[ 21 ]
Memories
Chuck guides the Lincoln down the gravel road. Matt rolls down the window. Gravel crunches under the tires. He feels warm humid air on his face.
“Slow down. It’s right up here,” Matt says.
Chuck slows the sedan to a crawl. A Ford F-150 pickup truck is parked alongside the stone cottage, almost concealed from the street.
“Shit, someone’s there.”
Chuck stops the car a hundred yards from the cottage.
“You want me to drop you somewhere else?” Chuck asks.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go. Besides, even if I did, it’s just postponing the inevitable.” Matt extends his hand. “Thank you for helping me today.”
Chuck shakes his hand. “It’s been an adventure. I rarely get to say that at the end of the day. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Matt steps from the vehicle. He gives a quick wave. Chuck turns the car around and drives away. The afternoon sun is low in the sky. Matt walks on the grass alongside the road to the cottage. He crouches next to the bay window. Lights flicker from the television. He peers inside. He jerks back from the window, his heart racing, and his stomach churning. He marches to the front door, his jaw set tight, and his fists clenched. He yanks open the front door and steps inside the living room. Ms. Pierce jolts upright. Chief Campbell stands from the couch, his face red, and his wide nostrils flaring.
“What the hell, Ms. Pierce?” Matt says.
Ms. Pierce stands next to Chief Campbell. “It’s complicated,” she says.
“You know this degenerate?” the chief asks.
“He helps with the garden, Dave. He’s my student.”
“There’s a warrant out for his arrest.”
“There should be a warrant out for your arrest,” Matt says to Chief Campbell.
Matt sprints toward the chief and launches himself at his midsection. Matt’s shoulder jams into his thick stomach. The chief falls to the floor. Matt pops up and kicks him in the stomach. Chief Campbell lets out a groan. Matt kicks him in the face. The kick is partially shielded by the chief’s meaty forearms. He lifts his leg to stomp the chief’s skull. Matt feels a tight grip on his shoulder, tugging him off balance. His stomp misses the mark. He turns.
Ms. Pierce’s neck is blotchy with red hives; her eyes are narrowed. “Matt, stop this right now!”
Matt feels a wallop on the side of his head. He’s lying on his side, his head pounding, the room spinning.
“Don’t you touch him, Dave!” Ms. Pierce says.
“Shut the fuck up, Olivia.”
Matt feels a kick to his stomach. He struggles to breathe, the wind knocked out of him. The chief stands over him, casting a wide shadow.
“Stand up, you little shit. I’m right here,” the chief says.
Matt wheezes; his ribs ache.
Matt hears a smack of a hand against skin. He looks up; Ms. Pierce’s eyes are wild. Chief Campbell touches his face, glaring at her. She cowers, recognizing her error. The chief throws a right cross. There’s a dead thud of knuckles against her soft cheek. Ms. Pierce kneels on the floor, holding her face. She rocks back and forth; her eyes dead. Matt tries to stand, but the pain in his ribs is excruciating. He pulls his knees to his chest and covers his head with his arms. He feels a flurry of punches to the back of his neck and head. His ears ring. The punches stop, only to be replaced by kicks to his back. He tries to wiggle away from the shots. The kicks stop. Chief Campbell steps toward Matt’s head. His boot rears back; Matt puts his hands up. Everything goes black.
+++
Everything’s bright, too bright to see. His eyes flutter; bright light overwhelms him. He shuts his eyes, content to stay in the darkness. He hears voices. His eyes flutter again. He tries to keep them open. He sees bright lights, and dark forms standing over him. He shuts his eyes, retreating into the darkness. He hears Ms. Pierce.
“Get the doctor! Get the doctor!”
There’s bustling around him and unfamiliar voices talking about numbers, levels, and vital signs. He blinks again and again. The forms come into focus. A brown man with dark hair and a white coat stands over him. A woman in colorful loose-fitting clothing checks a monitor.
“Matt, can you hear me?” the man says.
Matt nods. “What happened?” he asks, his voice raspy.
“You had an accident. You’re at the hospital.”
“I need to get outta here. I need to get outta here!”
Matt thrashes about the bed, his body in pain.
“Sedate him,” the man says.
+++
Matt lies with his head turned toward the window, tubes sticking out of his arm. A television sits quiet, hanging from a white wall.
There’s a knock at the door. He ignores it. The door clicks.
“Your friends are here,” Ms. Pierce says, entering the room. “They’d like to come in for a minute to see you. Do you feel up to it?”
“No.”
“It’s George and Tariq and Madison.”
“No.”
“Okay. Is there anything I can do? Do you want something to read?”
“No.”
Ms. Pierce walks away, shutting the door behind her. After a few minutes, she returns.
“You should probably eat something. It’s well past lunch,” she says.
“I’m not hungry,” Matt says, still staring at the blue sky.
“Madison thinks you’re mad at her. She seems really sad. She thinks she let you down. You should talk to her.”
Matt doesn’t respond.
“Tariq said that he’s not in trouble. Everyone was allowed to take their finals. He said that, even if he would’ve failed for the year, he still would’ve done it.”
Matt is unresponsive.
Ms. Pierce puts her hand on top of his.
There’s a knock at the door. A doctor enters the room.
“Dr. Patel, may I speak with you in the hall for a moment?” Ms. Pierce asks. “Matt, honey, I’ll be right back.”
He hears hushed voices in the hall.
“He’s depressed, Doctor. He’s barely eating. He won’t see his friends. He won’t read. He won’t watch television. He just sleeps and stares out the window. Can you do something, please?”
“Ms. Pierce, you know I can only have these conversations with family. Ms. Grace Hart is the legal guardian, no?”
“That woman’s been here once. She doesn’t care about him. He doesn’t have anyone. Will you please do something?”
“It is not uncommon for victims of serious head trauma to be depressed and disoriented when they first emerge from a coma. It is very positive that he was only out for a day. It may take a few months, but he should make a full recovery. His brain function is normal. His full memory should come back in time.”
Dr. Patel and Ms. Pierce walk back into the room. Matt gazes out the window.
“How are you feeling today?” the doctor asks with a smile.
“I’m fine,” Matt says, barely audible, not making eye contact.
“See?” Ms. Pierce whispers.
“I’ll be back around in a few hours to check on you,” Dr. Patel says, before he exits.
Ms. Pierce sits on the chair next to the bed. She puts her hand on his.
“Is this okay?” she asks.
He nods, still looking out the window.
“Do you want me to read something to you?”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Be here.” He blinks, two tears streak down his face.
“Look at me,” she says. She places her hand under his chin, turning his head toward her. “There is no place I’d rather be. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I remember my mother.”
Her eyes widen.
“I found my old house,” he says.
“When?”
“The day of the walkout, I went to Philly. I met a lady who knew her, and I went to the
house, and I remembered.” He turns back to the window, tears spilling down.
She squeezes his hand. “What, honey? What did you remember?”
“She loved me.”
“Of course she did.”
“She was an addict. It wasn’t her fault.” He turns to Ms. Pierce, his eyes wet, his face tear-streaked. “Chief Campbell killed her.”
+++
Matt sits in the chair next to the window in jeans and a T-shirt. He watches birds flutter about the hospital courtyard. There’s a knock, then the click of the door.
“I have good news,” Ms. Pierce says, entering the room.
She smiles a small grin. A dim bruise appears as a smudge on the side of her face, the lone imperfection in her beauty.
“The police have finally decided not to charge anyone, including you.”
Matt frowns. “Are they charging Campbell for murdering my mother?”
She sits next to him and takes his hand in both of hers. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am about what happened to your mother.”
“Did you talk to the police?”
Ms. Pierce nods. “I did.”
“What did they say?”
“They said that they need more evidence than a child’s memory. I’m sorry.”
“What about my uncle? Are they gonna charge him for that? I was there. I have the real autopsy.”
“Well, it’s not—”
“No surprise.”
“There’s something we need to talk about, about that night.”
“No, I have to remember on my own. I have to be able to trust my own memory.”
“Well, I have more news. The school board is up in arms about the website. They promised change.”
Matt shakes his head. “Nothing’s gonna change. As soon as Tariq compromised, it was over.”
“He had to shut down the site. Why do you think they were willing to drop the charges? He did it for you.”
Matt frowns. “I wish he wouldn’t have. That’s how it starts. We feel like we’ve won, because we aren’t in trouble, but we didn’t do anything wrong in the first place. Meanwhile the real wrongdoers never pay.”
“Mr. Dalton and Mr. Richardson have been fired. That was a huge win right there. And Dr. Hansen resigned.”
Matt frowns. “They always let the people in power resign, so they can go somewhere else and do the same thing all over again. They sacrifice low-level people, like Dalton, so we think the system can change. It can’t.”
Ms. Pierce purses her lips. “I think it would be best to let this go for now and concentrate on getting better. Are you ready to go?”
“I guess so.”
Ms. Pierce pushes Matt out of the hospital in a wheelchair. She stops just outside of the sliding metal doors.
“This is stupid,” Matt says, standing up.
“I think they make you do it for insurance reasons,” Ms. Pierce replies. “I can go get the car, if you wanna wait on the bench.”
“I’d rather walk.”
They tread to the parking area. Ms. Pierce insists that he hold her arm for support.
She steers the Jeep Wagoneer down the gravel road. Matt sits quiet and listless, staring out the window, listening to the crunch of gravel beneath him. He remembers driving down the road in the Lincoln, and Chuck dropping him off near the cottage. She pulls into the driveway. The garden is lush. Cherry tomatoes adorn the trellised vines like lights on a Christmas tree. Squash, watermelon, and potatoes are halfway to maturity. Corn stands as tall as he is. Lettuce, spinach, peas, beans, radishes, and turnips are ready to pick. Matt staggers to the garden. Ms. Pierce follows.
“There’s a lot to harvest,” Matt says.
“We can make dinner from the garden, if you like.”
“I would.”
“I could invite Tariq, Madison, and George. They practically lived at the hospital.”
“What about Emily?”
Ms. Pierce frowns. “She left last week.”
Matt stares at the ground.
“I’m so sorry, honey.”
“Where did she go?”
“California, I think. From what I heard, her mom got a job out there.”
He shakes his head. “Pass the trash.”
Ms. Pierce ignores his comment. “So what do you think? I know your friends are really anxious to see you.”
“I know. I just don’t feel up to it. They’re gonna want me to be happy. I don’t have the energy to fake it.”
“Whatever you want.” Ms. Pierce grabs his hand and squeezes.
“How long can I stay with you?”
“Grace doesn’t seem to care, as long as she still gets the checks. Don’t worry. I worked it out with her. I made up the guest room for you.”
“Thank you,” he says, turning to her.
She smiles and gives his hand another squeeze. “Do you want to come in and get settled?”
He nods.
Matt follows Ms. Pierce past the bay window toward the front door, their hands still intertwined. He remembers the flickering lights of the television. He remembers looking inside and seeing her nestled with him. He snatches his hand back and stops.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
Matt is breathless. “I remember you … with him.”
She stops and gazes at Matt, her mouth turned down. She blinks; her eyes fill with tears. He marches up the stoop, his mind racing.
“You were on the couch with him.” Matt opens the front door and walks in. She follows. “You two were standing right there.” Matt points in front of the couch. “He was angry. You told me it was complicated.”
“I’m sorry. I was scared.” Tears streak down her face.
He shakes his head. “This is so messed up.”
“I’m so sorry.” She tries to put her arms around him.
He pushes her away and steps back. “I wanted to kill him. I tried to kill him. You stopped me. Then he knocked me down, because I was focused on you. Why did you do that?”
“I loved him.”
“You loved him? How could you?” His eyes are wet.
“Because I don’t love myself.”
“He hit you.”
She nods, her eyes puffy, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“You were on the floor. I remember. You were scared. Then I was on the floor, and he was kicking me. Why did he stop? Why am I still alive?”
“I hit him.”
Matt raises his eyebrows. “With your fists?”
“No, the coal.”
Matt turns around and searches the mantel over the stone fireplace for the familiar lump of jagged anthracite coal. It’s gone.
“They took it for evidence,” she says.
Matt panics. “Are you in trouble?”
She shakes her head. “They’re not going to prosecute. They ruled it as self-defense.”
“He’s gonna come back. We can’t stay here.”
“He’s not coming back. … He’s dead.”
Matt’s eyes are wide. “You killed him?”
“I had to,” she says, her voice shaky.
“To protect me?”
She nods.
[ 22 ]
The Family You Choose
His knees push into the earth. The sun beats down on the back of his neck. His breathing is labored, and his midsection aches, as he pulls grass from the garden. Matt glances up at the bay window. Ms. Pierce stands watching. She turns away, pretending she’s not checking up on him. He stands with a groan and picks up two five-gallon buckets filled with grass, their roots, and some soil still attached.
He staggers around back and dumps the grass on top of the compost pile. He treads to the mulch pile and fills the buckets, using the fork stuck in the pile. He carries the mulch back to the garden, covering the soil unearthed by his weeding. He takes his rusty pruners from his side pocket and trims a few branches from the overgrown tomato vines.
“Hey, birthday boy, why don’t you take a break?” Ms. Pierce says
from the front stoop.
He turns around.
She stands with her brow furrowed, her blond hair in a ponytail and her ivory skin sun-kissed. “I made some meadow tea,” she says.
“You think I’m overdoing it,” he says.
“I’m just worried.”
He locks shut his pruners and slides them into the side pocket of his canvas pants. He strides to the front stoop. He unlaces his worn boots and leaves them at the door. He follows her to the kitchen. A half-iced cake is on the counter. A glass pitcher and two glasses filled with ice cubes and meadow tea sit on the table.
“Are you hungry yet?” she asks.
He shakes his head, sitting down. “I usually don’t feel like eating much when it’s this hot.”
“You need to drink something.” She places a glass of tea in front of him and sits down. She purses her lips. “I’m worried that you’re doing too much, too soon.”
Matt takes a drink. He sets down the glass. “I’ll be fine. I just need to do something. I can’t sit around anymore.”
She frowns.
“I’ll be careful.”
“It seems like a lot to me, and it’s your birthday. If you tell me what to do, I can take care of everything, until you’re fully healed.”
“No, I told you that I’d take care of this for you. What does that say about me, if I can’t keep my word?”
“You nearly died, Matt. I think circumstances trump your responsibilities.”
“I’ll spread the work out, just do a little each day.”
She nods. “All right, but, if I see you in pain, I’m taking over the chores.”
He nods. “The tea is good.”
“Have you thought about what you’ll do? The school board and the superintendent want me to give them an answer on Monday.”
“I have. I’m not taking my finals. They can fail me.”
Ms. Pierce frowns. “I know you’re mad but don’t ruin your life over this. You have a chance to put all this behind you. You and I both know you could ace your finals in half a day. It doesn’t make sense to give up a whole year of school for half a day’s work.”
“Why do you think kids go to school?”
“You mean, apart from the fact that they have to?”
Against the Grain Page 25
