When he was dressed, she pointed at the book and said, “Do you want to bring that in the car?” He stuck it under his arm and followed her out to the Pacifica, where Isabeau was waiting.
They drove on Highway 177 North to 18 West, ate at Starbucks, then headed toward their final destination.
“There’s the police station, Daltrey, isn’t that cool?” Isabeau said, pointing at the nondescript tan brick--and--glass building.
Isabeau was so good, so natural, with Daltrey, so unlike Nessa before she’d had a child of her own. She wouldn’t have known what to say to someone else’s kid.
“You’ll get to meet some police officers,” Nessa said. “What do you think about that?”
She parked in the west lot and got Daltrey out of his car seat. He smiled and took her hand as they walked into the station. It echoed inside.
There was a female cop at the front desk.
“I can’t remember the name of who I need to talk to,” Nessa said, her voice tremulous as sweat rolled down her sides, tickling. Unlike Isabeau, she’d been brought to a police station in handcuffs more than once. “My name is Nessa Donati, and I’m here to have a cheek swab done on my son. Detective . . .”
Her mind went blank. What was his damned name?
The woman behind the desk smiled encouragingly at her.
“His name starts with T, I think . . .”
“Detective Rob Treloar,” the officer said. “Is that who you need to see?”
Nessa nodded, wiping the rest of her makeup off. Daltrey stared silently up at her.
“Detective Treloar got pulled out on a call, but we can have a tech do it. Have a seat.”
She, Isabeau, and Daltrey went to the waiting area and sat. Daltrey climbed into the chair next to Nessa and held her hand, staring solemnly ahead, like a priest at a wake. She patted his hand and handed him his book. He crossed his legs at the ankle, his feet straight out in front of him, and looked over his book like a little old man reading the New York Times Book Review, licking his index finger to turn the pages like his dad did when reading a magazine. Her breath caught in her throat.
“He is so freaking adorable,” Isabeau said.
Twenty minutes later, a female technician in a lab coat came out and said, “Mrs. Donati?”
Nessa stood and Daltrey followed suit.
“Here for a buccal swab?” she said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t—-”
“Cheek swab. For DNA. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.”
They followed her down a hall. As they walked, she said over her shoulder, “I’m Amanda. We’re in there.” She led them into a small room where she told them to have a seat. While Amanda washed her hands in the stainless steel sink, she said, “What’s your name?”
Daltrey looked at Nessa, who said, “His name is Daltrey.”
“How old are you, Daltrey?”
“He’s three,” Isabeau chimed in.
The tech looked at Nessa suspiciously. “Can’t he talk?”
“No,” Nessa said.
“Oh,” Amanda said. “Sorry.” Then to Daltrey: “Is your mouth empty, honey? You chewing gum, or did you have a snack in the last fifteen minutes?”
He shook his head and opened his mouth to show her.
“Well, he seems to understand what I’m saying.”
“He does,” Nessa said, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain.
“Okay, Daltrey, here’s what’s going to happen. This isn’t going to hurt at all. In fact, it might tickle a little, okay?” She put on gloves. “I need to put these on and a mask to keep everything nice and clean, but it’s still me under here, all right?”
Daltrey nodded, watching her closely.
She slipped the mask on over her nose and mouth, then tore open a paper pouch and carefully removed a long swab.
“Now,” she said, her voice muffled by the mask, “I need to make sure that this swab doesn’t touch anything else besides your mouth, okay? I’m going to need you to open your mouth as big as you possibly can, bigger than you ever did before.”
Isabeau demonstrated by opening her mouth wide.
“Just like she’s doing right now, okay? Can you do that?”
He nodded and opened wide.
“Now I’m going to touch this cotton end to the inside of your cheek and roll it around. I need you to be a big boy and keep your mouth nice and wide until I’m all done. Got it?”
He nodded, his mouth still open.
Amanda gently touched the swab to the inside of Daltrey’s cheek and rotated it for about ten seconds. Nessa could tell that it did indeed tickle, because his nostrils flared and his lips were trying to curve into a smile, but he was brave and held his mouth open. The tech withdrew the swab, taking care not to touch the end to his teeth, lips, or tongue, then placed the swab into a tube, which she then corked with a rubber stopper.
“That’s all there is to it, young man,” she said, removing her mask. “How was that?”
He kissed the fingers of his right hand and slapped it into his left.
“He says, ‘Good,’ ” Nessa explained.
Amanda smiled.
“Any idea why they need a DNA sample?” Nessa said, trying to sound casual.