what she meant and I was reminded of yet another aphorism, this one more recent: Girls just wanna have fun.
Mrs. Thomforde pulled out an empty chair and said, âSo what brings a nice boy like you to the East Side?â
âIsnât this where all the good-looking women hang out?â
The girls liked that answer, and it occurred to me that if I were into sexagenarian romance, I could have made out like a bandit.
I sat in the chair and asked, âSo, did anybody win any meat?â
Turned out that Ruth won a five-pound package of New York strips that she expected her husband to ruin. âHeâs awful. Burns everything. I say, âLet me cook the steaks.â Oh, no, grillingâs a manâs job. Heâll turn these steaks into charcoal, wait and see.â
The girls all nodded in understanding. They had known each other for decades, knew each otherâs families as well as they knew their own. The general consensus was that Ruthâs husband could screw up a ham sandwich.
While they were telling me this, Mrs. Thomforde rested a hand on my forearm. âYou brought a friend,â she said.
âActually, she brought me.â
âGood evening, Mrs. Thomforde,â Karen said.
âWhat do you want?â Mrs. Thomforde asked. I noticed she didnât offer Karen a chair.
âIâm looking for your son.â
âWhy? Is he lost?â
The girls all thought that was a pretty witty reply until Karen said, âYes, heâs lost, and if I donât find him soon, heâs going back to prison.â
âOh, Jeezus,â said Ruth.
âMay we speak privately?â Karen asked.
âWhat is it?â Mrs. Thomforde gestured at the other women. âYou can speak in front of my friends.â
Karen said, âScottie is late reporting back to the halfway house. Several hours late.â
âYouâre going to send him back to prison for that? Scottie is a good boy.â
âMrs. Thomforde, everyone in a halfway house program is treated as if theyâre incarcerated in jail. If theyâre not where theyâre supposed to be when theyâre supposed to be thereââ
âYou saying that Scottie broke out of jail? That heâs a fugitive?â
âIf I donât find him soon, heâll be treated that way.â
âWhy canât you people just leave him alone?â
It was the same question Joley had asked, and it made me angry. I tried not to let it show.
âMrs. Thomforde,â said Karen. âThe way the system worksââ
âThe system, the system. I hate the system. The system put a seventeen-year-old child in prison for a crime he didnât even commit. He didnât shoot that cop. That other boy shot him. The cop wasnât even hurt that bad. Only they punished Scottie for it, and see whatâs happened? Do you see? His life was ruined, thatâs what happened. The systemââ
âMrs. Thomforde,â said Karen.
ââis terrible. The system doesnât work. Now you say that Scottieâs run awayââ
âI didnât say that.â
âWouldnât you run away, too, from such a system?â Mrs. Thomforde glared at Karen; her mouth was twisted with fury. âHe wouldnât be running away if he was living at my house. None of this would happen if you let him stay with me. I thought you were going to let him stay with me?â
âThatâs what I thought, too,â Ruth said. The girls were listening intently.
âI donât see how thatâs going to happen now,â Karen said. Her frustration was palpable; whatever empathy she felt for Mrs. Thomforde had been left at the curb. âAfter this incidentâ¦â Karen shook a finger at the older woman. âWhen he was furloughed to your home the last time, he didnât stay there the entire weekend like he was supposed to. Did he?â
âHe certainly did. He was in
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