heirlooms that had belonged to his mother, and that his father had distributed among his children when he’d sold the family home three years ago in preparation for his move to a Florida condo.
“Yes.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
She was stalling for time, Carlo realized. Whatever the reason for her presence in his home, it made her as nervous as it did him.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he offered. “Some coffee or tea, perhaps?”
“No, thank you.” Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face him. “The reason I’m here is that I have a favor to ask of you.”
That took him aback. “You do?”
“It’s about my son.”
Both hands clasped firmly around her purse, she sank gracefully onto the sofa and lapsed into silence. So he wouldn’t tower over her and make her even more nervous, Carlo took a seat across from her in an overstuffed armchair.
“How old is your son?” he prompted, when she didn’t say anything more.
His words seemed to jolt her out of some inner reverie. “Eight.” She paused. “I suppose I should start at the beginning.”
“That always works for me,” he replied in what he hoped was an encouraging tone.
She nodded her agreement. “Mayor Boyer has been wonderful to my family since James’s…death. He calls every other week or so to check in on us and to see how we’re doing.”
Her words picked up speed. “I haven’t wanted to burden him with our troubles, but when he called me this morning…” Her slender shoulders rose and fell in a helpless shrug. “I guess you could say he caught me at a low point. To make a long story short, I unloaded on him.”
Because he was trained to notice details, Carlo glimpsed the dark circles beneath her skillfully applied makeup. Apparently Samantha Underwood wasn’t sleeping any better at night than he was. His throat tightened. Whose fault was that?
Her fingers whitened around the purse she clutched in her lap. “I told him about Jeffrey and how withdrawn he’s become. He doesn’t speak much to anyone but me or my mother. He refuses to participate in group activities at school. At lunch and recess he sits by himself and rebuffs all attempts to include him in play. His classmates no longer invite him to come over to their homes. He won’t even ride his bike anymore, and he rarely plays outside. Basically, he either plays by himself, reads a book or watches TV.”
She broke off, her eyes wearing a look of torture that Carlo longed to erase. Though he dreaded the answer, he knew the question was one he had to ask.
“How long has he been like this?”
“Since his father’s death. He’s seeing a grief counselor, but so far she hasn’t made much progress. Ditto a whole host of specialists I’ve taken him to. He…he has nightmares.”
She couldn’t know the impact her words were having on him. Each was like a single bullet, and they were fired with the deadly accuracy of the bullets that had filled the air on the awful day that James Underwood died.
“What is the favor you have to ask of me?” he said.
“After I confided in him, Mayor Boyer told me about the program you and he were involved in. He suggested I call you.”
“The Buddy System,” Carlo muttered dully.
“Yes.”
Patterned after Big Brothers and Big Sisters of America, the goal of The Buddy System was to match local children from single-parent homes with an older buddy of the appropriate sex. The program was the mayor’s baby, part of a community-oriented project he was heavily promoting in the year before his reelection. Carlo had agreed to oversee the project’s operations under duress, Douglas Boyer having twisted his arm a time or ten.
“So you want me to match Jeffrey with a buddy when the program is formally introduced a few months from now.”
“Not exactly.” Her big brown eyes bored into him, making him wonder if she could see into the darkest recesses of his soul, to the guilt that ate away at him like a cancer. “I want you to be Jeffrey’s buddy.”
Shock momentarily robbed him of the ability to speak. “Me?” he finally asked, blinking at her.
“Yes. Mayor Boyer seemed to think you would be the perfect buddy for my son. Especially now, since you’ve taken a leave of absence and have some time on your hands.”
Carlo had had to give the mayor some kind of excuse for his sudden request. He couldn’t recall exactly what he’d said, although he thought he’d muttered something about coming back to work too soon and needing more time to regroup.
Had the mayor seen through Carlo’s excuses to the underlying truth? The man was quite perceptive. Carlo couldn’t stem the thought that, by sending Samantha Underwood to him, Douglas Boyer was playing amateur psychologist.
If so, it was a dangerous game.
Carlo couldn’t help Jeffrey. He could barely take care of himself. How could he possibly be expected to act as a buddy to an eight-year-old boy? Besides, he couldn’t give the child the one thing he needed and wanted most: his father. If Jeffrey’s grief counselor hadn’t been able to help, surely Carlo wouldn’t be able to do any better.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Underwood,” he said as gently as he could. “I’m afraid I can’t be Jeffrey’s buddy. But I will promise to match Jeffrey with the most suitable buddy once the program is in place.”
Her face fell, and her voice was a whisper of pain. “I don’t think Jeffrey can wait that long.”
Her disappointment, and her obvious anguish, were almost too much for Carlo to bear. Harder yet to bear was that she had come to him, hat in hand, asking for his help. And he was letting her down. The way he’d let James Underwood down a year earlier.
“Why does it have to be me?” he asked, hearing the note of desperation in his voice. “Why not someone else on the force? I could give you the names of several men, all of whom would be more than qualified to do the job.”
“James respected you more than any other man he knew,” she told him. “He often spoke to Jeffrey about you. Although he hasn’t met you, Jeffrey knows who you are. You wouldn’t be a total stranger to him. Besides, I need someone who can help now. With Thanksgiving coming in a couple of weeks, and Christmas so soon after, I don’t think too many people will have the time to devote to Jeffrey that he needs. Especially if they have families of their own.”
“And I have the time,” Carlo murmured.
“Yes,” she agreed. “You do.”
It felt as if the walls of the room were closing in on him. “What about an uncle or a grandfather? Wouldn’t a relative be a better choice to spend time with Jeffrey?”
She gave him a sad smile. “Ideally, yes. Unfortunately, there are no uncles. For the most part, we’re a
