Authors: Lauraine Snelling
Judge Kittles was a woman, but she had a remarkably commanding presence. She wore neither robes nor a fearsome judge face, and she sat at ease, eye level with Dinah. Why a judge now? Why not a court date somewhere in the interminable future? Dinah knew nothing about how this all worked. Her lack of familiarity with the process was almost as bad as the process itself.
Dinah noticed then that judge’s chin was lighted. Instead of the traditional blotter, her desktop had a big glass window with, no doubt, a computer monitor below it. She moved a wireless mouse around with her right hand.
The judge studied Jonah a long moment. She looked at Dinah. “He’s not been in trouble before, is that correct?”
“That is correct. Except: an hour ago, the school principal told me that there was some sort of skirmish last Friday. She passed it off as normal acting out. He lost his mother very recently.”
The judge nodded. “Let me explain briefly. Quite a few children go through the system, even in a city this small. If the child is a repeat offender—one of our frequent flyers, if you will—we deal with him or her in the usual formal manner: formal charge, arraignment, court date. If it is a child without any prior record who goes afoul of zero tolerance or another standard policy, we try to handle the case quickly and send them back out the door.”
“I see.” Actually, for once Dinah did see.
The judge looked at Jonah. “So you brought a knife today to protect yourself, right? Possibly to stab the child you argued with last week.”
“No, ma’am. I didn’t think of that.” Jonah’s voice was nearly a whisper.
“Then why did you put a knife in your backpack?”
“To cut my apple up and peel it. My mommy always peeled my apples when I took my lunch and I didn’t let Dinah do that ’cause, ’cause…” His lower lip quivered.
“You didn’t want her to peel your apple because…” the judge prompted.
Jonah murmured, “Because she doesn’t do things right, like my mommy did.”
Dinah’s heart thumped.
“I see. And your mommy can’t do those things for you any longer.”
“She went to live with Jesus and I want her to come back, but Dinah said she can’t and I know that, but I still want her to.”
The judge sat back a bit, nodding, apparently mulling this. “And you were angry at Dinah?”
Jonah nodded, tears meandering down his cheek, one at a time.
“Tell me about this confrontation with your classmate; the principal’s notes call it a shoving match. Tell me about that.”
Jonah shrugged. “He took my picture so I pushed him away and grabbed it back, but it ripped and I wanted to give it to Dinah ’cause I can’t give my pictures to my mommy anymore. I only got half of it back.”
“Have you fought with him before? Got into shoving matches?”
“No, ma’am. Mostly he just pokes me with his pencil or something. He does that to lots of kids.”
The judge sat there a moment. “Do you have any of your pictures in your backpack now?”
Jonah nodded. “I drew a new one for Dinah.”
How had the judge summoned an officer? Dinah heard no bell, saw no motion. The officer simply appeared in the doorway. The judge told him to give Jonah his backpack, then sat back and waited. The fellow hastened out and returned in moments. He handed the backpack to Jonah. The boy clutched it to his chest and watched the judge.
“May I see one of your pictures, please?” The judge’s voice seemed softer than it had been before.
Jonah nodded and carefully pulled out a picture. He stood to hand it to her across that vast desk, then took his seat and slid his hand back into Dinah’s.
The woman studied the picture, studied Jonah, back to the picture. She pursed her lips. “You are seven years old according to the incident report; is that, right, Jonah?”
He nodded.
“And you did indeed draw this?”
He nodded again.
She looked at Dinah. “Have you seen this?” When Dinah shook her head, she handed the drawing over.
It was another of his magnificent pencil drawings, every detail in place down to the whiskers and every-which-way fur. Mutt sat there, head down, and a tear rolling off her face into a puddle by her paw.
Dinah tipped her head back.
Oh, Jonah. My poor Jonah.
She reached into her bag for a tissue and handed one to Jonah.
The judge took a deep breath and sat back. Again she seemed to be mulling something. Would Jonah be sentenced now or turned loose? How did all this work?
She addressed Jonah. “Young man, taking a sharp knife to school is absolutely wrong. Did they tell you about weapons? What not to bring?”
A very small voice. “Yes, ma’am.”
The judge sat silent, looking at him. The silence worked. His voice rose a bit. “It isn’t a weapon, though. It’s just a knife. For an apple. Weapons are to kill people.”
“I understand your point, but it’s considered a weapon nonetheless.” She turned her eyes to Dinah. “Ms. Taylor, I see a lot of tough kids every day, and I know I am not looking at one now. Have you engaged a grief counselor for him?”
“Not yet. There are so many things I haven’t done yet. I’ll do so, of course.”
“That is one condition of his release. The boy is hurting very badly, Ms. Taylor. You are married?”
“No.”
“You have other children?”
Why is this woman prying?
“No.”
“I want to see him again. In the meantime, set up a schedule with a grief counselor.”
“Certainly.” Dinah should have engaged Mr. Jensen immediately. Another huge mistake. But she had been so rattled.
“And Jonah, no more knives, weapons or not weapons. Understand?”
Jonah nodded as he studied the floor.
Like magic, the officer entered to escort them back out into the waiting area.
Dinah stood, so Jonah stood. She mumbled some sort of words of gratitude or something and hastened out, the picture clutched in her hand.
Garret was still there. He stood. “I’ll take you home.”
“My car is at the school.”
“Fine. We’ll pick that up and then I will take you two out for supper. Would that be all right with you, Jonah? I want to hear about what happened.”
Jonah smiled and reached for his hand. “Yes.”
Dinah nodded. Right now, his act of kindness made her want to turn and run. Before the tidal wave of tears deluged her shore.
B
lindsided. Gob-smacked. Splacked between the eyes. A dozen other phrases Dinah had heard to describe how she felt just now rattled in her head. She stared out the windshield of her car at a fuzzy world.
Was it better having Dr. Miller be helpful or not around at all? His appearance at the police station had caught her totally unprepared. When he walked in that door, it brought a breath of—what? Of sanity? Someone caring? Or one more bit of craziness that might just tip her over the edge? After all, every encounter she’d ever had with him irritated her and, obviously, him, too.
But that was before he held Jonah and let him cry.
If she were totally honest with herself, what was she feeling? Relief? Joy? Exquisite joy?
She checked the rearview mirror, saw him and Jonah waiting in the SUV, and decided she better get to moving or he’d be at her door to see if she was all right. Of course she wasn’t all right! There wasn’t any all right to be had, not that she could see, at least not in the immediate future. The whole incident had terrified her, and if it terrified her, what had it done to Jonah?
She started the car and snapped her seat belt into place. Before Jonah, she’d never realized how many little things she took for granted, like getting home when she felt like it, eating when and if she felt like it, working late or going in early, and getting up on the weekends when she felt like it. Now she couldn’t even go running without consulting with someone else.
And now? Jonah would be home for heaven knew how long. Gramma Trudy had said she’d be so happy to have Jonah come be with her after school, but this was different. This was full time.
Dinah pulled into her parking garage. Home sweet home? Hah. Resigned to a world that paid no attention to what she wanted, she locked up and walked to the door with Dr. Miller and Jonah.
“Where’s your key, Jonah?”
“On my night stand. I forgot it.”
She let them in to find Mutt dancing in circles. She’d not sent anyone to walk the dog. One more whack between the eyes.
“Mutt’s gotta go.” Jonah snapped her leash on. “Sorry, Mutt, we’ll hurry.” Out they went.
Dinah closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the kitchen door. One more thing she should have remembered to do. Near panic had a way of washing the mind slate of anything not immediately connected to the emergency. Poor dog. If she messed in the house, it wasn’t her fault.
“Are you okay?” The deep male voice sounded out of place in the stillness of her condo. When Jonah and Mutt left, it was as if both she and the house gave a sigh of relief. The only polite answer was
Of course.
She shrugged instead and turned to give him what she hoped was a confident smile. Instead her lower lip wobbled. If she relaxed the steel bars she had on her emotions, letting loose the deluge, would he take her in his arms like he had Jonah?
That thought made her catch her breath. “Thanks, but yes, I’ll manage.” Not quite the answer she wanted but better than the alternative.
“He takes Mutt outside?”
“In the back alley.” She could feel her eyes widen. “He didn’t get his key.” She grabbed her bag and dug her keys out. “I’ll be right back.” By the time she reached the exit door to the stairs, she realized Garret was right beside her. They double-timed down the stairs, but Jonah and Mutt met them halfway up the last flight.
Jonah looked unconcerned. “What?”
“You didn’t have your key. I was afraid you locked yourself out.”
“I stuck my jacket in the door so it couldn’t close all the way.”
“Jonah, you are one smart kid.” Garret chuckled. “Good thinking.”
Dinah made her mouth smile, but she knew it didn’t it make to her eyes.
“Where shall we go to eat?” Garret asked.
She wanted to go to bed and pull the covers high. That was where she wanted to go.
Jonah darted up the stairs. “I have to feed Mutt first.”
Dinah slogged back up the stairs behind him. She glanced around her living room and realized that a new arrangement of cut flowers graced the coffee table. Might there be a clue this time? No, only the card from Minda with the packets to put in the water to make the flowers last longer. And her signature of Happy Day with a smiley face.
The pink underpetals of the lilies were still tight in buds, but their redolence didn’t wait for the flowers to open. Dinah inhaled the rich fragrance.
“They’re lovely.” Garret was smiling at them.
“They are. If only I knew who sends them.”
The smile fell away. “What do you mean?”
“Fresh flowers show up every now and then, sometimes for a special occasion, like the launch. I have no idea who they are from.”
“Doesn’t the florist know?” He shrugged. “Sorry, dumb question.”
“Minda, who owns the shop, won’t or can’t tell me. She delivers them herself.”
“Mutt’s taken care of.” Jonah planted himself beside them. “Pizza?”
Garret grinned. “Come on. I know this great Italian place on the west side. Pizza, pasta, and standard American burgers.” He opened the door for them.
Dinah sighed. “Fine with me. I’m not in the mood for a big supper.” She wasn’t in the mood for anything. Washed out. Limp. She locked the door behind her and they piled into Dr. Miller’s big SUV. It smelled vaguely like dog. She belted in and laid her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes. Behind her Jonah was asking if the restaurant had meatballs.
She should be engaging in witty repartee. Or witless repartee. Something. Anything. “How did you find out where we were?”
“Called your office to see how Mutt and Jonah were doing, and your assistant told me. You came out of the school, so I followed the squad car. I called her back from the police station. She said to tell you not to worry about calling her. She’d have her prayer warriors in action.”
Dinah must have shaken her head. Everywhere in her world, she kept running into…
His voice was strong, a voice to match his bulk. “I take it you don’t believe in prayer warriors.”
“Let’s say I don’t believe in much of anything and leave it at that, okay?” Somehow she’d already known, or sensed, that he was a believer, like April. One more strike against him. She wasn’t sure why she felt that, but her antenna was pretty accurate.
Just don’t start preaching to me or I swear I will, I will—do something. And it won’t be pleasant.
The restaurant was everything she had feared—big, bustling, cheerful, with crisp red gingham curtains and a relentlessly happy attitude. All just the opposite of what she felt now.
“Dr. Miller, welcome! Good to see you!” The receptionist snatched up two menus, a child’s placemat, and a box of crayons and marched off toward a corner booth. So he was a regular here.
They settled into the booth, Jonah and Dinah facing Dr. Miller. Jonah studied his placemat.
Dr. Miller opened. “You have a very lovely home. But then I am not surprised.”
She started to just say thank you but that caught her. “Why? I mean, why are you not surprised?”
“Because everything you do, you do with class. I like your leitmotif; white with splashes of brilliant primary colors. Your condo and your style of dress. It works perfectly.”
“Th-thank you.” Now what?
He said softly, very conversationally, “Why did you choose that? All the white, I mean.”
That is none of your business.
But for some reason, the heavy weariness was robbing her of her usual defenses. How else could she explain why she actually answered his question? “For a while, I wore black. A lot of black. I even found a black lab coat for the lab. Then a close friend said, ‘You’ll come across to business associates much better if you don’t wear black. You’ll feel better, too.’ So I tried white and liked it. When I bought this condo they asked me what color to repaint the interior and I said white. Easy to decorate.”
The server appeared, took drink orders, and left.
Jonah piped up, “Dr. G? Is
ziti
the same as
zit
?”
Dr. Miller laughed, and even Dinah smiled. “It’s a macaroni sort of pasta in the shape of a hollow tube, about this long by this wide.” He held up fingers to demonstrate.
“Why a hollow tube?”
“So it cooks faster and the sauce you put on it gets inside as well as outside.”
“Can I have ziti?”
“Sure thing.”
“And meatballs?”
“Yep.”
Dinah realized she’d not even looked at the menu. She flopped it open. “What do you recommend?”
Dr. Miller replied, “The house specialties are the clam spaghetti and the lasagne.”
The drinks arrived. She felt so numb when she ordered that when the server left she couldn’t remember what she’d said. Her dinner was going to come as a complete surprise.
Dr. Garret said, “You had a pretty rough day today, Jonah. Want to tell me about it?”
And Jonah launched into a narrative at once so compelling and so boring that Dinah could not stay focused on it. Her thoughts wove themselves in and out of his monologue. For one thing, she was angry. Despite all the recent publicity about bullying, the school seemed to be doing nothing about that kid in Jonah’s class who liked to poke others and grab papers off their desks. Perhaps she should look into private schooling. There were so many things she should look into and do and—her to-do list was becoming book length.
Dinner came. She had ordered the lasagna.
Jonah did his
Come, Lord Jesus
prayer and added his “Tell Mommy hi,” then he added more: “Please tell her I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
Dinah sniffed and blinked furiously. Was this the straw that would—
Garret struck his fist on the table. “Oh no!”
“What? Are you all right?”
“I’m supposed to be at the clinic in five minutes!” He dug his cell phone out of his chest pocket.
“We can take this to go.”
“No. We’ll eat here.” He paused a moment and told his phone, “I’m sorry, Sue. A lot has been going on. I’ll be at least an hour late.” He listened, nodding. “Yes, we’re fine. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thanks.”
He pocketed the phone and smiled at Jonah. “It’s all right. We’ll go ahead and eat.”
He looked at Dinah as he picked up his fork. “You mentioned a black lab coat. You worked in a lab?”
“Biochemist.”
“Interesting.” He ate quietly a few minutes. “So you hired on at Food for Life as a chemist?”
“I started the company. And I still love the bench work better than administration.”
“I know the feeling. I wish my job were just doctoring animals and not all the rest of the hooey that goes with it.”
Even though Garret had showed up at the police station like one of the comic book heroes, she didn’t really know him. And up until today, hadn’t really cared for him—at all, and that was putting it mildly. And now here he was painting himself as just a regular guy. And she felt far too drained to assess or reassess the situation.
The lasagne was excellent. Jonah put his ziti away with enthusiasm, so that must have been good, too. And Dr. Miller with his clam spaghetti—the sauce was melted butter and lots of chopped clam meat and, no doubt, various herbs to set it off perfectly. Why had she never even heard of this place?
Because her life was a big rut and this restaurant was outside that rut. That was why. Did she want to climb out of her rut? No. It was comfortable, thank you. She appreciated comfort.
Jonah finished and pushed his plate aside. He explored inside the crayon box and pulled out blue. He began coloring the outline drawing on his placemat.
Dr. Miller gestured with his fork. “You’re coloring everything blue. Why blue?”
Jonah shrugged. “There’s no black in the box. It’s closest to black. I like pencils better than crayons, but sometimes Mrs. Farrell makes me draw with crayons. I draw my drawings with pencils. Daddy showed me how to use hard pencils and soft pencils. I like pencils best.”
“I want to see your work. You have excellent fine motor control.”
“Thank you.” He studiously applied himself to making the elephant, the tiger, and an ostrich blue.
Dr. Miller simply handed their server a credit card when she stopped by to ask about dessert. She smiled and left. “Take you back to your place, Ms. Taylor? Do you have to stop at a grocery store or anything first?”
“Home would be lovely. This day has pretty much taken all the air out of my tires.”
He smiled, a sort of sad half-smile, or an understanding kind of smile. “I should think so. Jonah, you can take the crayons with you. And your picture.”
They drove back to Dinah’s condo in silence, except for Jonah’s occasional questions. Dinah let Dr. Garret answer him.
He saw them to the elevator and said good night. The cage hummed them upstairs. Dinah opened the door.
Suddenly she realized, “Your backpack. We don’t have your backpack.”
He stopped, frowned. “I don’t remember where it is.”
“We’ll look for it tomorrow.” She headed for her bathroom.
Someone knocked at the door. She heard Jonah answer it. She was going to have to educate Jonah about not opening the door for just anybody. In fact, for a kid as streetwise as he was, you’d think he would know more about safety.
Dr. Garret’s voice. He and Jonah were diving instantly into some sort of conversation.
She finished and came hurrying out. Now what? He was supposed to be at work.
Jonah was beaming. He raised his backpack. “It was in Dr. G’s car. He just noticed it and brought it up.”
“Thank you!” Dinah met the man’s eye and he held hers easily. “That was very thoughtful of you. Especially when you’re in a hurry to get to the clinic.”
He smiled. “Priorities. Jonah just offered to show me some of his work.”
“He’s very good at it. The one on the refrigerator, for example.”
Dr. Miller walked over and studied it. “You did this?”
“Yes sir. I’ll get the others.”
From her hobo bag, Dinah retrieved the drawing Jonah had shown the judge. “He did this one at school.”
The artist who cared for animals wagged his head. “He has amazing talent. Good eye, excellent control. And a master with pencils. Look at the shading on that fur. It looks like fur.”