6

It's All for Love, Honey

(Part I)

"That's a scary thought, don't you think?" Matthew asked. He pointed at the newspaper. It showed a picture of a cat in a basket rushing downstream. Poor babe. Sam looked over his shoulder and nodded. She was sleepy. Her blonde hair falling out over her face and her nightgown twisted. She had a toothbrush sticking out of her month. It took only a few days for her to get comfortable. Then again he was Matthew.

Matthew read on. His eyes widened.

"Hey, Sammy, can you go get me some toast? I think I heard it ring."

She gave him a confused, sleepy look. But she obliged and trundled past him. Already in the kitchen, on of Matthew's close friends was just setting the toast.

Matthew leaned forwards. He wanted to burn the paper.

YOUNG MAN ACCUSED OF MURDERING PROFESSOR

No it couldn't be Alfred. Sure he got feisty but he wouldn't…

Age 26, Alfred Fxxxx Jones was caught at the scene of college professor, Francis (birth name François) Bonnefoy's death. His body was found at the front of his desk, bent over with several stab wounds along the back and a long cut along the neck, cutting off the jugular vein. No eye witnesses could be found. The professor's coworker and friend, Arthur Kirkland, believes that Alfred was not the criminal. "The kid's a little off," he (32) says, "But he wouldn't kill anyone. He knows where he stands in the world, having a daughter and all. He would not sacrifice that for an old feud.[. . . ] No, I firmly believe that he is not at fault here. I have lost a dear friend and I want his killer rightly punished, and not an innocent man.".

"Aw fuck."

Matthew slapped a hand over his mouth. Luckily Sam didn't appear to have heard. He returned to the paper, shaking it a bit and trying to calm his trembling hands. First off, why did Bonnefoy sound familiar? Second off, Alfred was innocent but no way would he be let out easily. Unless he really did kill the professor. No. Matthew shook his head. That would not be something Alfred would do. Even if he was in one of his darker moods. And the fact he dropped off Sam was nothing. He did it often. Sam liked being in Matthew's cozy home and she liked having an older woman to talk to, Katrina. The apartment bothered her.

Why was Matthew even considering this. Alfred was bound to wallow behind bars for the rest of his life. He was the son of an addict. Matthew had gotten their father and lived with him, was taught, and had a relatively peaceful life. But Alfred, being the tougher and more pugnacious of the two, had ended up with their smoking, drunk, lazy mother. Any good officer would dig that up in a second.

Then they would trace Alfred to his daughter, then to him. Then they would interview Matthew.

Do I even have a suit? He asked himself. He had the tight beige discount suit with a clip-on tie he wore to professional games when he didn't play. But nothing fancy enough to convince the men that Matthew was an excellent caretaker and could protect Sam. He wasn't even married. The real problem arose then. What would happen to Sam? What would he tell her?

Matthew stood and tossed the newspaper in the trashcan. He walked into the kitchen where Katrina began to set the table. She smiled at him. Glistened loaves of toast, jam, coffee, orange juice, cereal, and sizzling pancakes—homemade of course—lined the table. An army ready for battle. Matthew sat uncomfortably in his sunlit seat.

Katrina sat opposite him. She smiled happily. She had short, wheat colored hair and a homey face that spoke all the lovely languages of her heritage. She was gorgeous and kind. She was a perfect role model for Sam.

Sam sat on her seat, now free of toothpaste suds and cleaned up. Katrina made sure of that. He called her over when Sam came. Katrina began to eat. Sam perked up, looking at Matthew.

"Did the cops lie?"

Matthew choked on his food.

"Sorry, maple child?" He asked, resorting to a nonsensical nickname.

"Did the cats die?" She repeated. Matthew was never more thankful for his mishearing.

"No, they got out just fine and found nice homes with lots of bowls of milk." Matthew insisted.

"Oh." She said. "You look sad."

"There was some sad news." Katrina said gently, cutting her pancake and munching on it.

"Yes," Matthew agreed, "Nothing a child needs to hear. The grown up world is a bad place. Take my advice when you grow up: don't."

Sam giggled.

They ate silently for a while. Matthew munched and munched, watching the sweaty, mean, criminal elephant in the room grow steadily bigger and bigger. He had to tell her eventually. She couldn't live with him forever. She'd have questions. Alfred was her father. He wasn't. He was her uncle, hopefully the nice, fun one. Not the one who spewed bad news and drew a dark line over his brow at each meal.

And the elephant breathed down his neck when he prepared Sam to go to school. She chimed happily that they always went on time and had breakfast. That was a rarity at home. She hitched her back pack over her shoulder and he drove her home.

The elephant sat in the backseat, huffing. Its tusks growing longer and poking Matthew in the neck.

He dropped her off and he went home. Now the elephants tusks were up his nose.

When he got back home Katrina had read the article and held it in her hand. She gave him a long, sorrowful look.

"You didn't tell her?"

"What am I going to say?" Matthew asked desperately. The elephant exploded into shimmering pieces, leaving a tiny elephant left. He could relieve some tension with Katrina. But when Sam got home the story would change and that elephant would inflate all over again.

"The truth." Katrina said, her voice heavily accented.

"Maybe I should talk to Arthur." Matthew said, avoiding her statement.

"Are you off today?"

"I work tonight."

"He lost a good friend." Katrina said. "Also, you never knew him. You might make him feel worse."

"I lost a brother." Matthew retorted, his face darker than before.

Katrina did not shudder. She sighed and patted his shoulder.

"Call me if you need help, but I have to go."

"Do you?"

She rounded on him, her eyes large and sad. Matthew regretted snapping.

"Sorry." He muttered.

She smiled.

"Don't worry, I'm just as sad as you are."

She shut the door behind her. Her promise did only extend to that morning, and maybe that night if Sam was to still stay. That promise would lengthen much more if Matthew decided to keep Sam over.

Finally Matthew made a choice. He walked over to the—he stopped. No. The school would know the news of what happened to Sam Jones' father. They would spread it like mosquitoes on a fervent pledge to spread disease. They would track her down. He got dizzy. No, not poor little Sam. He needed to call the school and tell them to let her go, just today until he figured it out, and then he had to call Arthur and apologize. So he tried to think like Alfred, pretending to smoke a cigarette (and not choke) and thought.

Reasons to call Sam first:

she was just a child and needed a supervising figure, no matter how strong she wasthe school would understandhe would not suffer British insultshe could take his mind away from Alfred, further than if he called Arthur.

Reasons to call Arthur first:

…

Reasons not to call Arthur first:

he was an adult he can handle his problems.

He picked up the phone and dialed the school. A few rings and the friendly, plump secretary picked up. He would work on thinking like Alfred later.

"Um hello," Matthew said after her preprogrammed introduction, "I need to pick up Samantha Jones"

…

"Yes I'm her uncle"

…

"Oh so it is you, Judy! Pleasure hearing you again, yeah"

…

"Yes, yes, I just need to pick her up for something important."

…

"So you did read the newspaper? No, I don't know what really happened but I do not want her finding out from her peers. So I want her not to know anything. Just say she has an appointment."

…

"I know I'm an idiot."

…

"But a very good hearted idiot? Why thank you ma'am."

…

"I'll be on my way. And thank you, thank you so much."

Matthew set the receiver down and went to the car. His heart thudded in his head. He drove to school in his rusty pick-up. His knuckles turned white. As expected the elephant expanded and was now nearly life size. Its trunk curled up by the window, creating a foggy impression against hard glass. Its tusks grinder against the metal of his car. Flabby skin hung around Matthew, suffocating him. His muscular arms tightened and he wanted to cry.

At least I can keep my bird a little longer.