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“He ran when he saw me that day at the O’Neill house.”
“I found him. I mean, I’ve never been worried about where to find him,” I said, each word sounding like a lame excuse. A tired reason. Every single thing I thought had been right, was now, clearly, so damn wrong. “But I was worried about what kind of trouble would have found him first.”
Nora nodded and sat back in her chair, the soft morning sunlight softening her face, but not her eyes. Her eyes were double-barreled shotguns, pointing right at me.
“You realize as an officer of the law you are a mandated reporter of child abuse.”
“I…do. Yes.”
“Had the abuse been more serious, you could lose your job.”
“I understood the risks I was taking.”
Nora snorted and crossed her arms over her chest.
“You know what galls me?” Nora asked. “What really worries me about this situation? You let a scared sixteen-year-old boy dictate your actions.”
“I was trying to keep him out of Department of Corrections. We don’t have programs or services in place to help kids,” I said.
“The Parish does,” Nora said. “I am a part of a program designed to help kids. I understand that he was scared. And I agree—he was a flight risk. But you are the adult, and you didn’t do your job.”
I nodded, shamed into silence that buzzed painfully in my ears.
“What happens now?” I finally asked.
“I’m going to visit Ramon Pastor and let him know that community services has opened a file on Miguel and Louisa. And that should there be any more instances of abuse or attempted crime, we’ll remove the child from his home. We’ll enroll the family in counseling—”
“Ramon won’t go,” I said.
“You don’t know that,” Nora said, her thin lips tight. “And frankly, your assumptions have led us to this mess. But if Miguel’s father does not make efforts to keep his children, then we will find foster homes for the kids.”
“He’ll die without his sister. I’m telling you, Miguel is a good kid, a sweet kid who is trying hard to stay that way, but you take his sister away and pretty soon he’ll end up in DOC because he deserves to.”
Nora nodded in stern sympathy. “Sadly, there are problems that arise, but with a good community support—”
“We don’t have community support,” I said, feeling my face get hot with panic. “That’s what I’m trying to say. We have no system in place to help a kid like Miguel.”
“It seems to me you do,” Nora said, looking down at her file. “Tyler O’Neill. Trust me, systems in other towns all started with a citizen like Mr. O’Neill—someone who has the time, energy and inclination to help. You can grow your own system, Chief Tremblant.”
With Tyler as the seed? It was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. Giving money to down-and-out musicians and funding the cost for new homes was not the same as an outreach program for at-risk kids.
Unwanted, the thought of his face sitting at that breakfast counter between Louisa and Miguel seared my brain.
Sure, I thought bitterly, he could do it. Kids like him. Trust him. But would he do it? For extended periods of time? The answer resounding emphatically through my body was no.
“Another place to start is in your own department,” Nora said. “Designate one of your employees to be a family officer, to act as a liaison between myself and—”
“I’ll do that,” I said quickly.
“That’s good.” Nora slid a card across the desk toward me. “As chief, that sends a powerful message to the community that you’re involved.”
Something bright bubbled in my chest, a potent mix of hope and satisfaction.
This was good, I realized. This was how I was going to be police chief my way.
“Contact Officer Rhodes in Ellicott City. He’s the family officer there and he has an excellent system in place. He was in the same bind you are in a few years ago.”
I stared down at the card and decided to take the bulls by the horn. “Will there be some kind of action taken against me for not reporting the abuse?”
“I have to put a letter of reprimand in your file. But I’ll decide what else needs to be done after I talk to Miguel.” She began to pack up her briefcase, every movement efficient and clipped. “He’s not at school today. Neither is his sister.” She arched her light eyebrows. “I am assuming you know where we can find them?”
I nodded and stood, numb to the anxiety and worry. To the strange embarrassment of having been proven not so clever after all.
“I’ll drive,” I said.
TYLER
“Tyler,” Miguel said, his voice conveying a world of skepticism that frankly, I was not appreciating. We were carrying the lumber from my new truck to the soon-to-be-rebuilt-better-than-ever porch. I kept glancing over my shoulder to make sure Louisa was coming with the boxes of nails.
