Saturday’s Child by JT Hume 12 - A SUNNY DAY For the second time in twelve hours, I’m running across the room and hugging someone in happiness, and I’m a blubbering mess. Again. I’m almost lifting this teenage goddess off her feet, screaming, “You’re alive! You’re alive! You’re alive!” She lets it go for a second, even hugging me a little, then pushes me back. “Hey, I don’t know you that well, you know.” She ain’t getting off the hook that easy. “I don’t care. Come here.” I’m sure I’m a ridiculous sight, but dammit, she’s alive! “You know you smell like puke, right?” I laugh at this echo from my first day on the job (long story), and I let her go. “What the hell are you doing here? What happened to you? Where have you been? How did you get in here?” “Slow down, slow down.” Yeah, I take a deep breath and point to my ratty couch. “Sit.” As she gets situated, I see now that there’s a passing resemblance between Staci and that poor girl by the river. They share the same hairstyle and skin tone and all, but Staci is all leg. The dead girl is about five and a half feet tall. I should have seen that. I sit beside her. “Okay, easy questions first. How did you get in here?” She pulls my spare key from a pocket. “Everyone hides one. I just had to find it.” “How did you know where I live?” She smiles and hands me my business card. “You gave me your personal cell number. I got a hacker friend to get into your account and get your address after you left my house.” I should be furious at the invasion of privacy, but she’s smart. She knows someone could go to jail for a long time, so she did this for a reason. “Why?” The confident teenager disappears, and a scared little girl appears in her place. “Uh, I need you to take me home.”
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Saturday’s Child by JT Hume With that sentence, I stop being a happy witness and become the involved CPS worker. “Staci, are you afraid of your parents?” She draws within herself and clasps her hands in her lap. “I may have made a big mistake, and they’re going to lose their minds when I tell them.” I put my arm across her shoulders. “No, they’ll be very happy to see you. I promise.” “Why? What’s going on?” She gives me this baffled look, and I understand. “You don’t know about the note, do you?” I explain that the entire law enforcement community, including the FBI, has been looking for her since Tuesday because someone left a note in her bedroom. A decision was made not to advertise her disappearance. She couldn’t know from the news that we were looking for her. She’s furious. “Fucking Mark fucking Grant, that fucker, scaring everyone like that.” “Who’s he?” “My asshole of a boyfriend—or my ex-boyfriend when I’m done kicking his ass.” “Does he know why you left?” Another mood swing from anger to the little girl again. “Yes, he knew.” “Knew what, Staci?” “About the baby.” “Oh, my.” The questions pop out of my mouth before I can stop myself. “Who’s the father? The mayor?” Her revulsion is genuine and sudden. “Ew! Gross! That’s disgusting. No, it’s Mark, the asshole. He said he was going to be careful, but he knocked me up anyway. The asshole.” That’s what she’s saying, but her green eyes reveal her emotions about Mark. She cares. Something about her eyes disturbs me, then I think about what she’s saying. “You had an abortion, didn’t you? That’s why you left.”
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Saturday’s Child by JT Hume The little girl nods. “You can’t get an abortion here without your parents’ permission. I borrowed a car and an ID from a friend so I could get one across the state line. I stayed in a motel for a couple of days. I didn’t think it would take this long, getting over it, I mean, but I couldn’t stop puking.” “Inga knew you were pregnant? That’s why you guys were fighting when I stopped there on Monday.” “She wanted me to keep the baby. Some history there, I guess.” “Okay.” Something she said bothers me, and again, I don’t know what it is, but whatever it is, there are more important things to do. I dial Devon’s work cell. He answers. “Yeah, I got the message, too.” “What?” “The local officers found the girl’s parents about a mile away. There was a big fight. She stole the shotgun.” “Damn.” “You didn’t get Dad’s text?” “Not yet.” I wipe the tears from my eyes for the girl we couldn’t save. “Come back, Devon.” “What’s going on?” “It’s important”—I look over my shoulder at the girl on my couch—“and you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” “Be right there.” Staci is an odd shade of green. “I don’t feel so good.” I pull her to her feet and point her to the bathroom. “Come on, let me introduce you to my friends, the roaches.” I open the door, and she recoils. “Yuck, you weren’t kidding. Can’t you afford any better?”
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Saturday’s Child by JT Hume I could tell you a story about being an instant millionaire, kid. “Hey, be nice to the civil servant who’s going to save you from an ass kicking.” “I guess.” The sight of the cockroaches must have made her change her mind about puking. “You know you don’t have any food in your kitchen?” she repeats. “We’ll pick something up on the way to your house.” Devon calls from the doorway, “Emma!” I peek out of the bathroom, and he’s standing there, my big, mean homicide detective, with one hand on his sidearm, scared to death. The front door was open, and I called him back here without telling him why, so he’s thinking the worst. I wave him down, and he drops his hand. “Stop doing that. You scared me to death,” he growls. “Sorry.” “What’s going on?” I pull Staci into the bathroom doorway, and his face reveals the series of emotions he’s feeling, and I brace myself for the inevitable explosion. My big, mean homicide detective walks up to us and lifts us both off our feet, giving us a little shake. “Thank God you’re alive.” I don’t know whom he’s talking to, and it doesn’t matter. This is my Devon in a snapshot, and this is why I love him. Yeah, in a cockroach-filled bathroom that I wouldn’t let any of my CPS kids touch with a ten-foot pole, except the ones who need to vomit, I give in and admit I’m in love with him. I get into some clean clothes while Devon interviews Staci, and I throw most of my wardrobe in a trash bag. He gives me an odd look when I drag it into the living room. “Everything needs to be washed, and no time to pack.” He smiles and nods, accepting this next step in our relationship. “Guys, I’m starved,” Staci barely doesn’t whine.
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Saturday’s Child by JT Hume “Let’s roll.” Devon picks up the bag and pushes her in front of him while I lock my door, for all the good it’ll do. He throws my stuff in the trunk, Staci calls shotgun, I climb in the backseat, and we’re gone. In clear violation of several state and municipal laws, Devon is driving with one hand and texting with the other. There will be an army waiting for us at the McCann house, no doubt. My personal cell pings, and it’s Grandmother. Judge Kozak approved the transfers. Congratulations. With a swipe of a pen, I’m a millionaire. Boom. Done. Now what? I don’t have to worry about not getting paid tomorrow, I don’t have to go back to that hellhole of an apartment. I can buy the building and tear it down. I can go back to vacationing on the Riviera and skiing in Switzerland. I can leave this city and never return. We pick up some drive-thru and it fills my own empty spot under the ribs. Sighing, I look out the window. Kids are walking to school on both sides of the street, laughing and joking, and I realize this place has its hooks in me something bad. I wasn’t a CPS worker for a long time, but it was long enough to make a positive difference for Sammy, Jenny, Maria, and others. In time, my face will fade from their memories, but they’ll remember that people like me were there for them when they needed us. It wasn’t always the best outcome, but it was the best CPS could do under the weight of the law, circumstances, and reality. Devon is still typing away on his phone, and I contemplate our future. I want one with him, but will the money get in the way? I could buy him whatever he wants, but he’ll push back. He’s got his family, his job, and his dog. And me. I’ve a ringside seat to how money changes people, notably my father, and it’s a little disgusting. Would we change? And if I’d known what Grandmother was doing last night, would I have signed if it meant losing Devon? The voice of my grandfather the cop floats in my brain. “One problem at a time, Little Emma.”
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Saturday’s Child by JT Hume Okay, Grampa. Thank you, and I miss you badly. We pull onto the McCanns’ street, and big surprise, it’s another cop-car convention. And there’s a crowd standing on the overgrown lawn in front of their house. Staci’s parents are in front, and Trevor is next to them. He taps them on the shoulder and points to us as Devon shuts off the engine, and the two of them are running. Staci flies out of the car, screaming, “Mommy!” The three of them jump into each other’s arms, and they’re crying unabashedly. Behind them, the cops and agents are shaking hands and patting shoulders. Yeah, she was a typical teenager who did a stupid teenage thing, but she’s home safe with the people she loves. That’s why they became cops in the first place. Later they’ll put the fear of God in her and rake her boyfriend over the coals a few times for screwing with people, maybe even arrest him, but all that can wait. Right now, it’s a small victory, and they’ll take them whenever they can. Devon and I are leaning on the car, arm in arm, watching, then a lightbulb clicks in my brain, and everything I’ve missed falls into place. Damn. I turn and see him standing in the mansion door, arms crossed. When he sees me, he turns to go inside, but he leaves the door open. I don’t know if he’s inviting me or what, and I don’t care. The door is open. Time for Mayor Ed and me to have a little heart-to-heart.
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Saturday’s Child by JT Hume
This serial and book are solely owned by its creator, JT Hume (a pseudonym). Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved in all countries and languages. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Third-party vendors providing electronic means to create, edit, and/or publish/post this serial and book have no literary and/or financial claim (including wi-fi network owners and operators). For more information and permission requests, the author may be contacted via email only: jthumebooks at gmail dot com. Twitter: @JT_Hume Website: http://www.jthumebooks.com
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