load of clothes in the washer and looking forward to watching The Comedy Network on television. She’d been ironing all evening, a tedious chore but one she insisted upon doing every week. Ironing her sheets, pressing the edges of her towels, ironing her jeans, gave her a sense of order. She’d always done the ironing, even as a child living in the midst of her parents’ disorganized existence. Tonight it was helping her remain calm.
Adam had gone out with a friend four hours earlier with the firm promise that he would keep his curfew of ten o’clock. It was nearly eleven, and he still hadn’t returned. She only knew the name of one of the other boys—Derrick Little. She’d called his mother to be told that Derrick had been home for over an hour, and she didn’t know where Adam could be.
She had just unplugged the iron, leaving it on the board to cool, when the doorbell rang. Relief mingled with anxiety, making her bump her wrist against the hot surface of the iron. “Ouch!” she muttered as she headed to the front door, holding her stinging wrist across her chest.
When she peeked through the sidelights of the wide wooden door she saw the clear outline of a police officer standing next to her son. Her heart sagged. Her mind stilled at the fear of what this could mean. Sucking in her breath, she lowered her injured wrist and opened the door.
“Gayle Sawyer?”
She nodded, her gaze fixed on Adam. His face was bruised, his eyes angry. There was a small cut on his forehead. “What happened?” She reached for her son, who immediately stepped back, out of her grasp.
She clutched the door frame for support. “Adam, are you all right?”
“I’m Officer Edwards. May I come in? Your son’s been in a fight with a group of teens. We need to talk to you.”
“A fight. My son doesn’t do that. We’ve talked about it many times. About how fighting is not the way to solve disagreements and how important it is to respect others...”
She forced herself to stop talking. If she didn’t she’d cry. She would not cry in front of a police officer. She would remain calm.
“Please come in. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she asked, not knowing what to do once the tall young officer was standing in her living room. She couldn’t look at Adam, and let him see the worry in her eyes. As much as he was being difficult at the moment, he was a good kid. She would not prejudge him, certainly not with a police officer as a witness.
“Thank you, but no. May we sit here?” the officer asked, nodding toward the sofa and chair in front of the angel stone fireplace.
“Certainly.” Still unable to look at Adam, she led the way into the room and sat on the armchair next to the fireplace, leaving Adam and the officer to sit together on the sofa.
Adam slouched in one corner, his eyes fixed on the fireplace mantel. Was he not going to look at her, or volunteer even one word of explanation? “What’s this all about?” she asked the officer, but her gaze remained fixed on her son.
“There was a fight among a group of boys down along the waterfront this evening. Several of those involved were taken to the police station. I thought it more appropriate to bring your son home while we talked a bit.”
“What did Adam do?” Gayle’s heart crushed against her ribs as memories of another evening flashed across her mind. The police had shown up at the apartment where she and Harry lived, looking to talk to Harry. When they’d realized she was alone, they’d left. Before they did they told her that Harry was wanted in the shooting of a police officer. If she was withholding any information she could face serious charges. While she’d been waiting to tell Harry that he would be a father in a few months, over a nice dinner she’d made for the two of them, he’d been out shooting a cop.
“Is Adam charged with anything?”
“No. We believe Adam was caught up in something not of his own making. To my knowledge Adam hasn’t been involved in an incident like this before.” The police officer leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his eyes searching her face. “The point is, we don’t want this to happen again. We usually recommend a mentoring program in these situations. If you agree, we have several skilled officers who work with teens. We’d be willing to set up a meeting between Adam and one of them. The other option is to seek private counseling.”
Gayle thought about Nate Garrison. But what was the likelihood of Nate being available, even with Sherri’s intervention? Nate might be too busy to help out.
Yet she couldn’t risk having Nate take Adam’s case. She had to choose the private option. “I don’t have the money...” She placed her trembling hands out of sight of the officer, whose watchful eyes held a hint of kindness.
“What if I can get you into the community center program? They’re pretty busy, but I’ll see if I can get him bumped up the queue.”
“You’d do that for Adam?”
“Yes.” He glanced over at Adam, who had slumped even farther into the sofa. “I believe your son didn’t mean to be part of that fight. He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He turned back to her. “Does Adam have a curfew?”
“He does, but he didn’t keep it tonight.”
“Well, let’s see if we can get him back on track.” He reached into his uniform pocket and retrieved a card. “Here’s the contact information for the community center program.”
She grasped it eagerly, her relief palpable. Maybe she’d found an ally in her efforts to get Adam to straighten out. “Thank you for bringing my son home, and for everything you’ve done for him.”
The officer turned his gaze to Adam again. “I promise that you will have all the help you need to stay out of trouble. In return you have to promise me that you will keep the appointments set up for you. Deal?”
Adam sat up straight, resting his hands in his lap. “Sure. Why not?” There was no cockiness in his voice, but rather a look bordering on hope.
Had Adam wanted this to happen? Was he so desperate for someone’s help and understanding that he’d done this intentionally?
“Okay. That’s it.” Officer Edwards rose. “I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, call that number if you need to contact me,” he said, pointing to the card he’d just given her.
Gayle thanked him, walked with him to the door, locking it behind him before turning back to her son. They needed to talk. She couldn’t believe that Adam would get into trouble this way. She returned to the living room but he wasn’t there. She searched the kitchen and the rest of the main floor, bumping her burned wrist against the door frame of the tiny den. It hurt so bad she nearly cried out. She wanted to sit down and sob until there were no tears left. Instead, she gritted her teeth and climbed the stairs to his bedroom.
She knocked. No answer, only a rustling sound. “Adam, can we talk?”
“Not tonight, Mom. I’m tired.” His voice was subdued.
“Do you need a bandage for that cut on your forehead?” she asked, remembering all the times in the past when she’d bandaged an arm or knee after a spill from a bike. Memories that reminded her how much her relationship with her son had changed during the past couple of years, despite her efforts to build a new life. Was he unhappy here in Eden Harbor? Had the move from Anaheim been a mistake?
