Chapter X
MAE'S BODY ACHED as she lay restlessly in her bed. The sun hadn’t broken the horizon of the new day yet, but Mae's red, crusted eyes wouldn’t stay closed, so she rolled toward the edge and pulled herself upright.
She had vacillated between wakefulness and stupor since the moment she collapsed into her bed.
She was certain that Simon hadn’t gotten any sleep either.
Simon, who had never slept a night away from her or Henry in his entire life, was confined to a room blocks away without the ability to escape.
Disgust at the hypocrisy of the situation overcame her.
She’d go back to the police today and explain the situation.
They would certainly realize their error and rescind their position in front of this Judge Darnell.
It was obvious that she wasn’t an unfit mother.
Circumstances were evident that would shed light on their findings.
She knew the law would correct itself—it just needed some guidance.
As the blanket fell away from her, she rubbed her hands over her arms to stave off the cold. She had forgotten to stoke the coal stove upon her return the evening before, and now the room’s temperature felt frigid.
Her eyes fell on the framed photograph of her wedding day, set lovingly on her dresser’s hand-stitched doily.
Henry's arm had wrapped around her waist in that moment. His thin fingers held her close. She thought back to that day—when the world had seemed to unfurl before her. She had a husband who treated her as an equal, loved her quick mind and logical thinking. They had fallen in love with each other after they had each fallen in love with the law. Her hand reached for his side of the bed. Its blankets were still tucked neatly under, and his pillow was half-hidden by the coverlet. They had been a team. Always together. Always tackling life’s challenges together.
The picture became blurred, and she realized they weren’t a team anymore.
She was on her own. She had no champion.
She had no friend. The thought of Simon and her impotence the night before, standing just steps away from him without the ability to rescue him, haunted her.
Her hand shot out from her and yanked Henry's pillow from his side of the bed.
Fisting her hands in it, she twisted its soft, familiar covering into jagged creases and furrows.
She brought it to her face and moaned low and feral into its center.
The thought of being alone was overwhelming, and anger at Henry for leaving her suffused her body.
Her fist came down over and over again into the pillow, creating an indent where Henry's tousled hair used to reside.
When her arm grew weary, she sat numbly on the edge of the bed.
The picture on the dresser haunted her, and a heavy guilt pressed down upon her heart.
She knew Henry would never have left her voluntarily, but it didn’t make her any less angry that he wasn’t here.
The silence of the flat was not peaceful like so many other mornings when she had awakened before Henry and Simon.
This stillness was a sham. A mockery of her previously perfect world.
Henry wasn’t here—he never would be again.
Simon was gone. She didn’t know how to get him back.
Her hand found the watch and clutched it tightly in her fist. The vision of Mrs. Kerr’s desperate posture haunted her. Would she lose Simon in the same way?
No.
She pushed herself off the bed. She wasn’t the same as Mrs. Kerr. She was educated, could get a decent job, and had a proper home. The courts would obviously see their error once it was brought to their attention.
She moved to the dresser and began setting out new clothes for the coming day.
A renewed vigor rippled through her as she readied herself.
Looking down at the photo, a resolve swept over her.
She would bring Simon home. She would bring their baby boy back.
She would make Henry proud of her. No more groveling.
She would gather facts. Then, she would make them see it.
Mae pushed through the doors of the local precinct. This time she recognized the clerk at the desk and made her way straight to him.
“Mornin’, Ma’am, how can I help you?” he asked her automatically. Then he added, as recognition dawned on him, “Did you find your son?”
“I did, but I was unable to retrieve him from the Foundling House last night.” Mae tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Is there an Officer Donovan here that I may speak with?”
“Let me see,” he murmured as he shuffled through the paperwork on his desk.
“Ah, yes, he is listed on today’s work list. He should be coming in any moment now.
If you’d like to wait, you can sit right over there,” he waved his arm toward a line of wooden benches pushed up against the front wall, “and I will let him know that you are here when I see him come in.”
“Thank you. I would appreciate that.” Mae walked over and sat squarely on the bench to wait.
She looked up at the wall clock and noted that it was still fairly early.
Hoping that the officer wouldn’t be in too late, she settled back onto the bench, allowing her back to be supported by the wall.
Her eyes roamed over the hubbub of the police station.
Men in uniform still buzzed about, now readying themselves for the day on the beat.
Other men in suits sat behind their desks, smoking cigarettes and sifting through paperwork.
The clanging and banging of the morning’s doings were muted compared to the din of yesterday’s midafternoon visit.
Occasional laughter erupted at what Mae figured was a friendly joke amongst coworkers.
She could smell the brewing coffee, and her stomach churned as she realized she had left again this morning without eating.
Her mind floated back to the normal morning routine of seeing Simon off to school while Henry ate his breakfast quietly at the table, reading the morning news.
She would always have to remind Simon to bring his lunch pail as he scooted out the door.
Once Simon had left, she’d sit down with Henry to discuss any important news of the day as they prepared their schedules for the coming workday.
So ordinary. So comfortable. Now, what would their mornings be like?
She thought of Henry's chair that would now sit empty at the head of the table.
His coffee mug left unused in the cupboard.
The ache in her stomach soured at the thought.
“Ma’am,” the clerk interrupted her thoughts. Mae sat at attention. “This here’s Officer Donovan.” He motioned to the large, burly officer. Mae stood up to meet him. He towered over her by almost a foot, and she had to incline her head to meet his gaze.
“Donovan,” the clerk said, addressing the big man, “this here’s Mrs. Turner. You brought in her son yesterday for truancy, she says. Probably one of Mr. Foster’s cases.”
Officer Donovan had a superior look on his face as he approached Mae. Her hand tightened on her purse strap.
She knew—maybe not this man—but that look.
* * *
Before The Note
Mae had just finished the place setting as the front door clicked open.
Henry glided through the door as he always did at six o’clock, depositing his hat and coat on his peg and placing his briefcase neatly alongside the door jamb.
Entering the kitchen, he exaggerated a smell and tossed her a grin, “Pot roast, my favorite.”
“Some boys have been bothering Simon at school, and he ended up in a fight. Now he has a bruise under his eye—”
“A fight? What did the teacher say about it?”
She chewed her nail. “The teacher brought Simon down to the principal along with the boys who started it.”
“Which teacher? I'll speak with the principal first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, Henry. Don’t make it worse.”
“Mae, it’s things like this that require a firm response. The school board will hear about it, and if I have to, I will file a formal complaint.”
“Filing a formal complaint will only make him more of a target. Henry, please think about it.”
“I will handle it.” He turned from her and yelled past her, “Simon! Simon, come down here!”
Heavy footsteps could be heard overhead and then traipsing down the stairs.
Mae's eyes softened as she took in the rumpled clothes and darkening cheek.
Her arms unclenched, unconsciously moving toward him.
Her movement froze mid-air as she saw the look of disdain on his face at her approach.
Simon stood in front of Henry, his fists clenched at his sides as his chin came up to look Henry in the eye.
The crooked glasses tugged at her heartstrings.
“What is this I am hearing about a fight at school?” Henry's tone was level as his eyes scanned Simon's face.
Simon repeated what he’d told Mae upstairs.
As Henry listened, his jaw clenched slightly.
At the end, Henry reached forward and held Simon's chin.
Shifting his head to the left and right to get a good look at the bruise, he ground out, “It was good that you defended yourself.” Mae's mouth fell open and her eyes went round momentarily. “Those boys shouldn’t be allowed to push you around. What did the principal have to say about this?”
Mae watched as Simon's mouth curved up slightly at the edges. “He said, ‘Fighting won’t be tolerated, no matter the reason.’” Again, Simon mimicked the authoritative man. “Now I have to stay after and bang out erasers. He said if it happens again, the punishment will be worse.”
“If it happens again,” he retorted, “you go straight to the principal. Not the teacher. The principal. And then you come to me.” Simon's slight smile blossomed into a lopsided grin, the swelling pulling his features awkwardly to the left.
“Henry…” Mae’s tone held a warning as she grabbed Simon from behind by the shoulders. Instantly, his shoulders scrunched forward, and he stepped away from her toward Henry.
“Now, I said I would handle it, and I did. Is dinner about ready?” His tone stung. His complacent look told her that the conversation was over.
And she supposed he did handle it—in the space of five minutes, albeit not the way she had intended. She’d usually found Henry’s expediency reassuring, but in this instance, it rankled.
He turned back to Simon, “Why don’t you go set up the chessboard? I believe we’ve both won once and we’re overdue for our rubber match.”
Simon grinned up at him, and Mae was instantly jealous of the love and admiration evident in his eyes.
Once again, she was the mean one. Her resentment bubbled up within her as she stomped over to the stove like a chastised child.
Hefting the dish up, she set it in the middle of the table on its requisite trivet.
Henry doled out the portions as she removed her apron and sat.
Her back stiffened against the straight back of the chair.
Simon ran back into the room after setting the pieces on the board. “It’s ready! You better watch out, I’ve been practicing all week!”
“I sure hope you have been, because there’s no way you can beat me with the same rook move as last time.”
As the banter between them went back and forth, Mae served up the pot roast, placing the most tender piece on Simon’s plate instinctively before serving Henry and herself.
She pushed the pot roast around her own plate and could feel the tips of her ears burning while her toes curled tightly inside her slippers.
Finally, two of the three plates were cleared of second helpings of pot roast. Mae stacked her plate onto the other two empty ones and walked to the sink.
With her back to them, she could hear Henry and Simon retreat to the sitting room.
As she waited for the warm water, a familiar sting formed behind her eyes.
The plates in the sink became blurry as she clutched the rounded rim of the enamel sink.
Her free hand moved to the opening of her blouse, finding the snap closures along the soft linen seams holding together the neckline of her blouse.
Her fingertip circled the snap as she breathed deeply before reaching for the dirty pot on the stove.
The playful exchange in the next room exacerbated her feelings of isolation.
After washing each plate, fork, and knife, she neatly dried them and put them away.
She climbed the stairs without looking back.
* * *
It had taken Henry five minutes. She had been the mean one.
Donovan's eyes were on her now with the same comfortable certainty.