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“Can we go to the basketball courts at the end of the street and play with Brian?” Ricky asked.
I felt guilty, because my immediate reaction was that I wasn’t sure I wanted the younger boys hanging out with their big brother. Which would mean I had to acknowledge that Brian had made some bad decisions and I was concerned he’d influence the other kids to do the same. Which went against everything I preached in telling Brian that I trusted him.
Luckily, Mary Catherine was the one who started in with the third degree. “All your homework done?”
Both boys answered in unison. “Yes.”
“Room clean?”
“Yes.”
“Kitchen clean?”
Both the boys stared at her, then at each other.
Mary Catherine let out a laugh. “That was just a test to see if you’re paying attention. Although, if you ever want to get on my good side, cleaning the kitchen would be one way to do it.”
Trent nodded and said, “Gotcha. I think we can get away without doing it tonight, though. That is, if I’m reading you correctly.” He kept such a straight and serious face that it made both Mary Catherine and me burst out laughing.
Then I started thinking about the other boys who sometimes hung out at the basketball court.
Almost without thought I said, “I’ll go too.”
Ricky said, “Really?”
When I nodded, I was relieved to see that both boys were thrilled at the idea. It reminded me that the kids wanted to spend time with their parents. At least some of the time. No matter what they said or how they complained, the kids enjoyed having their parents around. Especially a supercool and athletic one like me. Or, to put it another way, they liked playing against someone they knew they could beat.
Twenty minutes later, we were on the set of four courts down the block. The courts looked like chaos to an outsider, but the kids and a volunteer from the YMCA had devised a pretty good system to make sure everyone had a chance. Two courts held three-on-three games, and the other two courts were open for general shooting and practice. People just shot around one another while they waited to get in on a three-on-three game. I made a mental note to send in my yearly donation to the YMCA.
I wasn’t needed to make up numbers, so I made myself comfortable watching from the sidelines. Brian, Ricky, and Trent formed one threesome, and the team got on the game court pretty quickly. I appreciated seeing how Brian encouraged his brothers. He never got upset if they missed a shot. Which was especially good in Ricky’s case. At the moment, he was shooting 0 for 6.
One of the older boys on the other team ran past Trent and threw a quick elbow. It knocked the slim teenager for a loop but wasn’t anything too blatant.
A second later, Brian was in the kid’s face, and I noticed my son’s right hand was balled into a fist. He was taking a minor basketball disagreement to another level awfully fast. I knew, and it scared me, that prison had taught him to strike fast and first. I hustled over.
Before I got there, though, Brian had stepped away from the kid. Breathing hard. Almost panting. Actually, I realized, he was breathing deeply. There’s a difference. I recognized it as part of the anger-management therapy he had started in prison and had continued once he was released.
I patted Brian on the shoulder and mumbled, “Good job, Son.”
God bless him. He was doing his best to adjust to the outside world.
We just had to be patient.
Chapter 31
Early the next morning, I found myself at a Dunkin’ Donuts on Beekman Street, a few blocks from the Brooklyn Bridge, chatting with Detective Raina Rayesh. It was nice to catch up with an old friend, even if gruesome murder was a key topic of conversation.
It was a long trip from Staten Island for Rayesh just to have a cup of coffee with an old friend. Unfortunately, a co
mmand performance at One Police Plaza was the real reason she was in Manhattan.
Rayesh said, “Pretty sure I’m getting summoned to headquarters because I wasn’t particularly patient or tactful when the mayor’s aide visited.”
“Was his name John Macy?”
“Yeah. Said he’d been a cop and understood what we went through, yada yada yada. So I said, ‘Then you’ll understand how I’m too busy to talk to you.’”
“How’d he respond?”
