Chapter 19
Manny and I surveilled the Cardot family from two blocks away.
We’d been there for an hour, sitting in the front seats of my Honda and feeling weird about the man-dog in the tree.
It felt as though we’d seen him nude, in a state not fit for public eyes, and I was embarrassed for him, embarrassed for Piper, for the neighbors, but also embarrassed for myself because I’d been presented with a bizarre human behavior and I hadn’t been ready.
Was I supposed to look away? Was I supposed to throw a ball for him?
Shoot him with a tranq dart? Call animal control?
I didn’t know what the right response was, but I had anger and shame wrestling in my chest. Not much pity.
Eventually Theo climbed down and ran like he was stiff out of our line of sight.
Something was off. Other than the man-dog. Why had Piper slammed the door? She knew who I was? How? And if she did, why would that scare her?
Something was off.
Manny said, “I never rode one of those.”
“Puerto Rico didn’t have buses?”
“Some places did. Not mine,” he said.
“You missed out on several fulfilling childhood experiences,” I said. “Riding a school bus isn’t one.”
“They look happy.”
“We romanticize crowds. Like on television, at a sports event, we assume the crowd is a unified thing, a delighted community, but instead it’s a thousand little groups irritated with their neighbors. Kids on that school bus are at war,” I said.
The bus stopped in front of the Cardots’ house. The accordion door opened and a girl jumped out. I raised binoculars.
Sophia Chambers Cardot ran up the stone path.
Her shoes and her backpack were pink. I didn’t have much experience with elementary-aged girls, but she resembled one.
Her hair was back in a low ponytail that Ronnie would hate, and she looked like her parents let her drink soda and watch a lot of television.
Piper threw open the big front door. She still wore the headset.
She beamed, pink with joy, and held her arms out, a mom thrilled to see her daughter.
Sophia tried to slip by her but Piper picked her up and kissed her face too many times.
Sophia’s feet kicked in the air until her adopted mom set her down and the two walked inside.
“They look happy,” said Manny. “Am I romancing that?”
“Not sure. And the word is, romanticizing.” I lowered the binoculars.
“How long do you want to stay?”
“Dunno,” I said.
“Se?orita don’t look like she plays outside a lot.”
“Maybe she’ll take her dog for a walk,” I said.
“That’s funny.”
We stayed another hour. For what, I wasn’t sure.
I’d been on more stakeouts than Manny, accustomed to the boredom, and by nature he was restless, a man of action, of kinetic energy, but if the job required stillness then he’d focus on that.
Being good at whatever the task at hand was, that mattered. Even if the task was silence.
Eventually he turned his attention to buying us tickets to tonight’s Washington Wizards home game. The NBA wasn’t our favorite, but they’d drafted AJ Dybantsa with the first overall pick, and we were close to the stadium in DC, and why not.
Darkness fell and lights inside houses began glowing. Picturesque suburban utopia. The game started in an hour.
“You don’t care about the Cardot family,” said Manny, stretching.
“Not much.”
“Ronnie does.”
I nodded. “Insomuch as she affected them.”
“And you care about Ronnie. So you do this for her, even though you think it’s a waste of time,” said Manny.
“That’s the job.”
“You could hire it out.”
“I’d have to tell her I did,” I said. “And then she’d know I didn’t think it was important.”
“You don’t think it’s important.”
“I think Ronnie’s important,” I said. “This is how I show it.”
“She knows already.”
What he wanted to say but didn’t was, both you and Ronnie know this is likely a pointless, illogical, inefficient waste of resources, and maybe you should tell her that instead of acting like the employee of a clueless boss.
He was right. But that wasn’t the point.
I said, “People are weird. We wear armor, we put up defenses. We don’t believe in our inherent worth and we protect ourselves. Even Ronnie.”
“Uh oh,” he said. “A sermon.”
“Humans benefit from being loved in excess. Because of those defenses. To make someone feel loved, it takes that extra unnecessary step. Enough isn’t enough. It’s the extra part that’s impactful. Like with art. A beautiful painting isn’t enough to grab us, it has to be extra beautiful.”
“So.” He frowned forward through the windshield. “You’re doing this because it’s unnecessary.”
“And excessive. And she knows it. Which means, it just might be enough,” I said.
“In Puerto Rico, the couples just drank a lot.”
A dog landed on our car. A dog wearing sneakers that dented the hood.
If I’d been holding a drink, I would’ve spilled it because he dropped from the tree branches above and touched down with a BANG.
In the dark, with our lights off, his face was mostly hidden in the dusk but he made angry barking sounds and stomped on the hood and jumped down and scampered into the trees to our right, to the backyards and out of sight before we could open our doors.
Now, standing on the street, Manny said, “That was Theo?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’s he hate you?”
“Great question,” I said. “Something’s off.”
“I catch that dog,” said Manny, “gonna kick his ass an extra unnecessary amount.”