Officer Jones

bunting, and delivered the opening speech into a crackling microphone. It was the usual fluffy promotional speech, stolen from my father’s playbook. But before he finished, Maloney announced an award to be handed out for the first time this year, in honor of Lisa Spargo. It would be presented to the member of the community who performed the most exemplary work in eradicating drunk driving. He read a laundry list of statistics about alcohol related accidents in the United States, along with a brief history on Lisa. The name Noah Warner was never mentioned.

My father pulled my mother close. I could tell it caught them off guard. A pristine Saturday morning suddenly began raining bad memories.

A tear rolled down my mother’s cheek. My father had told me that she still felt guilty that when she’d heard the news of Lisa’s death, she’d initially felt relieved that it wasn’t Noah who was the one killed. Sounded to me like a normal response of a parent. I was just glad Noah was nowhere to be found. He never rose before noon by choice, so there wasn’t much chance of him being here.

Maloney stood in his dark suit, looking like a taller version of the kid I grew up with. The outfit reminded me that he used to wear a suit and tie to school to try to kiss up to our teachers. He called for a moment of silence and bowed his head of slick-backed hair. When the silence ended, he brought Lisa Spargo’s mother onto the stage.

She was a dark-haired Italian woman who wore a floral colored sundress and sandals. She looked very much like her attractive daughter had. But even from a distance, I noticed the deep scar of sadness embedded on her face.

After gut-wrenching words about the dreams Lisa would never get to fulfill, and more statistics on drinking and driving fatalities, she presented the award to a local policeman named Kyle Jones.

Officer Jones walked over to Mrs. Spargo and they hugged dramatically for what seemed like minutes. When they released their embrace, the crowd clapped.

I continued to have a bad feeling about Jones. But why? There was nothing unusual about his physical appearance-a slender man of average height. He seemed to care about the community, hence the award. I again blamed it on the conspiratorial J-News lingering within me. The transition from reporter to farmer was going to be more difficult than I thought.

Chapter 22

After Maloney declared the Rockfield Fair open for business, I followed my mother to the historical society exhibit. I could tell she was shaken up and I wanted to comfort her. I also needed to put an end to this gap between us.

I trailed her into the small exhibit tent and began to help her move artifacts. “What are you doing, JP?”

“I thought you could use some help.”

“I’ve been doing this for twenty years, I think I have it down pretty well. Go find your father-he is very proud of your triumphant return and wants to show you off to his constituents.”

“Like a prized pony?”

She turned her back on me without a word.

“Are you happy I’m back?”

Silence.

“I’m a reporter, Mom, I can tell something is wrong.”

She suddenly turned in my direction. “No JP, you gave up being a reporter a long time ago. Now you’re just a stranger with a death wish. I can’t do it anymore, I just can’t!”

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t attach myself emotionally. I can no longer be your mother.”

“You’re going to quit being my mom? I think that’s against the rules.”

“You were a hostage for six weeks, but I’ve been one for twenty years! You got lucky this time, but eventually I will have to bury you. I can’t do it anymore, I have other children and grandchildren who need me, not to mention your father.”

The dam broke and she began sobbing uncontrollably. I limped to her and encased her in a hug.

“I’m done with that life, Mom. I promise”

“It’s who you are, JP. Between you and Noah, I get scared every time I hear the phone ring.”

I wrapped the hug tighter. “I promise you I’m done.”

This time she hugged me back, but I felt the doubt in her squeeze.

“Is everything alright here?” my father’s voice broke the moment.

My mother wiped the tears from her eyes. “We’re fine, Peter. I’m just glad our son is home safe and sound.”

“I don’t know about sound, but it is good to be home,” I said.

“We’re glad to have you back, son. You can stay as long as you need,” my father added somberly, before turning excited once again. “Come with me, JP, I want to re-introduce you to an old friend of yours.”

For an instant I thought he meant Gwen, and I broke out in a cold sweat. But it turned out to be anything but a friend-it was my old spineless classmate, and my father’s successor, Bobby Maloney. Having grown up with Bobby, it was no surprise to me that he didn’t have the guts to warn my parents that he was going to drop the Lisa Spargo bomb on them this morning. But before I could even protest, my father was tugging me in Maloney’s direction.

The crux of our problem had always been his jealousy of my relationship with Gwen, and while I can’t fault anyone for falling for her, I didn’t appreciate his constant attempts to undermine me behind my back. And it didn’t stop once we graduated. While I was off covering the Gulf War, he would travel every weekend to New York from North Carolina, where he attended college, to “comfort her.” Hitting on a guy’s girl while he’s avoiding missiles in a war zone has to be against some sort of etiquette. And while I’m no psychologist, it seemed to me that his sudden return to Rockfield, in which he sought out my father’s former position, reeked of someone not having gotten over the past.

My father gave his successor heartfelt congratulations on the speech. Maloney seemed to be eating up the approval. They discussed a couple of local issues for a few minutes until my father spotted a group of his longtime supporters. He excused himself, leaving Maloney and me awkwardly together. There was silence, followed by more silence.

Finally he spoke, “So what do you think your doing, Warner?”

I was surprised by the aggressive tone. “What do you mean, Bobby?”

“It’s Robert.”

“Who is Robert?”

“I am, dammit. What are you doing in my town?”

“Your town?”

“Stop answering a question with a question. What are you doing here?”

“I guess you guys don’t have cable in Rockfield yet. I was captured by…”

Maloney looked like he was about to blow a gasket. “I know your story, Warner-the whole goddam world knows your sob story. They can try to make you out to be some sort of hero, but everyone here knows you’re nothing but an opportunist. And if you think you’re going to waltz in here and take my job, I can assure you that you’ll have the fight of your life on your hands.”

I began to laugh, but caught myself when I realized he was actually serious. “I was just thinking about starting a little farm. I hear they demonstrate a lot of farm equipment at the fair.”

“Nobody in this town wants you here. They don’t respect a fraud, so go back to whatever exotic locale you came from.”

I flashed him my smuggest smile. The one that had irritated people on all seven continents at one time or another. “I’m just here to enjoy the fair, Mr. First Selectman.”

He glared at me, but wouldn’t look me directly in the eye-now that’s the Bobby Maloney I remember-before storming off.

A certain peace came over me as I limped around the fairgrounds-just me and my cane. Some people