Prodigal Blues

"I have one last thing here…"  I reached into my back pockets and removed a pair of thick brown envelopes held closed by strips of duct tape.  "Among the items we obtained from his house was a small office safe that contained almost a quarter of a million dollars in cash.  We talked it over, and my team decided that we'd rather divide that money equally among the families of the surviving victims than tag it as evidence and see it wind up funding a party to kick off someone's re-election campaign.  But you didn't hear me say that."

"Say what?" asked Melinda, taking the envelopes from my hand.  "Do I want to know how he came by this?"

"No."

"Then I didn't ask."

"Isn't my mom cool?" said Thomas.

"Both your folks are cool," I replied.  Then, to them:  "Aren't you?"

Jim Theilbar looked at me with such respect and admiration I almost felt guilty for all the bullshit I'd been spreading for the last fifteen minutes.  "Yeah," he said.  "We are."

"Don't deposit more than a thousand dollars of that at a time," I said.  "Banks are required to inform the FBI of any cash deposits exceeding ten thousand dollars.  As of right now, this money doesn't officially exist."

"Mr. Gerard," said Jim, "this may sound stupid to you, but I think after tonight I might start believing in God again.  Thank you—and thank your team.  We won't say or do anything for the next three days, you have our word."

I shook his hand.  Melinda insisted on hugging me.  She used the same vanilla-scented soap as Tanya, which is probably why I let the embrace go on a little longer than was wise.  They promised again to keep quiet, and then—after helping to move Thomas and his wheelchair up into the shadows of the front porch—I asked for a few moments alone with him.  Jim and Melinda stepped to the far side of the porch to give us some privacy.

"I guess you gotta go, huh?"

I knelt down in front of him.  "Afraid so, buddy."

"You go

I looked at him, then smiled.  "You bet."  I think we both knew it was a lie.  He might miss everyone for a while, but eventually he'd come to a point when even thinking about any of us would send him into a tailspin.  Better to be a memory, and hopefully one that will soon be forgotten.

"I really socked Christopher with that boot, didn't I?"

"You've got great aim, Thomas.  Thanks, by the way."

"You're welcome."  We looked at each other for a few more moments, then he scratched at his face, sighed, and said, "Well, I guess you better go before Christopher gets all grumpy again."

"Is he always like that?"

"No.  Most of the time he's pretty nice.  I think maybe the bad stuff makes him sad."

"I think you're probably right."  I offered him my hand, but he just laughed and pulled me to him in a surprisingly strong hug.

"Thank you for bringing me back to my mommy and daddy," he said.

"My pleasure."  I stood, giving his hand one final squeeze.  "It will start to get better now, Thomas.  So… I hope you can be happy."

"I am.  I'm home."

I nodded, waved to Jim and Melinda, then got the hell out of there before I lost it altogether.

I rounded the corner but did not look back at the Theilbar's house.  "Be happy," I whispered, and maybe it was a prayer.  "Be happy."

The first thing out of Rebecca's mouth when I got in the bus was:  "I miss him already.  Is that silly, or what?"

"Not really."  I sat next to her and took her hand in mine.  "I think he's going to be okay.  Eventually."

"Are they nice?  Please tell me that they're nice."

I nodded.  "They're wonderful.  Seriously.  They're just great.  I was thinking of asking them to adopt me."

"Good," she whispered, then sniffed.  "That makes me feel a little better."

"Honest?"

She looked at me and smiled.  "Honest."

Her hands still felt cold.  "Are you sure okay?"

"Huh?  Oh, yeah, I think so.  Probably need a shot—I should check my blood sugar just to be—"

She was cut off by Christopher and Arnold climbing into the front seats.  Arnold was jumping with nervous energy.  "Oh, man, you were awesome! You should've been there, Rebecca, my man was on fire!"

"He did all right," said Christopher.

Arnold was deeply offended by this.  "All right?  All right?  The man was on!  You even said so yourself.  Rebecca, I'm telling you, Mark here was so good he had me believing he was the real thing."  He reached over the seat and gave my shoulder a congratulatory smack.  "Dude, you rocked the casbah!  You burned down the house!  Damn that was great!"  He turned back and smacked Christopher's shoulder.  "Go on, admit it.  Am I right?  Am I?  Wasn't our man all that and a bag of chips?  Wasn't he?  Wasn't he?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, all right, okay," said Christopher, recoiling from any further blows of enthusiasm.  "He was good."  He looked back at me.  "Okay, you got me, I admit it—you were better than good.  You were pretty damned impressive back there, Pretty Boy."  He was almost smiling.  "You get back some of your Brownie points."

"How thrilling for me."

His face went blank for a second.  "I suppose I had that coming."

"Heard that," added Arnold.

"All in favor," I said.

Everyone raised their hands.

Then Arnold cracked open the last four cans of Pepsi and handed one to each of us.  "To Thomas," he said, raising his can.

"To Thomas," said Rebecca.

Christopher nodded.  "Thomas."

"To Thomas," I said.  "May all the songs he sings be happy ones from now on."

"And on-key," added Arnold.

We toasted, then drove away.

12. Hence, My Cheery Nature

We'd been back on the road for maybe half an hour when Christopher looked once again into the rearview mirror and said, "So, you and your grandmother—what's the story, Morning Glory?"

"What is it with this stiffy you've got for my family history?"

"I'm trying to be nice here, Pretty—uh, Mark."

"I thought he looked like he was pulling a muscle," said Arnold.

I smiled at him, then looked back at Christopher.  "I didn't mean for my tone to sound quite so nasty, sorry."

"So what gives, anyway?"

Rebecca had fallen asleep again; her head was resting on my shoulder.  I didn't want to wake her—the longer she slept, the farther away from Thomas we got, and the farther away we got, the less it might hurt her (or so went my reasoning)—so I carefully moved her to the side, placing a small pillow between her head and the window.  She sniffed, muttered something, then pulled up her legs and curled into a semi-fetal position on the seat.  Once I was sure she wasn't going to wake up, I scooted the edge of the seat and leaned forward so that I was between Christopher and Arnold.  "You want the whole story or the Readers Digest condensed version?"

"Whole story," said Arnold.  "We got a couple more hours or so before it's go