Page 30 of Defensive Indifference

She takes my apron and waves me off. “No worries. I can handle things around here while you’re gone.”

“If it gets too busy, feel free to close the store until I return.” I grab my purse and keys and rush out the door, worry building in my chest. My son follows the rules, offers grace wherever he can, and doesn’t usually lose his temper. Whatever got him to throw a punch had to be awful.

Dustin sits in the back seat while I stare out the windshield. He knows he’s in trouble, but I don’t know that I have the heart to actually punish the kid. Mrs. Carpenter was incredibly sympathetic, but her hands were tied. Fighting on school property is immediate suspension. If he had been defending himself against a physical attack, she’d said, then maybe she could have argued self-defense on his behalf. As it was, he’d thrown the first punch.

The kid deserved it. Still, Dustin can’t go around solving his problems with his fists, not unless it’s the absolute last option.

“Mom?” His watery voice whispers from the back, and his eye is already blackened.

“I’m not mad, Dustin. I’m processing. Adults sometimes need a moment to think things out, too, just like kids.” I eye him in the mirror, my insinuation hitting home. He reacted, didn’t think, and now I have to figure out who can stay with him while I’m at work. An added cost I cannot afford.

“I know what I did was wrong. I’m sorry, Mom. He just…” He fades, bites his lip, and tries not to cry.

“I know. I might have wanted to hit him, too, but we can’t let bullies dictate how we behave, son. He was wrong for what he said.”

“He says mean things to a lot of kids. Last week he teased Camden for getting a bad grade. He acts like he’s perfect just because his family has tons of money. He’s such a—”

“Dustin.” I turn to face him. “The Lord doesn’t want you speaking that way.” I press my hand to my chest. “Trust me, I understand. I’ve said a lot of things about a lot of people in my day, but I want you to do better. I want you to grow closer to the Lord earlier in your life. That way you don’t have to fight as hard as I do to follow him every day.”

Dustin nods and swipes a few tears that escaped.

“All of that is true, but I also want you to know that I understand how you felt. What he said about your father was cruel.”

“He said I’d end up just like him, a loser in jail.”

“That’s simply not true. You stick close to the Lord, kiddo, and I promise you won’t end up like your father.” My heart rips in pieces, because I can’t change what happened. I can’t go back in time and make his father care about him, choose a different man to marry, or give my son all the things he needs that only a father can truly give him.

He nods again and shifts his gaze out the window.

“I’m going to take you home for now. Miss Betsy next door said she can watch you until close.”

“Okay,” he mumbles. Miss Betsy, our aging neighbor, will probably sleep the entire time Dustin is at her house, but at least he’ll be safe. “What is my punishment?”

I’ve been considering options the entire ride, but I can’t do it. I can’t punish him further for what happened, not when he’s already hurting so much. On the flip side, I can’t let him think he can solve his problems with fights and I’ll ignore it. There’s really only one thing I can think of that will get the point across without cutting the wound deeper. “I suspect you already feel awful, and I do intend to talk this through some more later, but I think a meeting with the youth pastor at church and picking up some volunteer chores there is sufficient. What do you think?”

“Ugh, he’s going to make me scrub toilets while he tells me about how he was a troubled kid.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Which is fair. Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, now let’s get home so I can rescue Miss Annie from whatever madness she might be dealing with right now.” None, probably, but I can’t tell Dustin that my bakery loses funds by the day. Truth be told, it’s probably better to close, pack up, and get a job right away, but I can’t seem to let go just yet.

By the time I drop Dustin off with Miss Betsy and head back to Sparkly’s, I’m so tired I’m not sure it’s worth keeping the shop open. I’m tired of being tired, sick of fighting so hard just to break even or stay above water, and so frustrated with myself for marrying a loser who jumped ship the second he realized marriage required sacrifice. I want to scream, hit things, run away. Everything my son probably felt today.

Instead of accomplishing any of those things, my car makes an awful rattle before smoke escapes from under the hood. Squealing does no good, so I pull myself together and turn into the nearest parking lot. I pop the hood and rush to the front of the car, but flames lick out from beneath, making it impossible to open. Not that I need to. Clearly, the car is toasted—literally.

I manage to snatch my mini-fire extinguisher and put out the flames, open the hood, and completely smother everything. Not one person bothered to pull into the lot to help me—a woman standing beside a car on fire—but I’m not at all surprised. Every day this town devolves a little more into a mega city that couldn’t care less about being a community.

I call Annie, but the line is busy. I try to think of who else I could call to help me, but my mind is a blank. The Hughes are at work, and even then, I’d feel weird asking my son’s friend’s parents to help me in this situation. Annie is my only real friend, and she’s probably fighting for her life trying to serve people…or fighting boredom, as the case may be.

Scrolling my contacts, I try to think of literally anyone who might be willing to help a girl out. Maybe Dustin’s coach, but I remember his day job is an hour from Savannah. Miss Betsy has Dustin and can’t drive anyway, all my babysitters are in their college classes, and most of the other contacts are the electric company, apartment management, and other people who want my money. And I am definitely not calling Nick. We have one date coming up and calling him to rescue me says so much more than I’m willing to at this point. I’m not even sure I want a date at this point.

There’s only one contact that might be available and wouldn’t have any strings attached. I don’t want to call Koa, but my smoking car and the six miles still to go to get to Sparkly’s say I have to. Or call a car, but that costs money I don’t have.

So. Koa it is.

I swallow my nerves and tap his number.