out. Jake’s insecurity came in between them.
“I had Valerie watching him,” Dawn explained, holding Brendan. “Or I thought she was. Maybe I need to keep him on a leash, Jake!”
Dawn wasn’t a bad mother. She was more liberal when it came to Brendan. If it were up to Jake, Brendan would still be riding in the front seat of the shopping carriage and tied to Dawn’s hip whenever they left the house. Dawn, on the other hand, wanted to teach the child that the world wasn’t a bad place. You couldn’t trust everyone. But you could certainly walk through life and not be afraid of every unfamiliar face you came in contact with. Jake was not a good judge of the real world. He lived inside that bubble of Boston’s criminal element. It corrupted his thinking. All cops thought this way to some extent.
“He’s not a prisoner, Jake. I’m so mad at you right now.”
Just then the soccer team ran up.
“I have to go to see Dr. Kelsey, Dawn—” but she wouldn’t let him finish.
“I’m sorry, Jake. I should not have trusted a thirteen-year-old. I know.”
“Hey,” Jake grabbed hold of his wife, “it’s okay now.”
Dawn shook. She went back and questioned every step of her morning. “I’m so sorry.” More tears. This was the effect Jake had on people. He could turn things around with a few words. Lay on the guilt subtly. Make Dawn feel like it was her fault.
“Hey, listen, call your parents. I’ll be done early today”—Jake looked at his watch—“probably ‘roun’ three. Let’s go over there for dinner tonight, okay?” He knew that would make her feel better.
The team stood in back of Dawn, a posse behind their leader. “Everything okay, Mrs. Cooper?” one of the kids asked.
Dawn got herself together. Stood. “Yeah. Yes. Of course.”
The team ran together back to the field. Dawn said she’d join them soon.
“Brendan, you go with them.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
“Tyisha,” Dawn told her oldest player, “keep an eye on him for me.” She stared at the girl.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Cooper.”
“This coaching thing,” they walked toward Jake’s car, “is too much. Work is draining you, Dawn. Me, too. What do you say we drop it all and move to New Hampshire.”
“Watching On Golden Pond again?” She paused. More serious and calm now, “Listen, Jake, you can never do that again.”
Jake kissed Dawn on the lips. Jumped into his car. Dawn stared at him. “I don’t even know why I don’t stay mad at you, Jake Cooper.”
“Because I’m the Sundance Man,” Jake said, mounting his sunglasses, “Boston’s finest superhero.” Dawn could see her reflection in those big blowfly mirror lenses. Alice Cooper-like, black mascara streaked down the channels of her eyes.
“Just don’t forget about your dinner idea for tonight,” Dawn reminded her husband. “Once I call mom, she’ll hold us to it. We’ll have to show up—or you’ll have more in common with that priest of yours than you think.”
Jake took off. The comment reminded him that he needed to get over to St. Paul’s within the next few days and see Father John about that problem with the deacon. He owed the priest that much.
17
Saturday, September 6 – 9:11 A.M.
The sun was blurry, as if positioned behind stained glass. The sky a soft, varicose-vein blue. It had turned uncomfortably humid after a chilly start. Still, this was the type of morning in late summer you take without complaining. Jake parked on Franklin Street in Chelsea, next to a dangerously slanted telephone pole and white-brick retaining wall that looked to be falling over. Up ahead were ramshackle brick tenement buildings across the street from a dozen three-deckers. Blues had a name for the neighborhood—“Welfare Row.”
Jake spied Dr. Kelsey as he walked around the corner of the U-Haul rental truck. It was situated at the base of a hill in front of the Miguel Village housing project. The pathologist stood on the tailgate. Handed out
“I had Valerie watching him,” Dawn explained, holding Brendan. “Or I thought she was. Maybe I need to keep him on a leash, Jake!”
Dawn wasn’t a bad mother. She was more liberal when it came to Brendan. If it were up to Jake, Brendan would still be riding in the front seat of the shopping carriage and tied to Dawn’s hip whenever they left the house. Dawn, on the other hand, wanted to teach the child that the world wasn’t a bad place. You couldn’t trust everyone. But you could certainly walk through life and not be afraid of every unfamiliar face you came in contact with. Jake was not a good judge of the real world. He lived inside that bubble of Boston’s criminal element. It corrupted his thinking. All cops thought this way to some extent.
“He’s not a prisoner, Jake. I’m so mad at you right now.”
Just then the soccer team ran up.
“I have to go to see Dr. Kelsey, Dawn—” but she wouldn’t let him finish.
“I’m sorry, Jake. I should not have trusted a thirteen-year-old. I know.”
“Hey,” Jake grabbed hold of his wife, “it’s okay now.”
Dawn shook. She went back and questioned every step of her morning. “I’m so sorry.” More tears. This was the effect Jake had on people. He could turn things around with a few words. Lay on the guilt subtly. Make Dawn feel like it was her fault.
“Hey, listen, call your parents. I’ll be done early today”—Jake looked at his watch—“probably ‘roun’ three. Let’s go over there for dinner tonight, okay?” He knew that would make her feel better.
The team stood in back of Dawn, a posse behind their leader. “Everything okay, Mrs. Cooper?” one of the kids asked.
Dawn got herself together. Stood. “Yeah. Yes. Of course.”
The team ran together back to the field. Dawn said she’d join them soon.
“Brendan, you go with them.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
“Tyisha,” Dawn told her oldest player, “keep an eye on him for me.” She stared at the girl.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Cooper.”
“This coaching thing,” they walked toward Jake’s car, “is too much. Work is draining you, Dawn. Me, too. What do you say we drop it all and move to New Hampshire.”
“Watching On Golden Pond again?” She paused. More serious and calm now, “Listen, Jake, you can never do that again.”
Jake kissed Dawn on the lips. Jumped into his car. Dawn stared at him. “I don’t even know why I don’t stay mad at you, Jake Cooper.”
“Because I’m the Sundance Man,” Jake said, mounting his sunglasses, “Boston’s finest superhero.” Dawn could see her reflection in those big blowfly mirror lenses. Alice Cooper-like, black mascara streaked down the channels of her eyes.
“Just don’t forget about your dinner idea for tonight,” Dawn reminded her husband. “Once I call mom, she’ll hold us to it. We’ll have to show up—or you’ll have more in common with that priest of yours than you think.”
Jake took off. The comment reminded him that he needed to get over to St. Paul’s within the next few days and see Father John about that problem with the deacon. He owed the priest that much.
17
Saturday, September 6 – 9:11 A.M.
The sun was blurry, as if positioned behind stained glass. The sky a soft, varicose-vein blue. It had turned uncomfortably humid after a chilly start. Still, this was the type of morning in late summer you take without complaining. Jake parked on Franklin Street in Chelsea, next to a dangerously slanted telephone pole and white-brick retaining wall that looked to be falling over. Up ahead were ramshackle brick tenement buildings across the street from a dozen three-deckers. Blues had a name for the neighborhood—“Welfare Row.”
Jake spied Dr. Kelsey as he walked around the corner of the U-Haul rental truck. It was situated at the base of a hill in front of the Miguel Village housing project. The pathologist stood on the tailgate. Handed out
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