And she wasn’t sure how much she cared about that. She had made a commitment to remove the “Rewind” button from her brain. She preferred to look at what was in front of her.
Alex sat in a sandbox in the park with his daughter, Angela, who wore a set of pink overalls, preferring to scoop the sand with her hands instead of the tiny shovel provided to her. From her spot on the bench, Shelly saw the look of relief on Alex’s face. Things were not perfect for him. He had lost half of his junior year of high school while incarcerated; with that setback and tough financial times for him and his daughter, he was inclined to drop out and get a full-time job. Shelly had used all of her powers of persuasion, including the offer of financial assistance, to convince him to stay with it and graduate. That, after all, was what she was best at-keeping kids in school.
Elaine Masters-Laney-finally had been informed of the relationship between Shelly and Ronnie, though Shelly had not been present. According to Ronnie and Alex, she had not appeared to have particularly strong feelings one way or the other about Shelly. That was because Laney was an addict, and alcohol had become the consuming focus of her life. Shelly wanted to help, but it was not as if she could pounce into their lives and start making changes. She could only hope that, someday, Laney would find the strength to want to help herself. And if she did, Shelly, Ronnie, and Alex would be there to help.
Ronnie Masters, standing only a few feet away, was filming Alex and Angela with a camcorder (courtesy of Paul Riley), providing running commentary and trying to coax Angela to speak for the camera. Ronnie would definitely graduate, and he had that legislative scholarship to Mansbury College after his senior year of high school. Mansbury was just a car-ride away, so Ronnie could commute, stay close to Alex and little Angela. And Shelly.
His grades were excellent, and all things considered, he had done well with very little to start with. Still. She had seen State Representative Sandoval on occasion, on a school issue, and she would love to ask him how it was that he had decided to direct one of his coveted scholarships to a boy who had not even applied for it, whether the idea might have come from a certain governor looking for a favor.
She smiled at that thought. The scholarship had been awarded months before Alex shot Officer Miroballi, before Langdon Trotter had any idea that Shelly would discover anything she ultimately learned. She had underestimated her father. Then, and all along. It was amazing to her, having been a lawyer herself for almost ten years, having seen so many stories between the lines, so many shades of gray in a black-and-white system-that she had painted her father with such a broad brush.
It was with a twinge to her heart that she noticed Ronnie’s thick dark hair, the face that before her eyes was starting to square at the jaw-the tough Italian features he had inherited from his father. It was true. He looked like Ray Miroballi, at least the photos Shelly had seen of him. But there was also the light blue of his eyes, the fullness of his mouth, that made Shelly think of her own father.
Ronnie turned the camcorder suddenly and approached Shelly.
“We’re talking with Shelly Trotter,” he said in an official voice. “Vigilant defender of troubled youth by day, beautiful karate black-belt by night. Shelly, what’s your secret?”
She blushed. “I don’t have any secrets. Not anymore.”
“Is it true that you’re my mother?”
“That is true,” she answered. “And I’m proud of it.”
“Then don’t just sit there,” he said. “Go get me some lunch.”
She winked at him and waved him away. Maybe she saw some of herself in him, too.