Life After Theft
Page 45

Har, har.
“What happened?” Mom asked.
“Jeff was caught by mall security trying to return some merchandise a friend of his stole. The security guards didn’t believe him and called me. Personally, I think he’s telling the truth. But escorting him home is standard protocol, so here we are.” He paused for just a second and then dug into his wallet and handed me a business card with his name and number listed. “If you get into any more trouble over this—the security guys hassle you or anything—let me know. Okay?” He handed me my backpack and nodded at my mom before heading back to his car.
Her eyes followed the tall cop down the driveway and then watched as his car disappeared from the cul-de-sac. Only when she had nowhere else to look did she turn her eyes to me. “Wow,” she said. “That may be the hottest cop I’ve ever seen.”
“Mom!”
“I’m married, not dead.” Did I mention that my parents freak me out sometimes? She glanced one last time down the cul-de-sac before putting on her Mom face. “So?”
“So . . . what?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t even try to play dumb.”
My eyes darted out to the well-lit sidewalk where old people seemed to always be walking their dogs and—at the moment—eyeing me. “Can we at least close the door?”
Mom rolled her eyes at me and swung the door closed. “Wish granted. Now spill.”
Man, I hate lying to my mom. But what else could I do? “It’s like Officer Herrera said. I found a bunch of stolen stuff and I’m trying to get it back where it belongs.”
“You just found a bunch of stolen stuff. Someone delivered it to your doorstep or something?”
“Mom.” I paused, trying to decide what to say. “Have I ever been a problem child?”
Her eyes softened. “No,” she admitted.
“And I tell you everything, right? I mean, I even told you about getting drunk.”
“That’s true. You did earn some points there.”
“Okay. So I want you to understand how weird it feels to I say that I can’t tell you. But,” I added as she started to interrupt, “I will tell you that I’m trying really hard to do the right thing. And I want to cash in all my good-kid chips from the last sixteen years and ask you to just trust me.” It was all I could do.
“Are you in trouble, Jeff?”
“No. I’m not. I promise.” Trouble really wasn’t the right word for it.
Mom looked up at me, her lips pursed. But I could tell she was considering it. “Okay,” she finally conceded. “But please don’t get brought home by the cops again. It kinda strains the trust thing.”
“I will do my very best,” I said.
Mom looked at me hard for a moment longer before stepping forward to hug me. Then she patted my cheek—something she’d done for as long as I could remember. It usually made me feel like a little kid, but tonight it didn’t bother me so much. “I love you, Jeff.”
“I love you, too, Mom.” I smiled at her and a movement just above her head caught my eye. I glanced up and saw Kimberlee at the top of the stairs. The instant my eyes met hers she dropped her gaze, pivoted on one heel, and disappeared into my room.
Twenty-One
FIVE O’CLOCK COMES WAY EARLY on Sunday morning. “I don’t know why we have to do this at the buttcrack of dawn,” Kimberlee whined as I pulled a T-shirt over my head and attempted to lace my shoes with fumbly fingers.
“So nobody sees me. You may not be facing expulsion, but I certainly am.”
“Why do I have to come? It’s not like I can help.”
“Consider it penance. And you can keep watch,” I said, very quietly. My parents were sleeping like every other reasonable person in Santa Monica. I’d decided Officer Herrera was right; returning Kimberlee’s shoplifted items to corporate America over a year later wasn’t going to help anyone. Surely whatever cosmic power was keeping Kimberlee hostage here on earth would understand a little creativity in this instance. But thrift stores still turned around and sold stuff, cheap or not. I had a better idea. We were headed to a homeless shelter. I’d looked up the closest one.
It wasn’t very close.
Granted, I wasn’t completely sure what a bunch of homeless people were going to do with designer clothes and fashion accessories, but I’ve heard silk is warm.
Kimberlee griped the whole way down to her parents’ house. “Holy hell, Kimberlee!” I said, my patience finally snapping. “I don’t know what you’re bitching about. You’d think you actually could sleep or something. I’m the one who’s exhausted out of my mind!”
She glared at me. “Just because I can’t sleep doesn’t mean I automatically like mornings.” But I could tell that even she knew it was a weak retort.
“Face it,” I said as I trudged through the sand, the chilly morning air cutting right through my hoodie. “This is your project as much as it is mine. What the hell am I talking about? This is your project way more than it is mine. What am I getting out of this? Nothing. Nada.” I turned and looked at her. “I honestly do not know why the hell I am still doing this!” I shouted. I am not a morning person.
“Be quiet,” Kimberlee said, glancing up to where you could just see the rooftop of her house. “My parents are actually home right now.”
I rolled my eyes. “Good! Maybe someone can catch me, find what’s in the cave, and take it away. Then I could get out of this whole crazy situation.”