Jodi Compton - Sympathy Between Humans

“The elevator,” I said, understanding.

“That goddamned elevator,” he agreed. “I’m not afraid of a six-minute descent; it’d be hard, but I could do it. But if I got trapped, I’m not sure if I could take it.” There was shame in his averted gaze. “God knows it’s stupid.”

“Fears are irrational,” I said. “I’m living proof of that.”

Cicero didn’t respond, tipping his head back to observe the lights of a plane. MSP was to the south of us, and the jetliners climbed across the city’s airspace with assembly-line regularity. In twenty hours, their passengers could be anywhere in the world. Down here was Cicero, whose world had become so small that, for him, ascending one flight of stairs to see the night sky was a journey.

“But if you stay in all the time,” I said, “how are you getting food, groceries?”

“From my patients,” Cicero explained. “I’m not a strictly cash business; I trade in favors and services, too.”

“What about meeting people?” I said.

“They come to me,” Cicero said. “Dripping blood or coughing, but I take them as they come.”

“Women, I mean.”

“Ah, yes, women,” Cicero said. “Who wouldn’t want to date an insolvent paraplegic?”

“ Cicero,” I reproved him.

“Sarah,” he said, “don’t make a project out of me.” His tone said the subject was off-limits. I dropped my gaze, accepting his rebuke.

“Things were better when I first came to Minneapolis,” he said. “Ulises had a ground-floor apartment- no elevator needed- and I had a van. Nothing great, but it had hand controls, and it ran.” He paused. “I’ve still got the van, downstairs, but I might as well sell it. It’s not doing me any good now, and one of the kids down the hall has to go down once a week and start it, so it doesn’t just die of neglect.”

This part of his story raised an obvious question. “ Cicero,” I said, “where’s your brother now? You said they sent you here to live with him.”

Cicero ’s dark eyes seemed more sober than they had been only a moment ago. “I did live with him,” he confirmed. “That’s a story for another time.”

“I thought you had no secrets,” I reminded him.

“I don’t,” Cicero said. “But it’s probably not a story you want to hear on top of the one I just told.”

“Is he dead?” I persisted.

“Yes,” Cicero said. “He’s dead.”

I shook my head, eyes lowered. “Jesus,” I said.

“Don’t look like that,” he said.

“Jesus, Cicero.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Sarah,” Cicero said.

“I don’t,” I said. I’m not sure if I was lying.

There were three of usin Judge Henderson’s chambers: the judge himself, a graying-haired black man who said little; Lorraine, a social worker; and me.

“It’s not a typical situation,” Lorraine was saying. “I was at the house, and it’s all as Detective Pribek described it. The home is clean, the children are attending school. There are no small children in the home. The youngest is 11, with the others at 14, 16, and 17. The daughter was very forthcoming and cooperative when I made the visit.”

“And the father?” Judge Henderson asked. His voice was low and pleasant, like the rumble of thunder on a distant horizon.

Lorraine leaned forward. “He’s recuperating slowly. He was moved from acute care at HCMC to a convalescent home, and he’s expected to make a fairly good recovery, with the most serious problem being a lingering speech disorder. The daughter is seeking conservatorship.”

The judge nodded. “Through a lawyer, I trust.”

“Certainly,” Lorraine said.

I glanced up at the Roman numerals on the face of the judge’s clock. It was three-thirty in the afternoon. So far, I wasn’t sure why I was there. I’d thought that they needed me to talk about what I knew of the Hennessy family situation, since I was the one who’d made the child-at-risk report. But thus far I hadn’t been asked a single question.

“Well, it seems you’ve been thorough, as always.” Judge Henderson leaned back in his chair, so far that the top of his balding head nearly disappeared into a glossy green plant on his bookcase. “Detective Pribek, this is where you come in.”

Lorraine turned to me also. “We have a pilot program, for situations in which minors seeking emancipation are paired up with suitable adults to supervise them for a probationary period. It’s only being done, of course, in cases where the minor is considered a good candidate and they have no adult relatives who can fill such a role.”

“You want me to be a guardian to the Hennessy children?” I said.

“Not quite a guardian, more like a watchful eye,” Lorraine said.

“I have no background in social work,” I reminded her.

“But you are a responsible law-enforcement professional, and you seem to have had more contact with these kids than anyone else.” She paused. “Marlinchen Hennessy is an extraordinarily good candidate for guardianship, and she’s only weeks away from her eighteenth birthday. We’re not comfortable leaving the children on their own for that amount of time, but sending the children into foster care seems, well, ludicrous.”

Hedging, I said, “I’m not sure Marlinchen would agree to it.” I was thinking of how we’d left things between us.

“In fact, when I made my home visit, the oldest daughter spoke highly of you,” Lorraine said.

“Only daughter,” I corrected her. Marlinchen Hennessy had no sisters.

Lorraine smiled, and I realized I’d stepped into a trap, revealing myself as someone who’d invested time and energy into knowing this young family. I sighed.

“I’m not totally opposed to stepping in,” I said, “but I think there’s a larger problem here. Marlinchen is pursuing guardianship of her younger siblings and conservatorship of her father, at the same time. Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

Lorraine bit her lip. It was the judge who spoke. “Detective Pribek,” he said, “the family is still the sacred and essential unit in American life. Before we in the judicial branch split one up, we need to have damn good reason. If there were other relatives, even a close friend of the family, who could step in here, I’d go that route. But there isn’t. In this situation, I feel that this is the best I can do for the family.”

“What is it I’d be doing?” I asked, yielding.

“Just keep an eye on them,” Lorraine said. “Ensure that the laundry is getting done and they’re not having cold cereal every night for dinner. You certainly don’t need to be living with them, but spend some time out there.” She paused. “I should also mention that you get a stipend for this.”

“But it won’t be a factor in your retirement planning,” Judge Henderson added dryly, and I surprised myself by laughing with him.

“So,” Lorraine said, “are you willing?”

What they were asking was far afield of the work I did for Hennepin County. I had no children; I hadn’t even grown up with younger siblings. But I realized something: it was too late to say I wasn’t involved. Our last meeting notwithstanding, I liked Marlinchen Hennessy. And if I spent more time with her, I might be able to finish what I’d started: locating Aidan Hennessy.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

They hadn’ttold me, but Marlinchen Hennessy had been in another room all the while. After I’d agreed to supervise the Hennessy kids, Lorraine had brought her in and explained the situation to her. Marlinchen, not surprisingly, had assented.

We’d gone back downstairs in the elevator together, where I’d told her that after I was done with work, I’d drive her home, and we’d explain the situation to her brothers. Marlinchen had nodded, quickly agreeable, otherwise quiet. I’d left her at a small table in the second-story plaza of the Pillsbury Center, drinking a Coke and doing homework.