trey, and then I’ll drive you both back home.”
“Thank you,” I said, disconcerted at how weak my voice sounded. Lowering myself into the plastic seat, I thought about what to say to Trey. His obstacle course would cost me a fortune. I’d never be able to afford that charming cottage on Walden Woods Circle now. In fact, I’d be lucky to have a dime left to my name once I’d covered the school’s damages and paid Trey’s court costs.
A bark of laughter disrupted my brooding, and I glanced up. The two officers were chuckling at something on a computer screen. Movement in the hall made me turn to see Officer Griffiths and Trey walking toward me. Trey shuffled with his head bent, a mop of shaggy hair obstructing his face. His UNC Tar Heels shirt was covered with dirt and grass stains. I rose from my seat, resisting the urge to hoist up his baggy jeans.
“Trey, what were you thinking?” Despite my resolve to stay calm, my voice blared loudly in the room.
He shrugged. “I dunno.”
Officer Griffiths put his hand on Trey’s shoulder. “Let’s get you two home,” he said, looking at me. “I’m sure you’d rather hash this out in private.”