And so every Tuesday night, the Boone family walked a few blocks from their office downtown to the Highland Street Shelter, where they spent three hours with the less fortunate. They took their turns serving dinner to the hundred or so folks gathered there, then afterward they had a quick bite.
Though he wasn’t supposed to know, Theo had overheard his parents discussing whether they should increase their monthly donation to the shelter from two hundred to three hundred dollars. His parents were far from wealthy. His friends thought he was rich because both parents were lawyers, but the truth was their work was not that profitable. They lived modestly, saved for Theo’s education, and enjoyed being generous with those of lesser means.
After dinner, Mr. Boone set up a makeshift office at the far end of the dining room, and a few homeless people drifted that way. He would help them with problems that usually ranged from being evicted from their apartments to being denied food stamps or medical care. He often said that these were his favorite clients. They couldn’t pay a fee, so there was no pressure to collect from them. They were grateful for whatever he tried to do. And, he genuinely enjoyed talking to them.
Because of the more sensitive nature of her work, Mrs. Boone saw her clients in a small room upstairs. The first client had two small children, no job, no money, and, if not for the shelter, no place to sleep that night.
Theo’s task was to help with the homework. The shelter had several families that were allowed to stay there for up to twelve months—that was the limit at Highland Street. After a year, they had to move on. Most of them found jobs and places to live, but it took time. While they were in the shelter, they were treated like other residents of Strattenburg. They were fed and clothed and treated for medical problems. They were either employed or looking for work. They were invited to churches for worship.
And their children attended the local schools. At night, in the shelter, homework sessions were organized by volunteers from a church. Theo’s job every Tuesday was to teach English to two second graders, Hector and Rita, and to help their brother with algebra. They were from El Salvador, and their father had disappeared under mysterious circumstances, leaving them homeless. They were found by the police living under a bridge with their mother.
As always, Hector and Rita were thrilled to see Theo and clung to him as he stuffed down his sandwich. Then they scurried down the hall to a large open room where other children were being tutored.
“No Spanish,” he said repeatedly. “Only English.”
Their English was amazing. They were absorbing it daily at school and teaching it to their mother. They found a corner table and Theo began reading a picture book, something about a frog lost at sea.
Mrs. Boone had insisted that Theo start Spanish in the fourth grade, as soon as it was offered. When the classes proved too easy, she hired a private tutor who stopped by the office twice a week for rigorous lessons. With his mother pushing him hard, and with Madame Monique giving him daily inspiration, Theo was learning rapidly.
He read a page, then Rita reread it. Then Hector. Theo corrected their mistakes, then moved on. The room was noisy, even rowdy, as two dozen or so students of all ages plowed through their homework.
The twins had an older brother, Julio, a seventh grader Theo saw occasionally on the playground at school. He was extremely shy, to the point of being awkward. Mrs. Boone speculated that the poor kid was probably scarred from the trauma of losing his father in a strange country with no one to turn to.
She always had a theory when someone acted strange.
After Theo finished the second book with Hector and Rita, Julio joined them and sat down at the table.
“What’s up?” Theo said.
&nbs
p; Julio smiled and looked away.
“Let’s read another book,” Hector said.
“In a minute.”
“I’m having trouble with algebra,” Julio said. “Can you help?”
“He’s with us,” Rita said to her brother, and appeared ready to fight.
Theo picked out two books from a shelf and placed them before Hector and Rita. Then he arranged two writing tablets and two pencils. “Read these books,” he said. “Say every word as you read it. When you see a word you don’t know, write it down. Okay?”
They yanked the books open as if it were a contest.
Theo and Julio were soon lost in the world of pre-algebra.
At 10:00 p.m., the Boones were at home in front of the television. Judge was asleep on the sofa, his head in Theo’s lap. The Duffy murder was the only news in Strattenburg and the town’s two television stations covered nothing else that evening. There was a video of Pete Duffy walking into the courthouse, surrounded by lawyers and paralegals and other men with dark suits and somber faces. Another video, this one shot from the air, showed the Duffy home on the sixth fairway at Waverly Creek. A reporter outside the courthouse gave a rapid-fire account of the testimony so far. Judge Gantry had a gag order in place; thus, none of the lawyers or police or other witnesses could share their thoughts or opinions.
Judge Gantry also banned cameras from his courtroom. The news crews were kept out.
Theo had talked of nothing else, and his parents shared his suspicion that Pete Duffy was guilty. Proving it, though, looked difficult.
During a commercial break, Theo began coughing. When this did not get the attention of his parents, he coughed some more, then said, “My throat is getting sore.”
“You look sort of pale,” his father said. “You must be getting sick.”
“I don’t feel well.”
“Are your eyes red?” his father asked.
“I think so.”
“A headache?”
“Yes, but not bad.”
“Sniffles, runny nose?”
“Yes.”
“When did this happen?” his mother asked.
“You’re a very sick boy,” his father said. “I say you should skip school tomorrow so you won’t spread this terrible infection. But, it might be a good idea to go to court instead and watch the Duffy trial. What do you think, Mom?”
“Oh, I see,” she said. “A sudden onset of the flu.”
“Probably just another one of those nasty twenty-four-hour episodes that seems to end miraculously when the school day is over,” his father said.
“I really don’t feel well,” Theo said, busted but gamely trying to hang on.
“Take an aspirin, maybe a cough drop,” his father said. Woods Boone seldom saw a doctor and believed most people spent far too much money on medications.
“Can you cough again for us, Teddy?” his mother asked. As a mother, she was slightly more sympathetic when he felt bad. The truth was that Theo had a history of faking it, especially when he had something better to do than go to school.
His father started laughing. “Yes, it was a pretty lame cough, Theo, even by your standards.”
“I could be dying,” Theo said, trying not to laugh.
“Yes, but you’re not,” his father said. “And if you show up in the courtroom tomorrow Judge Gantry will have you arrested as a truant.”
“You know any good lawyers?” Theo shot back. His mother burst out laughing, and, eventually, Woods saw the humor.
“Go to bed,” he said.
Theo limped up the stairs, thoroughly defeated, with Judge trailing behind. In bed, he opened his laptop and checked on April. He was relieved when she answered,
APRILNPARIS: Hi, Theo. How are you?
TBOONEESQ: Okay. Where are you?
APRILNPARIS: At home, in my bedroom, with my door locked.
TBOONEESQ: Where’s your mother?
APRILNPARIS: Downstairs. We’re not speaking.
TBOONEESQ: Did you make it to school?
APRILNPARIS: No, the trial lasted until noon. I’m so glad it’s over.
TBOONEESQ: How was it on the witness stand?
APRILNPARIS: Terrible. I cried, Theo. I couldn’t stop crying. I told the judge that I didn’t want to live with my mother or my father. Her lawyer asked me questions. His lawyer asked me questions. It was awful.
TBOONEESQ: I’m sorry.
APRILNPARIS: I don’t understand why you want to be a lawyer.
TBOONEESQ: To help people like you, that’s why. That’s what good lawyers do. Did you like the judge?
APRILNPARIS: I didn’t like anybody.
TBOONEESQ: My mom says he’s good. Did he make a decision about your custody?