Blown Away by Shane Gericke

kingdom come, thanks to that little incident at your house.”
    â€œTen-Four, Chief,” Emily said. She walked out of roll call with head held high, then ran for the bathroom with as much dignity as a newly minted detective could muster.

EMILY AND BRADY
    Chicago
November 1967
    â€œThese are dice, honey,” Gerald Thompson said, shaking his fire-engine hair out of his eyes. “We roll them to see how many spaces we move our game pieces.” He handed the ivory-colored cubes to Emily, who squealed happily. Alexandra Thompson laughed and took them away before her two-year-old decided they were gum balls. Emily’s pink cheeks blew up like little basketballs, followed by caterwauling and bouncing around in her high chair.
    â€œPrincess hates to lose,” Gerald said. “She was born to play games.”
    â€œGood thing in this family,” Alexandra said, moving his pewter race car seven spaces while he cheered Emily with funny faces. “Speaking of losing, you just landed on Boardwalk.” She slapped her hands to her cheeks in fake astonishment. “And it contains two of my hotels.”
    â€œGloat while you can, woman,” Gerald grumbled, forking over half his Monopoly dollars. “I’ve got four on Park Place. Land there and you’re bankrupt.”
    â€œWhat a terrible example to set for our precious girl, thinking her mother can’t handle money,” Alexandra replied, licking a finger and slowly running it down her husband’s cheek. “Perhaps you’d take my IOU instead?”
    Gerald arched an eyebrow. “Sure. If you provide sufficient collateral.”
    Alexandra smiled, rubbing her bare toes on his. “I’ve got plenty of assets for you to examine. Just as soon as Emily falls asleep—”
    Gerald jumped to his feet and snatched his daughter. “Bedtime!” he announced to the startled child, rushing her to the pink-and-blue nursery and tucking her in with favorite doll and blanky. “The Three Little Pigs kicked the Big Bad Wolf’s ass and lived happily ever after,” he said. “The End.” He heard Alexandra laugh from the master bedroom. He never tired of that tinkling sound. “Sorry the story isn’t longer, Princess,” he whispered, kissing her cheeks and forehead, then turning on her Donald Duck night-light. “But your mama needs some very personal banking.”

CHAPTER 8
    Monday, 8 P.M .
Fifty-eight hours till Emily’s birthday
    The patrol proved uneventful, and Emily headed home. She started thinking of Jack, Mama, and Daddy on the way, and became so emotional she pulled over twice to sob. The SWAT cop following her didn’t jump out the second time to check.
    The emotions also triggered an inexplicable longing to play her board games. So she locked the car in her garage, checked in with the driveway team, and thanked her understanding escort. She showered and changed, gobbled down some leftover deep-dish pizza, then descended the padded stairs to her cold, dry basement, debating whether she really wanted to open the boxes again after so many years.
    â€œYes,” she said to no one there.
    She lifted the blanket covering them and flapped off ten years of dust. She cleared her parents’ old game table of detergent and dryer sheets, then picked up the Monopoly box, thrilling at the familiar rattle of parts. She walked it to the table, unfolded the game board, and centered it on the green felt Daddy glued to the tabletop so many years ago. She withdrew property cards, dice, and pewter-colored game pieces from their cardboard cradles, arrayed the ersatz money, doled out property from B&O to Boardwalk, set out little green houses and larger red hotels.
    â€œWhoops! A job worth doing is worth doing well!” she said, turning back to the stairs. Daddy liked to slip such life lessons into playtime, certain his little Princess wouldn’t pick up on his clever moral turnips.