The Forty Million Dollar Kid

A caressing spring breeze carried the sweet aroma of the short-lived wisteria bloom through the garden patio in soft wafts, mingling with the scents of lavender and thyme and rose petal. Hummingbirds zipped in and out, flashing their red or blue or green bellies. The buzz of their tiny wings passing in loping drones over the distant laughter of children playing in the park.

I sat in the cool dappled shade of the great oak, taking in deep breaths of the perfect spring day. The cubes in my iced tea tinkled against the glass like frozen raindrops as I sipped. 

“Aaaaaahh!”

I raised an eyebrow and turned an ear when I heard the child shriek with rage from the other side of the fence. She sounded like she was about four or five. The guardian sounded like either a young mother or an older babysitter.

The child wailed; I could almost hear her fists beating against her guardian. “Give it to me! Give it to me,” the kid screamed and wailed again.

“I don’t know what to tell you, honey.”

“Give it to me!” the child's wail turned to a high-pitched peal. 

“I don’t have it,” the guardian calmy assured.

The child screamed again. “You’re lying!”

“I promise. I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are! Give me forty million dollars!” 

The guardian wasn’t chuckling, exactly. But I could hear her smile. “I don’t have forty million dollars.”

A shriek of frustration. “Give me forty million dollars!”

“Why do you think I have forty million dollars?”

“Give me forty million dollars!”

This time the guardian couldn’t help but chuckle, fueling the child’s rage. “Why do you need forty million dollars?”

The child answered between choking sobs. “I have… to buy… things.”

The guardian laughed. “What do you have to buy?”

“I have to buy movies.” 

“What if I buy you a movie?”

The child audibly shuddered as she let the last of her cries subside. “O… k…”

I finally let out a laugh. I had been holding it in even though there was no way anyone would have heard me over the child’s screams. I don’t know if the guardian heard me or not, but she laughed as well. 

Martha and I sat in the den that evening, laughing for the half-a-dozenth time since I had told her the story of the forty-million-dollar kid. 

She snorted, slapped her knee and shook her head. “Where do you think she even heard the phrase forty million dollars?”

“Probably from her parents.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah? Think we’ve got a lot of multi-millionaires in the neighborhood?”

I shrugged and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, probably not. it's a good number, though.”

“Maybe her babysitter really did have forty million dollars.”

“I hear it’s a lucrative gig.” I turned to her. “You used to babysit. What did you get, two million a kid? Little more?”

She snorted again and slapped at the air, only because I was out of reach and put on her little playful smile that I loved so much, her adorable dimples deepening “That was a long time ago. We didn’t get quite that much.”

We chuckled together.

“Who knows where she heard it. My guess is she heard it in a movie.” I flashed her my own signature smirk. “She sounded like a real cinephile.”

We shared another laugh before turning our attention to the muted TV. Credits were scrolling across the screen, Martha’s cue to retire to the boudoir, and her novel, for the night.

 She took a deep breath, “Well, alright,” and pushed herself up out of her seat. “Guess I’m retiring for the night.” She bent, kissed me on the forehead, and came away with a stern glance. “Don’t stay up all night, Ok?”

I grumbled and waved her away. “I know. I know.”

“I’ll tell you what I know; the last time you fell asleep in the den you complained about the crick in your neck for a week.”

I gave her the old one-eyed squint that said, Go to bed already. “Ok. I’m just going to watch a little news and I’ll be right up behind you.”

She harrumphed and narrowed a dubious appraisal on me before giving my bald head a final tousle as she left.

I watched her go. Smiling as her much-heavier-than-the-day-we-were-married derriere swayed back and forth as she shuffled away. I didn’t know how it was possible, but I somehow loved her even more today than I ever had. How did I get so lucky? 

I picked up the remote and unmuted the TV just in time to catch the dramatic opening theme of the nightly news. Red, white and blue graphics flashed across the screen, brighter than the anchor’s smiles as they were introduced. A mission statement from the local news team. I pushed myself out of my seat with a groan and meandered into the kitchen.

I drank a beer as I slapped a quick sandwich together as quietly as I could. I grabbed another pop as I headed back into the den, the news droning. I slumped into my seat, slugged back a sip of suds and chomped a big bite of my sandwich. I leaned back and turned the volume up.

…We’re asking all residents of Jack London Park to stay indoors. Again, both suspects are presumed armed and dangerous. If you see either suspect contact the authorities immediately.

I eyed the sketches. They weren’t great. “You're never going to find them from those,” I muttered aloud and waved a hand.

The anchor lady turned to a window in the corner of the screen. …and what do you know so far, Bill?

Well, Carol, as we said before. The suspects are still at large after a violent and brazen bank robbery at Central Trust in downtown Saint Paul. The assailants are believed to have made off with over forty million dollars.

I cocked my head and squinted. “Huh, what are the odds?”

Again, we're asking all residents in the Jack London Park area to stay indoors.

I slugged back another sip of beer. as the news segued into ads. I turned an ear. Had I heard something? I picked up the remote and nudged the volume down.

Was that a rattle from the back door?