Aaron snatches the money, then starts to push past his mom. Grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, I give him a playful tug. “Hey… see what your mom wants first.”
Aaron gives me a sheepish grin, then looks down at her. “What do you want?”
“Hot dog,” she replies. “And a diet coke.”
“Sure thing.” Aaron starts to move past his mom. As an afterthought, he glances over his shoulder. “What do you want, Griff?”
“Same. And get whatever you want, obviously.”
“Thanks,” he calls before darting into the aisle, thrilled at the freedom to be on a mission on his own inside Heinz Field.
Bebe’s gaze follows him as he moves with the crowd up the cement stairs leading to the main concourse where the food stalls are located. I move over, plopping into the seat Aaron had vacated as his placement there was clearly strategic. It made it hard to talk to her during the game, so I figure I’ve got a good fifteen to twenty minutes while Aaron is getting food.
“Having a good time?” I ask.
She casts one last, “worried mother” glance at Aaron before bringing her eyes to mine. Her smile is genuine. “Of course I am, but, more importantly… Aaron’s having the time of his life. I really can’t thank you enough.”
“He’s a good kid,” I say truthfully. I like being as honest as I can, when I can, and no doubt… her son is a pleasure to be around. “And he has some talent.”
“Really?” she asks hopefully, her expression going soft and wistful. “He’s nervous about tryouts.”
“He’ll be fine,” I assure her. Her gaze doesn’t linger. It drops to her lap where she twists her fingers with agitation.
I make her jumpy… I can tell.
“So, what is it you do for a living, Bebe?” I ask to get her talking. I need to figure out as much as I can about her, and the clock is ticking down on Anatoly’s demand.
She freezes, her eyes darting to me in what I think is panic, but then her features smooth out just as quickly. “I’m in IT.”
“Computers, huh?” I give her an encouraging smile so she’ll continue. I would love to find out what she does inside that abandoned warehouse.
“More like low-level computer repair,” she replies with a jittery laugh. “Just a strip mall computer store, you know?”
No, I don’t know, Bebe. That’s a definite lie because I know you don’t work in a strip mall.
“How about you?” she asks.
My lie comes more easily since I’ve given it some thought. I need to be as non-threatening as I can. “I’m a lineman for the power company. Just relocated to Cranberry about a month ago.”
“Why Cranberry?” she asks. While I’d like the attention to be on her instead of me, I know the easiest way to get her to open up is to make her comfortable.
“I’m originally from upstate New York,” I say, another truth. Always best to keep it as real as possible. “My parents had a small dairy farm. Not really a city guy. I figured Cranberry was close enough to the Burgh for my work needs, but it still gives me that country feeling.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” she murmurs.
“So, is Aaron’s dad not in the picture?” I’ve been genuinely curious about this. I couldn’t find anything in the news articles I’d read, but there were hardly any mentions of Bebe having a kid, either. Guess that wasn’t newsworthy compared to the crimes she was charged with.
Bebe shakes her head. “Never has been. Just been me, and well… my mom has done so much for Aaron. For both of us.”
Yeah… raised your kid for seven years while you were in prison.
And even as the thought comes to mind, I realize I don’t have an ounce of negative judgment for Bebe. What little bit I’ve come to know and observe, I almost feel sympathetic to whatever it is she was doing. I have no idea what drives people to commit the crimes they do, but, in Bebe’s instance, I almost have the feeling she was probably naively lured into a bad situation.
Now, I have no proof. Maybe that’s why what is left of my conscience is telling me to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Not that it will make a difference in how this will turn out, but still… there’s something about her that deeply intrigues me, well beyond the information I need to collect per Anatoly’s request.
“For what it’s worth,” I say sincerely, “I think you’ve done a great job raising that boy on your own.”
Again, her gaze drops to her lap. “My mom helped a great deal.”
“Still.” I pause, forcing her to look at me. “He’s a good kid who clearly adores his mother. That means something.”
Bebe blushes, scanning the field that’s empty except for the media personnel on the sidelines.