When Jeff Comes Home

by Catherine Atkins

  "Sit down," he said. "We have some things we need to talk about."

  When I didn't move, Dad nodded me toward a chair. I hesitated, then sat. Dad and Stephens settled opposite each other on the flanking couches, and I was surrounded.

  "What? What is the big dramatic news?" I said too loudly.

  "Two days ago we found Slaight's car in San Francisco. The Lexus you described. It was towed out of a private driveway six blocks from your dad's office the same day you saw Slaight. It's been in impound all this time."

  I nodded impatiently. "Yeah? You found his car, and . . . ?"

  "The officers who searched the car found some photos of you taped under the front seat. Nude photos."

  I stared at Stephens, playing his words back in my head. Then, as their impact hit me, I closed my eyes, finally, crushingly, humiliated.

  Oh God, Ray, we were driving for hours and you were telling me you loved me and shit and we were sitting—sitting—on those goddamn pictures. You must have been laughing the whole time.

  Stephens was calling my name.

  "What?" I whispered, my eyes fixed now on the coffee table where Roysten had dumped out my clothes.

  "Tell me about the pictures."

  I shook my head, clasping my hands tightly together. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dad shift position.

  “He’s talking, kid." Stephens's voice was gentle. "Did you know that? He's got a whole story about those pictures and how they came to be."

  I sank back into the chair, as weakened as if Ray were in the room with us. Why was I kidding myself, he was here, reaching out to touch me again.

  "You confronted Slaight about the photos?" Dad spoke suddenly, fiercely.

  "Yes. He . . . confessed, you could say."

  "Confessed?" Dad repeated, glancing at me.

  Stephens sighed. "He 'confessed' to having a sexual relationship with Jeff. Period. No force. No kidnapping."

  I would have given anything not to laugh then, but I did, a short, sharp bark that sounded more like a cough.

  Stephens ignored me. "Slaight says Jeff was hitchhiking when he picked him up. He says the kid asked to stay with him, and anything that happened after that was mutual."

  "That's ... ridiculous," Dad sputtered after another long silence. "He can't expect anyone to believe him."

  "He does," Stephens said. "That's his case."

  "But..." Dad looked to me for help. I said nothing.

  "It's past time for Jeff to give his side," Stephens said, "and give it strong."

  " 'His side?'" Dad's voice was hushed." 'His side?’"

  "Sorry," Stephens said briskly. "Bad choice of words. But true all the same."

  The three of us sat in tense silence until Dad reached over and gently clasped the back of my neck. All I could feel was Ray's hand doing the same thing.

  "Don't touch me," I said, shaking him off, goose-flesh covering my arms.

  "Sorry," Dad said quickly. I sat on the edge of the chair, wringing my hands together, one leg vibrating from nervousness.

  "I can't do this," I said, hearing the echo of all the other times I had retreated from the truth.

  "Slaight is talking about you," Stephens said deliberately. "The one thing he won't say is where he kept you. He says you were on the road mostly. Driving. Camping. For two and a half years? Hard to believe."

  I did not respond.

  "What is he trying to hide, Jeff? What are you?" I looked up at him quickly. Stephens's eyes narrowed. "What are you afraid we're going to find there? More pictures? Videotapes?"

  Pain spiked through my stomach and I gasped. He nodded to himself, as if he already knew. "You know that anything like that—anything linking Slaight with you—is just more evidence against him."

  "You're wrong," I said fiercely, the pain strengthening my voice. "You're making stuff up . . . throwing it out. . . trying to catch me."

  "We need your help," Stephens said. "You need to help yourself."

  I squirmed, wanting to be gone. "He kidnapped me. I told you about that. I'll say it in court."

  "It's not enough. What are you going to do when Slaight's lawyer asks you about the sex?"

  Dad held up one hand. "Wait. Just wait. He isn't going to ask Jeff about that."

  "Ken ..." Stephens shook his head. "You don't understand. That's part of their strategy. Slaight and his lawyer know Jeff isn't talking, they know he's scared—"

  "I'm not scared," I said. Neither of them looked at me.

  "Jeff isn't talking," Stephens repeated. "And they know it. That gives Slaight the freedom to shape the story any way he wants. He's admitting that he had something going with the kid. He's not ashamed of it."

  "Shut up," I said softly.

  "Slaight says the pictures were your idea, Jeff. He says you offered to pose for them one Christmas."

  Sickened, I felt my throat go dry. All I could do was shake my head.

  "You gonna let that stand?" Stephens persisted. "You gonna let Ray Slaight do your talking for you?"

  Dad held up his hand. "Enough. What do you need from Jeff? Today."

  "The location where he was kept," Stephens said promptly.

  "No," I said before he finished speaking. "No."

  Moving deliberately this time, Stephens reached over and grasped my wrist. I stared down at his meaty hand, then back at his face.

  "He's still got you, Jeff. He's a hundred and fifty miles away and he's still holding you down. When are you going to fight back?"

  I pulled my wrist away, glaring at him. "I did fight back. And guess what? It didn't work.”

  "Okay," Stephens said. "You fought back. Tell me about that. One incident."

  I stared at him blankly. The punchline of every incident with Ray was the same: I lost. And every loss had pulled me deeper into his world. I could taste that defeat even now, sitting in the quiet living room with Stephens and Dad.

  I opened my mouth to reply to Stephens, not sure what I was going to say, but Dad spoke for me.

  "Give him some time to think about this," he said. "A few more days ..."

  Never.

  18

  I DRAGGED THE RAKE ACROSS THE FROST-

  hardened ground, bringing with it only a few of the thumb-sized oak leaves that covered the front lawn. Grumbling to myself, I tried again, this time applying more force. A half hour's work so far had produced only a modest pile of leaves and a growing ache in my back and forearms. I had no energy for the job, and my heart wasn't in it. But I knew why I was out there. The finished product—a clean lawn, the leaves neatly bagged and stored out of sight—would serve as both an offering and an apology to Dad.

  Look, Daddy, I raked the lawn for you. See! See what a good boy I am!

  I curled my lip, disgusted with myself. As if anything could be good enough for him now. Holding the rake for support, I rested, staring at the ground.

  "Jeff!" I looked up quickly. Vin was striding toward me across the vacant lot, moving with purpose.

  "Shit," I said under my breath, starting to rake again as if I had a purpose.

  "Hey," he said as he reached me, an edge of aggression in his voice.

  He knows.

  "Hi," I said calmly, bluffing it out. "You're early. It can't be lunch yet."

  Vin shook his head impatiently. "It's break time," he said, looking back over his shoulder.

  "Huh." I moved away from him, attacking a clump of wet leaves stuck to the side of the house.

  Vin came around and grabbed the rake out of my hands. Shocked, I stepped back from him.

  "Is it true?" he said, staring at me.

  I couldn't meet his eyes. "Is what true?"

  Vin tossed the rake to one side. "There's a story in the Modesto Bee today. My mom showed it to me at breakfast. It says that guy took naked pictures of you. That's what those reporters were asking about, isn't it?"

  I shrugged, chilled, wanting away from him but afraid to move.

  "Hey, I'm in that goddamn story," Vin said, h
is voice low and furious. "A picture of me, anyway, standing next to you outside your house. That went over big today."

  "What do you want me to say, Vin?"

  "Why did you lie? Why didn't you even give me the chance to handle it?"

  At this I looked up. Vin was squinting at me, his head tilted. There was a softness in his expression, a quality of hurt—he was giving me an opening.

  I would not—could not—take it. "I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't lie to you about anything."

  "You said he never touched you!" Vin was angry again. He took a step forward, his hands clenched by his sides. "You told me that and I went with it. That's what I've been telling people. That's how I've been defending you."

  "You've been defending me, huh?" My voice was shaking. "Defending me against what?"

  Vin gave me a "come on!" tilt of his head. "You know what."

  "Uh-huh," I said after a moment, nodding. "Well, now you can stop defending me. You have my permission, if you need it." I could feel my defensive energy starting to drain away. Stepping around him carefully, averting my eyes as I passed, I headed back toward the porch steps.

  "Jeff, wait," Vin called after me, not following.

  Halfway up the steps, I turned back to him, keeping a solid grasp on the porch rail. "What?" I said, my voice weary.

  "You lied to me," Vin said, faltering for the first time. "You sent me out to fight your battles, and you didn't... you didn't give me the ammunition."

  “Ammunition?” I watched his face redden but Vin did not look away. "Hey, no one sent you anywhere to do anything."

  "You hung me out to dry," he said stubbornly. "You don't know what they're saying."

  I considered him. "Fuck them. And fuck you. Anyway, you're off the case. So forget about it."

  "It is true, isn't it," he said, softly this time. "You were makin' it with that guy."

  "I have to go inside now," I told him, fighting to keep my voice steady. "See you in school."

  “School?” I heard the concern in Vin's voice, still there even amidst his anger and disgust at me. "Jeff, forget about school."

  I let myself into the house, closing the door behind me. I did not look back.

  The Wayne Telegraph arrived at four. Its banner headline read Police Find Nude Photos of Local Kidnap Victim. I knew Vin would not be happy to find himself on the front page with me again. Maybe the suspicious frown the photographer had caught would set Vin right again in his friends' eyes.

  I turned the television on after that, scanning back and forth among the four Sacramento stations that considered Wayne part of their region. I kept missing the promos for their local news programs coming up at five. I cursed Charlie to her face when she tried to distract me, and after that, she left me alone.

  At five o'clock, it was as I had feared, but not believed possible. Each station led off with the news about the pictures. I flipped back and forth until the story was played out. When I turned to leave the room, I found Connie and Brian standing in the archway, watching along with me.

  Dad was home by six, furious—at the media, he said. I avoided him, knowing that part of his anger, whether he admitted it or not, was intended for me.

  "There was no reason they had to go public with this," he raged at the dinner table. "They're playing right into Slaight's hands." He cut Connie off as she started to speak. "What? Don't tell me to relax. These people have no understanding—"

  With difficulty, Connie broke in. "I wasn't going to say that, Ken. I was going to say that I don't think we need to discuss this anymore. Especially in front of the kids. The story's out, and we all feel bad about it. Why go over it again?"

  I looked at Connie with approval. That even quieted Dad.

  "Jeff?" Brian's voice was wary. Dad looked up at him quickly.

  "Yes?" I said uninvitingly.

  "That guy—" he started.

  Dad jumped in immediately. "Brian, listen to your mother. We're not going to talk about this."

  "But I just want to say something to Jeff," he protested.

  "Brian," Connie warned softly.

  He waited, then blurted out, "I'm sorry that guy made you do stuff, Jeff. That's all I want to say."

  I waited for Dad to jump on him again. He didn't. The silence lengthened.

  Ray didn't do anything to me. Yeah, I took my clothes off for him, and yeah, he took pictures of me, but that doesn't mean . . .

  Without looking at any of them, I mumbled, "Sorry I lied to you guys."

  After a short silence, Charlie leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I stared down at my plate, ashamed.

  "It's okay," she said quietly, resting her head against mine for a moment.

  "So," Dad said, clearing his throat, "Jeff, about tomorrow ..."

  I had an appointment the next day at Wayne High to register and sign up for classes.

  "Yes?" I said, wary of any more changes, any more "news."

  "I'm going over with you. I decided to take a day off work."

  "Why?" I said quickly. "I can do it myself."

  Why do it at all? You know what's going to happen.

  But I would not explain that to Dad, or ask for quarter, or make myself any more pathetic than he already thought me.

  "Dad," Charlie said, "are you sure ... I mean ..."

  "What is it, Charlie?" Dad asked, his tone kinder than usual.

  "Well..." She glanced at me. "Maybe you should wait a little bit longer before Jeff goes back to school. People were talking about him today. You know, because of what was in the papers and stuff."

  Dad sighed, putting his water glass down. "How long do we wait? Two weeks? Two months? There's no guarantee things will be any easier then. Jeff, as tough as this may be, I don't see any percentage in waiting. We can't let that man take away any more of your opportunities."

  "Okay, Dad," I said, to stop him. "I'm going. I am. I just think I should sign up for classes myself, like we planned." I couldn't tell him the truth, that I was afraid of what he might hear about me if we went over together.

  Dad looked a little hurt. "Are you meeting Vin over there? Is that it?"

  "No," I said flatly. Charlie stared at me.

  "Jeff, I'm coming with you tomorrow," Dad said. "You'll have plenty of time for independence when you start school for real on Monday."

  I was silent during the short ride to school the next day.

  "Nervous?" Dad asked as we reached Wayne High.

  "A little," I mumbled, sinking down lower in the seat. Hordes of students filled the sidewalk in front of the high school. Another mob was crossing Delano Road, the public street that split the science, shop and agriculture complexes off from the rest of the campus. Dad turned right off Delano into the Wayne High faculty and visitors parking lot.

  "Isn't that Vin?" he asked, cruising slowly through the lot, pointing up toward the redbrick science building. "Over there, coming out of that classroom?"

  "I don't know," I said, staring down at my hands.

  "Well, look up so you will know." Dad sounded impatient.

  Vin was alone, a backpack slung carelessly across his shoulder. He called out to someone in the parking lot, looking past the Jeep, apparently not seeing us. "Yeah, that's him," I said.

  Keep driving, I begged silently, but Dad pulled into a spot next to the short flight of stairs Vin was descending. I kept my head down, making no move to leave the Jeep, but Dad stepped out quickly and intercepted him.

  "How are you, Vin?" Dad asked, motioning to me. I opened the door slowly and took my time getting out.

  "I'm okay, Mr. Hart," Vin said, with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, shifting his backpack to the other side.

  "Perini!" someone called from the lot. Vin brightened, waving in the direction of the voice.

  "Well, I better get—"

  "Jeff's signing up for classes today," Dad broke in. I stood behind him, staring at my feet.

  "Yeah? That's good. Well, I have to get going. See you, Jeff. See y
ou, Mr. Hart." Vin took off at a faster pace than his usual swagger.

  "What's wrong with him?" Dad sounded bewildered.

  "He knows about the pictures," I said simply.

  "I can't believe it," Dad said with some bitterness. "I thought that kid was your friend."

  The counselor was a woman who didn't look much older than me. It was easy for Dad to convince her that I should be placed in college prep classes. As she ran down my schedule—PE, composition, algebra, U.S. history, biology, and computer science—I felt my stomach fluttering. I looked forward to the distraction the homework would provide, but I still didn't see how I could jump from being an eighth-grade dropout to a high school junior preparing to attend university.

  Afterward, Dad took me downtown to a Mexican restaurant for lunch. After the waitress had taken our orders, he said hesitantly, "Jeff, the PE thing, how are you going to handle that?"

  It was the first time he had mentioned my back since the day I had told him about it.

  I took a deep breath. "When I change, I'm going to wear an undershirt. And I won't shower."

  "School is the best thing for you, Jeff." Dad sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "I'm sorry about Vin. I had him factored in as someone who would help you."

  "I don't need help," I said, stung. "I don't need him. I'm not going to school for friends, anyway. I'm going to learn stuff and get good grades and ... all that." Dad nodded, looking unhappy.

  We were quiet as the waitress dropped off our Cokes. Then Dad said, "I've scheduled you for a doctor's appointment next Friday. Someone from the DA's office in San Francisco is coming up with a police photographer. They'll meet us at the doctor's office. The DA needs the preliminary medical report and pictures of your back as evidence."

  The good news was piling up. "I feel fine," I said, taking a sip of my drink. I saw that my hands were shaking, and set the glass down fast.

  "Is the doctor a man or woman?" The words were out of my mouth before I realized the implications of my question. Blushing, I reached for a tortilla chip.

  "It's Dr. Torrence. Remember him?"

  I recalled a heavy, middle-aged man who barely spoke. "Yeah, I remember him. But I'm fine. I don't need any doctor."

  "I need you to go to the doctor then," Dad said. "I need to know, for my peace of mind, for yours . . . that you're all right."