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Authors: Helen Hanson
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“It’s down under, Trish.”
Maggie didn’t feel like correcting him again. Since Travis had gone to jail, Dad seemed routinely out-of-it. Any semblance of lucidity came in flashes, and communication remained unreliable.
She checked the wounds on his back and was satisfied that they were healing. She placed her hand under his elbow, and he stood this time. The remote control lay on the floor by his feet.
Down under. Of course. “C’mon, Daddy. Let’s get you some breakfast.”
He walked on his own to the kitchen table and took a seat. She poured a bowl of Grape-Nuts, added sliced banana, milk, and gave it to him with a large spoon.
“Thanks, Maggie.” His eyes hung on her face.
She hugged his head to the side of her waist. “I love you.” It was nice to be remembered.
Travis entered the beachside door behind the straining beagles. “Hold on.” He reeled in Bailey and Belli long enough to unleash them. The dogs padded to the water bowl and lapped their fill.
“Morning, Pop.” Travis hugged his father around the neck. “Ginger’s coming by later.”
“We’ll be back in a little while.” She grabbed her purse, kissed her father, and they left through the front door.
Driving to The Department of Motor Vehicles was a luxury in terms of spent gas, extra miles on her car, and time not looking for a job. Instead of the usual morning clouds, the ocean currents sent a top-down kind of morning, and she decided to revel in it even if she didn’t own a convertible. The troubles would be there when they returned. Maggie didn’t need to invite them along for the ride.
She took Highway 92 over the mountains into the San Mateo office and picked up the California Driver Guide, the Parent-Teen Training Guide, and every possible applicable form. Travis pored over the regulations as if seeking clues for treasure. They arrived home minutes before eleven.
Travis hustled upstairs to get Maggie’s laptop, so she could order the driver’s ed workbooks. She hoped the books would arrive quickly. Travis needed to concentrate on something positive.
Their father was sitting outside on the porch watching the ocean roil. She stepped out to kiss the top of his head. He rewarded her with a pat on the hand.
She returned to the kitchen to check for messages. A light blinked on the phone recorder. Denesha had called to offer Maggie some job ideas. Sergeant Garcia from the Half Moon Bay Police Department wanted Maggie to call him. Maybe he had news.
Travis was downstairs before Sergeant Garcia’s message ended. A worry line sidled across his brow. “What’s up?”
“Nothing that can’t wait.”
He placed the laptop on the kitchen counter.
She laid the phone down and turned on the computer. “What’s the address?”
Maggie typed in the name he gave her. Within minutes, they ordered Travis’ driving workbooks. The website promised delivery the same week.
Travis offered Maggie some money. A twenty and a ten. Thirty jail dollars. The kid was beaming.
She pushed it back to him. “No. You keep it. Save it for your first tank of gas. Once we get going, maybe you can practice by driving to school.”
The glow on his face faded. “About school—”
“What about school?”
He leaned on the counter, long legs stretching along the tile. “I can’t go back.”
The words jolted her. “What does that mean you can’t go back? You have to go to school. It’s part of your court order. Education is the only—”
“I can finish high school at home and help you with Dad.” A glint of pure reverence flickered over his face. “You can be my teacher, Magpie.”
Her shoulders dropped. “Travis, I don’t have time—” The phone rattled on the counter. “We’ll discuss this later.” She pushed the talk button. “Hello.”
“I’d like to speak with Martin Fender.” A man’s voice requested.
So would his children. “My father isn’t available.” Somewhat of an understatement, her father hadn’t spoken on
Maggie didn’t feel like correcting him again. Since Travis had gone to jail, Dad seemed routinely out-of-it. Any semblance of lucidity came in flashes, and communication remained unreliable.
She checked the wounds on his back and was satisfied that they were healing. She placed her hand under his elbow, and he stood this time. The remote control lay on the floor by his feet.
Down under. Of course. “C’mon, Daddy. Let’s get you some breakfast.”
He walked on his own to the kitchen table and took a seat. She poured a bowl of Grape-Nuts, added sliced banana, milk, and gave it to him with a large spoon.
“Thanks, Maggie.” His eyes hung on her face.
She hugged his head to the side of her waist. “I love you.” It was nice to be remembered.
Travis entered the beachside door behind the straining beagles. “Hold on.” He reeled in Bailey and Belli long enough to unleash them. The dogs padded to the water bowl and lapped their fill.
“Morning, Pop.” Travis hugged his father around the neck. “Ginger’s coming by later.”
“We’ll be back in a little while.” She grabbed her purse, kissed her father, and they left through the front door.
Driving to The Department of Motor Vehicles was a luxury in terms of spent gas, extra miles on her car, and time not looking for a job. Instead of the usual morning clouds, the ocean currents sent a top-down kind of morning, and she decided to revel in it even if she didn’t own a convertible. The troubles would be there when they returned. Maggie didn’t need to invite them along for the ride.
She took Highway 92 over the mountains into the San Mateo office and picked up the California Driver Guide, the Parent-Teen Training Guide, and every possible applicable form. Travis pored over the regulations as if seeking clues for treasure. They arrived home minutes before eleven.
Travis hustled upstairs to get Maggie’s laptop, so she could order the driver’s ed workbooks. She hoped the books would arrive quickly. Travis needed to concentrate on something positive.
Their father was sitting outside on the porch watching the ocean roil. She stepped out to kiss the top of his head. He rewarded her with a pat on the hand.
She returned to the kitchen to check for messages. A light blinked on the phone recorder. Denesha had called to offer Maggie some job ideas. Sergeant Garcia from the Half Moon Bay Police Department wanted Maggie to call him. Maybe he had news.
Travis was downstairs before Sergeant Garcia’s message ended. A worry line sidled across his brow. “What’s up?”
“Nothing that can’t wait.”
He placed the laptop on the kitchen counter.
She laid the phone down and turned on the computer. “What’s the address?”
Maggie typed in the name he gave her. Within minutes, they ordered Travis’ driving workbooks. The website promised delivery the same week.
Travis offered Maggie some money. A twenty and a ten. Thirty jail dollars. The kid was beaming.
She pushed it back to him. “No. You keep it. Save it for your first tank of gas. Once we get going, maybe you can practice by driving to school.”
The glow on his face faded. “About school—”
“What about school?”
He leaned on the counter, long legs stretching along the tile. “I can’t go back.”
The words jolted her. “What does that mean you can’t go back? You have to go to school. It’s part of your court order. Education is the only—”
“I can finish high school at home and help you with Dad.” A glint of pure reverence flickered over his face. “You can be my teacher, Magpie.”
Her shoulders dropped. “Travis, I don’t have time—” The phone rattled on the counter. “We’ll discuss this later.” She pushed the talk button. “Hello.”
“I’d like to speak with Martin Fender.” A man’s voice requested.
So would his children. “My father isn’t available.” Somewhat of an understatement, her father hadn’t spoken on
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