“I was stationed in Kirkuk,” Colleen Springer said. “Ear cook.”
“I see,” Stef said. “Of course.”
“I don’t know what bye gee is.” She sighed heavily, her eyes welling up.
“You’re not to blame for this,” Stef said.
Colleen pressed the back of her hand into one eye, then the other, and gave a short, brisk nod. At her feet, Max was busy playing with the straps of her sandals, babbling under his breath. Seemingly oblivious to the conversation taking place over his head.
“You’re a good person and a good mother,” Stef said. “And you’ve got to take care of yourself. I can’t press this point harder. If you’re not all right, Max isn’t all right. Do you understand?”
Colleen nodded again, her shoulders pulling back and squaring. Stef worked with enough veterans to know they liked clear, direct instructions and a set goal.
“Find a counselor,” he said. “You need to have someone to talk to, too. Don’t tough this out alone. Do you need a name? I can help you find someone.”
“I’ve already made some calls,” she said.
“Good. Excellent. You have people to help you? Family?”
“My sister’s moved in with me for a little while. My parents are in Florida but they’re looking for a short-term rental. My brother’s in Stamford. He’s close by. Close enough.”
“Good. Gather your people around and don’t be afraid to lean on them.”
“Oh, I’ll lean,” she said, laughing a little as the tears dripped down. She drew a tremendous breath and blew it out. “God, this is a nightmare.”
“We’ll get through it,” Stef said.
“We,” she said faintly, pressing fingertips under her eyes.
“Listen. This didn’t just happen to Max. It happened to you, too. It’s traumatizing. Don’t brush your pain aside. All right?”
Another huge exhale. “I’d hug you right now but Max gets upset when…”
Stef put his palms together and looked in her eyes. After a moment, she put hers together and looked back.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Take care of yourself,” he said, pausing between every word. Making it an order, not a farewell.
After the Springers left, Stef dodged his colleagues, told Ronnie he needed to eat or die, and left the art room.
Away. We’re getting on a plane and going away.
His feet led him to the other side of the building, which was the domain of Exodus Project. Down more stairs, through the dining hall and into the large industrial kitchen. Betty, the head cook, was taking her post-breakfast coffee break while three residents washed dishes. Everyone housed at EP had to contribute, either in the dining room, the kitchen or the laundry.
At one of the large butcher block counters, Stavroula Kalo chopped vegetables, her head tilted toward the radio perched on a shelf, tuned to NPR.
“Come here often?” Stef said, sliding an arm around her shoulders and giving a squeeze.
“Hey, welcome back,” she said. “How was the retreat?”
“Enlightening.”
“How was your morning?”
“Dark.”
“Batteries drained already?”
“Big time. I didn’t even get breakfast.”
“That’s not good. Sit.” She reached a leg out long and pulled a stool near.
Stef sat, exhaling heavily. Stavroula wiped off her hands, lit a burner and put a small skillet down. She poured Stef a cup of coffee. He dragged a folded copy of the NY Post closer, unfolded it and read the headlines.
MENGELE MANHUNT CONTINUES.
“Mengele manhunt,” he said. “Really?”
“My mother is still furious about it,” Stav said. “You want eggs or egg whites?”
“Eggs.”
Stav cracked two in a bowl and started scrambling them. “Did I tell you she called the Post and gave them an earful?”
“No, but I can imagine.” As one of the few surviving twins of Josef Mengele’s heinous medical experiments, Lilia Kalo had strong opinions about him and the use of his name as a modern noun.
“Apparently she dropped an F-bomb.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
A crackle of hot butter as a waterfall of pale yellow slid from bowl to skillet. “She was quite proud of herself.”
“She should be,” Stef said, skimming over the paper.
…News of the porn ring bust shook up members of the Stockton community.
“It’s incredibly upsetting because Anthony Fox was well-known in our neighborhood,” said Stockton resident Marc Lowenstein. “This wasn’t a stranger lurking in the shadows. He’s done after-school photography programs for years. He’s photographed sports events and public events, you see his byline in the paper all the time. Adults knew him. Kids trusted him. When I think of what he was doing to those boys all this time, I’m just shocked and sickened.”
Stef folded up the paper before his mind could fill its tank with imagery and gun the engine down the long road of all the therapy those boys were going to need.
They’re not your cases. You can be sympathetic to the pain, but you don’t have to feel it.
“You want cheese with these eggs?” Stav said.
“Bless you, sister.”
The youngest of three sons, Stef had always wanted a kid sister, but he’d acquired this one under bizarre circumstances. Ten years ago, Stef’s mother and Stavroula’s mother left their husbands for each other.
It was an interesting conversation starter now, of course. A winning comeback to “So how did you guys meet?” At the time though, the announcement left two families stunned. While Stavroula’s parents, both Holocaust survivors, managed their separation with quiet dignity and grace, the Finches’ marriage went down kicking and screaming. Like a whirlpool, it sucked in their three sons, chewed thoroughly and spit out everyone’s latent issues.
Reeling in the wake of their own failed marriages, Stef and Stavroula found more reason to ally than to be cool to each other. Once parental emotions cooled down and plates stopped being thrown, the quasi-step-siblings discovered they got along well.
Stav was an only child, adopted late in the Kalos’ lives. Stef often felt like an only child. He was a late delivery from the stork, a surprise third child who grew up alienated from his older brothers, both in years and in nature. The divorce drew particularly harsh battle lines through the Finches, with Rory and Stef on one side, Marcus and his two eldest on the other.
Stef liked Stavroula. He also relied on her in little ways. She and her father owned a bagel shop on Horatio Street and she volunteered a few days a week at EP. Stef often went to see her after a grueling appointment. She made him a little snack. Or gave him a few mindless but meditative tasks to do. Or just gave him her quiet presence and a place to rest and think.
Now she put the plate with the egg sandwich in front of Stef and got him some ketchup.
“Thanks.”
She smiled, turned up the radio and went back to her chopping.
“You’re listening to Moments in Time,” came the female voice through the grubby, flour-dusted speaker. “I’m Camberley Jones, thanks for joining us. Author Gil Rafael is best-known for the short story ‘Bald,’ which was made into the critically-acclaimed movie in 2004, starring Kristin Scott Thomas…”
Stef licked ketchup off his pinky finger and tilted his ear. Weird. A friend recently lent him a copy of Gil Rafael’s short story collection, Client Privilege. Stef had been pissed about forgetting to bring it with him to California. It was home on his bedside table, spine still unbroken.
“I met up with Gil in the Sunset Park area of Brooklyn,” Jones said. “Where he’s doing field research for his next book, a collection of Latin American folktales. He’s going to all the Latino neighborhoods of New York City, collecting stories and legends from the elders of these ethnic enclaves.
“Sunset Park has one of the highest concentrations of Mexican immigrants in the city. Gil’s made no appointments nor scheduled meetings. He simply walks the neighborhood streets, looking for oral traditions on the stoops and corners. The abeulos and abuelas who remember storytelling occasions of their childhood.”
“I just walk around,” Gil Rafael said. “I always find someone and I’m always touched by how willing they are to talk to me.”
Stef rested on his elbows, chewing thoughtfully. He did a lot of walking in the city. Usually when he was troubled. One of countless New Yorkers wandering the streets on any given day, troubled or otherwise, looking to find connection.
Most people are looking for someone to listen to their story, Stef thought. This guy is looking for someone to tell.