The Redemption (5 page)

Since Mommy went away, lots of adults have hugged me, or patted me on the head, or squeezed my shoulder, but not a single one of them has ever touched my cheek. Since Mommy went away, I’ve dreamed about her touching my cheek lots and lots of times—and about Mariela doing it, too—but then I always wake up and I’m all alone and I have to touch my own cheek, which doesn’t feel nearly as good as someone else doing it for you, especially someone pretty like Miss Westbrook.

I close my eyes and put my hand over Miss Westbrook’s to make sure she doesn’t move her hand. Her skin is soft.

“You’re a special little boy,” Miss Westbrook says. “I hope one day I’ll have a little boy just like you.”

When Mrs. Jefferson and Josh come to pick me up, for some reason it seems like maybe I could say hello to Josh just this once without breaking the rules. I mean, Josh is really just me in another body, I figure, and talking to myself can’t be against the rules, right?

“Hi, Josh,” I say.

 Josh seems really happy when I say those two little words to him, even happier than he was about getting ice cream with Mrs. Jefferson; so a few minutes later, when we’re sitting in the backseat of the car and Josh is singing along to the radio at the top of his lungs, I talk again.

“Shut up, Josh,” I say. “You’re singing so goddamned loud, I can’t hear the fucking music.”

Mrs. Jefferson gasps in the front seat.

“Fuck you, Jonas.
You
shut up,” Josh replies, but then he covers his mouth with both hands. “I mean, no, don’t shut up, Jonas. Keep talking.”

Josh telling me to shut up after I haven’t talked for so long makes us both laugh really, really hard—or maybe we’re just laughing because we’re being really bad and cussing like Daddy.

“You big dummy,” I say.

“You’re the big dummy. What kind of idiot doesn’t talk for a whole year? Jesus.”

Not too long after Miss Westbrook becomes Mrs. Santorini, she tells the class she’s moving to San Diego on account of Mr. Santorini being in the Navy. All the kids seem sad to see her go, but the way I feel about it is much worse than sad. I feel like I’m dying inside.

Miss Westbrook tells the class to work on page fifty-four from our math workbook and she calls me up to her desk.

“Jonas, honey, it’s sunny in San Diego all the time. I hope you’ll come visit me.”

How can I come visit her? I’m just a kid. I don’t have a car or an airplane. I have to look away from her pretty brown eyes or else I might cry.

“And I’ll come visit you here in Seattle any chance I get.” She starts crying. “I promise.”

I don’t think Miss Westbrook should promise to come back to me. Everybody leaves me—everybody—and they never, ever come back. I wish she would just tell me the truth: She’s leaving me just like everybody does and I’ll never see her again. Even as I stand here looking at her pretty face, I feel like a big black scarf is floating down from the sky and covering my entire body.

“I like you, Miss Westbrook,” I say, trying to keep the tears from coming. It’s the first time I’ve spoken to her when the other kids are in the classroom, too, when we’re outside our magical cocoon. But I can’t help it—I have to tell her how I feel about her before she leaves me. Actually, I wish I could say the three words that match my true feelings about Miss Westbrook—but saying those three words to anyone besides Mommy would break the rules.

Miss Westbrook’s eyes crinkle. “I like you, too, honey. I’ll come back to visit you one day soon, Jonas. I promise.”

Jonas
 

I open my eyes. Sunshine streams through the window of Sarah’s hospital room. A nurse stands next to Sarah’s bed, checking Sarah’s blood pressure.

“Looking good,” the nurse says. “And no signs of infection. The doctor will be in soon to decide if you can go home today.”

My phone vibrates with a text from Josh. He just landed in Seattle. Are we at UW Medical Center, he wants to know? I tell him not to come to the hospital, to meet me at home—and to please stop and pick up sick-person stuff like Saltines and Gatorade and Jello and chicken noodle soup on his way. Oh, and Oreo cookies. Sarah loves Oreo cookies.

He texts back,
I’ve got it covered.
 

Thanks,
I reply.

Hang in there, bro.
 

Thanks,
I reply.
Will do.
 

My phone buzzes again. I look down.

I love you, man
.

Josh has never said that to me before, ever. Not in person, not in a text. Never. I stare at my phone for a long time, disbelieving my eyes.

Thanks,
I text back. I don’t know how else to respond.

I put the phone back in my pocket. If Josh were here, he’d surely slap his face right now, as he should.

The doctor arrives and confirms Sarah can go home and my heart leaps. Oh my God, I’m going to take such good care of my baby. No matter what it takes, we’ll figure this out. Together.

Mrs. Cruz shrieks with joy at the doctor’s news and starts asking him about his discharge orders. Apparently, she thinks Sarah’s coming home with her. I look at Sarah, expecting her to say she’s coming home with me, but she doesn’t. To the contrary, she nods at her mother. What the fuck? Sarah’s not correcting her mother’s misunderstanding. Sarah’s not saying, “No, Mom. I live with Jonas now.” Shit. I guess Mrs. Cruz isn’t the one who misunderstands. I swallow my emotions. All that matters is what Sarah wants. What Sarah needs. And, clearly, it’s not me.

“I can drive you there,” I say. “And help with whatever’s needed.”

“My mom’s got it,” Sarah says. “I’m just going to sleep, anyway—take my pain meds and sleep. You should use this time to get caught up on whatever you need to do. I’m finally out of your hair.” She grins, but there’s no joy in it. “I’ll be fine.”

I can’t speak.

“I think I just need a little mommy time,” Sarah says softly. There’s apology in her voice. But there’s no need to apologize—I understand fully. Everything I touch turns to blood: bloody sheets, bloody carpets, bloody walls, bloody bathroom tiles. Sarah’s right. For her own good, she should stay as far the fuck away from me as humanly possible.

A nurse loads Sarah into a wheelchair to transport her to the front of the hospital.

“I can walk,” Sarah protests.

“Standard procedure,” the nurse assures her.

When we arrive at the front of the hospital, Mrs. Cruz leaves Sarah in my care while she gets her car from the parking structure.

Sarah’s quiet. I’m quiet. There’s so much I want to say, but not here, not now. Maybe there’s never going to be a time to say it. Maybe this is it. Sarah obviously needs a break from me. I just hope a break doesn’t turn into forever.

My heart feels like a slab of cement inside my chest. “I’ll hire a team to guard your mom’s house,” I say. “I can’t let you go over there unprotected.”

“No, I’m safe now, at least for a while,” Sarah says. “They think I’m worth more to them alive than dead.”

What does that mean?

She swallows hard. “Jonas, I have something to tell you.” She pauses, apparently getting up her nerve—but Mrs. Cruz returns with the car before Sarah can say another word.

Sarah looks at me with anxious eyes. Shit, the last time she looked at me like this was during our flight to Belize when she was summoning her courage to tell me the truth about The Club.

I open the passenger side of the car and gingerly load Sarah into the seat. My heart is breaking, aching, shattering. I might be dying, quite literally. Physical death couldn’t feel any worse than this.

I lean down to her before I shut her door. “I can’t let you go...” My brain intended to say, “I can’t let you go there unprotected,” but my mouth didn’t finish the sentence.
I can’t let you go.
Yeah, that about sums it up.

“It’s just for a couple days,” Sarah says. “My mom needs to be the one who takes care of me—and I need her right now. I’m just going to sleep the whole time, anyway.” She shakes her head, stifling tears. “I’m not myself right now, Jonas. I’m overwhelmed. I’m in pain.” She looks into my eyes and winces. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll call you. I promise. It’s just for a few days—just a little mommy time.”

I nod as if I understand. But I don’t understand. If she’s leaving me for good, I wish she’d just tell me the truth instead of promising me something she doesn’t plan to deliver. If she’s not coming back to me, I wish she wouldn’t tell me she is.

“Are you sure you’re going to be safe?”

“I’m positive. There’s no reason for them to come after me. They left me alive for a reason. I’ll tell you about it later, I promise.”

“I’ll put guards at your mom’s house anyway, just to be sure.”

“No, don’t, Jonas. My mom will freak out. Just trust me. Leave it alone.”

I’m dumbfounded. They just tried to kill her and almost succeeded and I’m supposed to “leave it alone”? What the fuck am I missing here?

“
Lista?
” Mrs. Cruz asks.

“
Sí, Mama
.”

“I’ll bring your clothes to you—whatever you need,” I say lamely. I don’t understand what’s happening. Is this the end for us?

“I’ve got a bunch of old stuff at my mom’s house. I’ll be fine.”

I’m speechless. She doesn’t even want me to drop off a bag for her?

“I’ll call you,” Sarah says. But what my brain hears her say is,
Don’t call me, I’ll call you.
 

I shut her door. She reclines in her seat and closes her eyes as the car drives away. I stare at the car until it’s out of sight. And then I grab at my hair and swallow my tears.

Jonas
 

Almost everyone in my seventh grade class is hard at work on today’s stupid assignment. Mrs. Dinsdale said those few of us who’ve already finished, including me, can read whatever we want while waiting for the rest of the class to catch up. I’m reading a book about mountain climbing and there’s an entire chapter about Mount Everest. I guess climbing Mount Everest is kind of a big deal—plenty of people have even died trying to do it. They don’t let kids climb it, so it looks like I’ll just have to climb rocks and trees and ropes and do sit-ups and push-ups and pull-ups in my room to get myself ready for when I’m older. Oh, and I just heard about an
indoor
rock climbing gym opening in Bellevue. Wow, rock climbing
indoors
sounds so cool I can barely sleep at night just thinking about it. Maybe Dad will let our driver take Josh and me there this weekend.

The door to the classroom opens and—holy shit—oh my God—holy fuck—I can’t believe my eyes—Miss Westbrook walks in. She’s right out of a dream—even more beautiful than I remembered her from four years ago. Wow.

Until just now, I couldn’t even remember exactly what Miss Westbrook looked like, to be honest. She’d become nothing but a hazy fantasy in my mind that I sometimes like to think about late at night when I’m alone in my bed—but the minute she walks through the door, every memory comes rushing back into my head and heart and body. Especially my body.

Wow, Miss Westbrook is as pretty as ever. Even prettier than pretty, actually—she’s
beautiful
. Her hair is shinier and a bit darker than I remembered it (which I like a lot). And her lips are much fuller than I remembered them, too. Man, oh man, I’d love to kiss Miss Westbrook’s lips. I feel a jolt between my legs just thinking about doing it. Should I go over to her? Or maybe wave to her? I don’t move a muscle. Maybe this is just a coincidence. Maybe she’s not here to see me. Yeah, I’m sure she’s forgotten all about me.

Miss Westbrook scans the room and when her eyes lock onto mine, she smiles. Holy fuck, she’s smiling right at me, I’m sure of it. I wave and she waves back. Oh my God.

Miss Westbrook turns slightly to the side and—holy shit—now I can plainly see that Miss Westbrook’s gonna have a baby. When Miss Westbrook first walked in, I guess I was so busy looking at her beautiful face and imagining myself kissing her lips, I didn’t notice her baby bump. Wow. The beautiful Miss Westbrook came back—I can’t believe it—and she’s gonna have a baby.

“Jonas,” Mrs. Dinsdale says. “You have a visitor. Why don’t you two go outside for a little bit? Take your time.”

When we sit down on a bench outside, Miss Westbrook hugs me and kisses the top of my head. “Jonas! You’re so big! Look at you! Wow!”

My cheeks hurt from smiling. My entire body is tingling. “You came back.”

“Of course, I did. I came back to see
you
.” She winks. “I never break a promise.”

I can’t believe she’s here. I feel like there’s electricity zapping my skin. I wish she would touch my cheek like she did that one time all those years ago. Or kiss the top of my head again like she just did a minute ago. Or, even better, kiss my lips. I’d give anything to get a kiss from her—a real kiss with tongue and everything. Oh my God. The thought makes me tingle everywhere, but especially between my legs.

We talk for twenty minutes. She asks me about school and my brother and what sports I’m playing. She tells me that San Diego is as sunny and beautiful as she thought it’d be, that she’s a third grade teacher there, and that she and Mr. Santorini are happy and excited about meeting their new baby in a couple months.

“Oh,” she says suddenly, touching her belly. “The baby just kicked. You want to feel?”

I’m not really sure. The whole idea of touching her belly kind of freaks me out. But she doesn’t wait for my response. She grabs my hand and places it on the side of her hard stomach and two seconds later something inside of her karate chops my hand.

“Oh my God,” I say, laughing. I’ve never felt anything like that before.

“It’s a boy,” she says, smiling at me really big.

“Wow. That’s cool, Miss Westbrook.”

“Do you know what I’m going to name him?”

I shrug. How on earth would I know that?

“Jonas,” she says.

There’s a long, awkward silence. Is she saying my name to make sure I listen carefully to whatever name she’s about to say? Or is she telling me, “I’m naming my kid Jonas”? If she’s telling me she’s naming the baby Jonas, that’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it? It’s not that common a name—not like Josh.