His face still a thundercloud as he waited at the apartment door, Cory jerked past her when she let them inside. “How old do you have to be before you can be a policeman?”
The cop thing again. But at least he was speaking to her. “Much older than you are now.”
“How old?”
“Depends. Twenty-one, usually.” Twenty-one. That’s how old Duke had been when he’d moved to Texas where his bilingual fluency and three years of law-enforcement coursework were much sought after.
He hadn’t lived but a week beyond twenty-six.
Three years her senior, he’d been her childhood sweetheart in their small Arizona hometown. Which was why she couldn’t move back there, no matter how much she wanted to. Not yet. Not until she could return with her head held high, her finances restored and the weakness of Tomas “Duke” Lopez well-hidden from family and the community.
Cory flung his backpack to the hardwood floor and flopped onto the worn couch of the diminutive living room. Then, as if coming to a sudden conclusion, he scrambled to the sole end table, opened a drawer and pulled out the massive city phone book.
His reading skills were rapidly progressing, but he still had a considerable way to go. Nevertheless, he determinedly flipped through the thin-sheeted pages as she speed-dialed his sitter, their downstairs neighbor Billie Jean.
“Change out of your school clothes, Cory. Don’t dawdle.”
She glanced impatiently at her watch. It was disruptive enough to her employer that they’d accommodated her taking a midafternoon lunch hour each day. Even with the school situated between home and work, when traffic was congested there wasn’t much wiggle room to pick up Cory, deposit him at Billie Jean’s and get back to the clinic.
“Mom?”
As she waited for her friend to answer, she turned to her son, who still lingered over the phone directory spread across his lap.
“Yes?”
“I’ve got to get my ball glove back, so I need the help of a policeman. How do you spell Wallace?”
* * *
“Thank you again for coming.” Miss Gilbert, an attractive blonde in her early twenties, smiled at Grayson. “You and the other professionals made quite a positive impression on my class. On the whole school, in fact. But especially on Cory Lopez.”
“Cute kid.” With a gorgeous but stuck-up mom. “Too bad about his dad.”
“Yes. The sudden loss continues to take its toll, as is apparent from his behavior.”
“His behavior?”
“According to his former kindergarten teacher, it’s been like night and day compared to last year. Restless and distracted. Playing rough. Aggressive. Almost obsessed with following in his father’s footsteps and getting even with the man who shot him.”
Grayson frowned. “They have the guy in jail. I know it’s not been the customary swift Texas justice, but he’s awaiting trial.”
“That doesn’t mean much to a little boy.”
“No, I imagine not.”
“I couldn’t help but notice, though, how he settled down almost from the moment you arrived. Do you have children of your own, Mr. Wallace?” Her quick glance took in his left hand prominently supported by the sling, then her smooth cheeks flushed. He smiled to himself. Checking him out for a ring, was she?
“No, no kids,” he admitted. But maybe on down the road.
“Must be the uniform, then. Reminded him of his father.”
“Could be.”
“He’s a child with so much potential. Elise—his mother—works hard to provide for him, to give him love and attention. But a troubled boy that age could use a strong male influence. Have you ever thought about our district’s mentoring program?”
“What’s that?” If it was what he thought it was, he wanted no part of it. He didn’t intend to get attached to anyone else’s kid ever again.
“It’s an opportunity to connect with children in a meaningful way. Too many in this part of town come from broken homes that are struggling financially. There are few good role models.” She lifted her gaze to his in appeal. “I’d love to see a youngster like Cory have a chance, not end up like so many drawn to street gangs in order to find a place where they feel they belong.”
“I doubt I’d be much of a mentor for a first-grader. Maybe an older boy, if I had the time. Which I don’t.”
“At least please give it some thought, Mr. Wallace.” Her cheeks flushed again. “I’m sure you noticed how the children—Cory—gravitated to you.”
Yeah, he’d noticed how Cory had sidled up to him, especially when he’d crouched to his level. How the boy had moved in close, basking in the attention. Jenna’s son had been the same. He and Michael had been drawn to each other. Grown close. Closer than Gray had ever been to a little kid. Did Michael understand why Gray was no longer a part of his life? Did Jenna explain it to him at all?
He shoved away the haunting speculation. “Cory’s a friendly little guy.”
“I know it’s your job to keep the ‘bad guys’ at bay, Mr. Wallace, but what if those bad guys had once had a man in their lives who cared about what happened to them?” Miss Gilbert’s smile again encouraged, but it would get her nowhere.
His memory flew to his brother who’d been raised without a father when their parents had split and each took two kids. Jack turned out okay, didn’t he? Then again, he’d grown up on a ranch, not in the heart of a big city.
“I don’t mean to pressure you,” the teacher amended, apparently mistaking his silence for annoyance. “But I’ve come to love Cory. A policeman like you, who’s already had a thorough background check, could move quickly through the mentor screening process.”
“Thank you for putting confidence in me, Miss Gilbert, but I’m afraid it isn’t feasible right now.”
“I understand.”
Sensing her disappointment, he realized it was time he drew the conversation to a close. “I’d better gather my own things and be on my way. Let you finish up and get started on your weekend.”
He shook her hand, then crossed the room to retrieve the box of “cop props” he’d brought to show the kids. He paused to pick up a baseball glove that had been kicked under a nearby table, but when he turned to give it to Miss Gilbert, she was no longer in the room.
He glanced down at the kid-size glove in his hand and smiled. He still had his own junior-size one stashed in a box in his closet. The kid who’d left this one behind wouldn’t sleep a wink all weekend not knowing until Monday if it was safe. Memories of the years he and his younger sister and brother had lived in rural Appleton flooded back. Of the times after the woman he knew as Mom died and Dad returned them all to the city and became immersed in medical school. Times when
