As Dog Is My Witness (21 page)

“From now on? How long are you guys going to be
following me around?”

Warren stopped to take care of his main business, and
we stood for a while, four grown men trying not to look at a dog’s
butt. “Until Mr. Shapiro tells us to stop,” Big said.

“Why does Mr. Shapiro think I’m in danger?” I asked.
“Who would want to do me harm if they know he’s giving me
protection?”

“I don’t ask questions,” Big said. Bigger looked
annoyed that his turn to speak had been taken. “He says ‘watch
you,’ we watch. He says ‘stop watching,’ we stop watching. Either
way, you know you’re safe.”

“And my family?”

“We’re watching them, too,” said Bigger, making sure
he took his turn this time. Warren finished up, I bagged what
needed to be bagged, and we continued on our way.

“Don’t watch my wife too closely,” I said, suddenly
feeling a little weird about this whole “watching” thing.

Big grinned. “You don’t let us have any fun.”

“This watching thing isn’t my idea,” I told him. “I
don’t want my family weirded out, you hear? Will you be watching
inside the house, too?” It suddenly occurred to me that Big,
Bigger, and Biggest might be a little too close for comfort.

“Nah,” Bigger said. “If we’re watching the house,
they can’t get in without us knowing.”

We turned the corner and headed back toward the
house, our collective breath forming a cloud that made us look like
an Al Capp cartoon. When we reached the house, I looked at
them.

“I’m going inside now. You guys need anything?
Coffee? Hot chocolate? I think I’ve got some bagels left.”

Big shook his head. “We’re fine. Don’t worry.”

“You going to need my bathroom?” How was I going to
explain that to Abby?

Bigger shook his head this time. Apparently, they
were taking turns on that, too. “We’re all set up. You’ll
. . . 

“. . .  never know you’re there. I got
it. So you’re here to watch me and my wife and kids, right?”

“Right,” said Bigger.

“We have guests staying with us, you know,” I
said.

“I know,” Big said. “We can protect them, too.”

I opened the front door and looked at them. “I
wouldn’t worry too much about that,” I said, and went inside.

E
than woke up around ten
and immediately went into his Saturday morning routine, which
consists of a dizzying succession of cartoons, each timed to the
minute, and remote control mastery, flitting back and forth between
stations during commercial breaks that would shame the most
accomplished of couch potatoes. He was still in his pajamas, which
consisted of long flannel pants and a t-shirt, and probably
wouldn’t come down to eat until after noon.

I didn’t tell Abby about my conversation with Howard,
or about the service we were to receive from the Really Large
Bodyguard Corporation, since I didn’t understand either one, and
didn’t believe telling my wife would make her feel any better.

Leah was still in pajamas, too, and bouncing around
the house in her usual Saturday morning routine, waiting for her
friend Melissa, who lives across the street, to wake up. Melissa
doesn’t generally wake up until a bucket of cold water is thrown
upon her, at which time her front window shades are raised—the
Midland Heights equivalent of Bob Woodward moving the red flag on
his terrace for “Deep Throat.”

The local YM/YWHA was being renovated so it could
more plausibly raise its membership rates, and was closed, so we
had installed in our basement the home version of the elliptical
trainer I use there. The words “home version” are apropos, since
the in-home elliptical is to exercise what the “home version” of
the “Jeopardy! Game” is to playing for real money with Alex Trebec.
It’s fun, but you don’t really get the same rewards.

I got on the elliptical while I had a window of
opportunity (Howard and Andrea were upstairs, probably tattling on
me to Abby) and did a quick 30 minutes, which is exactly the same
amount of time as a slow 30 minutes, but uses up more calories.
When I was finished punishing myself for enjoying food, I trudged
upstairs and went right to my bedroom to get ready for the shower I
desperately needed. It might not be the professional version, but
the elliptical trainer had me sweating to the point where I hadn’t
noticed how cold my basement was for the last 20 minutes of the
workout.

Our bedroom is directly across from Ethan’s, so I
closed our door while dressing after my shower. Since the walls are
nice thick plaster, but the doors are cheap, hollow wood, I could
hear something going on outside the bedroom door almost as if I
were actually in the hall.

Apparently, Dylan was taunting Ethan about his choice
in television programming, which is a hair short of telling Ethan
that his life is meaningless and besides, he’s ugly.

“This is a baby show,” Dylan said, voice full of
contempt. “Nobody but babies watches this show.”

Kids make fun of Ethan a lot. Classmates imitate his
hand gestures and the way he rolls his eyes when upset. Others
simply try to provoke those responses by teasing him the way all
kids tease all other kids, only more. So he’s used to teasing. And
for the most part, he’s learned to deal with it relatively well.
You can call him names, you can insult him, you can challenge his
very reason for existence.

But question his choice of television programs, and
you’re practically begging for violence.

I could hear Ethan’s teeth clench. Sometimes, his
reactions to stressful situations are so much like mine I find them
unbearable. “This is
not
a baby show,” he said in a tone
that said more than his words.

“Sure it is,” his cousin plowed on, “and you like it
because you’re a
baby.
You act like a six-year-old, and
you’re really twelve. You—”

“
This is not a baby show!
” Ethan screamed. I
knew what that tone meant, and I struggled to get my pants on as I
scrambled for the door.

When I opened the door, I saw Ethan with his hands on
Dylan’s throat, choking him for all he was worth. I was a choker
when I was a kid, too, but I learned to stop when I was much
younger than Ethan. I burst out of the bedroom and ran to the two
of them as quickly as I could, separating them physically.

“Ethan Atticus Tucker!” I yelled, not thinking.

Dylan didn’t even wait to catch his breath.
“Atticus?” he crowed. “
Atticus
? Your middle name is
Atticus
?”

Ethan wheeled and stared at me with a horrible look
of betrayal in his eyes. “What did you
do
?” he said to
me.

There are times as a parent when you wish you could
rewind the past five seconds or so, but even when your methodology
is wrong, your reasons are usually justifiable. I knew I’d messed
up in front of Ethan’s most relentless tormentor, but I couldn’t
let him run around choking the life out of people, either.

“Ethan,” I said. “You can’t put your hands on other
people like that.”

Dylan, his fear ebbing, was already grinning an evil
grin. “Do you know your initials are EAT?” he said.

“Dylan,” I said, turning toward him. “Ethan can’t
choke you like that, but I know how you tease him, and I heard what
you were saying. You have to stop treating him like that, and I
mean
now.
”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” the kid sneered.
“You’re not my father.”

I couldn’t react in time. “I am,” said the voice from
behind me. “What happened?”

Howard and Abby were on the stairs leading up to our
bedrooms. Howard was grimacing because his son was being scolded by
his brother-in-law, and Abby was grimacing because I hadn’t made
the bed, and now Howard would know what a slob she was.

“He choked me!” Dylan wailed, playing to the crowd.
“I didn’t do
anything
, and he choked me!”

“Ethan!” Abigail said. “Did you choke him?”

“Well . . .  Ethan couldn’t decide who
was going to defend him, since I had already betrayed him, and his
mother wasn’t sounding a whole lot friendlier.

“You did,” she gasped.

“Abby,” I said. “You know perfectly well how this
kind of thing goes. Dylan—”

“I don’t think you need to step in, Aaron,” Howard
said, cutting me off. “My son is being strangled, and I come up
here to find you scolding him.”

I looked at Howard, then at Abigail, knowing she
didn’t want me to escalate the battle, but hoping she’d at least
take Ethan’s side, if not mine. Howard looked at her, too.

“Ethan,” she said slowly. “You are not allowed on
your PlayStation until Dylan goes home.”

Coming from his mother, this was a devastating blow.
Ethan knew he couldn’t expect more lenient treatment from me, since
I always back Abby up. Besides, she’s usually the one talking me
down from an unreasonable punishment, so this was doubly hopeless
for him.

Ethan’s eyes widened, and became a little damp. “Mom
. . .  he said.

“Ethan,” I said, “don’t say anything without an
attorney present.”

“I am an attorney,” said his mother.

“I mean one on
his
side,” I snapped.

She looked at me as if I’d slapped her. Before Ethan
could actually break down and cry in front of Dylan and lose face
even further, I gestured to him.

“Come on,” I said. “We need to go find a killer.”

Strangely, he followed me, and Abby and Howard
retreated to the living room to let us through. Abigail and I were
exchanging looks we don’t usually give each other, with the promise
that our next private conversation would not be pillow talk. I got
an apple out of the fridge for Ethan, and made sure he dressed and
put on his coat before we left the house. Not a word was said by
anyone, except Leah, who kept asking everyone what was going on and
not getting any answers.

I didn’t say much on the way to Mary Fowler’s house,
and if you don’t talk to Ethan under circumstances like that, he
won’t start a conversation on his own. If you don’t want to talk
about
Yu-Gi-Oh!
or
Dracula
, he’s pretty much
exhausted his topics of conversation, anyway. For an AS kid, many
times not interacting with people is just the easiest (and to be
honest, most natural) thing to do.

I, meanwhile, was considering how expertly I’d
screwed up my promise to Abby that I’d try to quell my dislike for
her brother and his family. Virtually every time she’d seen me with
them since their arrival, I’d been argumentative, sarcastic, or
downright confrontational. In her eyes, I’d been the exact opposite
of what she’d asked me to be.

On the other hand, I had to admit that Abby wasn’t
totally blamefree. It was one thing to leave me to my own devices
against her brother, since I’m a grownup (sort of) and can take
care of myself
(see previous parenthetical expression
). But
throwing Ethan to the wolves was another story. His mother should
have defended him, or at least gotten his side of the story, before
pulling the plug on the center of his life. Sure, I threaten to do
that all the time, but I never actually shut him down, and when the
punishment comes from Abby, there’s no appeals process. Ethan knows
that.

He was in the seat next to me, muttering to himself
(he doesn’t really talk to himself, but makes sounds in his mouth
he thinks you can’t hear), no doubt going over what had happened on
the stairs. He couldn’t make sense of it, either.

“I’ll talk to Mom later,” I said.

“Huh?” He hadn’t been listening to me. What’s going
on in his head is more important than anything out on planet
Earth.

“I said, ‘I’ll talk to Mom later.’ Maybe I can get
your sentence lessened a little.”

“Yeah.” Ethan doesn’t come to “thanks” easily. But
luckily, we were coming up on the Fowler house.

I had told Mary to expect us, but hadn’t told her the
exact time we’d arrive. Still, she answered the door quickly and
welcomed Ethan warmly. Justin, she told us, was in his room, and I
walked over and knocked on the door.

“Yes?”

“Justin, it’s Aaron Tucker.” I hoped that wouldn’t
cause him to barricade the door, and it seemed not to have any
effect at all.

“Yes?”

As long as I had him saying “yes,” I might as well
ask him for something. “I brought someone to meet you. May we come
in?”

“Okay.” Hey, it wasn’t “yes,” but it had the same
effect. Justin unlocked his door, and I crooked a finger to Ethan,
who looked a little uncomfortable, but walked toward me. When the
door opened, Ethan stood a little behind me, wanting me to shield
him from a guy he’d never met.

To Ethan, Justin was a grownup. To me, he was barely
older than Ethan. It’s all how you look at things.

“Justin,” I said, “this is my son Ethan. Ethan,
that’s Justin.”

“Hi,” Ethan said. He’s learned he’s supposed to do
that when he meets someone new.