Page 30 of Awakening the Sheriff

Laughter and friendly chatter drifted from the main room, where a group of seniors was gathered around several card tables. Some played bridge, while others worked diligently on jigsaw puzzles. Every table held a vase with fake roses and heart-shaped candy was scattered around. In the background, Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga were showing off their musical talents, crooning a love song.

“All right, let’s get started,” I said to Byron, who stood beside me with a paintbrush in one hand and a can of paint in the other.

“Sure thing, Sheriff Frant,” he replied, a scowl on his face.

He was back to his sullen, defiant self. The temporary attitude adjustment on the day of his arrest had vanished. My patience with him was wearing thin, and if he didn’t drop the attitude soon, he’d know it too. He had zero reason to be resentful about his community service, as I could’ve made sure he got way, way worse. Maybe I should reinforce that truth again today. It seemed to have made an impression last time.

We headed for the room designated for physical therapy sessions. The walls were chipped and stained and in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, which would be Byron’s job. My task was to supervise him. I wasn’t touching the paint roller. That was all him, and he damn well better do it right.

Byron set up the paint tray and roller, showing an experience I hadn’t expected.

“Have you done this before?” Hopefully, my question would break the ice.

“Painting? Yeah, a few times.” He didn’t look up. “My dad made me help him paint our house when we moved here.”

I’d gotten more than one word out of him, so that was progress. I dragged a chair to a spot where I sat close enough to make conversation without being in his way.

He dipped his roller into the paint and applied it to the wall with smooth movements. At least I wouldn’t have to worry that the result would look like crap. Good, that meant I could focus on getting him to open up. Saying a quick mental prayer for patience, I took a deep breath. “How are things going at school?”

“Fine.”

And we were back to one-syllable answers. Great. I’d have to try a different approach. “Your dad told me you’re into composing beats. That’s pretty cool. How’d you get started with that?”

He paused as if considering whether to engage, then shrugged. “Just messing around on my computer one day, I guess.”

“You use specific software?”

“Yeah, a program called FL Studio. The basic version doesn’t get you very far, but they have a lot of extra bundles and plugins you can get. They’re not cheap, but they offer, like, special effects or filtering that’s pretty sweet.”

Wow, that was the most I’d ever heard him say. Clearly, this was a topic he was excited about. “You must be pretty talented if you can create something out of nothing like that.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, shuffling his feet. At least he was talking.

“Any other hobbies? You know, besides shoplifting?” Injecting some humor into the conversation couldn’t hurt.

“Very funny.” Byron rolled his eyes, but his reaction was less sharp than the previous one. Was I getting through to him?

“Seriously, though. What else do you like to do?”

“Reading, I guess.” He mumbled it, almost as if he were embarrassed. “My dad’s always got books laying around the house, so I pick them up sometimes.”

“Your dad’s an interesting guy. Seems like he’s really passionate about poetry and literature. And from what I understand, he’s a great teacher.”

“If you say so.”

Hmm, he’d delivered that line with a bite. His dad was a touchy topic, but why? “Sounds like you don’t agree with me.”

He sighed, setting down his paint roller. “Look, it’s just…kids at school, they talk, you know?”

“Talk? About what?”

Shame filled his eyes as he looked away. “About my dad being…gay.”

The words came out barely above a whisper, but they hit me like a ton of bricks. Did the kids tease him about his dad being gay? But that made little sense. Keaton wasn’t even gay but bi, and also, I’d never heard about homophobic comments in the schools. “Who’s saying that?”

“Gabe Everett overheard some guys talking about it and tried to comfort me by saying his dad was gay too.”

“Did that help?”

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