Chapter Text
“Nothing ever becomes real ‘til it is experienced.”
―John Keats
“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”
― Oscar Wilde
TJ hears about the arrest in English. They're reading Macbeth, and TJ, no matter how hard he tries, cannot pay attention. All the flowery language irritates him, but when he ignores the fluff and focuses on the characters and their motivations, he is fascinated. He's so engrossed in the intricacies of Lady Macbeth manipulating her husband he doesn't notice the teacher calling his name.
"Caruso!" He jolts, and his classmates laugh. Mrs Hendrickson looks impatient. She gestures to the door. "Main office. Take your stuff." The class jeers quietly as he leaves. He can't wait until he graduates and goes into the professional world. People, while just as judgmental as they are in their teens, are much less obnoxious when they're earning a paycheck.
He can't think of what he's done to warrant a trip to the office. He hasn't pulled any pranks, he turns his homework in on time, he isn't flunking any classes. Maybe Mom made an appointment and forgot to tell him. Rare, but possible. Forgetting things was more Dad's style.
The receptionist points him to the principal's office. Alarm bells ring in his head. The principal wouldn't get involved unless there was something important going on. Something desperately important. Forcing himself to be calm, to not let his emotions rule his actions, he knocks on the door.
Mom is sitting across from the principal in an uncomfortable chair. Both adults are grim. There are tears in Mom's eyes. TJ's heart stops. The last time he'd seen his mother cry was when Dad got shot.
"Is Dad okay?" He blurts. It's rude, he knows, but he can't be bothered with manners when his dad could be dying.
Mom pales, but shakes her head and reassures, "He's okay, TJ." Her breath hitches. "He's okay."
He slowly sits in the other chair. The principal takes the opportunity to speak. "Mrs Caruso, due to these," he hesitates, looking for the correct words, "circumstances, it might be best to keep TJ home for the rest of the week. His teachers can send him the assignments he'll miss."
She nods, swallowing hard. Her voice shakes slightly as she thanks him. They leave then, but instead of going home, Mom takes him to the pier. TJ bites his tongue in an effort to not bombard her with questions. One look at her keeps his mouth firmly closed. Her knuckles are white, clenched on the steering wheel even though they're parked. She still hasn't explained why she pulled TJ out of school.
He's getting scared. Both of his parents have tried to keep the dangers of his dad's job from him, but he's not an idiot. He's seen the anti-police movement, he reads statistics, and he's talked to other officers from his dad's department. There is a very real possibility of Dad going to work one day and never coming home. But Mom said Dad was fine. So what on earth could be wrong?
It's cold. TJ can see his breath. Dozens of scenarios flit through his mind; each one significantly more terrifying than the last. He's almost hyperventilating when Mom pries her fingers off the wheel. "TJ." She doesn't turn to look at him. She stares straight ahead. "I have to tell you something." Taking a deep breath, she says, "Dad's been arrested. He's being charged for corruption."
He can't help it: he laughs. "What?" The words don't make any sense. "No, that can't be right. Dad's one of the best cops in the city!"
Tony Caruso is one of the most honorable and noble police officers the city has. He dismantled three major drug rings and helped catch hundreds of criminals. The mayor has personally congratulated him for the work he's done. Indignation rears in his chest. He won't tolerate slander against his father.
"TJ..."
He's ready to argue, to defend his father. Mom finally looks at him, an unreadable expression on her face, and he falters. She is the most passionately loyal person he knows. She'll defend her family relentlessly. Why wasn't she angry about Dad getting arrested? Why wasn't she at court, supporting Dad, instead of sitting with TJ?
Why does she look so tired?
"Dad didn't do it. He wouldn't!" Why is she looking at him like that? He swallows. "Right?" He feels like he's five, tip-toeing to his parents' room during a thunderstorm, only to find the door locked and the house abandoned. His chest is too tight.
She reaches for him, pulling him gently into a hug. "Oh, sweetheart." She cups his neck and buries her face in his hair. It's not an answer, but maybe that is her answer.
They sit in the car until they're both shaking from the cold. They go home, and TJ pretends his world is still steady under his feet.
The arrest is splashed across every magazine, website, and news channel. Media vans are packed on their street. TJ can see at least one from every major Brooklyn newscast. Reporters surround the house, not quite daring to breach their lawn and get called up on harassment charges. Mom closes all the blinds, scowling at the muffled questions screamed at them.
He should be grateful he doesn't have to go to school, that he doesn't have to fight through the crowd to wait for the bus. Instead, he just feels sick. Breakfast is a quiet affair. Mom is subdued, obviously preoccupied and worried, and he is too numb to care.
They visit Dad later that morning.
TJ can't remember how many times he's gone to the station to visit his dad. The station is one of his favorite places. Most of the office love him, sneaking him snacks when Dad isn't looking (what they don't know is he splits the treats with Dad and they go for ice cream), and telling him funny arrest stories. It's a lively, bustling place and TJ loves it.
Usually.
Now, it's a mocking parody. The station is quiet. No laughing, no sounds of ping pong from the break room, no chatter. The air conditioning rattling turns from background noise to the only noise. Officers avoid eye contact with him or Mom, but stare at their backs with pity.
Officer Adams takes them to an interrogation room. Adams ("Call me Trevor!" He mussed TJ's hair. "Officer Adams makes me sound old.") doesn't work with Dad, but he always has something to say to TJ. He acts like this is just another visit. He talks about anything and everything, clearly not expecting either of them to contribute. TJ is absurdly grateful.
Trevor unlocks the door and addresses Mom. "If you two wait in here, I'll go and get Tony."
Mom steps warily into the room, sinking into a chair and hugging her purse to her chest. She doesn't come to the station often. To someone who doesn't see it regularly, the whole building is intimidating. TJ would never admit it, but being on this side of the mirror is nerve wracking. Dad brought him in one day years ago to show him what the detectives use behind in the other room during an interrogation: the recording equipment, shelves of files, table and chairs. The whole room was actually rather boring, but Dad was so excited to show TJ everything the two quickly moved on.
The door opens and Dad walks in. He's wearing an orange jumpsuit and slippers. He doesn't have handcuffs on, but TJ doesn't miss the way he rubs his wrists. Neither does Mom.
"Connie! TJ!" Dad pulls them into a tight hug and kisses the tops of their heads. In spite of TJ's anxiety and fear, he relaxes in his dad's arms and hugs him back. The warm weight around his shoulder and the familiar smell of alcohol and cigars lets him push aside his concerns and just be with Dad.
But the present won't be ignored for long. TJ wriggles out of his grip, and Mom draws back as well. Dad settles in the chair across the table. How he's able to make the hard plastic seem comfortable is a mystery. "How've you been? It's only been a day but it feels like I haven't seen you in forever!" He grins.
Mom attempts a smile, but only manages a strange sort of spasm in her lips. "Hectic. TJ here has the rest of the week off school. Good thing, too. It was a nightmare getting through the reporters. They're camping out on the sidewalk."
Dad scoffs. "Too bad. If they get on the lawn, call the cops and get them arrested for trespassing." He pauses and laughs. "Even better, throw stuff at them until they leave! They always need a kick up their pants."
"They could sue us instead for property damage," TJ points out. He regrets it immediately.
Dad looks at him, grin frozen on his face. It's an awkward couple of seconds before he rallies and laughs again. "No, you're right. Don't want any more trouble."
The rest of the visit lapses into stilted small talk. Dad asks for some clothes and other things from home, and Mom promises to bring a bag the next time they visit. Running out of subjects not related to the whole sitting-in-jail-awaiting-trial situation, Mom decides to wrap it up. Trevor takes Dad back out of the room (to his cell) and then brings them back up to the lobby.
They don't talk on the ride home.
Over the next week, they visit his dad four times. Each one is just as strained as the first. Dad is content to try and pretend like they’re just dropping by, like he’ll be home in time for dinner. TJ’s not sure if that’s to comfort them or himself. It doesn’t work either way.
Staying at home for the week is difficult. He can’t focus on his homework and tries to watch some TV. He shuts it off two minutes later, unable to stomach the constant reports speculating about Tony Caruso. Books don’t hold his attention, and he dies over and over again in any game he tries to play. Mom deep cleans the kitchen, something she only does when she is stressed out of her mind (he remembers sitting at the table, watching her clean the stove for the third time, waiting for a call from the hospital). They’re avoiding each other, TJ knows that, but he can’t remember ever seeing his mom as upset as she is right now. She tries to hide it, smiling brightly and chatting like normal. She pretends all day, and TJ pretends he doesn’t hear her cry all night.
She makes him wear a suit to the bail hearing. She attacks his irritatingly fuzzy hair with a comb and gel. Personally, TJ doesn’t see how his dressing up will change anything. If it makes her happy, then he’ll do it. He tries to ignore how the collar itches or how the sleeves are an inch too short.
Dad is being defended by a union issued lawyer. He (“David Lawrence,” he briskly shakes her hand, “I’ve been appointed as Officer Caruso’s attorney”) assures Mom that he knows what he’s doing, that these kinds of cases are “par for the course” in any police precinct. TJ's attempts to follow the lawyers’ arguments fail. He’s too wired to track the technicalities they exploit. After too long a time, the judge says, “The defendant has not been classified as a flight risk. Bail is set to twenty thousand dollars.”
The courtroom explodes in chatter. Everyone was allowed in, so it’s packed. Reporters, policemen, sightseers. Gossip on Tony Caruso was worth its weight in gold. Information on his family was twice that. Microphones are shoved towards TJ and Mom, pushy reporters yelling for comments.
TJ doesn’t care. He watches silently as his dad is led out of the courtroom, head held high. He remembers a sunny afternoon years ago. TJ never got along with the kids at school, and one time when he was cleaning his skinned knees Dad sat next to him. (“You’re a Caruso. The best of the bunch. We never let them see us down.”) He gave TJ a pep talk, taught him how to throw a punch, and told him that he won’t get in trouble if no one catches him. (When TJ comes back the next day with a bruise on his cheek and split knuckles, Dad ruffles his hair and takes him out for ice cream).
The precinct releases Dad on Saturday. Trevor stops them before the trio leaves. “Listen. Somehow, your release was leaked to the press. There’s a crowd of reporters waiting out in the front of the office.” Mom tenses. Trevor looks at each of them. “If you want, I can have an officer bring your car to the side entrance. No reporters are allowed.”
Dad raises his eyebrows. “What, you think I can’t handle some nosy journalists?” TJ can see his metaphorical hackles raise. “You can take your-”
“Yes, thank you.” Mom interrupts. She lays a hand on Dad’s arm, ignoring the irritated glare he shoots her and addresses Trevor directly: “TJ and I would appreciate that.” She smiles blandly at Dad.
TJ can tell he wants to argue, but Mom holds his gaze and he rolls his eyes. “Fine. Get the car. I’m still going to talk to the journalists!” He presses a kiss to Mom’s cheek and ruffles TJ’s hair. “I’ll be right back.”
TJ and Mom wait in the car for five minutes before Dad comes back. He chatters brightly all the way to the house. “Man, those beds were hard. Are they concrete? I got a crick in my back and it’s driving me crazy. Tim brought me some brandy. Said it was a ‘colleague special,’ but he only brought one cup! And then Carlos- you remember Carlos? Beefy guy with all the tattoos?- he came up to us and said, (he drops his voice to a growl), “What are you doing? There’s no alcohol here!” Tim was real scared that Carlos was going to snitch, but then I said, “There won’t be any alcohol once we drink it!” He chuckles. Mom smiles faintly.
TJ twitches. It seems idiotic to break the rules when being investigated for rule breaking. However, to bring it up guarantees an argument. TJ loves and admires his dad, but the one subject where they disagree completely is bending the rules. Dad is fine with it, even encourages TJ to bend as many as he can. TJ remembers their road trip to Florida. His parents argued over how fast they would drive. Dad argued that going ten, fifteen over the speed limit would cut at least an hour and a half off their travel time. Mom countered with the ramifications should they be pulled over.
(“Christ, Connie! It’s just ten miles over the limit. Everyone does it. What’s the big deal?”)
(“You break one rule and they all break.”)
Dad drove a (slight) compromise of twelve over and the rest of the ride was tense.
TJ bites his tongue in favor of the peace.
They have to crawl through another sea of reporters in front of their home. The crowd blocks their driveway, but Dad blares the horn until they back off. TJ listens to them beg for a comment: about the charges, how the time in lockup was, how his family was taking the news. Dad closes the garage door and they escape inside.
They don’t go to church the next day. It’s not a surprise that Dad doesn't. He comes on Christmas and Easter, and occasionally for confession, but generally ignores the church. TJ goes with Mom almost every Sunday. There’s something calming about hearing the familiar hymns and prayers with Mom at his side.
TJ keeps to his room, lying in bed until he runs out of justifications. He attempts to work on the homework his teachers gave for the entirety of last week, but he can hear his parents talking downstairs and his focus is shot. He can’t tell what they’re saying, but the cadence of their conversation effectively distracts him anyway. TJ decides his homework is a lost cause. He already knows what happens at the end of Macbeth, and calculus would be difficult even if he was in class. He listens to Mom and Dad talk until he’s called down for dinner.
Mom made spaghetti, one of his favorites, but TJ doesn’t taste it. Mom and Dad chat, purposefully avoiding any mention of the current ‘situation’ and making efforts to engage him. He eats quietly and excuses himself, pretending he doesn’t see the look passing between his parents.
TJ goes back to school on Monday. Dad’s on house arrest, so Mom brings him. He wanted to take the bus; he’d walk if he could, but she insists, smiling slightly, “I don’t want anyone to bother you, TJ. Please just let me drive you.” She’s absolutely sincere and TJ feels his resistance crumble. He wonders when he became so bad at saying “No” to her.
He gets there a half hour before school starts, but other students already fill the halls. Though no one notices him, he ducks his head anyway. He sits ( hides ) in a corner of the library, looking over the information from last week. He’s a good student, and he’s confident in his capabilities, so although he hasn’t read the material yet, he can’t bring himself to care. He stares at his calculus textbook until the warning bell rings.
The day passes slowly. TJ is no stranger to being bored in class, and thoughts of the upcoming trial chase away anything productive. He resolves to watching the clock and counting down to the end of the day.
It’s lunch when TJ is first confronted.
He almost makes it to his seat in the back of the cafeteria when he hears “Hey Caruso!” Miles Walker, linebacker on the football team and one of the more popular kids, calls out “Is it true about your dad?” TJ ignores him. There are better things to do than pander to a jock. Such as eating lunch. He sits down and unwraps his sandwich.
He looks up at “Hey TJ!” and a tray smacks on the table. It’s Kelsey Schwartz, the daughter of an officer in Dad’s precinct. They aren’t friends, per se, but they hang out at police events and know a little about each other. She’s bright and bubbly, and he is always relieved when he sees her. Dances and Christmas parties would be so boring without her company. “What’s up?”
He looks at her bemusedly. “Nothing much. You?”
“Oh boy. You are going to wish you hadn’t missed last week. It was absolutely crazy!” She prattles on about the latest gossip and doesn’t seem to mind his one word responses. Kelsey has a lot of friends, and she normally sits with them. He likes to think he has a couple friends, too, but to call them ‘friends’ was a stretch even to him. Friendly acquaintances perhaps. They talk during passing time but wouldn’t eat lunch together. He can’t think why Kelsey’s sitting with him, but he’s grateful. They talk until the bell rings and she leaves him with, “Tell your dad we’re on his side.” The sincerity in her voice makes his eyes burn as he mumbles a thank you.
He makes it through the last couple of classes and hurries outside. The high school was bad enough on a good day, and now it feels like a prison cell. He laughs humorlessly. What a terrible choice of words. Mom picks him up and they go to the grocery store.
“We need to eat something other than cereal or noodles.” Mom’s been reading health magazines, and TJ knows that there will be some strange dinners in the future. She showed him a recipe a few days ago about zucchini and making them into noodles. Why would anyone want to eat zucchini noodles?
“I like macaroni and cheese!” he protests. “It’s very easy to make and clean up.”
She chuckles. “If it’s so easy, then why do I always clean up the pot?”
“I never said I would do it.”
They grin at each other and TJ relaxes. When they get home, loaded down with vegetables and fifty dollars lighter, Mom is outright laughing, and his smile is so wide his cheeks hurt. It’s the most casual they’ve been since Dad was arrested. She has him peel and slice the potatoes as she preps the rest. A cooking show plays in the background, and they work in comfortable quiet. Dad’s at a meeting with his lawyer and won’t be back until six. As it’s only four, he’ll be gone for a couple more hours.
After he finishes the potatoes, Mom makes a comment about his homework. “You don’t want to fall behind. It’s hard enough to catch up on an entire week of classes, much less keep on track with the work they’re assigning now. You’re a great student, TJ. I’m sure you’re already almost done.” She doesn’t look up from the carrots she was cubing.
He doesn’t tell her that he hasn’t started working on anything yet. She has enough to worry about. Nothing is due for another week. He has time. He can get it done. He works steadily until Mom calls him to dinner. And if his effort was half-hearted, so what? It wasn’t like he was going to fail the class. He’s having an off day. He’s allowed to have them.
Dad carries the conversation at dinner. He’s cheerful in a way that makes TJ nervous. Whenever that obnoxious cheer comes out, something bad always follows ( “Hey TJ! Want to see a magic trick? Got any cash? Good! Watch it disappear!”) He’s bracing himself the entire meal.
It’s not until they’re clearing the table that Dad drops the bomb. “My court date is for March 6.” It falls like a punch to the stomach. TJ clenches his jaw and quickly calculates how many days left. If today was January 16, that means they had two months. 49 days. The future, once looming vaguely ahead, is sharp and clear and frightening.
Oblivious to the change in atmosphere, Dad laughs. “This will all be done by Saint Patrick's! How’s that for a present, huh?” He waggles his eyebrows at Mom. “Just think of it. The mayor’ll be there. ‘Oh, we’re so sorry Officer Caruso. You’re the best cop the city’s ever seen!’ ‘Oh, I’m just doing my job.’” Dad’s voicing both parts of the dialogue, making the mayor act out ridiculous gestures. TJ feels his lips twitching up. “‘We’re building a statue of you to put in the park in honor of your outstanding work.’ ‘You don’t have to do that! I’m only doing what any other officer does.’ ‘Oh no, I insist.’ ‘Well, if you insist.’”
TJ laughs at his antics. Dad knows exactly what to say to break the tension. There was a reason outside departments requested to work with him. He was the most charismatic officer in the entire precinct. He could charm his way in and out of anywhere.
“TJ.” He looks over. Mom is watching Dad, her face serious. Her back is straight and knuckles white. She smiles. It’s distracted, fleeting. “Can you go to your room? I want to talk to Dad.” Dad can’t hold on to the levity, and he just looks tired.
He debates arguing, pointing out that he’ll be able to hear them anyway from his room, so he might as well sit with them, but he feels the mood turn strained and isn’t sure he wants to hear. He nods. If he can finish his calculus assignment tonight, he’ll have something to turn in tomorrow. And if he listens to music a little too loudly to be polite, well. That’s no one’s business but his own.
The media backs off in the next couple of days. TJ starts to ride the bus again. The normal routine begins to fall back into place, with a few adjustments. Dad doesn’t go to work, but he’s gone just as long meeting with his lawyer. Mom is always home when he comes back from school. Kelsey sits with him at lunch.
School is weird. He would try to think of a better adjective, but it’s fitting. While he might not have any friends, he at least has some acquaintances to chat with during passing time or breaks in class. Well. He had some. Since Dad’s arrest, he’s been totally ignored. No, not ignored. Isolated? Shunned? None of his classmates talk to him anymore. Instead, they watch him, waiting to see if the news stations were true. Aside from Walker, no one has approached him about his dad. He thinks Kelsey has something to do with it. She has enough friends and popularity to keep curious students away.
Kelsey is the only person he talks to during school. They talk about classes, bemoaning the amount of work the teachers are determined to pile on or books they’ve read. She’s careful to stay away from personal lives, and he pretends not to notice.
Mom waits three days after excusing him to his room to address the argument.
She knocks on his door while he’s doing homework. “TJ?” And though he would rather do anything else, he closes his textbook and turns to face her. She sits on his bed and fiddles with the comforter. “I know that our house isn’t exactly soundproof. I’m sorry that you have to hear us talk.” He raises his eyebrows at that. ‘Talk’ was one way of putting it.
“TJ, this is a difficult time for us. For all of us.” She reaches out her hand, and when he takes it, she squeezes. “Just know that Dad and I love you, okay? I don’t know how this is going to turn out, but that will never change.” Her voice is suspiciously wet. She clears her throat. “How are you holding up?”
He shrugs. “I’m fine.” And he was! Honest. Mom clearly doesn’t believe him, so he says, “Really. I’m good. I’d talk to you if I’m not. You know that.”
She smiles at him and pats his hand. He doesn’t know why she looks so sad at that.
The date creeps closer to the trial. Dad occasionally comes home with more “news” from his meetings with Lawrence. He brushes off any questions TJ asks or gives him non-answers. ( “He just wanted to discuss the possibilities after the trial ends.” “We talked about what evidence the prosecutor plans on using.” “Christ, TJ. I already go through the third degree with Connie. I’m not talking about this three times a day!”) He hears them talk late into the night, voices quiet enough that TJ can’t determine what is said. And Dad always, always is cheerful. TJ wants to be reassured, to tell himself that if Dad can be optimistic, then he can, too, but that cheer is too closely linked with disaster for him to ever be convinced. TJ doesn’t think about what it means now.
He doesn’t think about a lot of things.
Reporters start to line their street again, cameras flashing at any movement inside the house. Mom keeps the blinds closed. The media speculates what will happen during the trial. Everyone watches the family and wonders if Officer Caruso is guilty.
TJ creeps downstairs and watches the news while his parents are asleep.
One station is playing footage from the day Dad was released.
Reporters swarm outside the station, anxious to get the best photo of the family reunion. Dad eats the attention up. He smiles charmingly at the cameras, back straight and proud, and teases the ones he knows.
“Officer Caruso! What do you have to say about the allegations against you?”
“Well, my lawyer told me to say no comment,” he says as the crows sags collectively, “but to hell with him!” They perk up. “I’ve served this city for thirty years, and I have always done my best to keep the good people of Brooklyn safe.” He gestures broadly. “Once this is all over, they’ll owe me one hell of a bonus.”
The clip stops and the host turns to a specialist they dragged up from the middle of nowhere. “As you can see, Caruso is clearly going to fight the allegations; he’s one of the most highly decorated police officers of Brooklyn. Just what is this going to do to the precinct?”
“Well, a trial is obviously embarrassing and very expensive. One has to think about whether or not the district attorney would risk damaging already fragile relations with the police department over anything less than a guaranteed conviction.”
TJ turns it off and stares blankly at the screen.