Autumn Blue (18 page)

She went out to the kitchen, warmed her tea, and began cracking organic eggs into a poaching mold. Her conversations with
Ty had flowed about as freely as cold lava since Millard brought him home during the wee hours of Thursday morning. He had
come in head down, his face pink from the cold, eyes betraying the fact that they had recently shed tears, and headed straight
for his room. Just like that. No “Sorry, Mom,” no explanation at all for stealing from her and attempting to flee by freight
train from her and his sisters, not to mention his legal responsibilities. His whole idiotic plan or lack thereof alarmed
her. She did not want to think that her son had inherited his father’s genes—that he was somehow preprogrammed to be a lying,
thieving flake. She didn’t believe in that. Yet Ty was showing all the signs.

She hadn’t confronted him about the cash and jewelry missing from her bedroom until Thursday night when he returned home from
Millard’s. That was another bad night. First of all, Millard informed her that Ty had still not cracked a book. Instead he
had spent most of that day sleeping on the sofa, catching up from the sleepless night before. She had waited until after dinner
before confronting him in the privacy of his room.

“Why did you steal from me, Tyson?”

His eyes had narrowed and his jaw went tight. “I did
not
steal anything.”

“Well, that’s really strange. At the beginning of the week, my jewelry was in my jewelry box where it belonged. I put it there
myself. Then the same night that you stuff your bed with pillows and crawl out your bedroom window to head for Timbuktu, everything
turns up missing. Even the cash from my secret box. It took me a long time to save that up, Ty. That was our emergency fund.”

He had slammed his computer mouse on his desk so hard that it should have broken, then stood glaring down at her where she
sat on his bed. “How about Sissy and Rebecca? Did you ever think they might have done it? Or are they too sweet and perfect?”

“I don’t think so, Ty. I asked them and they both denied it. Besides, I don’t think either one of them could figure out how
to open that box. It’s too complicated.”

He had gone into a rage then. “I don’t want your stupid jewelry or anything else! Somebody’s lying to you, but it isn’t me!
Believe me or not—it’s up to you.”

Sidney sliced whole-grain bread and popped two pieces into the toaster. He had been so outraged that she had almost believed
him. But when she questioned each of the girls again the next day, she was even more convinced that neither of them was the
guilty party. She was thankful that they were still transparent with her. On the few occasions when one of them had tried
to lie to her, her conscience still manifested guilt all over her face.

“Tyson! Breakfast is ready.”

When he didn’t emerge, she went back to his room to find him sound asleep. “Hey, come on! The sheriff will be here in twenty
minutes.”

This time he sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Why can’t I just pick up trash from the side of the highway?” he mumbled. “At least
I know how to do that.”

“You’ll figure it out. It’s an opportunity, really. A chance to learn a new skill. You know what they say: if it doesn’t kill
you, it’s good for you.” He gave her a sour look and she shrugged. “Throw some clothes on. Breakfast is getting cold.”

She went to her room and began pulling clothes from drawers. For Jack’s sake, she chose her tight-fitting jeans and a soft
V-neck sweater, but before she could slip them over her naked body, there was a knock on the front door. “Tyson, will you
get that?”

“I’m in the bathroom,” he called.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” She grabbed her yellow robe, tying it around her as she stomped to the door. She peered out the peephole.
Deputy Estrada. Frowning, she opened the door slightly. “You’re early,” she said.

He glanced at his watch. “Is Tyson ready?”

“No. Not quite. He hasn’t even eaten.” She hesitated before swinging the door open. “Why don’t you come in? He overslept,
but he’s getting ready now.”

The deputy nodded, stepping in and standing awkwardly on the square of vinyl tiles that was her foyer. He looked so different
wearing faded jeans instead of his stiff green and khaki uniform. Like a regular guy—but with biceps that swelled from beneath
the sleeves of his T-shirt. The way he looked at her made her hand go up to her chest, pinching the lapels of her robe together.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked, immediately realizing that he was probably not an herbal tea kind of guy. “Or coffee?”
She was sure she still had a bag of ground Sumatra in her freezer leftover from a summer evening when she had entertained
Micki and some other women friends from the office.

“Coffee would be great.” He glanced around the living room, shoving his hands into his back pockets and blowing out a stream
of breath.

“Sit down, then. I’ll get your coffee going and then see what I can do to light a fire under Ty.”

Ty was sitting on his bed, tying his shoes. “Get out there and scarf down your eggs,” she said. “Don’t keep the man waiting.”

She hurried down the hall, slipped her clothes on, and ran a comb through her hair, congratulating herself for taking the
high road by not insisting that the deputy wait in his car. She had decided to be civil today. When she returned, the single
cup of coffee had dripped through its filter into a mug. Ty stood by the sink, devouring an egg folded into a slice of toast.
She delivered the coffee to the deputy in the other room. “Sorry about the wait. He’s almost done.”

“Thanks.” He took a sip and seemed to relax. “No big rush. Except it looks like the rain’s coming. We’ll be working outdoors.”

“You’re working with him?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He sounded like he was from the South, addressing her like that, though she knew by his features and the name
Estrada
that he must be Mexican by descent. Even his dark eyes looked softer without the uniform. “Is that in your line of duty?”

He shook his head, averting his eyes over his shoulder toward the window. “No, it’s my day off, actually.”

Sidney didn’t know what to make of that. “Your day off? Shouldn’t you be spending the day with your family or raking leaves
or flying a kite or something?”

The corners of his lips twitched. “I’ll be seeing my dad today.” He sipped his coffee. “I gave up flying kites. Too many trees
around here.”

“True. I heard that Ty’s project is building a wheelchair ramp,” she said tentatively. Ty was probably listening to every
word from the kitchen so she didn’t mention her concerns. She had never even shown her son how to nail two boards together
and now here he was, fifteen already. So close to being a man. What else had she forgotten to teach him?

Sidney saw the deputy’s face flinch, a shadow passing over his eyes as Tyson came around the corner, finishing off a glass
of orange juice. “Yes. It’s for a handicapped woman down on Digby Street. The one who was recently robbed.”

His bullet hit its target. Ty glared back at him.

Deputy Estrada stood, passing Sidney his half-empty mug. “Thanks for the coffee. We’d better hit the road.”

Sidney’s heart began to throb in her ears. A handicapped woman. Estrada still thought Ty was guilty of that other crime, and
now she had reason to believe that he was right. What would happen to Ty if the deputy could make a case against him? She
followed them to the door. “Where exactly on Digby? I’d like to bring Tyson some lunch.”

The deputy glanced at her sideways. She regretted saying it, knowing that she sounded like a doting mommy, some kind of airhead
who thought her child could do no wrong even when the evidence against him was piling up and smelling bad. If Tyson wanted
lunch, he should have gotten himself out of bed early enough to make it himself. “I could bring you some too if you’d like.”

He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. It’s a pink house: 2128 Digby. There’s a little windmill in the yard.”

“How long is this going to take?” Tyson asked as they stepped outside.

“I’ll let you know.”

Ty trudged behind him but stopped halfway to the patrol car. “I forgot my hat.”

“Get in,” the deputy said gruffly, jerking his head toward the car. Tyson obliged with a scowl. Estrada glanced up at Sidney
where she stood on the porch, gave her a grim nod, and slid onto the seat, slamming the car door.

REBECCA AND SIDNEY
appointed themselves to be cheerleaders for the peewee football game. Rebecca already had pom-poms; Sidney couldn’t remember
when or how she acquired them. Sissy practiced her cheers noisily in the backseat of the car, using a pair of canary-colored
feather dusters. After a bout of sneezing, Sidney asked her to refrain from slapping them together until they arrived at the
field where they were to meet Jack.

“How come we have to bring Ty his lunch, Mom? He should have just brung it himself.”

“Brought,” Sidney corrected. Sissy was right. Ty was old enough to take responsibility for himself. She had to let go, for
his sake as well as her own.

“Mom”—Rebecca hesitated—“I know this doesn’t sound very nice, but sometimes I wish Ty didn’t live with us anymore. It was
happier at our house when he ran away. I wish he could just live with Mr. Bradbury.”

“Yeah,” Sissy added. “We could wave at him sometimes from across the street.”

Sidney laughed at the comment despite its deep connotations. “I know he’s not nice to you lately. He’s not very nice to me
either. But we’re a family. We’re going to stick together and get through this. Ty is not a happy young man right now. Something
has hurt him. Our job is to love him no matter what. Can we agree to do that for your brother?”

“Okay,” Sissy chirped.

Rebecca didn’t respond for a moment. “But what if he never changes? What if he gets worse?”

Sidney glanced over to where Rebecca sat in the passenger seat. She took her daughter’s hand. “Love never fails, Becca. It’s
never wasted.”

Here she was echoing her own mother, that wonderful, wacky woman of faith. It occurred to Sidney that she was passing on mere
tidbits to her children instead of the smorgasbords of truth that her mother had served up to her. This world was a dangerous
place to venture without it. Ty had blasted through childhood like a movie on fast-forward, and the girls were right behind
him. She was running out of time.

She drove down Digby. It was easy to spot the house. It was the only pink one in the neighborhood, and a Sheriff’s Department
patrol car was parked out front. She pulled into the driveway of the modest little cottage. Tyson and Deputy Estrada looked
up from their labors on the front porch. “I’ll only be a minute, girls. Wait here, please.”

She stepped out and walked up to the porch. “How’s it going, guys?”

“Good.” They looked as excited to see her as if she were an approaching rain cloud.

“Here’s your lunch, Ty.” She turned to the deputy. “What time should I expect him home?”

“About three. Maybe three-thirty.” The deputy wiped sawdust from his brow with a bare forearm. It was a shame that he had
the personality of an abused guard dog; he was an incredible specimen of a man.

The front door opened. “Hello.” Sidney turned to see a pleasant-looking gray-haired woman.

“Oh, hi.” She held out her hand to the woman. “I’m Sidney Walker.” She gestured toward her son. “Tyson’s mother.”

“I’m sorry.” The woman laughed. “I’d better not take my hands off this doorway. I’m Amilia. Amilia Vargas. Please come in.”

The deputy dropped his hammer to his side and huffed, obviously displeased.

“My girls are in the car. I just came to drop off Ty’s lunch.” Amilia had already turned her back, leaving the door open as
she gripped the handles of a rolling walker, and began shuffling away from the door. Sidney glanced over her shoulder. The
car was bouncing, pom-poms and feather dusters shaking wildly. Ty passed the deputy a slat for the porch rail and the deputy
grabbed it, a spray of nails protruding from between his lips. She followed Amilia inside.

“Sit; sit.” Amilia wore blue jeans, suede moccasins, and a man’s button-down shirt with the tails hanging out. Her silvery
gray hair was swept into a neat French roll, sweeping across one temple like a swag valance. Amilia dropped into a brown reclining
chair surrounded by baskets of books, yarn and knitting needles, mail, and magazines. “I don’t suppose you have time for tea?”

Sidney smiled at the rosy-cheeked woman. “No. I’m taking my girls to a peewee football game.”

“Oh, they play football?”

“Today they’re just cheerleaders. We’re meeting a friend who coaches the team.” Sidney glanced around the humbly furnished
room. Why would a robber choose to break in here of all places? She glanced at Amilia’s hands. No rings. The only jewelry
on her body was a dangly pair of colorful bird earrings. She leaned forward. “Amilia, I understand you were robbed.”

She nodded. “A few weeks ago.”

“Deputy Estrada thinks my son, Tyson, did it. I’m sure that’s why he’s got him here.”

“Yes, that’s what he says. Alex wants the boy to feel real bad about it.” She chuckled. “Wants to rub it in good—even though
they still can’t prove anything. Alex is very protective of me. He doesn’t like me coming out on the porch while they’re working.
I think I’m supposed to look all sad and pathetic, moaning about how I can’t sleep nights anymore since my home was invaded.”
She clucked her tongue. “Truth is, I doze off during
Jeopardy!
and I’m a goner for the night.”

“Alex? Are you related to Deputy Estrada somehow?” The strokes of the hammer outside rattled the windows.

“I’ve scrubbed his butt and cleaned wax out of his ears, but no. Not by blood. His papa lives next door. Rosa Estrada died
of the cancer when Alex was eight. She was my best friend. We came and went between our places like Lucy and Ethel.” She leaned
her head back and closed her eyes. “For a couple of field workers, we had some good times.”

Sidney was shocked. “You worked the fields?” She glanced at the books lining Amilia’s shelves. American classics, theology,
politics, a travel series. Though Amilia had Mexican features, there was no hint of a Spanish accent. “I had you pegged for
a college professor or something like that.”