Penny Legend

by Lucy English

  Vivian looked up at us over her glasses and stayed behind her desk when we filed in and took the two straight chairs across from her. She was a well-regarded therapist and I reminded myself to be grateful for her input (and the job).

  “Penny, I’d like to hear what you’ve been considering for Legend Harris’s treatment plan.”

  I was prepared with notes, but paused a moment.

  “Do you have some proposed direction?” she asked.

  I glanced at Nathan and he nodded ever so slightly. “I do, but there are some things I’d like to discuss first.” I’d prepped with Nathan, who was supportive of my decision to bring up my questions.

  Vivian removed her glasses without taking her eyes off my face.

  “I need to understand my obligation to the police and the likely duration of Legend’s treatment. I don’t want to do harm either by pushing the police’s agenda or by forming a bond that will have to be broken in the short term.”

  I thought I could feel Nathan smiling next to me, but I kept my eyes on Vivian.

  “What are the police asking of you?”

  “The detective—Detective Conner—thinks Legend probably saw the shooter and he wants me to get him to tell me. Legend isn’t talking and I want to support him on his schedule, not the detective’s.”

  “And what if Legend is in danger because the murderer is still out there? Are you sure you want to second-guess the police?”

  I shifted on the hard wooden chair. “I assume that if that were the case the detective would have told me, but I can ask him directly.” I was still looking at her, still sitting straight and not ready to leave my other question on the table.

  “Can I assume we have some input into the length of therapy? If he rebounds quickly and has good adults to bond with, great. But if not, I want to feel sure he can stay as long as needed.”

  “DCF is outsourcing to us because they’ve had so many positions cut. While it’s cheaper for them to push clients to us, they are incredibly tight on funding and I can’t predict what they’ll be able to do.” She rolled her chair back from her desk and looked at Nathan before looking back to me. “This may be an opportunity for you to learn to limit your involvement. We are tasked with specific responsibilities, and with our caseloads, we need to refrain from over-involvement in any one case.”

  She was referring indirectly to a client I’d had over the winter. A teenager whose mom was murdered. If it hadn’t been for my “over-involvement,” the police’s accidental death determination would probably have stood and the murderer would have gone free.

  Nathan finally spoke. “Penny’s involvement’s in Dani’s case last winter was a blessing. And I think she learned a great deal, don’t you agree?” Vivian was the boss but Nathan was older and more experienced and his opinions carried a lot of weight.

  “I think she may have learned the wrong lesson and might believe that it’s a good idea to go beyond the therapeutic guidelines when a case tugs at her heart.”

  “Look,” I said, “this is totally different and I’m only hoping for reassurance that we will be able to make a decision, as a team, about what’s best for Legend as his therapy progresses.”

  “I can’t promise.”

  With that I opened my notebook and summarized the home visit.

  Next I shared some of my therapeutic plans. I would rely heavily on play therapy, especially until he began to talk again. I shared a list of toys I wanted to make available. I requested permission to take him to the local playground.

  I left the meeting with the support I needed in the short term as well as the clarity that Vivian would be watching my every move. My stomach clenched forebodingly when I told myself that I wouldn’t need latitude on this one.

  After work, Marco, a guy I’d dated a bit the previous winter, called from Vienna, where he was visiting his parents. He’d been to Zurich and was soon headed to Tivoli, just outside of Rome. He was collaborating on an album with some musicians there.

  “Are you doing the technical recording stuff or playing?”

  “Technical stuff. I may lay down a track or two if they let me, but these musicians are top-notch. I’m just lucky to get to be there.”

  “No doubt. I’d love to visit all the places you’re going. Nobody ever needs a mid-career social worker to come work in Europe.”

  “I need one, but perhaps not for professional reasons.” I loved the flirtation in his voice, and before I lingered too long on the memory of his balsam scent, I reminded myself that we were just friends. I was by no means the only woman who found Marco magnetic.

  “I’m sure you’re finding good company there.”

  “Good company is relative.” The teasing tone was in his voice again.

  His flattery wasn’t new. I reminded myself that men say what women want to hear. If I played along I would get back into an emotional state that would pester me for days, maybe weeks, like the chiggers I used to get as a kid in Indiana. They’d burrow into my skin and bother me constantly, especially at night, to the point where I couldn’t sleep.

  “You’re full of it,” I said. “When do you go to Italy?”

  Marco told me about the rest of his travel plans.

  “I’ll be home in a few weeks. Can I take you to dinner?”

  I’d been feeling myself weaken as Marco described his travel plans and I imagined myself there with him, exploring the world with this sexy well-traveled multilingual man. I had to be careful.

  “Just enjoy the rest of your trip and we’ll talk again, okay?”

  When we hung up I felt the emotional chiggers and rubbed my arms to try and change my energy so I could refocus on the here and now of my mundane South Boston life. Someday maybe I would travel the world. I felt like I would always have an incomplete understanding of life until I did. That was part of my itch. I knew, intellectually, that my modest life was luxurious by global standards. I wanted to know that viscerally. I hoped that experiencing how others live would teach me to be more deeply grateful—to enjoy what I have and spend less time performing mental gymnastics over my love life, my worth, my place in the world. Sure, I wanted to travel to wealthy places too—Dubai, Paris, Tokyo—but that was the selfish part of me. The other part felt there was much more to learn in Nigeria, Armenia, or Guinea.

  But there was an irony to my rejection of a “normal life,” and the irony was that at some level I thought that having all that adventure could prepare me for, or encourage me to want, a “normal life.” Maybe even to know how to do it—how to love well and be grateful.

  Legend needed me. Will was coming. My life was anything but glamorous, but it was reality.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Nashua Street Jail was near the Science Park station on the Green Line. Some people called it the Glamour Slammer because of the nice architecture and the view of the Charles River. I’d never been inside so I was a little nervous about my ability to project the confidence that would help Legend.

  As we walked from the station to the jail I noticed that Legend’s shoulders had crept up again and his walk was stiff. When we reached the building I decided we’d better stop for a minute before going in. We walked to the side of the broad steps.

  “Can we sit for a minute and talk about this visit?”

  Legend looked at me and then sat. I sat next to him.

  “I haven’t been here before either, so I don’t know exactly what it will be like, but I think they’ll have us sign in and wait. We’ll probably have to go through a metal detector—it’s just sort of like a doorway that can sense if we have metal in our pockets or something.”

  He was watching people coming and going on the steps and fidgeting with the frayed fabric on the knee of his pants.

  “Aunt Desiree will probably meet us in a big room where there will be other people and guards. We’ll get to talk to her for a little while.”

  He looked at me, then at the doors. I stood and he followed me in.

  The visiting room was
large, with rows of small tables with attached stools. There were small groups of people at five or six of the tables. Desiree was at a table halfway into the room on the right. She extended her arms to Legend, who accepted her hug putting one arm around her in return. She was plump and pretty with big eyes and a round face.

  “Tell me everything,” Desiree said to Legend, when he stepped back from the hug. “That foster home okay? You remembering your prayers at night?”

  Legend looked at her and gave a slight nod. His gaze was steady and he was hugging himself. I waited.

  When the silence drew out too long I introduced myself.

  “Desiree, I’m Penny Wade. I work at the Community Counseling Center in South Boston and my job is to support Legend as he goes through the changes in his life right now.”

  Desiree extended her hand and I shook it. “God bless you, Penny Wade. Do you know this foster family? Are they people of God?”

  “I visited the home and it’s clean and safe and Maggie—the foster mom—is devoted to the children. There are four including Legend. The apartment’s in Chinatown, so Legend is still pretty close to South Boston.”

  I paused. Desiree looked at me with raised eyebrows.

  “I don’t know if she’s religious or not, but if you want, I can ask her to remind Legend about his prayers at bedtime.”

  “I guess that’ll do,” she said. She turned to Legend. “Now, you ain’t answered my questions. Cat got your tongue?”

  Legend remained silent, looking around the room between glances back at Desiree.

  I decided it was time to stop waiting him out. His face was mostly impassive, but there was a little crease between his eyebrows. I couldn’t imagine all the things that must be going on in his head.

  “Legend still isn’t talking. Don’t worry, though, I’m sure he’ll talk as soon as he’s ready.”

  Legend was looking toward a vending machine so I fished a dollar out of my bag and told him he could go get a snack. He walked across the room slowly and stood looking at the choices long enough for us to talk alone a little.

  “I’m really sorry about James. It must be horrible to be dealing with your grief and locked up here.”

  “You probably think I shouldn’t of had him around Legend, but he was a good man. He had a code, you know. He never sold to kids or heroin junkies. He was a God-fearing man.”

  “I guess Detective Conner’s been to visit you?”

  “I was quiet as Legend there. I’m not talking to no cops. They just lock up innocent people like me and let murderers go free. I am not endangering myself and my nephew by knowin’ who killed James.”

  “Does Legend know?”

  Desiree glanced over at him and shifted on her seat. “He don’t know and I don’t know.”

  Conner visited me at work that afternoon.

  I wanted to preempt the big interview. “She didn’t tell me anything,” I said, “and he’s still not speaking.”

  Conner sat. “I hear you. But I still need your help.”

  “I don’t know what I can do for you, Conner. I’m not pushing Legend and if Desiree knows anything she understandably doesn’t want to share it with me.”

  “Did you get the impression she knows?”

  “I don’t know if she knows. Legend is my job. Not Desiree.”

  Conner stood and walked to the window, then turned, came back to the couch, and looked me in the eyes. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but we’re looking into a guy named Martel. He’s a dealer and was a friend of James’s.”

  “Okay…”

  “He’s a drug addict and more than a little crazy.”

  “And?”

  “From what we can tell, he’s taking over James’s clientele.”

  I still didn’t know what this had to do with me but I was tired of prompting him. I stood up, went to the door, and cracked it open.

  “My next client is due any minute,” I said.

  Conner stood. He was very close to me and looked down into my eyes with his handsome-neighbor-boy face. “People trust you, Penny. I trust you. I need your help. Will you mention Martel to Legend and see if you get a reaction?”

  I wasn’t sure whether I would or not, but I felt sort of glad that Conner wanted my help. The last time I was involved with a situation where the police were investigating, they never even considered talking to me, but in the end I was the one who solved the crime.

  I heard footsteps in the hall. “I’ll do it if I find the right moment.”

  “Thanks, Penny. Oh, and while you’re at it, mention Tasha too?” He touched me on the arm and left.

  Legend’s uncle Gabe asked Maggie if he could take him to the park and Maggie asked me if I would go. She had too much on her plate with the other children after school and she was too nervous to send him on his own.

  It was awkward. I was worried about how Gabe would react to being chaperoned, but at the same time I was eager to meet him. The more family support Legend had, the better off he would be. Maybe Legend would talk to Gabe; maybe seeing him would restore some normalcy for him.

  I picked up Legend and we met Gabe at the playground on the Common. Legend and Gabe did an elaborate and silly handshake, although Legend moved more slowly than I imagined he did in better times. Gabe turned to me.

  “Gabe, I’m Penny, the social worker working with Legend. I hope you don’t mind me walking him over. I’m glad to have the chance to meet you anyway.”

  Gabe smiled. He was a nice-looking young guy with high cheekbones and a strong, straight nose. Like Legend, his light brown eyes bordered on green. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “Thanks for bringing him. I know it was Maggie’s idea.”

  “I’m happy to do it and I’ll stay out of the way.”

  Legend and Gabe headed off to the climber and I watched from a bench. Legend was tentative at first, but began to run and play after a little while. He wasn’t talking, but he was playing like a normal kid. I smiled and relaxed in the warm afternoon sun.

  They played for over an hour while I watched and texted with Will. Somehow we got off on creating a list of stupid shit you could buy at Walmart for under $5.

  A ketchup, mustard, and relish squeeze bottle set, a plastic barrel of big pretzels, a pine tree–shaped new car smell air freshener, a six-pack of polyester baby bibs, a toilet duck, a disposable chip and dip platter. I sat and chuckled at his ideas and text-tossed mine back at him until Legend and Gabe stopped playing and came over to where I was sitting. I unpacked the snack Maggie had sent for Legend. He was breathing hard and it sounded a little raspy, but I kept listening and the sound went away as he caught his breath. Nobody had mentioned asthma or anything so I dismissed it, thinking I would sound like that if I ran around a lot too. He sat down on the curbed edge of the playground and ate his apple slices and Cheez-its. Gabe sat on the bench.

  “I took Legend to visit Desiree yesterday,” I said.

  “I saw her today. It’s not right that she’s in there for James’s drugs.”

  “It’s not.”

  “The public defender’s no good.”

  “Do you know for sure?”

  “It’s a safe bet.”

  Legend looked over at us, crumpled up his trash, and ambled over to a trash can. When he came back he stood looking at me for a moment and I knew he was ready to go.

  Gabe and Legend repeated the special handshake before we left, but he was still neither smiling nor talking.

  I dropped Legend off at Maggie’s, where he gave her a tiny nod in greeting, then gave me a long blink goodbye and retreated to his room.

  I walked home thinking about his family. Somehow Legend’s silence had made me hyperaware of speech. I hadn’t thought anything about how Desiree spoke when we met, but reflecting back after meeting Gabe, I felt like the fact that she hadn’t completely switched code to my dialect reflected some level of authenticity on her part. I didn’t know how she spoke to family and friends so I didn’t know how much she had “adjusted”
for me, but Gabe’s language seemed a little forced and formal and it made me distrust him.

  While Legend seemed happy enough to see Gabe, Desiree had confirmed that Gabe wasn’t the kind of family member that was going to create the stability Legend craved. He was often jobless and not in school. Legend’s needs were so simple—a parent figure to take care of him, safety from violence, some support and respect at school. I marveled at how so many people crave the very simple normalcy I was so conflicted about having for myself.

  I’d recently decided to take up running in hopes of losing a couple of pounds and gaining more energy, so I was up early Sunday morning in shorts and a tank top. I wrangled my wavy hair, which in the humidity was more like a frizz, into a ponytail and hit the street in my new running shoes. I had this app, a Couch to 5K running thing that was going to make a runner out of me. Slowly. Six weeks to 5K.

  Day one had me running for one minute and walking for a minute and a half, repeating eight times. The first minute was tough. Maybe I ran too fast. Maybe I had my music all wrong. The walking segment definitely seemed shorter than the running one. Maybe the app voice lady was tricking me, making me think the walking segments were longer when it was really the reverse. I tried to run more slowly on round two, but I was already so slow that I felt like I was running in place when I tried to slow down. My own voice inside my head was relentless. What’s wrong with you that you can’t run for a minute? How much longer? This can’t possibly be just a minute. You are clearly not a runner. Other people can run for like hours! The walking segment was no better. I was already sweaty and out of breath and the voice in my head kept chattering. You’d better make the best of this because you have six more rounds to go and look at you, you’re dying. I started running round three only a few blocks from where I’d started. I thought about people who run twenty-six miles. I would never be able to run even one mile.