Chapter 9.

As usual, Maddie’s lamb stew was delish, sticking to Frank's ribs. Though no longer hungry, he snagged the final dinner roll and slathered it with butter, crunching into its firm crust which contrasted with the soft, warm inner crumb. He chewed, leaning back and lacing his fingers about his belly.

Yum.

The grandkids seemed to agree, giggling and gulping down the dregs. Ben hated vegetables, so had fussed about having to eat the parsnips, carrots, and peas in the stew, but forgot when he tried a bite. Turns out, the rugrat had polished an almost adult-sized portion and now was saying how much he liked parsnips and carrots.

Kids.

Dinner over, Frank and Peggy started the dishes as Maddy moved into the living room with the kids and nestled on the sofa, reading Winnie the Pooh. Maddy was a born actress, making characters come alive, each character phrased with a distinct voice as if she were a medium and the characters were spirits communicating through her.

The phone rang as he completed scrubbing the last pan. Maddy ceased reading, answered, and then said, “It’s Art,” in her elf-like, sing-song voice.

“Got it.” Frank lay aside the scratchpad and excused himself to Peggy. He reckoned Art called to plan for Monday, to mollify the brothers who’d want to go wildcat on Howard’s ass, so he pulled the kitchen phone’s coiled handset cord into the dining room for privacy. It turned out he was wrong.

Instead, Art warned him that the police could be on their way to his house.

Frank’s jaw about hit the table. “The cops, for what?”

“Remember my cop cousin, Tiny, the fat one? Anyway, this afternoon Tiny overhears some chit-chat with your name. Now, he knows you aren’t a criminal, figures it ain’t you, but he calls me to be safe. I prod him, he digs up the paperwork, and it turns out Bo’s pressing charges.”

“Why, that son-of-a-bi—” Frank cut himself off, remembering his grandchildren and censoring his words. He lowered his voice. “I mean, that son-of-a-pup starts it, insults my daughter, insults my son-in-law, hits me first, vandalizes my truck, and HE’s pressing charges?”

Maddy gasped, the line clicking as she hung up the family room extension.

Dammit. She’d been listening.

Art continues, saying, “It’s a criminal case, so the union cannot help, but if you want the name of a good criminal lawyer, I have one. You got a pen?”

“Expensive?”

“Yes, and no. I called Umberto, Boots, and some other witnesses. From what I heard, Bo was being an all-fire dick and jumped you. Self-defense. Clear as it seems, a good criminal lawyer will save you time, fines, and keep you from jail. They cost, but they fight for you, pulling strings you don’t know exist.”

Frank pondered, nodding to himself, and said, “Give me his digits, I’ll call him.”

“Just remember, though, his sage advice costs.” Art quoted the lawyer’s rate, and Frank let out a low whistle.

“Another bill, just what I need.” Deflated, he snagged a pen and a pad from the sideboard and jotted the name and number. After trading salutations, he hung up and faced Maddy, who loomed in the doorway.

He said, “Take it you overheard?”

“Yes.” Distress rose in her eyes.

“Well, I’m hot-footing outta here, just in case. I mean, I want to see Peggy, but cannot do that from… you know where." His heart sank as he noticed tears pooling in her eyes. "Anyway, I’ll meet you at Severance.”

“The cops?” she asked, sitting next to him, whispering to avoid little ears.

“It’s nothing, and I mean it. Bo jumped me, we fought, I won. Now that loser is sore’s all. It’ll blow over.”

Her face set. “A union brother, turning on you? To hell with the lot of them.”

The low blow, her insulting the union, left Frank tongue-tied. He glanced at the kids who huddled, scared at the adult stuff, pretending to not pay attention.

“Please, not in front of the kids.”

She went pale. “I know, I know…”

He kissed her cheek and wiped her tears before bounding to their bedroom. He showered, tossed on his starched white shirt, and tied his tie. Ready, he snatched the suit jacket and overcoat and emerged into the dining room.

“Hey, Princess Peggy-Bear,” he said as his granddaughter turned her doe-eyes on him, putting down a plate she was drying. “I gotta take care of some business, but I’ll catch you on stage. I promise.”

She nodded and looked so forlorn that Frank’s insides shriveled and tinted the cobalt blue of a Miles Davis lonesome. So he opened his arms, and she crashed into him with reckless abandon.

“You don’t have to be there, Gramps,” she said, half asking, half stating, as if unsure, her stable reality quaking under her, threatening to send her tumbling. “I mean, if it’s serious…”

Frank wiped the auburn hair from her eyes and kissed her forehead. “Ain’t nothing more serious than me watching you perform. I’ll be there.”

Next, he hugged the boys goodbye as they huddled, silent and shivering. Frank knew they knew something had soured. So with a heavy heart, he slid into his overcoat and walked out the door, feeling the rough pavement through the thin soles of his dress shoes. His heels clicked towards the garage, where he heaved open the door and climbed into his truck and eased it into the drive, where he saw Maddy hugging herself on the side-lawn, trying to stay warm in the brisk wind. So he stepped down from the cab, walking to his wife.

“You want I should close it?” He gestured at the door. “You’ve got about an hour, give or take.”

Maddy shook her head, Frank imagining he heard her heavy sigh, though the distance and roaring wind made that impossible. He wanted to roll his eyes since she was acting over-dramatic as usual. Instead, he suppressed his gut, shuffling towards her. “Listen dear, I’m sorry to have—”

“Wait.” She cut him off by raising her hand. “I’m the sorry one, for tearing into you in front of the kids. I should trust you. You’ve earned it, you’re a good man, but… well… picking up the kids, eating, and getting Peggy dressed and backstage was challenge enough. But adding the cops to this… I mean…” Her soft face relaxed, its expression sad yet full.

“Look, if I were guilty, I’d fess up, but I’m not.”

The sides of her mouth quirked. “I know, dear, I know, but can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“With Ben and Ted spending the night, can you maybe stay at Paul’s?” With Paul being their son, who lived half an hour away in the bedroom suburb of Mentor. “I’d hate them to see their grandfather dragged off in handcuffs.”

Again, Frank stifled a scoff at the melodrama. But she had a point, and until he faced and fixed this cop-thing, well…

“This is crazy,” he said, laughing at his situation. “I busted an ignorant jackass in the schnoz, and the cops are hunting me like I’m public enemy number one… Crazy. But, you’re right. I’ll call Paul, for the kids.”

Frank hoisted himself into the cab, backed up, and drove away, frustrated by her melodrama, and yet angry at himself. She was right.

If only he’d have held his fists at the Theatrical...