When Jeff Comes Home

by Catherine Atkins

  "You don't need to show me," Brian yelled, backing up, clutching the Frisbee. "I can do it."

  "But..." I shrugged. If he wanted my help he'd ask for it. I walked over to the porch steps and sat down. Brian watched me for a moment, then trotted over.

  "You're not quitting, are you?" he asked, his voice spiraling into a whine.

  "I think you need to practice a little more before we play."

  Brian looked at the ground. "I'm good," he mumbled.

  "No, you're not," I said. He looked up quickly. "That doesn't mean you can't get better. It's just a skill you learn. The first thing is, in Frisbee aim is way more important than power. Until you can get the Frisbee to go where you want, how hard you throw it doesn't mean anything."

  He watched me carefully. "That's what Dad said."

  I held back a smile, wondering how long Dad could have lasted in a game of Frisbee with Brian. "Well, he's right. You want to try again?" Brian nodded.

  I stood next to him in the yard, cocking my wrist to one side. He held the Frisbee awkwardly in the same position, practically straight up and down.

  "No, hold your wrist down a little . . . not that much! Okay, not bad. Now flip it lightly forward."

  Straining, Brian tossed the Frisbee. It wobbled and fell to the ground a few inches in front of us.

  "See!" he said, "I can't do it!" He turned away, his face red. I wanted to turn Brian around and show him what he had done, but I was afraid to put my hands on him.

  "Brian. Brian!" I called as he hid his face from me. "Hey. That throw was the best one you've done today."

  "Oh yeah," he said, turning back with a sneer. "That was the faggiest one I've done today."

  I froze, feeling the color drain from my face. I watched him carefully. But Brian wasn't interested in me. He was furious with himself.

  Don't be so paranoid. It's just an expression. He doesn't know. No one does.

  Everyone does.

  "I'm going in now," I said.

  Brian focused his attention back on me. "No, don't go in, Jeff, please? I'll listen to you," he begged. "Really."

  There was nothing to do inside but sit and think. I could also count on Dad asking why I had come in so soon. I picked up the Frisbee again.

  "Okay," I said. "See, when you threw last time, yeah, it didn't go far, but it went straight." I demonstrated, flipping the Frisbee a few inches away. It landed softly on a small pile of dried leaves. "Try it a few more times, and see what happens."

  "Okay, Jeff," he said eagerly. I stood back and watched him. After he hit five good throws in a row, I clapped for him. Brian blushed, grinning.

  "All right, let's try to play a little. Gently," I stressed. "I'll stand a few feet away, and you toss the Frisbee to me."

  Brian undershot me, then overshot me, the throw sailing way over my head, but his third try was perfect.

  "Hey, that's great, Brian," I said. "Good job!" I flipped it back to him and he tried leaping into the air to catch my gentle toss, tripping over his feet, and falling in a heap. This time he laughed, and I laughed with him.

  "Hey! Jeff," someone called from behind me. I whirled around and saw a tall, broad-shouldered young guy walking toward us through the vacant lot across the street. Though I would not have recognized him, I knew it had to be Vin.

  "Hi, Vin!" Brian scrambled to his feet, intercepting Vin as he reached the lawn. "Hey, I can play Frisbee good now. See?" He jumped around, tossing the Frisbee too hard toward the tree. It went flying down the street and Brian ran after it, calling back over his shoulder, "Don't go anywhere without me!"

  Vin walked up to me, his last few steps tentative as I did not return his smile. "Hey, Jeff," he tried again. "How's it going?" I just looked at him.

  Vin had always been an inch or so taller than me, and he still was. He also had a good thirty pounds on me now, all muscle, and I noticed a dark shadow of beard on his face. Next to him I felt like a child.

  "So," he said, after a long pause, "I can't believe it. My mom said you changed ... I guess we both have. I missed you, y'know." Vin lurched forward suddenly, putting his arms around me in a brief embrace. Frozen with shame, I could not respond. The idea of responding filled me with horror.

  Vin stepped back awkwardly, turning his head away. Looking down the street after Brian, he wiped a hand across his eyes.

  He can't be crying. For me? Why?

  "Um," I started, intending to tell him that I had to go in now—

  To do what?

  "It's good to see you, but..."

  Brian raced up to us, panting. "Hey, Vin," he yelled, so loudly I winced, "want to play Frisbee with us?"

  "Well," Vin said, glancing at me. "Uh, I kind of thought me and Jeff could take a walk over to the high school—if he wants. I was going to shoot some baskets myself, and I thought maybe ..." He stopped, this more than half-grown man I didn't know.

  "I can't," I said, meeting Vin's eyes for a second, then looking past him. "I have to stay around here— you know." I gestured back toward the house and saw Dad standing at the living room window, watching us. Watching me. Humiliated, I kicked at the ground until I noticed Vin staring at me.

  "Well, okay," he said, "but how about if I come in for a few minutes? You know, just to talk a little."

  "Yeah," Brian said, "we can play Monopoly. Or Clue. Which do you like better, Vin?"

  "Well..." Vin glanced at Brian, then at me, trying a half smile.

  The front door opened and Dad called out, "Vin! Good to see you." He came down the walkway and stood next to me, placing his hand on my shoulder. I looked down, wanting to shake him off, but comforted in some way by his presence.

  Vin brightened, flashing a smile at Dad. "Hi, Mr. Hart. I just came over to see if Jeff wanted to play basketball with me at the high school. I'm parked over there. I mean, if it's okay with you."

  "Jeff said he had to stay home," Brian piped up, "but he doesn't, right, Dad?"

  I cursed myself for having anything to do with Brian.

  "Well..." Dad hesitated. "I'm not sure. Jeff, do you want to go out with Vin?"

  I looked at him quickly, wondering if I'd heard correctly: Do I want to go out with Vin? His look back was troubled, but innocent.

  I didn't know what to say, or what I wanted to do, other than disappear and magically find myself in my bed under the covers. That wasn't going to happen.

  "Can I go too?" Brian begged, eyes widening in shock when Dad, Vin and I all said yes.

  Brian trotted along ahead of us, looking back every so often to make sure we were following him. I felt excruciatingly self-conscious. Vin had picked up on my nervousness. He was silent too, and he avoided looking at me. But his shoulders were back, his head held high, and he walked with an easy pride and confidence I envied.

  "You said you were parked around here," I said as we neared the high school. "Does that mean you have a car?"

  Vin looked over at me, smiling. "Yeah. A truck. My uncle helped me buy it. Wait'll you see it."

  I didn't respond, more alienated than before. I did not even know how to drive.

  "Hey, Brian," Vin yelled. "Show Jeff my truck." Brian looked back at us, then ran ahead to a late-model red Toyota parked in the student lot on the edge of the Wayne High campus. I looked at Vin questioningly.

  "I took Brian for a ride once, the first day I got the truck. He saw me driving by your house and he flagged me down. Your dad gave me this lecture afterward—I guess Brian and Charlie aren't supposed to go anywhere without telling him."

  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.

  14

  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 Dodso
n. 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."