When Jeff Comes Home

by Catherine Atkins

  "Oh God, no," I whispered, "no, no, Ray." I walked back across the lawn to head him off, plastering a smile to my face. But Ray merely stood next to his car, arms folded.

  "This is your house, isn't it?" he hissed. I nodded. "Then go in! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  "I will, Ray, I am," I told him, backing up all the way to the porch steps. After another hard look at me, Ray retreated into the Lexus and pulled the car forward, out of sight. I watched him go, my heart thudding against my chest.

  The door burst open behind me and I heard a man shout, "Hands up, now!" I turned to face him, hands at my side. Squinting into the porch light, I slowly removed my cap.

  A tall man in sweat pants and a T-shirt stood rigid on the top step, arms trembling in the firing position. I could make out the steel gleam of a revolver in the muted yellow light. A woman stood behind him in the door, another taller woman behind her with a boy.

  Slowly the man lowered his arms. He stared at me, coming down a step.

  "Who are you?" His voice shook. "Do you have something to do with Jeff Hart?" He sounded angry. Then, much more tentatively, "Are you Jeff?"

  For a moment I wanted to say, "Not exactly." Instead, I nodded. One of the women cried out, but I did not look away from my father. He came down to me and I noted dully that Dad and I were the same height now. He looked at me for a long moment, then groaned, a harsh, animal cry that made me retreat.

  Dad wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace. Repeating my name, he began to sob, his body convulsing against mine, his tears hot against my cheek. I held myself stiffly, fiercely embarrassed and uncomfortable. My stepmother Connie, sister Charlotte and brother Brian watched from the doorway, Connie's arms around the kids.

  It was what I had dreamed of ever since I'd been taken. Yet I felt nothing. Or rather, nothing like I'd imagined. I was cold, and ashamed, terrified that Ray would come back at any moment. I wanted Dad to let me go, but I knew the moment he did the questions would start.

  The air shifted and the rain began coming down with more force. Dad released me reluctantly.

  "Come on, let's go in," he said, placing his hands on my shoulders and gently pushing me up the stairs. Charlotte, Connie and Brian retreated into the house ahead of us as I moved forward like a zombie.

  A siren sounded somewhere in the distance.

  "Damn. The police," Dad said, ushering me inside and shutting the door firmly behind him. "Connie?"

  "I'll deal with them. What should I say?"

  Dad rubbed his face, then stared at the gun in his hand as though he did not recognize it. "I don't know. Anything. But not tonight. I don't want them in here tonight."

  "Why are the police coming?" I asked, trying to sound casual. Had they seen Ray outside talking to me? No one answered.

  The house was an explosion of warmth and light. Too much. I recoiled from the overheated air and from the four strangers staring at me. Clammy sweat broke out across my forehead, mixing with the rainwater that dripped from my hair.

  "Jeff, is it really you?" Connie said suddenly. "Can I . . . ?" She reached out tentatively and pushed my hair back. I tolerated her touch, weaving a little as she threw me off balance. "Of course it is," she murmured. "I see it now. Your eyes, your face. Oh, Kenny, look at him."

  "I see him," Dad said, then cleared his throat. I glanced over at him. He tried to smile, a peculiar grimace that twisted his face. Then he turned away, hiding his face in his hands, and we were all silent.

  The noise of the siren had been unbearable as it approached, but the sharp, sudden cutoff was worse. I saw the reflection of the flashing red light through the living room blinds and I knew I was trapped.

  "Please, I don't want to talk to them." My voice broke and I began to shiver. "I can't. Not now."

  "You don't have to," Dad said, coming over to me. "Not now."

  "I'll handle it," Connie said, going out to meet them.

  I didn't know where to look. Dad, eerily repeating Ray's gesture, put his hand under my chin and raised my head to meet his eyes.

  "You're all right, aren't you, Jeff? I've been so worried about you, for so long." He looked at me searchingly, then froze. "What is this?" He reached up and touched my ear.

  "Oh," I said, stepping back from him, reaching up too late to hide the diamond ear stud Ray had given me. "It's nothing, just..." We stared at each other for a moment, then I looked away. "I'm really tired. If I could just lie down for a while ..."

  "How come you have a Dodgers' cap?" Brian asked. I stared down at the cap, still curled up in my hand. I had forgotten all about it.

  "Were you in Los Angeles?" Dad sounded angry. "I looked for you there so many times."

  I closed my eyes. "Please let me sleep."

  He paused. "Sure. Of course. Plenty of time to talk this over later. Go on upstairs. Your room is just the way you left it."

  "Thanks. I'm sorry. ..." He waved off my apology and turned away.

  2

  I STARED AT THE CEILING, LYING ON MUSTY sheets under my old blue comforter. Now that I had Dad's permission to sleep, I couldn't do it.

  The window facing the street was just a few feet away from my bed. I knew Ray could be out there now, leaning against his car maybe, waiting for me to give it up and come join him.

  That's stupid. He doesn't want to be arrested. He's gone.

  But I sat up, pushing the covers back, naked, shivering in the winter air.

  I did not want to look. I wanted to find Dad and ask him to look for me. I wanted him to tell me that Ray was not outside, and even if he was, he would never let him near me again.

  I made it to the window, and, kneeling to hide myself, pulled the curtain to one side.

  The porch light was still on. The police car had left, and it was no longer raining. I did not see anyone outside, and I should have turned away then, but I couldn't. Narrowing my eyes to try to see beyond the space illuminated by the light, I leaned forward, searching.

  As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I froze, horrified, as I thought I saw the silhouette of a man standing against the far corner of the house. I squinted, hoping the outline would reveal itself as something else: a hedge, some gardening equipment, the shadow of a tree ... but the image only became more defined. Finally I broke contact, looking down, not wanting to believe my eyes.

  You're imagining things, you half want him to be out there, the “bad” part of you wants that. . . .

  I looked again, boldly, almost certain I would see nothing. But the man had moved a few steps toward the light, outlined clearly now, and he was looking up at my window. . . .

  Falling back against the wall, I stared ahead blankly. I could hear my heart beating, feel it thumping against my chest.

  Would he break in? Knock? Climb up to my bedroom and come through the window?

  That's stupid, he didn't see you, it's too dark. He doesn't know where you are. He would have to look in every room.

  By then I could get away

  Or go with him

  But I pushed that thought aside.

  I should warn them.

  Instead I stayed where I was, resting my head on my knees, covering my ears so I would not hear Ray as he made his way inside.

  He would have to look in every room.

  That meant Charlie's room. Ray would leave her alone, probably. But he would look in Brian's room too.

  I sat up. Ray wouldn't. Brian was too young—I calculated desperately. He was only eleven: no way. But even as I told myself that, I was grabbing my rain-soaked clothes off the floor.

  I dressed quickly, then opened the door to my room. Stepping outside, I caught a glimpse of someone moving toward me down the hallway. Trembling, oddly accepting, I closed my eyes, waiting for him to arrive.

  "Jeff!" Dad said. "What is it?"

  I opened my eyes slowly. Dad was standing in front of me.

  "I thought someone was in the house," I said after a moment.

  "Who?" Dad said urgently. "You me
an ... whoever brought you here?"

  "Yeah. I... I saw someone outside. By the porch." My voice shook.

  "By the porch? Just now?" I nodded. Dad let out his breath in a long sigh. "That was me."

  I stared at him.

  "I just walked the perimeter of our house and every corner of the yard. There's no one out there. You don't need to feel scared."

  I nodded again, not trusting my voice.

  "Jeff, who brought you here?"

  I shook my head. "Can I go back to my room now?"

  "This man, this ... person, is he the same one who kidnapped you?"

  If I wasn't so tired, if I'd had more time to think, I might have come up with a believable story that would calm Dad and earn me a few days of peace. I briefly considered telling him I had hitchhiked to Wayne. But that would bring with it its own round of questions.

  "Yes," I said. "He's the same guy."

  "Who is he?" I didn't answer. "Are you scared of him?"

  "No," I said, looking down. "No, not at all."

  "Then why are you shaking?" Dad asked. "Why are you so pale? Why ..."

  I closed my eyes. "Please leave me alone," I whispered.

  "Tell me this, just this, I need to know. ..." I waited, knowing what he was going to ask. "Did he hurt you? Did this man hurt you?"

  "No." I shook my head, attempting a smile. "No way. He just wanted a kid to stay with him, I guess. To be like his son or something ..." Dad stared at me. "Or more like a friend, maybe. A traveling companion. He never did anything to hurt me."

  "Jeff." Dad hesitated. "If he did ... hurt you, it's all right, you know. It's not your fault. We would all know that."

  Bullshit.

  "Nothing happened," I said, meeting his eyes for an instant, then looking away.

  "Sure," Dad said quickly. "Listen, why don't you come downstairs with me and have a snack? We can talk. ..."

  "Sorry," I said. "I really am tired."

  Dad nodded. "All right. Indulge me for a second though."

  I looked up at him slowly. "What?"

  "I want to hug you again. I guess I can't quite believe you're really here." I didn't tell him no, and Dad came forward, enfolding me into his arms. This time I could not stop myself from shuddering.

  "Are you cold?" he said, stepping back from me.

  "Yeah, a little, I guess." I knew my face was red.

  "I don't usually turn the heat on upstairs," Dad said, trying to sound casual. "You remember that. I'll turn it on tonight, for you."

  "No, it's okay. I'm used to the cold. Can I go back to my room now?"

  "Sure," he said. "But one more favor." I tensed. "Leave your door open. I want to be able to look in on you occasionally."

  Squirming, I said, "I don't have any other clothes. And these"—I gestured to myself—"are wet, so ... "

  "I'll bring some things of mine for you to wear. My clothes should just about fit you now." He watched me for a moment, looking as if he wanted to say more. "Get some sleep, all right?"

  I waited until he had gone into his own room to retreat into mine. I pulled my clothes off quickly and jumped back under the covers. The bedroom door was wide open, and I did feel safer. But I knew that feeling was illusory.

  Dad could talk a good game, about whether Ray "hurt" me or not, and that it was "okay" if he had. "Hurt"! He couldn't even say the words, though we both knew damn well what he meant. Nothing was "okay," or ever would be again.

  3

  The room was light when I woke, and the nightstand clock read four o'clock. For one frightening moment I had no idea where I was. Then I remembered everything. I glanced outside the open door to my room, seeing nothing but the wall opposite, and sat up, rubbing my neck, which ached fiercely. One eye on the hallway, I leaned over the bed to grab my clothes. Feeling nothing but a damp spot on the floor, I looked over and saw that the clothes were gone. At some point, while I slept, Dad must have come in and taken them. The thought made me cringe.

  Remembering what he had said about lending me some clothes, I looked around the room. A sweatshirt and a pair of jeans were draped over my desk chair, and he had left a pile of underwear and T-shirts on top of the dresser.

  As Dad had said, my room was just the way I left it. Taking in the details I had been too tired to notice the night before, I saw my schoolbooks from eighth grade still on the desk, homework papers in progress tucked inside them. My knickknack shelf held the same collection of paperback books, model cars, quartz rocks, and shells. Fliers from San Francisco area sports teams festooned the walls, along with a poster that embarrassed me now, of a blond supermodel in a bikini. That particular poster was thumbtacked on the ceiling over my bed, and I wondered how anyone could have let me get away with that.

  Looking away from the poster, I caught a flash of bright color through the half-open closet door. I got out of bed, pulling the sheet with me, and tapped the door lightly with my bare foot, just enough to push it open another inch or two.

  My old clothes still hung neatly inside. But my shoes had been pushed to one side to make way for piles of brightly wrapped packages, some obviously from Christmases past, others from prior birthdays. Open-mouthed, I stared at the presents, feeling sick.

  "Oh, Jeff, I'm sorry." It was Dad. I whirled around to face him, clutching the sheet tight around my shoulders. "Did you see the clothes I left for you?"

  "Yeah," I said, giving him a tight smile. "Thanks. I'll get dressed now, okay?"

  "Sure," he said, but didn't leave the room.

  "Could you close the door? While I get dressed, I mean? Please."

  "Sure," Dad said after a pause. "I'll be right outside." Fie pulled the door shut, but I didn't hear him move away from it.

  I grabbed the sweatshirt off the desk chair, tugging it frantically over my head, then pulled on the jeans.

  "Okay?" he asked from just outside the door.

  "Yeah," I said breathlessly. He opened the door and came back into the room, smiling uncertainly, looking as embarrassed as I felt.

  "My clothes almost fit you. I can't believe how you've grown. I don't know what I expected." Dad laughed awkwardly. "Connie was always after me to throw your old clothes out." I tried to smile. "I bet you're hungry."

  "Kind of, yeah. I'd like to take a shower, too, if that's okay."

  "You're so thin," Dad said, coming closer to me. "Why are you so thin?"

  There was no safe answer. "Is it okay if I take a shower?"

  "Of course. This is your house too, I told you that."

  I nodded, looking away from him.

  "Jeff, are you all right?" Dad said suddenly. "I know what you told me last night, and I accept that, but. . . just to be safe, maybe you should see a doctor. Just. . . just in case."

  Just in case of what?

  "No," I said, more forcefully than I had intended. He frowned, and I tried to paste on a reassuring smile. "I don't need to see a doctor. I'm fine. Really. Can I take my shower now?"

  "Yeah," he said abruptly. "But one more thing." I could not prevent the sigh that escaped my lips. "Take that thing off, will you?"

  I looked at him, confused.

  "The earring. Take it off. I'll dispose of it."

  My stomach turned over and I felt the hot rush of blood to my face.

  This whole time he's been looking at me and getting sick.

  I reached up to my left ear and detached Ray's gift with more force than necessary. I popped the pin back in place and handed him the earring.

  Don't say anything else, Dad. Just don't.

  He took it in obvious distaste, leaving me alone to take my shower.

  I turned the water up as hot and hard as I could stand it, letting the hard jets pound away at my shame. Then, remembering, I stepped out of the shower and locked the bathroom door. The realization that I had privacy, that Ray was not in this house and could not impose himself wherever I was, hit me with an almost physical shock.

  I stayed in the shower as long as I dared. But I knew at so
me point I would have to face them. As a point of pride, I decided to go downstairs on my own rather than have Dad come looking for me.

  Charlotte and Brian met me at the foot of the stairs. Two strangers. Brian really hadn't changed much. He was small for eleven, slim and compact. Charlotte was the real surprise. At fourteen, she looked like a shorter, curvier version of our mother, Melia. She looked so much like Melia, whom I had last seen when I was five, I couldn't help but stare. Charlotte blushed, but she did not look away from me.

  "Um, Jeff," she said, trying to signal me with her eyes that something was up in the living room. I shrugged, not bothering to guess at her meaning.

  "Jeff, is that you?" Connie called. "Come in here for a moment."

  I stood in the archway, taking in the room at a glance. Connie was perched on the edge of the loveseat, while Dad stood next to her, a hand on her shoulder. I looked past them to the big man with the chestnut pompadour who sat on the couch across from Connie. He acknowledged my presence with a nod, watching me keenly.

  "Jeff," Connie said, "this is Chief Roysten. He's with the Wayne Police Department."

  "How are you, Jeff?" Roysten said.

  I glanced at Dad. "I'm pretty hungry. Can this wait?"

  "Yes, he needs to eat," Dad said.

  "Just a few questions, then," the chief said.

  Connie stood. "I'm taking Charlie and Brian out to get something for dinner. Chinese okay with everyone?"

  In the general agreement that followed I entered the room, taking the seat Connie had left.

  "All right," Roysten said, leaning forward, staring at me. "How did you get here?"

  I looked to Dad again, but his expression was unreadable. "How did I get to Wayne, you mean?"

  "Yep." Roysten nodded. "How'd you get to Wayne?"

  "Um . . . the guy I was with, he just... he decided to bring me home, I guess."

  Roysten said nothing, watching me for an uncomfortably long time.

  "I don't know where he is now," I added.

  "How long were you with him?"