Just Another Kid (34 page)

A quiet pause.

“But damn it, Torey, she
is
guilty. She
has
hurt Leslie. She’s hurt me.”

He looked over.

I nodded.

“Yet, you’re telling her it’s not her fault.”

“I’m telling her the past is over.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“She’s a good person, Tom. You know that as well as I do. She deserves to be treated like a good person. Like someone who would not intentionally hurt the people she loves, because I don’t think she would.”

“But so much of this
has
been her fault, and you keep telling her it isn’t.”

I shrugged. “Because I can’t see much point in telling her it is. She can’t change what’s already happened. She can only change the future.”

Tom shifted in his seat. He regarded his hands as they rested on the table. Then, slowly, he turned his head and looked at me. He gave me a long, searching look before speaking. “What you don’t seem to realize, Torey, is that I never necessarily wanted her to change. She’s always been difficult, and things have always been hard for us, but I liked her the way she was. Untamed. Not quite like other people.”

He sighed heavily. “In fact, I’ve got to admit, you’re the person in all of this that I’m the most angry with,” he said, his tone still quiet. He didn’t sound so much angry as just weary. “You’ve come along and almost single-handedly destroyed my life. Do you realize that? When you meddled in all these things, did you stop to think about that at any point? The effect it would have on
me?
I mean, first it was Leslie. Now it’s Ladbrooke. You’ve left me with nothing. You’ve taken away everything I loved best.”

“But they weren’t happy. All I did was try and make it a little better for them.”

“But is it better? Have you made it better?”

I shrugged silently.

“Can you ever judge that about other people’s lives?”

A
t last, spring. There in the higher reaches of the Rockies, real spring with its warm, fitful weather and floral-scented air hadn’t come until late April. Even at that point it was a bit unreliable; we had snow showers on the twentieth. But the grass had finally gone green and the tulips were up.

I loved this time of year. I loved recess time, the perennial games of marbles and hopscotch that appeared in that season, as predictably as the tulips. I loved the noise of the children’s voices then, a fuller, more exuberant sound in contrast to the thin, sharp noises carried on cold winter air.

That particular day was stunning. It was Thursday of the last full week of April, a clear, cloudless day in the low seventies. Although Ladbrooke and I had morning recess duty, Joyce had opted to come out as well. She was across the playground from us, near the sandbox, where most of her children were. Leslie was there, too, busily loading a small truck with sand and dumping it. Geraldine and Mariana had tied a jump rope to one of the basketball supports and were taking turns jumping, chanting out a jump-rope rhyme that I remembered saying myself as a girl. The rhythm of their voices floated across the playground toward us. Shamie had brought a baseball and bat to school that morning and spent his time throwing the ball up, trying to hit and then chasing after it. Ladbrooke and I retreated to the deserted swing set, where we both sat on swings, idly pushing them into motion with our feet and chatting. I was saying to her how my own best memories of childhood schooldays had been of springtime recess periods. The only thing to mar my nostalgic recollections and the general peace of the morning was a couple of carpenters who had come to repair something in one of the basement rooms. Bang, bang, bang went their hammers, a jarring intrusion into our conversation.

Shemona wandered over to us. She stood a moment, swinging around one of the support struts and watching us. Then she approached Lad’s swing and took hold of the chain on one side. “Can I swing with you?” she asked.

“Yes, sure,” Lad replied, and I believe she thought Shemona was going to get into the next swing over, but Shemona didn’t. Instead, she climbed upon Ladbrooke’s swing, standing on it, a foot on either side of Lad.

“Okay,” Shemona said, “you push now.”

Ladbrooke launched the swing gently, and for a few moments they swang back and forth. Then, after the swing had come to a stop again, Shemona sat down. She was on Lad’s lap, face to face with her, Shemona’s small hands just below Lad’s on the chains. She was wearing a light cotton dress, and her long, bare legs extended out behind Ladbrooke on the swing. She smiled again. She must have been only inches from Ladbrooke’s face.

“Push again, okay?”

Lad smiled and launched the swing again. Shemona leaned back to keep the motion going and then it was teamwork. They managed between them to get the swing quite high, pumping back and forth, locked in one another’s smiling gaze, long hair flowing first in one direction and then the other. Then Ladbrooke stopped pumping and let the swing slow down naturally.

“Do it again,” Shemona said.

So again they went, swinging for several minutes, back and forth, back and forth. There was magic in watching them, in watching their faces, and in the rhythmic movement of their bodies. Then once again Ladbrooke stopped pumping. The swing glided soundlessly back and forth, the arc growing gradually smaller until at last they were even with me.

“Do it again,” Shemona said.

“No, that’s enough.”

“Do it again, please? Please?”

“No, I’m tired. That’s hard work. I’m a weary old woman.”

“No, you’re not,” Shemona replied with a giggle. “You’re not old.”

“I’m older than Torey.”

“No you’re not. She’s the teacher.”

“I’m still older. I was born before she was. I’m the oldest person out here.”

Shemona laughed. “No you’re not. She’s the teacher, so she’s the oldest.”

Ladbrooke grinned.

“So do it again. Please? Swing with me.”

“No, that’s enough.”

“Please?
Please?
Please, Miss?”

They were still sitting, face to face, both still holding onto the chains suspending the swing, but at that point Ladbrooke took her hands down and surrounded Shemona. Both continued smiling, their intimacy candid and relaxed.

“You know something,” Ladbrooke said, as she encircled Shemona with her arms. “I have a name. And it isn’t Miss.”

Shemona reached up and touched Lad’s cheek with her fingers.

“I’d rather you called me by my name than Miss. Do you know what it is?”

“Yes,” replied Shemona.

“What?”

She ducked her head and her smile grew coy.

“What?”

Shemona leaned very close to Ladbrooke until they were touching, forehead to forehead. “Mommy,” she said.

“Well, yes, I’m Leslie’s mommy.”

Shemona sat back a little and locked her arms around Lad’s neck. “I want you to be my mommy.”

Lad smiled.

“You could be. I don’t have a mommy
or
a daddy. You could go to a court and adopt me.”

Lad smiled again, her expression affectionate. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it? I’d love to be your mommy. But I don’t think it’s very likely, is it? I’ve already got a little girl. And you’ve already got your aunt and uncle. I don’t think they’d be very happy with me if I took you away from them.”

“But they’re not my mommy and daddy. I want to be
your
little girl. Leslie wouldn’t care. She could be my new sister.”

It was about then that Mariana and Geraldine wandered over. Geraldine sat down on one of the free swings, but Mariana came up to Ladbrooke. She touched Lad’s long, loose hair. “Can I swing with you like that?”

Ladbrooke, I think, sensed the need to ease out of the conversation with Shemona. She gently put her hands under Shemona’s armpits to help her down. “Let’s give Mariana a turn.” Mariana clambered on. Considerably stronger than Shemona, she was more able to help Ladbrooke pump the swing, and the two of them sailed above us.

“Come on, Shemona,” Geraldine said, getting up. “Come do the jump rope with me.”

“No. I don’t want to. I want to stay here.”

Geraldine’s brow furrowed. “Come
on
.”

“No, I said.”

“I want you to turn the end so I can jump. Come on.”

“No, I’m staying here. I want to swing again.”

Geraldine impatiently put down the jump rope and came over. She grabbed hold of Shemona’s arm. Shemona jerked it free.

“Geraldine,” I said, “Shemona doesn’t sound like she wants to jump rope. Let her be, please.”

Determination colored Geraldine’s features, and she lunged at Shemona, knocking her down into the sand beneath the swings. I was at them instantly, pulling them out of the way of Mariana and Ladbrooke’s swing, still in motion.

Geraldine, angry with Shemona, angrier, perhaps, with my interference, screamed. Even though I had hold of her, she managed to pull herself free and attack Shemona again. Pushing the younger girl down, she leaped on top of her, yanking Shemona’s hair. But Shemona was no easy victim. She furiously returned the attack, and the two of them rolled away through the sand like tiger cubs.

Ladbrooke was desperately trying to stop her swing and extricate herself from Mariana. I could grab one of the girls but not both, particularly with the obstacle course created by the swings. Finally, Lad was there as well, and between the two of us, we managed to pull the sisters apart. Neither was hurt. In fact, neither was even crying, although they both raged noisily at one another.

“Okay, okay, you two,” I said. “Settle down. Recess is almost over anyway. So settle down.”

“Yes, go back to your retard class! Back to your baby class! Back where you go wee in your nappies!” shouted Geraldine.

“Better than being in with you!” Shemona screamed back. “I
hate
you! You’re worse than having no sister at all!”

“I hate you too!”

I struggled to aim Geraldine in the general direction of the door.

“You just wait, Shemona. It’s going to be different next year, when we get back to Belfast.”

“I’m not going back to Belfast,” Shemona retorted.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not! I’m
never
going back to Belfast, Never, never, never! So there.”

We’d made it to the doorway of the building by then, and Joyce came over to relieve Lad of Shemona, but the girls were still screaming angrily back and forth at one another.

“You’re going back! You’re going back!” Geraldine shrieked.

“I’m
not!
You can’t make me. Nobody can make me. I’m never going back.”

All the way down the hall they shouted, until Joyce finally dragged Shemona through their classroom door and Lad and I pulled Geraldine into the stairwell. It was at that point that Geraldine finally began to cry.

“We
are
going back,” she wept. “Shemona and me. We’re going back to 38 Greener Terrace after school gets out. When it’s summer. We
are
.”

As we went up the stairs, I tried to pull her close to me, but she was having none of it. She pushed herself free, bolted up ahead of the rest of us and into the classroom to take refuge among the library stacks. Ladbrooke went to settle the other children, and I stopped at the head of the aisle where Geraldine was. She was sitting on the floor, hunched up, hands covering her face. I came down the aisle and knelt beside her. Gently, I put a hand out to touch her shoulder.

“Go away!”

“Here, come sit with me.”

“Go away, bitch.”

“Let’s talk about things, okay?”

“Go
away
.”

I sat down on the floor beside her. For several minutes I said nothing at all. Geraldine kept her head down, hidden from me by her hands. She didn’t seem to be crying.

“I think maybe it would help if we talked about things, Geraldine. Would you like to come sit with me? Or would you prefer we went somewhere more private?”

“Go away. What’s the matter with you? Can’t you hear me? I don’t want to talk to you.” She raised her head then to look at me. “I
hate
you. When are you going to realize that?”

I nodded slightly.

“I hate you. This is all your fault. You’ve ruined everything, you and her in there. Why should I want to talk to you?”

“In what way have we ruined things?”

“Can’t you see? Shemona’s not going back now, is she?” Tears returned to her eyes. “What am I going to do now, you bitch? You’ve ruined everything.”

Afternoon recess rolled around. It was Carolyn’s turn for duty, but Lad decided to go out as well, since it was such a beautiful day. I needed to have a word with Bill about getting some clean chalkboard erasers, and it was always easier to catch him during breaks than after school, when he was off cleaning, so I declined the offer to join her. I did mention to Lad, however, to keep an eye on Geraldine and Shemona. Geraldine had soon settled down after the morning’s turmoil and gone back to her normal routine. After lunch, when Shemona had returned to our class, there was no evidence that either remembered the morning’s fracas. But they always seemed more combustible in the unstructured setting of the playground, and on several occasions, they had rekindled a morning’s argument in the afternoon.

Bill had a little office-cum-workshop on the ground floor. It also housed the boiler, so there was a tangle of pipes and trailing bits of lagging tape that needed to be ducked around and under. Perched on the edge of his desk, balancing the two clean erasers on my knees, I was talking with him about our local high-school sports team when all the commotion became audible. Carolyn’s voice came through the clearest. She was shouting my name.

“I’m in here, Carolyn,” I called, opening the door to Bill’s room.

“Torey? Torey! Come down here, quickly!”

There was panic in Carolyn’s voice, something I’d never heard before. I responded with alarm, running the length of the corridor to meet her at the stairwell. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

“Oh God,” she was saying, “oh God, oh God, Torey, come down here.”

There was complete chaos in the basement hallway. Both Carolyn’s and my children were tearing back and forth in panic. Some were crying. Some clamored for attention.

“Where’s Joyce? Where’s Ladbrooke?” I asked, fear clutching my voice.

Ignoring the children, Carolyn pushed her way through to the room beyond her own where the carpenters had been working. They weren’t in there at the moment; I knew because they’d been upstairs having coffee in the teachers’ lounge when I’d gone in to find Bill. Carolyn opened the door and beckoned me in before closing it firmly behind me to keep the children out.

At the far end of the room were Ladbrooke and Geraldine. They were kneeling on the floor, but I couldn’t see what was going on because their backs were to us. Ladbrooke, hearing the door, turned her head. Her face was colorless.

“Oh, my God,” I said, when I came abreast of her and saw what had happened. Geraldine had her left arm extended across the hardwood floor, the palm of her hand upward. A huge, six-inch nail had been driven straight through the palm, nailing her hand right to the floor.