Chapter 4

Breakfast didn't slow him down at all. By the time breakfast was over he had interrogated me enough to find out I was a detective, how old I was, that I didn't have any children and had never been married. At one point he said "Are you sure you're not trying to be my mother's boyfriend? Because you sure sound like what she's been looking for." That flustered her and she barked at him. I diverted him by asking him to tell me about his school, and what he liked to do, and what TV programs he liked. I even went so far as to ask him what he remembered about his father, which was a little sad. He remembered strength and brown eyes and a smile. And he remembered feeling safe whenever daddy was there.

Eva bore things pretty well, other than the part she barked at him for. I didn't have much chance to examine her at first, because Timothy talked pretty much non-stop until his mother told him to be quiet and take at least five bites of waffle before he spoke again. The waffles were good, and he got distracted by that, which gave me the chance to comment on how good the waffles were. She looked good in the morning, which I suppose means awake and interested in the world. I detected no make up. I remembered the kiss from the night before, and the fact that her lips didn't taste like lipstick. I looked at those lips now as she explained that their tradition was to eat breakfast first and then unwrap presents. I admit it. I wanted to kiss them again.

I produced the Slim Jims after breakfast, suggesting they could be viewed as dessert. Eva laughed at me and called me goofy. Timothy did not. I felt pretty good about that. He laughed at me later when I gave him the Chocolate Santa for Christmas, pointing out that I'd gotten things backward, but that it was okay because he liked them both.

He only had two other presents that were wrapped. One was a new shirt and the other a pair of snow boots. His mother opened three drawings that I thought were amazing.

Then she gave him an envelope.

I watched as he opened it and pulled out pieces of paper.

"What's I-O-U mean?" he asked, looking up at his mother.

"It means what it sounds like," she said. "I owe you those things for Christmas. We'll go shopping for them after Christmas, though, because things will be on sale then, and you can choose what is perfect for you."

He looked at one of the slips of paper. "Any book at Barnes and Noble?"

"Any book you want," she said.

"No matter how much it costs?"

"No matter how much it costs," she confirmed.

"Wow," he sighed. He looked at another slip of paper. "A bicycle? Really?"

"Yup," she smiled.

He looked at another one. "No way!" he shouted. "An Ipod? For me?" He jumped up and started doing a dance of sorts as I realized she intended to spend the vast majority of the money on the card I'd given her on him.

I leaned over and spoke into her ear. "That was supposed to be for you."

She turned her head fast enough that her nose hit mine. Her eyes were shining.

"It is for me," she said. "I've always wished I could see him like this at Christmas, just once."

Our faces were only inches apart, our noses almost touching. I realized it had become very quiet in the room and turned my head to see Timothy standing there, watching us, an interested look on his face.

"Did Santa send you to make a little brother for me?" he asked.

Once Eva calmed down enough that Timothy could actually explain, he basically said that he wasn't stupid, and knew that for a baby to be born there had to be both a mommy and a daddy. He wasn't sure what they did to make the baby start growing inside the mommy, except that it was called sex. He pointed out that I was the first man Eva had invited into the house besides that man he didn't like (that's all he'd say about Wally) and that he just thought that maybe Santa had something to do with it.

"That's not why Bob is here," said Eva, who was decidedly pink.

"How do you know?" I asked. "I am buddies with Santa, you know."

She turned and slapped my shoulder. "Don't encourage him!" she yipped.

"Well then tell him to quit encouraging me!" I complained.

"All right, boys!" she said firmly. "We're changing the subject now. All right?"

"I guess so," said Timothy, who was clearly a little dejected.

"Yes ma'am," I said, as dejectedly as I could.

"You want to see what Santa brought me?" asked Timothy, suddenly excited again.

"Absolutely," I said.

He handed the IOUs to his mother and sprinted for his room. I looked at Eva, who was frowning at me.

"I was just playing," I said.

"Were you?" she asked, one eyebrow arching.

"Absolutely!" I said, crossing my heart. "I absolutely have no designs on your virtue."

"Why not?" she asked, her voice arching this time. "Am I ugly or something?"

I blinked, but didn't have time to come back with anything, because Timothy was back with his artist kit, which he opened on my lap. He had obviously spent a lot of time going through it, because he already had a number of the esoteric names for colors memorized, and pointed them out proudly.

"Will you draw my picture?" I asked.

"I'll try," he said. "You talk to my mother or something, and I'll get started."

Eva got us tea and we sat on the couch, turned toward each other. Our conversation was a little stilted, initially, I think because of the residue of sensuality that was left over from Timothy's very precocious comments.

Eventually, though, she relaxed.

"I've never gotten to know a cop before," she said. "I was always running away from them, instead of inviting them in."

"I doubt that," I said.

"I was a bad girl when I was younger," she said.

"I doubt that, too."

"I got into all manner of trouble!" she insisted.

"Such as?"

"Well, I stole apples off the neighbor's tree every year."

"Hmmmm," I responded.

"And twice my friends and I tee peed a teacher's house," she said.

"Horrible," I agreed, smiling.

"I threw water balloons at a cop car once!" she said, her jaw jutting forward.

"Was it moving?"

"No, he was parked, trying to catch speeders."

"If he was moving I'd say it was serious. Drop a water balloon on a car going down the freeway and it will go right through the windshield. You can kill somebody that way." I was frowning now.

"He was just parked," she argued. "His arm was hanging out the window and we hoped we could get him wet, that's all!"

"You were a regular Bonny," I said. "So who was Clyde?"

"There was no Clyde," she said, sulking because I obviously wasn't taking her litany of crimes seriously. "Just Jessica, my best friend, and a few others."

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