Dare to Love (17 page)

Andrea threw out the rest of her own cone. She pulled a tissue out of his glove compartment and wiped her hands.

“Do you remember that last session I did in training?” she finally asked.

“Yeah. I remember,” he said. He remembered that he'd hated every word she'd had to say. He remembered her condemnation of people like him—druggies who walked the streets, too hardened to care about the people they were hurting. And he remembered again feeling that he'd never have the right to share the life of someone as soft, as lovely as Andrea Parker.

“It's not right or good or easy. But it's a fact. There are some kids we're just not qualified to help. As wrong as it might be, there are some eyes that have seen too much, some emotions that have been too trampled, some bodies that have been stripped of their hearts.”

Doug heard her. He supposed she was right, to a point. But he knew he couldn't give up on Jeremy Schwartz. He just kept wondering where he'd have ended up if Stan Ingersoll hadn't broken some rules to help him. He owed it to Jeremy to give the boy the same chance Stan had given him.

He'd pursue Jeremy on his own time from now on. He'd make sure none of the other kids were slighted. But one way or another, he was going to help Jeremy Schwartz.

* * *

A
NDREA AGREED TO MEET
Mabel's brother, Blake, at a restaurant in Gahanna, one of Columbus's northern suburbs. She took a lot of time with her appearance, wearing the new outfit from her mother and fluffing her short hair until it bounced. But when she approached the table where she'd been told her date was waiting, she could hardly believe her eyes.

She supposed Blake was the heartthrob her mother had claimed he was, but he would need to add at least ten years to his age before he could even begin to get her attention. The boy still had peach fuzz! And not enough savvy to know that he should have shaved it before going on a date. The whole thing was ludicrous. If this kid actually had a paying job at the supermarket, he surely wasn't more than the bag boy. Her mother had really gone too far this time.

Andrea saw Blake turning around, slowly scanning the restaurant. She ducked behind a potted plant. As soon as he turned back to the table she hurried back the way she'd come, out into the parking lot to her car. There was no way she was going on a date with a boy barely out of his teens.

She drove until she found a pay phone. Looking up the restaurant's number, she had Blake paged.

“Hello?” A hesitant, wobbly voice came on the line. It sounded like it belonged to a sixteen-year-old.
Give me a break,
she thought with a weary shake of her head. She'd never be this desperate.

“Hello, Blake. This is Andrea,” she said, impulsively disguising her voice to sound like an old woman. Gloria was going to pay for this one. It wasn't the kid's fault he'd been born ten years too late.

“Andrea? Where are you?” he asked.

“Well, that's just it, Blake. I'm not going to be able to make it tonight.” Andrea's throat hurt with the effort it was taking her to keep her voice so unnaturally shaky. “My arthritis is acting up something fierce and I don't want to be too far away from my pills. But I could make it up to you some other time. We could go to that nice cafeteria down by the medical center for lunch....” She laughed gleefully to herself.

“No! I mean, that's all right, Andrea, really. I'm probably going to be moving back with my mother soon, anyway. But it was real nice talking to you.”

Andrea drove home slowly, a satisfied grin on her face. She wished she could be there the next time Gloria showed her face at the supermarket.

She knew she was breaking her own rules, but she called Doug when she got home, thinking that maybe they could meet for pizza and beer. For once in her life she needed to feel like a desirable woman.

His phone rang and continued to ring. Andrea listened to the lonely peal for a full minute before she finally had to accept that he wasn't home. She shouldn't have expected that he would be. After all, it was Saturday night. He probably had a date.

J
EREMY'S NEIGHBORHOOD
smelled like unshowered bodies and hot cooking grease. Doug leaned against the wall of an out-of-business gas station, watching the Saturday-night action. There wasn't much to see. Most of the things that happened in that neighborhood weren't things people did for show.

Which was fine with Doug. The less he saw that reminded him of his adolescence, the better. He wasn't there for a trip down memory lane. He'd just as soon never take that trip again as long as he lived. He was there to find Jeremy.

And this time Jeremy would see the man, not the cop. Doug was wearing his favorite black jeans—the faded ones with the hole just below the hip pocket—a black leather jacket with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms and a rolled bandanna around his head. He wasn't wearing his wristband.

He scoured the neighborhood for a couple of hours, trying to ignore the sights, the sounds, the smells. He passed a group of rough-looking teenagers who were huddled around a fire in the middle of the sidewalk. They were all gazing silently into the flames, as if fascinated by them. Doug wondered what the current code name was for LSD, and then decided it hardly mattered. No matter what they called it, the trip was the same.

He crossed the street when he saw a McDonald's up ahead, figuring he'd get himself some dinner before continuing his inspection. It might be a long night.

He was still half a block from McDonald's when he spotted Jeremy. The boy was crouched on the side of the building, a white garbage bag in one hand.

Doug stopped, watching Jeremy from a distance, waiting to see what the boy was doing. It didn't take him long to figure it out. He'd known a lot of kids who'd cleaned up trash for a meal. He'd done it himself. It was part of the initiation into hell.

Jeremy filled his bag and then headed to the back door of the restaurant. He pounded on the door once, probably harder than necessary, handed in the bag of trash and then went around to the front of the building to collect his “pay.” Doug hoped the boy was wise enough to wash his hands first.

Giving him time to get his food and sit down, Doug approached the restaurant. He spotted Jeremy immediately, sitting at a table back by the rest room, stuffing his face so fast Doug had to wonder how long it had been since he had had a decent meal. Except for the days when kids on assistance ate free, Jeremy hardly ever ate at school. He always said that he didn't like the school's food, or that he'd forgotten his lunch. Doug should have known better than to believe that old line.

He wondered why Jeremy even attended the school he did. Ghetto kids went to ghetto schools, that was the unwritten rule that everyone around there just sort of understood. Ghetto kids knew they had to get tough early on. Jeremy must have slipped through the system—the one exception that proved the rule.

Doug ordered his dinner, adding an extra order of french fries, carried his brown plastic tray back to the table where he'd seen Jeremy and sat down. He unwrapped his burger, took the lid off his cola, salted his fries and took a bite, never once looking at the boy across from him.

“Don't bother, cop. It ain't gonna work.” Jeremy's words weren't quite as sullen as usual. Doug figured his fancy duds must be doing their job.

Minding his own business, Doug ate his burger, drank his cola and finished half of his fries. He wiped his hands on a napkin, and pushed his tray away. It was no accident that the tray moved in Jeremy's direction.

“The first time my father sucker-punched me across the jaw I couldn't open it for three days. I lived on french fries the whole time. They were skinny enough to fit between my lips and didn't need much chewing.” Doug said, looking at Jeremy for the first time.

The boy didn't look at him. He didn't respond to his comment, either, but Doug could tell by his unnatural stillness that the boy was listening to him. It was all the encouragement he needed.

“I didn't get it much at first, when my old lady was around. She took most of his abuse back then, and I just had to stay out of his way when he was drinking. ‘Course, listening to her take his punches was almost as bad as taking them myself.”

Jeremy looked up, fire in his eyes.
Bingo.
The boy was feeling.

“So you got whacked now and then, cop. Lotsa kids do. There're worse things,” he said bitterly.

Doug didn't look away from Jeremy. He didn't let the boy's words push him away. He was finally making headway. “Yeah? Like what?”

“You'd probably barf up that burger if I told you. What kinda house did you grow up in, cop? One of them fancy little numbers across from the school, all painted up nice with a yard full of green grass? I bet your ma made roast beef for dinner every Sunday and baked cookies while you were at school, too. Go back where you came from, cop—you ain't needed here.” Jeremy slid from his seat, picking up his trash from the table.

“Sit down,” Doug said. His voice was no longer kind or the least bit gentle. He grabbed a fistful of Jeremy's old flannel shirt and shoved the boy back into his seat.

“Let me tell you a thing or two about life,
boy,
” he said. He leaned forward, pinning him with the same hard glare that had cowered drug dealers in his earlier life.

“This place is paradise compared to where I grew up.” Doug pointed to the littered street outside McDonald's. “We didn't have a house. We had two rooms in a building that should have been condemned. My old lady didn't cook or bake. She didn't even bother to hang around. More often than not my Sunday dinner was the day-olds out of somebody's trash.

“And before you start on him, my old man wasn't much to speak of, either. The only time he knew I was alive was when he was trying to kill me. The rest of the time he was too drunk to know his own name, let alone mine.

“You want to talk about losing your dinner, I could tell you stories that would make you never want to eat again. I got memories in my head that would've sent some guys to the nut farm. I was seven years old when I learned about the facts of life. My old man was doing some girl on the living-room floor when I came home from school. He saw me, but he didn't stop. He told me I could watch. Now you still think you got something to tell me I don't already know?” He practically spit the last words at the boy. He hadn't expected helping Jeremy to hurt so much. He'd thought it was a deed he would do, like arresting a thief or busting a prostitution ring. He hadn't expected to
feel
anything.

“How old were you when she split?” Jeremy asked. His voice was low, hesitant. He stared across at Doug with a look too knowing for his years.

“Five or thereabouts.”

“I was six when my old man left us.”

In the space of nine words, Doug Avery opened his heart completely for the first time in more than twenty years. He opened his heart and let a troubled little boy inside.

“How many of you did he leave?”

“There's four more, younger ‘n me.”

Doug remembered one of his pals from the old days, before he'd started trading in friendship for fixes.

“With you being the oldest, I bet your old lady leans pretty heavy on you, huh?”

“When there ain't some guy there humping her.”

“I can't make it go away, Jeremy. But I can help. I can understand. I can listen. I can feed you now and then. I can help you find a way out, eventually. But you're going to have to trust me—to let me be your friend.”

Doug picked up one of his leftover french fries and lifted it to his lips.

“Oh my God, man! You're a Rattler. Nobody messes with a Rattler. I can't believe you're a Rattler. I thought you were just a cop! I can't believe it. A cop Rattler.”

Doug lowered his arm, shocked that he'd lowered his guard so completely that he'd forgotten not to expose his wrist. He'd left the wristband off as a precaution, in case he needed it in his search for Jeremy. He'd forgotten it wasn't there.

“I've been a lot of things that might surprise you, son. But the point is, I got out. I can help you get out, too. It's up to you.”

Jeremy deliberated for another minute or two. He ate a couple of Doug's fries, as if testing the waters. And then he reached across the table, holding out one very clean, young hand.

“Friends?” he asked solemnly.

Doug took the skinny fingers into his, forcing himself to shake the boy's hand and let it go. He was filled with an unfamiliar urge to pull the boy into his arms and hug him. Jeremy smiled, and Doug finally had a glimpse of what caring was all about.

* * *

D
OUG WANTED TO TELL
Andrea about his weekend, about Jeremy, but it was precisely because he'd spent the weekend with Jeremy that he kept silent. He knew she wouldn't approve. He knew, too, that nothing was going to stop him from keeping his promises to the boy.

He had a few rough minutes at school, afraid that Andrea would see the miraculous change in Jeremy, afraid that he'd somehow favor him over the other kids. But other than a couple of covert, private glances, Jeremy behaved pretty much the same as always. The only difference was that, though Jeremy never participated in DARE lessons, Doug now suspected that the boy had been paying attention all along.

He took Jeremy to K-Mart for some new clothes on Wednesday. They weren't designer duds, but they were new and they fit. Jeremy not only thanked Doug, which was a shock in itself, but he offered to wash Doug's car for the rest of his life. Doug wished again that he could share these victories with Andrea. Though he wasn't sorry to be spending time with the boy, he wished the three of them could do things together, even though he knew that wasn't possible.

“You got a girlfriend?” Jeremy asked the following Saturday afternoon as he and Doug waited in line at the movies. Jeremy was looking at a young couple about his own age who were chewing gum and holding hands.

“Sorta.” Doug answered as honestly as he answered all of Jeremy's questions. His idea of a girlfriend was a woman in his bed, which he definitely hadn't had in a while. But he did have kind of a relationship with Andrea—surely they were friends, at least—and she was a girl.

“Is it Officer Parker?” Jeremy asked in a teasing voice.

“Why do you ask?”

“You guys look at each other kinda funny sometimes.”

“I didn't think you ever looked at us.”

“I look. I listen sometimes, too. But some of that stuff ain't for real. I mean, look at that stupid teddy bear. Like he could really make me feel warm all over when the heat's been turned off again.”

Doug was relieved they weren't talking about Andrea anymore, but he didn't like the turn of the conversation.

“You got something that does keep you warm?” he asked.

Jeremy shut down.

Doug took a deep breath, wishing they weren't in the middle of a movie line. “It's okay, kid. I could name a thing or two that kept me warm nights. But the problem with my solution was that it gave me more problems. Bigger ones.”

“You know? You know I'm a user and you're still here with me?”

“I suspected, Jeremy. It's kinda hard to live where you live for eleven years and not get sucked in.”

“I don't use nothin' hard, Doug. I swear it. I just smoke a little pot now and then. It's easier to go home when I'm high.”

Doug forced himself not to react. He leaned one shoulder against a cement column outside the theater, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“It was easier for me, too. Until the pot wasn't enough.”

“You tried harder stuff?”

Doug was stuck. If he said yes, would Jeremy run out and try it, too? But what kind of chance would he be taking if he lied to the boy?

“It's not the answer, Jeremy. You said you'd trust me, and you gotta trust me on this. It's not the answer. Listen to what we're telling you in school. Arm yourself with alternate choices, with ways to reduce stress, with answers to gang pressure. Those are the tools that are going to get you out of there. You're already well on your way. We're going to be learning about the importance of support systems next week and you've already gotten yourself one of those.”

Doug punched Jeremy lightly on the shoulder, letting his arm fall around the boy's shoulders for a minute to propel him forward as the line began to move.

“You aren't going to turn me in, are you?” Jeremy asked just before the lights went down and the movie started.

“Stay off the stuff and I won't have any reason to make that decision, will I?”

* * *

A
NDREA MISSED
D
OUG
. He hadn't made some excuse to see her outside of school for over two weeks. She knew she'd have to live without him very soon anyway, since his first semester was over in just a matter of weeks and she'd have no more reason to see him every day. But she wasn't ready to give him up yet.

She became so obsessed with the idea that he'd found a girlfriend that she finally had to ask him. His denial was curt, to the point and not very friendly.

Something was up with him. She was sure of it. But if it wasn't a girlfriend, what else could it be? Was he turning back into to the solitary man he'd been when she'd first met him? Had he ever really stopped being one? Had she just thought he was changing—losing her perspective in her desire for his kisses?

She'd almost convinced herself he was purposely avoiding her when he showed up on her doorstep one Sunday afternoon.

“Hi,” she said, wondering if he could tell how glad she was to see him.

“I missed you,” he said, leaning one shoulder against her door frame. Those didn't sound like the words of a man who preferred to live in a vacuum.

“I missed you too.”

“You wanna drive out to Alum Creek?”

“Yeah.”