The trailer park was located on the east side of Haggerston, surrounded by a corrugated metal fence that corralled two looping roads, both lined by aging mobile homes. This had been home sweet home when Ben was being raised by his struggling single mother, Shyla Blake. She’d worked two jobs for as long as he could remember, and now that he could afford to pay her rent elsewhere, she downright refused to move.
“I’m fine,” she’d said. “Just fix the heat and get me an air conditioner. It might be humble, but it’s home.”
Ben had to admit that it did feel like home still, in spite of it all. His mother’s time had been monopolized by providing for him, and as a result, Ben had been generally unsupervised for much of his childhood. His mother worked the night shift at the front desk of a local hotel, and she’d call just to check on him. He could remember muting the TV to talk to her for a minute or two before she was noticed by her particularly grumpy boss. She’d done her very best for Ben, and whatever mistakes he’d made growing up certainly hadn’t been her fault.
Ben got out of the squad car, locked the door and headed up the walk. His mother flung the door open before he even reached the steps. She was a short woman with mouse-brown hair—dyed to stay that way—that was pulled up in a high ponytail and hair sprayed to stay in a floofy ’80s do that she couldn’t be convinced to relinquish.
“Hi, honey. I was so glad you said you were coming for supper. Come on in.”
The sound of a game show floated through the background, and he followed her inside, kicking the door shut behind him. His mother gave him a peck on the cheek, and he sank into one of two chairs that flanked a tiny, flyer-covered kitchen table.
“Macaroni and cheese?” he asked, nodding toward the stove.
“Your favorite,” she said, turning down the TV volume. “You look tired.”
“I’m wiped.”
“So I heard from Ellen who heard from Liza at the deli that Sofia McCray is back in town,” his mother said, shooting him an apologetic look. “Is it true?”
“Afraid so,” he replied.
“I’m surprised she’d show her face around here,” his mother muttered. “After she and that uppity mother of hers just walked off the way they did. Not a word to anyone—and left poor Steve by himself...”
She’d left Ben, too, for that matter.
“I always said Valentina McCray was hiding a bad core,” his mother went on. “And Sofia is just like her mother. I always said it, didn’t I? And you never believed me. I don’t know what all Valentina was hiding—an affair? Maybe even mob connections—”
“Being Italian doesn’t make her mafia,” Ben said with a sigh.
“I know, I know...” His mother turned back to the stove, lifting the lid off the bubbling pot to release some steam. “I’ve always said that I don’t care what country the girl is from, as long as she’s got a good heart. I’ve always said that, haven’t I? But the proof is in the pudding with that one!”
Ben wasn’t sure if “that one” referred to Sofia or her mother, but it probably didn’t much matter at this point of the conversation. His mother didn’t care for either woman. Everyone had known that the McCray marriage hadn’t been rock solid, but the gossips of Haggerston blamed it on Valentina because she was high-spirited, even though Steve hadn’t seemed to complain. Valentina was petite with a dark complexion that made her look twenty years younger than she was—sparking the envy of every woman in town. When Valentina up and left her husband, that was proof enough about her “bad core” in his mother’s books.
This was an old, oft-repeated conversation. They both knew it like the backs of their hands, and they went over it from time to time, just to buff it back to a shine. Ben’s mother had been thrilled when Ben had broken up with Sofia, even if he’d only done it because her father had convinced him that he was a loser who would just hold her back. Sofia had graduated high school and earned scholarships for her high grades. Ben hadn’t even graduated with his class that year, and he wouldn’t be going anywhere. That had done a number on his confidence. Steve McCray had told him privately that it was only a matter of time before Sofia saw what a loser he was and she’d move on to someone worthy of her. It made sense, and when Sofia had started questioning him about the future there in the parking lot, it had all crumbled down around him. He couldn’t offer her a future. He had nothing to give. So Ben had broken it off and driven away, convinced that if he did the dumping instead of getting the same treatment from her, it would be easier to bear. It hadn’t been, and he’d spent the past nine years wishing he’d at least gotten a goodbye.
“I actually saw Sofia today,” Ben said.
“Oh?”
“She’s a journalist now—”
“Well la-di-da.” Her voice dripped distain.
“And she’s been assigned to ride along with an officer for a couple of weeks to cover this new community watch project we’re starting up.” He shot his mother a boyish grin. “And the officer she’s riding with is me.”
His mother regarded him in silence for a long moment. “You’re kidding,” she finally said.
Ben shook his head. “I’m dead serious.”
“Don’t you go falling for her again,” his mother said. The pot started to boil over, and she whipped it off the burner.
Not falling for Sofia was easier said than done. Sitting with her in the car all day, the soft, floral scent of her wafting through the cab, had been awkward, but it had also been the sort of thing he’d dreamed about for the past nine years—another chance to just be next to her. He’d never really thought that he’d see her again.
“So what is she like now?” his mother asked as she tossed the noodles into a colander.
“She’s—” How was he supposed to tell his mother this? He swallowed. “She had a bit of news for me.”
She slowly raised her head, her brow crinkling in suspicion. “What kind of news?”
“She has an eight-year-old son.” He met his mother’s gaze and sucked in a breath. “And he’s mine.”
“Yours?” she asked weakly. “Are you sure? She could be lying.”
“No, I’m pretty sure,” he replied, shaking his head. “She didn’t seem too thrilled about me being his father as it is.”
Tears welled up in his mother’s eyes, and she stood stock-still for a long moment.
“You have a son,” she said in amazement. “That means I have a grandson.”
“Yeah, that’s how it works,” he said.
Then she dabbed at her mascara with the heel of one hand. “After little Mandy...”
He didn’t know what else to say, even though nothing else was necessary. His mother had been there with him through the whole ordeal when he lost Lisa and Mandy. She’d stood next to him like a soldier during the funeral, holding him up with the sheer force of her will and all of the muscle she had in her one-hundred-and-forty-pound body.
“Have you seen him?” his mother asked after a moment of silence.
“For about two minutes today. It was short.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jack.”
“And Sofia—what does she want?” she asked warily.
“Nothing that I know of,” he replied. “She just felt obliged to let me know, I guess.”
“After nine years?” she snapped. “She waited nine whole