Justice

“No can do. Next?”

He turned around. “What do I want?” He took his wife’s hands and kissed them. “I want you to come with me. I miss you terribly when I’m away from you and long plane rides make me depressed. So come with me to New York. But once we get there, leave me alone so I can deal with my daughter and my own anxiety.”

“So I’m to be your therapeutic escort.”

“And a damn pretty one, at that.”

Rina laughed. “I’ll come with you.”

Decker said, “Thank you. And … if I’m up to it … if I have the energy … I’ll come visit the relatives.”

“You look like you just sucked lemons.”

“It’s been a rather sour morning.”

Rina stroked her husband’s cheek. “I’m sorry you have to go through this, that we have to go through this. I’m very concerned, also. Kids. A life sentence in terror if you think about it. I’ll be happy to help you out. And yes, it has been a while since the boys have seen their grandparents. It’s very considerate of you to think of them.”

“I’m just a saint.”

“I believe the appropriate response to a compliment is a simple thank you.”

Decker smiled. “The boys can miss school?”

“Of course. How about we leave next Wednesday? I can still get discount tickets if I buy them a week in advance.”

“Fine.”

“You’ll call Cindy?”

“Yes.”

“And phone Jan, too,” Rina said. “Just to let her know you’re going.”

Decker looked pained. “Is that really necessary?”

“Peter, she’s Cindy’s mother. She’s worried sick about her.”

“I know, I know. She’s very angry I haven’t insisted that Cindy come home. As if she’s insisted. She just wants me to be the bad guy. Well, screw that! If she wants a—”

“Peter—”

“All right, all right. I’ll call Jan. I’ll even be civil.”

“A big stretch for you, dear?”

“A very big stretch for me, darlin’.”

2

The red Trans Am was following me. I’d known something was up from the look Chris had given me in orchestra. We’d been in the same class for over a year, and today’s stare had been a first. Only one reason why boys like him were interested in girls like me. Guess this one didn’t want to approach me in public.

The car slowed and honked. I stopped walking. Since parked vehicles were occupying the far right lane, the Trans Am was blocking traffic. The Jeep on Chris’s heel blasted its horn. He turned around, threw the impatient driver a dirty look, then sped up and pulled the car curbside a half block up. I jogged over. He rolled down the passenger window, told me to hop in.

“I’m not going straight home,” I said. “I’ve got to pick up my little sister.”

“Last I checked the car’s not a two-seater.” He waved me forward. “Come on.”

I opened the door and got inside, dumping my backpack on the floor. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Where are we going?”

“Just go straight.” My eyes were fixed on the front windshield.

Cars were bumper to bumper. Since the ’94 earthquake and the recent flooding by overzealous rain clouds, the West Valley had become a snarl at rush hour. Chris waited for a nonexistent opening. Headbanger music was screaming from his car stereo. It suddenly seemed to annoy him. He punched it off.

A Jetta stopped and waved Chris in.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said to himself. To me, he said, “How far are we going?”

“’Bout two miles up.”

“And you walk that every day?”

“It’s good exercise.”

“What do you do when it rains?”

“I take an umbrella. Sometimes, if it’s convenient, my stepmom will let me have the car.”

Chris paused. “You live with your dad and stepmom?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s your mom?”

I hesitated. The question was way too personal, but I answered anyway. “She died when I was born.”

Chris waited a beat, then raised his brow. “Your dad’s a good Catholic, huh?”

I looked at him, stunned. His face revealed nothing.

“The unbaptized before the baptized.” He pulled a crucifix from under his T-shirt. “Takes one to know one.”

I didn’t answer. In this city of religious nothingness, it was rare to find an overt Catholic boy, let alone one who looked like Christ.

He said, “What about you? Are you a good Catholic girl?”

“Good enough to feel guilty about my mother’s death.”