Erika glares at her father. Ripples of betrayal emanate from her like heat off hot asphalt.
“Tell us about this person, Ms. Hansel. Name? Age?”
“Marcus Jamal. Eighteen. Look, I can tell you what I know about MJ, but I know he didn’t do this. Maybe it was Danny... I don’t know. But it wasn’t MJ.”
“That’s fine. We understand. They can both be starting points.” They continue to ask her questions about the substitute, of whom she has almost no information. Her responses change when they start asking about this other boy, about where he lives when not at school and how he communicates with her.
I listen and lap up all the details. These officers get to information much faster than we ever could. An impulsive sob rises up inmy throat. I swallow repeatedly to try to dislodge it. We are learning about our daughter’s first boyfriend from the police.
“Any recent changes? I mean, you’ve only known him for a few weeks, but anything out of the ordinary?” The shorter officer, with rounded cheeks and a ruddy nose, speaks up. He introduced himself earlier, but I can’t remember his name.
“I don’t know. Maybe. But again, I just don’t think...” She squeezes the brocade pillows hard against her.
We all sit in silence with only a faint ticking from Oma’s German wall clock.
“It’s just...” Erika picks at one of the loose threads in the corner of the pillow.
I want to stop her before she unravels the embroidered flower, but I want more for her to continue speaking.
“He had military maneuvers on Sunday. I, uh, I don’t think they went well.”
“What makes you say that?”
The thread loosens from the pillow and a petal on one of the flowers dissolves. “Oh, sorry, Mom.”
Shrugging, I smile, but I gently tug the pillow away from her. I shouldn’t care about a silly decor item. It’s just that I remember the fun my mom and I had picking them out. She risked life and limb as she dove headfirst into a massive bin, convinced she could find the mate. I clutched her legs so I wouldn’t lose her. We hadn’t laughed like that since before Dad died. Very uncharacteristic of my mom to involve herself with throw pillows.
Erika clutches the matching pillow squarely across her lap. “MJ’s been under a lot of stress. You know, college and ROTC.”
“Sure, can be very stressful.” Officer Komoroski nods.
Erika makes a strangled noise and then bears down on the pillow.“I haven’t heard from him since Sunday afternoon. I got worried, and I, uh, took a picture.”
As if all the air has been sucked from not only my lungs but the whole room, I stop breathing. I knew that picture was wrapped up in this new relationship. I close my eyes. I can’t watch the officers watching my daughter. She’s still a child. Someone to be loved and protected from all the predators out there. I blink and slide toward her. Reaching around her shoulders, my hand bumps into my husband, who has done the same. I let out a deep sigh.
“And you sent it?” the officer gently asks.
Erika’s tense muscles begin to relax. “Just one. He never asked me to. He was having such a hard time. I just wanted to be closer.” She stares down at the crushed pillow. “He never responded.”
“So, the message on the car about time being up?” the officer asks.
“Doesn’t make any sense. Calling me a—and then the car. I don’t get it.” Erika presses her hands to her face.
The officers stand in unison, perhaps some silent communication I missed. “We’ll look into this. If you hear from him let us know.”
“Officers.” I pull Erika close to me. “Maybe there’s another way to look at this? The wrong house, or it was meant for one of us?”
“We’ll look into all the possibilities. Be thankful no one was hurt, and nothing was stolen. We’ll stay on it. The damage will likely be covered by homeowners’ but that cost and the implied threat makes this a priority for us.” Officer Komoroski moves toward the door.
“Unless there’s something else you need to tell us.” The other one steps in front of me. I lower my gaze to make eye contact with Officer Colby. I’d forgotten his name, but his lanyard badge is now clearly visible.
“We’re learning right alongside you, Officer.” My voice is strong, not at all reflecting the storm inside me.
Clint opens our front door, and the officers step out.
I clamp down on my lips, not ready to tell them about my chaos at Garman Straub. I slip in behind Clint as he shakes both their hands.
After running a hand down my husband’s back, I head to the garage door off the kitchen. Now that the shock has worn off, I need to take another look.
