Until the Stars Fall From the Sky (14 page)

I glance over at Kiera as I drive down the highway. She is hunched over her iPhone, texting like a fiend. Her bottom lip is red and chapped from where she has been chewing it. She has lines of tension around her eyes. I don’t really know what we’re about to encounter precisely, but I have heard enough rumors around the office to know it’s going to be grim. “Pip, I know you can’t tell me much, but can you tell me her first name, so I don’t scare her?” I ask softly, reaching out to interlace my fingers with her hand that she has finally placed on the seat.

“I don’t think I can do that without breaking confidentiality,” she answers woodenly. “I guess I could arrange for you guys to meet. If she chooses to share her identity on her own then that’s great. Geez, what a mess,” Kiera whispers as she leans her head back and rubs her temples.

I bring her hand to my lips and drop a tender kiss on her knuckles as I assure her, “Kiera, whatever we find today, I have your back. We’ll work through it together. We’ve got this.”

“I hope so, Jeff,” she replies, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye and straightening her spine as if gathering strength for the day, “Sadly, I’m about to introduce you to a whole new level of ugly. You may never have another day of truly sound sleep in your life. Are you sure you want to do this?”

I squeeze her hand because I can’t gather her up into a lover’s embrace. “Yes, I’m sure, Pip. Let’s go slay some dragons and rescue us some princesses,” I state with much more confidence than I feel.

I thought I was ready; I really did. Even though it’s still early on a weekday morning, the scene at the store is chaotic. The first thing that catches my attention is the high-pitched screams of the infant. I recognize that cry. My nephew cried like this for months because he had colic. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a blur of blond curls launch herself at Kiera. I start to protect her, but Kiera holds up her hand to stop me

“Miss Kiera!” the little girl shrieks in delight, “you really, really came. Jus’ like you said you would.” The disheveled creature climbs up into Kiera’s lap and sits sideways with her feet hanging over the tires of the chair. “I thoughted it was gonna take forever,” she finishes glumly.

Kiera chuckles as she replies. “I am sorry that it took me a bit to get here. I live a little ways away and then my silly van wouldn’t start. So, I had to get a ride from my friend. Of course, I came. You’re part of the Girlfriend Posse now, remember? We never leave a friend behind.”

Suddenly, the little girl’s eye
s widen in horror as she regards Kiera’s face and her eyes welled up with tears. She touches Kiera’s face softly and looks at her with pity and despair as she tearfully asks, “Miss Kiera, what happened to all of your Barbie hair? Did your Nana cut it all off because you were bad?”

Kiera’s hands flew to her head as she raced to undo the tight braid I had placed there just over an hour ago. When she has the ends free, she tickles the little girl’s face with them and gently explain
s, “See, Mindy? My hair is just fine. My friend, Jeff, just fixed it all fancy for me today.”

“I ruined you fancy hair. Are you still gonna be my friend?” Mindy exclaims, sounding distressed.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s okay. Jeff can fix it right now. No problem.” Kiera gives Mindy a light squeeze and waves me over. I stand behind Kiera and fix her braid. It’s not as neat as I could have done if I had started from scratch, but it will do given the circumstances.

Mindy is watching me with rapt attention. “I wan
t fancy hair too,” she declares. “Miss Kiera gave me a Barbie hair brush and mirror for my birff-day. But, I can’t do the ‘ubberband to make a ponytail like Barbie ‘cause my hand is hurt.”

I have heard enough about the case to know what was coming. I have seen bad things in my days as a lifeguard and I have read case after case about the depraved nature of the human heart in law school, but to meet the evidence in the form of a scarred, toothless, defenseless six year old is crushing. I am saved from having to comment when Kiera looks at Mindy’s hand closely.

“Where is your pressure bandage, Mindy?” Kiera queries, looking concerned.

Mindy shrugs and says, “Mama lost it. She said I didn’t need one ‘cause it was too much money to spend on one brat. So, I put Dora the Explorer Band-Aids on it to make it better.”

They are just words, but I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Kiera wasn’t kidding; this is a whole different level of ugly. I am familiar with ugly. My stepfather had the concept down to an art form. Although physical abuse wasn’t my stepfather’s weapon of choice against me, he could wield his tongue like a scalpel and verbally eviscerate all of us. To this day, my mother lives in fear that she might anger him, cook him an unpleasing meal or dress the wrong way.

Nonetheless, as a dentist, he is all about appearances. At least to the outside world, we were all well taken care of, and our medical needs were met. It seems that, in Mindy’s life, no one is meeting her physical or emotional needs. I would not ever claim to be the most macho dude on the planet, but what I’d like to do right now is find a nice quiet corner and have a good cry. Granted, I’d also like to go a few rounds with a punching bag, preferably one that resembles her family members. As I’m trying to collect my thoughts, I feel Mindy tugging on the leg of my jeans.

“Hey Mister, how’s come you look brown like chocolate milk? Did you get burned like me?” Mindy asks as she examines me closely. I feel like a museum exhibit.

I look over at Kiera and she is trying to smother a grin. She shrugs and shoots me a glance that I interpret loosely as
Welcome to my world. She’s a kid. What are you going to do?

I squat down to Mindy’s level and stick out my hand for her to shake. “Hi, Mindy,” I say, introd
ucing myself, “I’m Jeff, Kiera’s friend.”

Mindy touches the tips of my fingers
with hers gingerly as she declares, “Hi Jeff, I’m Mindy and the noisy baby is my sister, Rebecca Sue. But, I just call her Becca.

“It’s nice to meet you Mindy. Did you know that the thing that gives your skin color is called melanin,” I explain
. “My skin has more of it than yours, that’s why I look brown. It’s the same thing that causes your freckles. It has something to do with who is in your family. My daddy and grandparents were African-American. Some people call us black. It wasn’t caused by a burn. I’m really sorry that someone hurt you.”

Mindy starts to chew on her thumb and her brow furrows as she clarifies, “So, you won’t leak hot chocolate if you get an owie? Does that mean you’re a pimp? My Nana says all black peoples are pimps.”

I am stunned into silence for just a moment. It is rare these days for me to come face-to-face with blatant racism, and it’s profoundly sad for me to see it parroted by a child.

I chuckle a bit before I answer, “No, but it would be really cool if I could leak hot chocolate because the sight of blood makes me a little queasy. Not every black person has the same job, just like white people have different jobs. Some people are teachers, and some people are firefighters. People like Kiera help little kids, and I’m going to school so that I can help put the bad guys in prison. Sure, there are some black people that make some bad decisions to commit crimes, do drugs or be pimps, but there are white people that make those same choices.”

“Like my mama and daddy?” Mindy asks, completely fascinated by the idea.

I am
so far out of my depth that I’m not sure where to go next. I look to Kiera for guidance. She smiles at me and nods.

“Well, I don’t really know your mom and dad well enough to answer that question, but
— “

I try to hedge.

Mindy interrupts me and confides, “My daddy is in prison, and my mama had to go to courp because she drove her car when she was drinking beer.”

“Hmm, it sounds like they’ve made some bad decisions, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re bad people. People come in all kinds of shapes and sizes and make all sorts of choices about their lives. Some are healthier than others,” I explain.

“If they’re not bad people, why did they have to go to jail?” Mindy questions, trying to make sense of this very abstract topic.

“We put people in jail to teach them to make better decisions and to keep everyone safe from the bad guys. For example, maybe now that your mom knows she might go to jail, she won’t drive a car after she drinks beer.”

“You mean it’s like a timeout?” Mindy asks. “We have those in school.”

“I suppose it’s a lot like a timeout,” I respond, relieved to have brought this part of the conversation to an end. I never thought I’d be talking about penal philosophy with a six year old. What seems like a cut and
dried debate over punishment versus rehabilitation looks a bit different when you’re staring at the collateral damage.

Kiera takes pity on me and intercedes, “Come on kiddo, you and I need to talk to Detective Edwards and see if we can help him find the guy that tried to kiss you. Nice use of your safety training, Mindy Mouse. The Girlfriend Posse needs to take lessons from you.”

Mindy giggles as she boasts, “Yeah, I stomp-ted on the marshmallow part of his foot just like they said. I couldn’t poke him in the eye though, ‘cause I had to hold on to Becca.”

“Still, you did a great job,” Kiera reassures her. “I’m sure when we find him, he’ll have a limp.”

“Wait, Miss Kiera!” Mindy runs back to hug my legs and in a stage whisper she requests, “Mr. Jeff, when you make my hair fancy, will you use a tiara like Princess Barbie?”

“If that’s what you want
, Princess,” I answer with a smile. If I could give this kid the moon, I would, just to see that crooked toothless grin.

After Kiera and Mindy leave to go into the break room with the officer, I sink down into a vintage
shoeshine chair in the corner of the store. My heart is beating like I’ve just run a marathon. Emotionally, I feel like I’ve just gone 12 rounds with Mike Tyson. I can’t believe that the whole conversation took less than 15 minutes. I’m replaying every word in my head wondering if I should have handled things differently. How does Kiera handle this all day long?

I am startled out of my deep thoughts when a store employee offers me coffee. “I
’m thinking you could use this, young man,” she says, chewing her gum loudly. “I got grandkids of my own, but I ain’t never seen the likes of that.”

“Me neither ma’am,” I agree. Becca is still crying, her breath coming in deep
, hysterical gasps now. “Mind if I try?” I ask, nodding my head at Becca.

“Shoot no! Be my guest, this lil’ one’s about to burst my eardrums,” she answers, looking relieved.

I took the squirming bundle from the employee. The first thing I notice is that her diaper seems to weigh more than she does. “Do you have any diapers? I ask.

“Oh shoot! In all the ruckus, I didn’t think of that. Let me get some for ya,” she exclaims as she disappears down the aisle.

I go into the bathroom and wash my hands after I strap Becca to the changing table. I took her diaper off and I’m alarmed to see her skin red and blistered. I freeze from the blinding rage that courses through my body. Who would allow their baby to be in that much pain and not lift a finger to help?

“Here ya go, I brought newborns because she don’t look much bigger than ten pounds to me,” the employee proclaims.

“Miss — ?” I wait for her to respond.

“Margret Ann. But, you can call me Marge,” she answers earnestly.

“Marge, I need you to make a video of this in case Kiera needs it for her case, okay?” I explain, digging my phone out of my pocket.

“Oh good, that’s the model my daughter has. So, I can work it just fine,”
Margret responds, putting on her reading glasses.

“Marge, can you grab me a small tube of Monistat and a tube of diaper cream?” I ask, opening the package of diapers.
“If you have any onesies that would be great.”

“I’ll be back in a jiffy” she answers, sprinting from the bathroom. True to her word, she returns quickly. She lays the stuff out like a skilled triage nurse and sets the camera up. She gasps as she sees the area under the diaper, “Good lord! That poor child!”
she exclaims.

I start to gently clean
Becca up, but her skin is so raw that even the air touching the area is painful. “Marge, I need you to get a close up of this rash for me, please.” I request, trying to keep my voice level.

“Is that blood and pus?” she asks, her voice disbelieving. “How hard is it to change a damn diaper?”

“I d-don’t k-know m-m-ma’am,” my stutter reappearing for the first time in years, revealing my extreme stress, “I d-d-don’t th-th-think there are any answers w-w-we are going to find acceptable.”

I mix the ointments together and apply them to Becca’s poor bottom. I finish changing Becca and carry her back into the store. She is still crying, although with less conviction than before. I start a waltz type movement with her and it seems to soothe her. When I begin to hum under my breath, Becca calms even more.
I guess the silver lining is that this little princess is too young to remember this horrific day.

Becca finally settles, a weary sigh passing through her lips. I sit down and pat her back. About an hour later, Mindy comes bounding into the room. “Look Miss Kiera! Mr. Jeff must be like an
angel,” she remarks with awe.