When Jeff Comes Home (13 page)

Unaccountably moved, I was able to forget myself for a moment. "Thanks for taking time with Brian. Charlie too. I know you talk to her at school sometimes."

Vin frowned, nodding awkwardly. "Oh yeah, that's nothing."

"Okay, but I appreciate it."

"Well, of course," Vin said, still frowning. "I mean, we were friends, and I hope we can be again, and— aaggh! This is too much emotion for me."

I laughed, relieved. "Me too. So . . . this is your truck." Brian had climbed into the bed of the truck and was standing tall, looking in every direction.

"Yeah," Vin said, running his hand lovingly over the hood. "I have to work all the time to support it, but it's worth it. There's nothing like being your own boss, going wherever you want."

I watched him, wanting to touch the truck too, but feeling too shy to do it.

Vin glanced up at me, smiling. "You want to go somewhere later, after we play?"

"Where?" I didn't want to go to his house, where we might meet his mother or one of his brothers. Or worse, where I might have to be alone with him.

"Nowhere far, or anything," Vin said, his smile fading. "We could just get something to eat at Taco Bell or McDonalds or wherever."

"Yeah," Brian said, inviting himself along.

I shrugged, not committing, wanting to say no.

The basketball courts were built into the hill at the back end of the high school campus, next to the football bleachers. We sprinted up the bleachers, giving Brian a twenty-second head start. As he crowed from the top step, Vin came in second, close behind him. I was a distant third, my leg muscles cramping as I joined them on the top step. I stamped my feet in place, trying to catch my breath.

"You've got to be kidding!" Vin said, smiling uneasily. "I could never beat you in a race."

"I would have beat you even without a head start," Brian boasted.

"Yeah, probably." I looked away from both of them.

"Well..." Vin said finally, "you want to play?"

"Yeah!" Brian said, racing over to the railings that separated the bleachers from the courts. He clambered over them, looking back for us.

"Okay," I shrugged. Vin nodded, watching me carefully.

Once we started playing basketball, an easy game of Horse, our awkwardness faded a little. The conversation centered around what we were doing, and Brian was happy to take up any slack. Soon Vin and I fell into a comfortable silence, just goofing around shooting free throws, giving Brian the extra shots he demanded without bothering to argue with him.

"So what teams are you on?" I asked Vin after a while, rocketing a set shot that hit the rim, spun and went in.

"Football in winter, baseball in spring. Not basketball. I just do that for fun. Hey," he said abruptly, "when are you coming back to school?"

"I don't know," I said with no enthusiasm.

"You don't know?" Vin looked surprised. "You are coming back, right? I mean, you have to."

"I suppose . . . " I said, trailing off.

"But ..." Vin hesitated. "I mean, what else can you do?"

"I don't know," I said irritably.

"I'd help you," Vin said. "You know, getting started and all that. I could introduce you around ... you know most of the guys I hang out with anyway. They're the same friends we had at Wayne Elementary."

I kept my face blank, knowing I would never, ever fit comfortably into a group of guys again.

"Besides, you can't go out for baseball if you're not in school. You are getting back into baseball, right?" Vin's voice was casual, but he stopped and held the ball to wait for my answer.

"Give me the ball, Vin," Brian said, holding out his hands. Vin tossed it to him without looking.

"Let's sit on the bleachers," he said. "I'm tired." He didn't look tired at all, but I was sweating and shivering at the same time. I started to protest, but shrugged, figuring he was right.
I
was tired.

"Brian, you keep playing, okay?" Vin said over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm gonna practice my free throw," he called. I heard him hit the rim and curse as the ball missed.

Vin sprawled out across the top step. After a moment I sat down in the same row, leaving plenty of space between us.

"You don't look too good," Vin said bluntly, turning to face me. "You're too skinny. You don't have any endurance. There's nothing wrong with you, is there?"

No, see, it's just that I wasn't supposed to get out of arm's reach of Ray, and he didn't exactly take me jogging, you know?

"I'm okay," I said.

"So, are you going out for baseball in the spring?"

"No," I said definitively. Vin stared at me. "Like you said," I added quickly, "I'm not exactly ready for that."

Vin looked out at the field, one hand over his eyes to protect him from the sun. "It's December. Practice starts in three months. You have plenty of time to get in shape. I'll help you. We could work out together." I winced, but he didn't see. "We've got a good team. I'm on varsity. You could be too, with your arm."

"What's the coach like?" I asked, for lack of anything else to say.

"A hardass. A jerk. He takes everything too seriously and thinks he's God. But he's a good coach. When I made varsity last year, he gave me a rough time, but it wasn't for nothing. I mean, he really tested me out, found out where he thought I'd do the best and put me at third."

I shrugged, listening to him, knowing I would never set foot on a playing field again.

"Don't rule it out, Jeff," Vin said. I looked at him, raising my eyebrows. "Baseball. I mean, what's the point of not—"

"I've had enough of hardass jerks," I told him, biting off the words, realizing too late I had opened the door to other questions I did not want to answer.

Vin looked at me cautiously. "You're talking about that guy, aren't you? The one who kidnapped you."

"Yeah," I said. "That's who I'm talking about."

"So they got him," Vin said, but his tone was questioning. "I saw it on the news. He was following you or something, in San Francisco."

"Yeah," I said abruptly.

"He's in jail, right?" I nodded. "He's going to stay there? I mean—"

"Look, Vin, I don't know much more about that than you do. And I don't want to talk about it."

"Sure, sure," he said, backing off. I waited. "Only—"

"What?" I said, my voice as cold as I could make it.

"Listen," he said, "you don't have to answer this. But a lot of people are wondering, did that guy molest you?"

Here it was. The question left me unmoved. I knew what Vin wanted to hear. What he had to hear.

"He never touched me."

"He didn't?" Vin hesitated, squinting at me. "Okay, that's good enough for me."

Oh, it's good enough for you, is it?

I felt the distance between us.

If you knew, Vin
. . .

"I want you to come back to school. I have people I hang out with now, but that's all they are. They're not friends like you and I were friends."

I shrugged. "It depends on what my dad wants, I guess."

He looked at me, disappointed. "You'll let me know, right? Call me or something?"

"Yeah," I said listlessly, retreating from him.

A FEW DAYS BEFORE VACATION ENDED, DAD

decided to take me to Modesto so I could cash in the gift certificates he and Connie had given me for Christmas.

Thirty-five miles of agricultural land separated Wayne from the nearest town. I focused on the scenery, trying to ignore the glances Dad kept shooting at me. Finally, as we entered Oakdale, he let me know what was on his mind.

"What would you think about my going back to work?" When I didn't answer right away, Dad laughed self-consciously. "I bet you'd be relieved. I know I hover over you too much."

I protested halfheartedly. He shook his finger at me, smiling. "I do, and I know I do. You're very special to me, you know." I was embarrassed, and I guess Dad was too, for he concentrated on the road and didn't say anything else.

"Thanks," I said belatedly when I realized how my silence might be taken. But I mumbled the word, looking away from him.

Dad's next glance at me was anxious. "I am going back to work, Jeff. Monday after New Year's."

"Okay," I said quickly.

"And you're going back to school—"

"Not right then?" I said, panicked.

"No." Dad cleared his throat. "I called the Wayne High principal yesterday. Stan Dodson. He turned out to be a pretty reasonable guy."

I gave a little grunt to keep him talking, but I was shrinking inside.

"He said you could go ahead and start second semester, about three weeks from now. The alternative would be starting you on independent study right away. That's what he recommended at first. But I don't want that for you, Jeff. You need to be back in school."

"I don't want to be a freshman, Dad," I said, grasping at any straw. "I'm too old for that."

"You're going in as a junior. I made sure of that. After all," he said, voice tightening, "it wasn't your fault you missed out on the first two years of high school. Dodson said they could consider you a kind of exchange student. If you keep up with your class, and I know you will, he'll waive the requirements you've missed."

I laughed sharply. "Is that what the kids are going to think? That I'm an 'exchange student'?" Despite my words, I felt hope stirring. The idea of going back to school was terrifying, but Vin was right, what else could I do?

"The other kids will take their cues from you," Dad said. "If you walk onto that campus knowing you belong there, you'll be accepted just as you should be."

I shook my head. "It's not going to be that easy."

"Going back to school will be a challenge for you. No question. But I know you, and I know you'll succeed."

You don't know me at all.

"You're going to do fine this year, and next, and you'll graduate with your class. After that, college—"

"College!"

"It's not so far away. Just a year and a half. I can see you going to Berkeley. That's where I went, you know, for college and law school. We'll move back to the Bay area then, so you can live at home and commute."

"Dad ..."

What about the rest of the family! Connie has a job here. Charlie does too, and she already thinks you don't give a damn about anyone but me. Brian's messed up enough as it is without uprooting him to make my life more comfortable. And me. College! Dad, you're kidding yourself. I'm an eighth-grade dropout. How. . . !

"Connie's going to pick up some skills packets for you from the high school next week. I'm sure your reading comprehension is fine, but you'll need to get up to speed on math."

"Dad, I don't—"

"Connie and I will help you study. Charlotte's a straight-A student. She can help too. You're a smart kid, Jeff," he said firmly. "I know you can pick up the traces." End of discussion.

Dad smiled over at me as we hit Modesto, the "big city" where Wayne residents shopped for better quality clothes and big-ticket items like cars and computers. Our destination was Vintage Faire, a huge covered mall built on the site of a former almond orchard.

"I'm glad you had a chance to spend some time with Vin the other day. When are you going to see him again?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm supposed to call him or something."

"Vin is a good kid," Dad said. "Do you know he called or came over nearly every week for close to a year after you disappeared? I never had anything new to tell him."

"Vin's a good guy," I said, squirming. "But he's got other friends now. Other jocks. That's what I mean about school. I don't want to tag along after Vin, or have him feel like he has to carry me."

"You know," Dad said abruptly, "one of the things I hate about that man"—I knew he meant Ray—"is the way he robbed you of your confidence. Why don't you have faith in yourself, Jeff? You know you don't need to worry about Vin's friendship, or about making new friends. You'll start school, you'll do well, you'll work your way back into sports, and—"

"How disappointed would you be if I never played sports again?"

We had reached Vintage Faire. Dad pulled into a spot in the underground garage near Macy's. He took his time answering my question.

"I'd be very disappointed, but not for the reasons you think. I'd be disappointed because you'd be giving up on yourself for no good reason. You enjoyed sports, especially baseball. I know I pushed you, but only because you were
good,
and because you loved it. Didn't you?"

I nodded. "Yeah, but things are different now. I'm a different person."

Dad sighed. He clasped the steering wheel for a moment, then looked over at me. "I hate to see you do this to yourself. What does that mean, you're a 'different person?' So different that you can't return to the things you loved? If you're worried about fitting in socially, there's no better way than succeeding in sports. And you
will
succeed, you know that. It's just a matter of getting back into shape. Vin can help you with that, I'm sure, and I'll work with you on weekends."