When Jeff Comes Home (11 page)

It was amazing how little any of that mattered now. Sixteen-year-old Andy stood before me, still fat, but muscular too, immensely tall, carrying himself with a physical confidence I did not remember. Suddenly I was sure that Andy had become a major success as a high school athlete, and that he and Vin were friends again.

He looked me over, curious, then tilted his head back. "Where you been?" I shrugged, looking down. Andy grunted. Then, with a skill that put my fumblings to shame, he began plucking the groceries up three at a time, packing them neatly into paper bags he lined up along the counter.

Marie, who'd watched our reunion open-mouthed, shook her head and leaned over the counter toward Dad. "It's a crime," she said, lowering her voice without dropping the volume. "It's just a crime. These faggots that prey on our kids, they should be strung up, electrocuted,
tortured
like they torture. I told my boys if some pervert ever comes up to them—"

"Mrs. Perini, check the goddamn groceries." Dad's voice was ice-cold. Marie drew back, glaring at him.

"Fine!" she said, calling out the total, then practically grabbing the check from his hand. Andy stood by the loaded carts, tapping one foot. I knew my face was bright red.

Dad refused Andy's offer to take the groceries out for us. After we had unloaded them, Dad took the carts back while I waited inside the Jeep.

"I'm sorry," Dad said when he returned. "Obviously, I don't do much of the shopping or I never would have gone there. Did you know that kid from school?"

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Andy Keller. Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"What she was saying in there ..." I paused. "And the reporter. Is that what everyone thinks?"

Dad waited a long time before he answered. "That you were molested? Probably." He started up the Jeep but kept it in park for a moment. Then he sighed, and, looking behind him, backed out of the spot.

I waited for him to say more, edgier than I had been since the night I came home. But we were out of the shopping center, headed up to the highway back to town, before Dad spoke again.

"When a child is kidnapped," he said, sounding as though he were weighing out every word, "like you were, the natural assumption is that there's a sexual motive behind it. I knew that from the start, and Dave only confirmed it."

I squirmed. "Yeah? Well, who's
Dave?
And what do you mean 'natural'? There's nothing
natural
about it." I stared down at my hands, curling my toes in embarrassment.

"Jeff ..." Dad's voice was gentle. It was the start of something I did not want to face. Could not face.

"No!" I said, turning to him for an instant, then looking away fast out the passenger-side window. "It's not true, anyway. It's not true, okay?"

"Okay," Dad said soothingly, placating me.

I turned to him again. "It's not true," I said, working to control my voice. "But if that's what everyone thinks, then what's the point?"

"What do you mean 'what's the point'?" he said, sharp now.

"I mean," I plowed ahead. "I'm supposed to walk around this town,
school,
with everyone thinking I'm a faggot?"

"Don't use that word," Dad said angrily. "Mrs. Perini was talking trash. I don't want you to waste your time listening to people like that."

I took a deep breath. "Is that what you think about me too?"

"What?" he asked me too quickly. He knew.

"You think I'm a . . . whatever you want me to call it." I saw Dad's knuckles go white on the steering wheel. "Never mind," I said, looking away. We drove in silence for a few minutes until I noticed we weren't heading toward home.

"Where are we going?"

"To pick out a Christmas tree," Dad said with forced cheer.

"Dad ..." I started.

He glanced over at me, smiling. "Look, I feel the same way. But Connie likes to do the Christmas thing. She wants to do something this year, even though we really only have today and tomorrow." I shrugged. "I've already had my Christmas," he added, his voice thick with emotion.

Feeling utterly cold, I said nothing, staring out the window as we passed the shopping center where Dad used to take us for pizza, the park where I had played Little League baseball for three years, the creek where Vin, Charlie and I had thought we'd found gold once.

Dad flipped on his turn signal and turned into the fairgrounds lot.

“Here!
” I said, cringing. The last person I wanted to see was Vin. I couldn't remember what hours Connie had said he worked.

Though I made no move for the door, Dad caught my arm. "Jeff. Before we go in—"

"Why are we here?" I said suspiciously.

Dad looked confused for a moment. "Oh!" he said, releasing my arm. "There's a Christmas tree lot here where we usually go."

Where we usually go. Jeffs gone
,
and life goes on.

"Look," Dad said abruptly. "What we were talking about before, I don't want to let it drop." He waited until I looked at him. "The 'faggot' stuff. No one with any class is going to lay that on you. I don't want you thinking about yourself that way."

"Who says I do?" I challenged him, sounding stronger than I felt.

Dad, so strong and confident and maddeningly
right
all the time, looked helpless. "Jeff ..."

"Don't," I warned. He sighed, then nodded.

"Okay. Let's go buy a Christmas tree."

"Charlie, when does second semester start?"
Dad asked, dishing himself a serving of salad, then passing the bowl to Brian. He had prepared Christmas dinner himself: lasagna, salad and garlic bread. Considering Connie's stunned and pleased reaction, I figured it wasn't something he did very often.

"Three weeks," Charlie said, glancing at me.

Connie laughed a little. "Ken, do you really think he's ready for that?"

"What's the alternative?" Dad said, spearing a tomato and finishing it off in three quick bites. "Trial preparation can take months. Jeff can't sit out the rest of the year. He's missed too much school already."

"He could go on independent study," Charlie said, pushing her hair back. "Sherry's sister does that. She meets with a teacher once a week and does her work at home."

"That sounds more like me, Dad," I said, thinking of Andy's dead-eyed stare. "If I could do that—"

"No," Dad said firmly. "I want you back into the normal life of a sixteen-year-old boy. That means full-time school and sports activities." Charlie laughed a little, an "a-ha" kind of laugh. "Charlotte, do you have something you want to say?"

She leaned back in her chair. "Yes, if you want me to be honest. Otherwise I can go to my room."

"Say it." Dad's voice was cold.

"This is all about getting Jeff into baseball again, isn't it?" Dad's eyes narrowed. "What if he doesn't care about being a jock anymore?"

"That's his business, not yours," Dad said.

Charlie leaned forward, raising her hands. "Exactly! So why are you pushing him?"

"Dad," I said quickly, "I guess I should go back to school, but I don't know if I can. I mean, I didn't even finish eighth grade. And sports!" I tried to laugh. "I'm totally out of shape. My arm ... I haven't thrown a ball—"

"All of that is fixable with hard work. I can tutor you, and Connie's a teacher. As for sports, you've always been a natural. The point is, you need to start working on something positive. Connie, how many more days before vacation ends?"

"A week and a day," she said quietly.

"Okay," Dad said. "So everyone goes back to school in just about a week. I'll have to be back at work soon myself. Jeff, I don't want you sitting here by yourself all day."

"Dad, I'll be fine, really."

"I know you will," he said, too quickly. "It's simply better for you to be busy, working toward some kind of goal, something that has nothing to do with the trial."

"Is that guy still in jail?" Brian asked. No one answered him. "Dad," he said, "that guy, is he still—"

"Yes, Brian, I heard you. Yes, he is. You remember what we talked about?" Dad stared at Brian for a moment until he nodded.

The next few minutes passed in heavy silence.

"This is excellent, Ken," Connie said finally, holding up a forkful of lasagna. "Thank God one of us can cook."

Dad smiled at her. "Glad you like it," he said, taking another quick bite of salad.

The phone rang and Dad tensed again. Connie laid a hand on his arm.

"It's probably just Dave," she murmured.

"Too early for that," Dad said, flicking his eyes over me. Stephens called every night around eight to give Dad an update on the case. I never asked what Stephens was saying and Dad didn't volunteer.

Dad walked into the kitchen and grabbed the cordless phone off the counter. I could see him through the doorway and I waited, tense.

"Hello? Who is this?" he asked angrily. "Oh. Sure. How are you?" He sounded much more relaxed. "I'm not sure . . . yes, okay. Just a minute."

Dad came back into the dining room carrying the phone.

"Jeff, it's Vin Perini. He wants to say hello to you."

No. No way.

I stared at Dad, shaking my head. He nodded back at me in a way I could not refuse. "Take the phone. You can talk in the living room."

I took the phone from him and walked into the living room like a zombie. I waited until I was as far away from the dining room as possible before I spoke.

"Hi," I said in a monotone.

"Jeff?" The voice was heavy and deep, much deeper than Vin's. I panicked for a second, looking around for Dad. But the voice was not Ray's either.

He grew up, stupid. Just like Andy. Just like you would have.

"Jeff?"

"Hi," I said again, feeling dumb. But what the hell could I say to him?

"Um, yeah," Vin said. "I don't know if this is a good time to call or not, but I wanted to get in touch. My mom said she saw you in the store the other day. Andy too. I was going to call then, but . . . listen, tell me if this isn't a good time for you."

Vin already sounded like he wanted to hang up. I didn't blame him.

"Sorry," I said awkwardly. "I guess I just don't know what to say."

Vin laughed, sounding relieved. "Yeah, I don't either. Just... I'm glad you're back, man. I missed you. I almost went crazy from missing you."

My face reddened. God, how could he say that? Didn't he realize how it sounded?

"Jeff?" Vin said again.

"I'm here."

"Well, listen, you want to get together or something? I could go over there or you could—"

"Now?" I felt panicked again.

"Well, no, not
right
now. It's Christmas. But how about tomorrow? We could play basketball at the high school, if you want, or whatever you want to do."

I closed my eyes, in such pain I did not trust myself to speak. I hit the disconnect button, tossed the phone on the couch, and headed for my room. I lay there in the dark, curled on my side, the door open so I could focus on the light coming in from the hallway.

The phone rang again and I could feel myself blushing, even here, alone in my room.

Dad appeared in the doorway. "Jeff?" he said. "Did you hang up on Vin?"

I rolled onto my back, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. "Yes," I mumbled.

"Why?" he said, sitting on the edge of my bed. I sat up quickly, edging away from him. "Jeff?" Dad sounded bewildered.

"I don't want to talk to him."

"But why?" Dad asked. "He's a good kid. He's been a good friend."

"This isn't about what kind of . . .
friend
Vin is," I spat, then looked away, afraid to show Dad that much of my anger.

"Are you embarrassed to talk with him?" Dad asked.

I sat back, bracing myself against the headboard. "Why should I be embarrassed?"

"I don't know. You're acting like you are. That's why I asked."

"Dad, I can't..." I started, then broke off.

"Can't what?" he asked, so tenderly tears filled my eyes. I bit down hard on my tongue to stop them. I was not going to cry in front of him again.

"I'm ... oh, I'm a freak," I told him, hitting my arm hard back against the headboard, wincing as I cracked my elbow. "Leave me alone, please." I was begging now, my pride gone.

"No," Dad said slowly. "I won't leave you alone. I know how hard this is for you. If I could go through it instead of you, I would. But I can't do that, Jeff, and you're just going to have to make your way back into normal life again. Picking up your friendship with Vin is an excellent way to start."

"He's not waiting for me on the phone now, is he?"

"No. He said you'd been cut off. I told him we've been having some trouble with the phone."