When Jeff Comes Home (14 page)

I felt trapped and overwhelmed. "Dad, I can't play sports anymore."

"Why, for God's sake?"

Suddenly I was so tired of lying. "Because I can't get undressed in front of other people."

A pause. The other noises in the parking garage disappeared as I focused in on the sound of Dad's breathing.

"That's ridiculous. Why not?" Dad's voice still held a trace of bluster, but I heard the fear there too.

"I have marks on my back," I whispered, covering my face with my hands. My stomach felt hollow.

"Marks? What are you talking about?"

"Ray hit me. He left marks. Scars."

"Let me see."

I turned to him in horror. "Dad, no! Please."

"Jeff, let me see." He reached out for me, grabbing at my shoulder.

"No!" I said, pulling away so violently I banged my other shoulder against the door. I swore softly at the pain, steeling myself for Dad to come at me again.

"I'm sorry," he said after a long moment. I gave a shrug that felt more like a convulsive twitch. Dad reached up to wipe his forehead, and I saw that his hand was shaking.

"Why . .. what would he use to leave scars? Jesus," he whispered.

Powerful images washed over me, and I was no longer in the car with Dad.

"A whip," I said. "He used a whip." My voice sounded calm enough, but saying the words out loud shocked me. I began to cry as I never wanted to do around my father. He leaned over, pulling me close, wrapping his arms around my trembling body.

I tolerated the embrace at first, too weak to deny him a third time. But then I couldn't breathe. "Let me go, Dad," I said, my voice muffled against his chest. He loosened his grip, but didn't release me.

"What, Jeff, I didn't hear—"

"Goddamn you," I cried, wrenching myself out of his arms, "let go of me!" Dad sat back in shock, staring at me.

"Sorry," I tossed at him after a moment. "I shouldn't have—"

"Forget about that," Dad said in a tone that shut me up immediately. "We're not through talking about Slaight."

Yes, we are.

Dad took a deep breath. "You're saying Slaight beat you." I nodded. "You're telling me he used a
whip
on you?" I nodded again, disgusted with myself, prickles of heat breaking out across my body. "But..." Dad sputtered. "Why?
Why
would he do that?"

"I don't know, okay?" Fresh tears came to my eyes. I blinked them back angrily, wiping a hand across my face. Dad pushed a handkerchief on me and I took it without looking at him. "I don't know why he did it. He was mad at me, I guess."

Ray lay next to me on the bed, crying, holding a cold towel to my forehead as I shivered and burned with fever.

“l’m sorry, baby, ” he said.
“
Don't die on me.
”

"He didn't mean to hurt me that bad," I said, staring down at my hands. "He was sorry for it later."

Dad cleared his throat. "Does Dave know about this?"

"No. Not from me," I added, then flushed.

Yeah, like Ray told him.

"Well, he'll have to know," Dad said grimly. "I'll tell him when he calls tonight. He'll want to talk to you too."

"No. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I wish I hadn't told you."

But the marks were there. I could feel them. Ugly. Hideous.

"Okay," Dad said quietly, sounding like he was talking to himself. "This is tough. This is ..." He clenched his hands into fists, and I flinched. "I think you need to talk about this stuff, Jeff. To me, to Dave, to . . . somebody."

"No," I said. "There's nothing more to tell."

"You have to live your life," Dad said suddenly, "and Ray Slaight is not a part of it anymore. You're not going to let him stop you from going to school or playing sports—or doing anything else you want to do."

There's nothing I want to do.

"We've got to get you to a doctor," Dad muttered. "I've put it off too long."

"I don't need a doctor," I said, gathering control of myself. "It... my back ... it happened a long time ago. Ray took care of it. I'm fine."

"'Ray took care of it,'" Dad repeated in a low voice. "Great. Terrific." He took a deep breath. "Tell me this. Did he hurt you in other ways?"

"Dad!" I burst out, suddenly not afraid of him, not even a little bit. "Leave me alone about this."

He nodded immediately. "All right, Jeff. All right."

We sat in tense silence for some minutes, each of us staring straight ahead. Finally I sighed, and that seemed to break Dad's reserve.

"So," he said with forced cheer, "how about getting some lunch inside the mall? Connie says there's a good Italian place here. We can shop afterward."

"Okay," I said. "Sure."

We got out of the Jeep and walked toward the mall entrance. Not communicating.

Dad looked in on me at dawn the morning
he was to return to work. He walked quietly to my bed, a small, yellow legal pad in his hand. Tense, not sure what he had in mind, I briefly considered faking sleep. But I didn't, watching him until he met my eyes.

"Jeff. I didn't know you were up. I hope I didn't wake you." Dad sounded formal, distant, the way he had ever since we had talked about my back. Or not talked about my back.

"I was already awake," I said, hating the eagerness in my voice. Eager to please. Eager to apologize.

"Well, then," Dad said, hitting the legal pad once sharply against his other hand. "I have a list of numbers here where you can reach me today. If you need anything, or just ..." He trailed off, looking at a point somewhere over my shoulder.

"I'll be okay, Dad." He didn't answer. "I'll be fine."

"All right." He set the pad on my bedside table. "Anyway, you have these now. I'll see you tonight."

I lay awake after that, listening to the sounds of the others waking up. Connie and Brian left the house next, together, headed for Wayne Elementary School. Forty-five minutes after that Charlotte took off, and I was alone in the house for the first time since I had returned.

I considered spending the day in bed, but it was no use. I had grown too accustomed to the early morning routine Dad had set with me. At nine I went downstairs to find breakfast. Jack the cat, who had long since grown used to my presence, trailed after me hopefully. I knelt and rubbed his chin, which he stretched up to me, the better for my fingers to reach.

After a bowl of Cheerios, I wondered what to do with the rest of the day. I thought about walking into town just to get some exercise, but I didn't want to risk any "Welcome back!" conversations with anyone who used to know me. I also didn't want to run into an authority figure of any kind wondering why I wasn't in school.

Finally I settled onto the couch for some daytime TV—game shows or soap operas, anything mindless. Within five minutes though, my eyelids were heavy and I felt sleep coming with an ease I never experienced at night. Leaving the TV on for white noise, I stretched out full-length on the sofa, moving my body to fit around the cat curled up beside me.

Someone was shaking my foot. I groaned, turning on my side, wanting back into the best sleep I'd had since I'd come home.

"Hey, Jeff," Vin said, laughing a little.

Instantly awake, I sat up, drawing my foot back from his hand. He stood at the other end of the couch, looking embarrassed, Charlie and a short, dark-haired girl flanking him.

"I wish I could sleep in like that," Vin said, trying a laugh again. Charlie and the girl agreed, laughing with him.

"It's lunchtime," Charlie said, smiling nervously. "Sherry and I usually eat lunch here. Vin came over with us today. ..." She trailed off at my lack of response.

"Hi," Sherry said, stepping forward. I stood to meet her. "You're Jeff, I'm Sherry. How's it going?" Sherry was petite, shorter than Charlie by at least two inches, slim and pretty with big dark eyes.

"Okay," I said, relaxing at the casual way she'd greeted me. "How's it going with you?" She shrugged and smiled, apparently not caring that I was a celebrity/freak.

"Whatever. Charlie, do you still have Mountain Dew? I need a rush."

"She's cute, huh?" Vin said after the girls had left.

"Sherry? Yeah, I guess." I met his eyes and he smiled.

"Yeah, Charlie's pretty cute, too."

"Why don't you ask her out," I said, surprising myself. "She'd love it."

"Charlie? Nah. I mean, she's pretty and everything, but that would be like dating my sister." We stood quietly for a moment, not looking at each other.

"Anyway," Vin said finally, clearing his throat, "You want to go get lunch at Burger King or McDonald's? My truck's outside."

The traffic up to East Wayne was hell, but Vin decided to drive out to McDonald's anyway. After we got our food, Vin looked at his watch and laughed.

"There's no way I'm going to get back in time for calculus."

"You're not? What else do you have after lunch?"

He made a face. "English. It sucks. We have to write about our
feelings
all the time."

"How are you doing in school?" In elementary school, it had always been a struggle for Vin to maintain a C average so he could play sports. We had done our homework together almost every night at one or the other's house.

"I do okay. It's not easy. I don't mind math or science, but English ..."

I smiled at him. "Sounds like before."

"Yeah, my grades were shot to hell for a while after you left." He frowned and took a ferocious bite out of his Quarter Pounder.

"So, did someone else—"

"What, work with me?" He laughed to himself. "I had a girlfriend freshman year who said she'd do my homework for me. I let her. It turned out she was dumber than me. I knew I could get better than D's on my own, so I started to put in the time. It's a habit now." After sipping his Coke down to the dregs, he tossed the empty cup onto the tray. "You done? Let's drive up to the snow."

The snow line began about fifteen miles east of Wayne, as the foothills faded into the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Once Vin reached the Twain Harte Grade where the road split, he checked his rearview mirror for the Highway Patrol, then sped up, revving the truck up the grade. I laughed, exhilarated. At the top of the grade, where the road narrowed and the pine trees closed in on either side, Vin slowed, but not by much.

"That day you disappeared," he said abruptly. "That was a crazy day. You were supposed to pitch that night, remember?"

I tried to keep the irony out of my voice. "Yeah. I remember."

Vin glanced over at me, then back at the road. "You didn't show up at the game, no one knew why. I went to your house, no one was there. Next morning, still no one. Finally it was all over the news about you. Your dad was on TV, on all the stations, asking whoever took you just to let you go." He slowed a little more, and I watched him. "He stayed in Fresno for a while, trying to find you." Vin glanced at me again. "You ever talk about this with him?"

"No. I don't want to talk about it at all, so—"

"At first the police thought you might be around that rest area somewhere," he continued, ignoring me. "All kinds of people were looking for you there. I felt like if
I
was there I'd find you. You'd be in a ditch or something, hit by a car, nothing too serious, maybe a broken leg . . . it would bug me especially at night. I begged my mom to drive me down there but she wouldn't do it. In the daytime, I could tell myself there were hundreds of people looking in ditches, they'd find you if you were there, but the nights ..."

I hesitated, moved, not sure what to say. "I know what you mean about nights."

"For a long time I couldn't think about anything else. School was a waste. I picked fights. I cried in class a few times." He worked his shoulders, irritated with himself. "So . . . anyway, that was three years ago, almost. History, right?"

"Right," I agreed. I had wondered what my family and friends were doing while I was with Ray, if they still thought of me as time and distance grew between us. I wanted Vin to catch me up on school, sports and people we both knew. But just as quickly, the urge passed. My questions would only make the contrast between us that much clearer.

We stopped at Little Sweden, a tobogganing hill about twenty miles east of Wayne. Neither Vin nor I were dressed for the weather, but he rented sleds for both of us and we spent the rest of the afternoon sliding down Little Sweden over and over, laughing and acting like kids. We even had a snowball fight, using our sleds as shields, barely able to clasp the snow in our reddened, freezing hands.

The shadows of the pine trees were lengthening on the snow before either of us thought to check the time. It was after four.

On the way back down the hill I told him, "I'll pay you back for this."

"What"—he laughed—"you mean when I got you on the back of the neck—"

"No. For what you spent on the sleds, on lunch today, the other day too."