The Last Child

The cop stopped him at the end of aisle eight. He was tall and broad, with brown eyes that were too soft for the lines in his face, the hard angle of his jaw. He had no cart, stood with his hands in his pockets, and Joh

And Joh

“Hey, Joh

His hair was longer than Joh

“I’m good,” Joh

The cop looked at his watch, then at Joh

“No.” Joh

“I’m sorry.”

The moment stretched, but the cop did not move. The brown eyes remained steady, and up close he looked just as big and calm as the first time he’d come to Joh

Joh

“It wasn’t his fault,” Joh

“I never said it was.”

“He was working. He forgot the time. It wasn’t his fault.”

“We all make mistakes, son. Every last one of us. Your father is a good man. Don’t you ever doubt that.”

“I don’t.” Sudden resentment in Joh

“It’s okay.”

“I never would.” Joh

There was Social Services, which was just waiting for an excuse; and then there were the things that Joh

He would stop Joh

“How’s your mom?” the cop asked. His eyes were intent, hand still on the cart.

“Tired,” Joh

The cop frowned for the first time. “Last time I found you here, you told me she had Lyme disease.”

He was right. “No. I said she had lupus.”

The cop’s face softened and he lifted his hand from the cart. “There are people who want to help. People who understand.”

Suddenly, Joh

The cop looked away from the lie, but his face remained sad. Joh

“Alone enough.”

The cop sighed deeply. He took a card from his shirt pocket and wrote a number on the back of it. He handed it to the boy. “If you ever need anything.” He looked determined. “Day or night. I mean it.”

Joh

“If he ever hits you again…”

Joh

“Or your mother…”

Joh

He pushed past the cop, terrified that he would stop him, that he would ask more questions or call one of the hard-faced women from Social Services.

The cart scraped against the counter at the register, and a large woman on a worn stool dipped her nose. She was new to the store, and Joh

She popped gum and frowned. “Easy, sugar. Here we go.”

The cop lingered ten feet behind, and Joh

“Okay.” Joh

The cop turned, and his smile was not an easy one. “It’s always good to see you, Joh

He left the store, visible through the broad plate glass. He walked past the station wagon, then turned and lingered for a moment. He looked through the window, then circled to check out the plate. Apparently satisfied, he approached his sedan and opened the door. Slipping into the gloom, he sat.

He waited.

Joh

The cop’s name was Clyde Lafayette Hunt. Detective. It said so on his card. Joh

Smiling right up until somebody grabbed her.

Joh

Joh

“You need something else, sugar?”

Joh

She looked past him, to the store manager who stood behind a low glass partition. He followed her gaze, then reached for the bags. She shrugged and he left, walked out under a sky that had blued out while he shopped. He kept his eyes on his mother’s car and tried to ignore Detective Hunt. The bags made rasping sounds as they rubbed together. The milk sloshed, heavy on the right side. He put the bags in the backseat and hesitated. The cop was watching him from a car that angled out, less than twenty feet away. He gestured when Joh