Full Circle

by Carol Caiton

  Jessica started to roll over toward him, bumped into his chest, and rolled back. Her left hand rested on top of the quilt and he stared down at the rings he'd put on her finger.

  He'd learned something about himself over the years. He'd learned that when he loved, he loved deeply. Wholly. It had nearly destroyed him to lose Michael, Joey, and his mother. That's why, when he finally accepted that Michael wouldn't be coming back home, he'd shut himself down. And shutting himself down was the reason he'd been able to be the calm-under-pressure cop Derek saw.

  But it hadn't lasted. He'd gotten to know the kids in the neighborhood he patrolled. Little by little the walls he'd built had started to come down. Little by little those kids had nudged their way into his heart. And then he'd shot and killed one of them and all the walls came tumbling down on top of him.

  Carefully he reached for Jessica's hand, slid his palm under hers, and rubbed his thumb over her rings. He hadn't wanted to fall in love with her. He'd fought it. But she'd wrapped him up tight, almost from the very beginning, and the choice had been taken from him. And now he was married to her. But that didn't mean it no longer scared the shit out of him. And the children she wanted . . . . That scared the shit out of him too.

  Still, something was changing there too. The fear wasn't quite as paralyzing as it was before. It was still enough to set his heart thundering, and he wasn't close to being ready for parenthood. But maybe the next couple of years would be enough to ease him into it.

  Letting his gaze travel back up to her face, he found her pretty gray eyes open, watching him as quietly as he'd been watching her.

  "Good morning," he murmured, smiling down at her.

  "Good morning, Kyle." But she didn't return the smile.

  "Why so serious, today?" he asked.

  "Because I've realized you're reckless."

  "Me?" He wasn't reckless.

  "You place yourself in dangerous situations."

  "Jess, I was a cop for—"

  "I know how long you were a cop officer."

  He smiled. "Just cop. Or just officer."

  "Don't change the subject. I could have lost you."

  He dropped the smile because she was serious. She'd been worried, and she'd had good reason to worry.

  "I had it covered, honey. Everything worked out and everyone got home safely."

  "Then you're done with seeing these dangerous people?"

  He hesitated. He still had unfinished business to take care of before he went back to Florida. "There's one more thing I want to do."

  "Then I'll go with you."

  "No."

  "Why?"

  "Because."

  "Because you're going to be reckless again?"

  "Honey, I'm not reckless. I look ahead, I plan ahead, and I make sure I've got backup."

  "Then I'll be safe to go with you."

  "No."

  "Why?"

  He sighed. "Because there's a slight chance of danger. Just a slight chance."

  "Then I ask you to put this thing aside."

  "Jess."

  "You promised to give me a house and furniture and children. You can't do those things if you're dead."

  This time he had to stop himself from smiling. She didn't need him or anyone else to buy a house for her. She could buy any house she wanted—a dozen of them if that made her happy.

  "Jess, I'm not going to die."

  "Tell me the . . . odds. Tell me the odds."

  Before yesterday, the odds against him had been higher—so high, in fact, he would have been calling in a couple of favors to provide the backup he told her he always planned for. But today was a different story.

  "The odds are in my favor today," he said.

  But she wouldn't settle for that. "I'd like the numbers, Kyle. I'm very good with numbers.

  "Seventy/thirty," he told her. "In my favor."

  Her eyebrows shot up. "There's a thirty percent chance you'll die today?"

  "No. I'm not going to die today. There's a thirty percent chance I'll run into trouble." He turned the wedding band around on her finger. "Maybe less."

  "How can we make the percentages more favorable?"

  "More favorable than seventy/thirty?" How about bringing a dead kid back to life, he thought. But to Jess he said, "I think this is about as favorable as it's going to get. Don't worry. Everything's going to be fine."

  She made a face. "Who is this person you're going to see?"

  "People. I'm going to see a group of people. But mostly a kid named Abdul Washington. And his mother, I hope."

  "Abdul is an Arabic name. Does Abdul speak English?"

  He stopped toying with her ring. "Yes."

  "Does his mother?"

  He didn't answer.

  She studied him for a minute. "Do you trust him to translate?" she asked.

  Again, he said nothing. A year ago he wouldn't have had to consider that question. Today circumstances were different.

  She grinned at him, damned happy with herself. "You need me.

  "I always need you," he said. He leaned over and kissed her. "Like I need air."

  Sliding her other arm out from beneath the sheet, she looped both hands around his neck. He, in turn, scooped a plump breast into his palm.

  "You're changing the subject again. You need me beside you," she told him, pulling his head down to hers. "Today."

  He slid between her legs. "I'll think about it. Later."

  * * *

  She sat in the passenger seat of the rental car and gazed out the window. Since telling the Englishman at RUSH that Interpol had a continued interest in her—even if she hadn't told him all the details—her freedoms had become fewer and restricted. She understood Kyle's worry, but today she'd been given still more rules and limitations to remember and obey. She was not to leave his side, she must obey any instruction he gave, and she knew he had arranged to have some of his police officer friends in place before he brought her here.

  Riding with him now through this very poor neighborhood of row houses though, she comprehended his caution and was glad of the extra protection. The area where Derek and Kathy lived was lovely, with large stone houses and trees so old they soared into the sky and blanketed the streets with speckled shadows.

  Here, however, on this street, young people her age loitered, leaning against the buildings, standing amid trash and following with their eyes the progress of the car she and Kyle were in, all of them watching as though of one mind. And that mind, imaginary though it might be on her part, gave her a sense of impending danger.

  Straightening in her seat, she tightened her fingers over the armrest. She understood now why Kyle told her to leave her purse behind. Her driving license was in the back pocket of her jeans, and five dollars in the front pocket. That was all she carried.

  "Relax, Jess, it's okay."

  She tried, but all those eyes continued to follow as one and she thought if the car broke down before reaching the corner, she, Kyle, and the car would be facing very certain trouble.

  "I'd like to see the beautiful places of Philadelphia after today, Kyle. I want to visit your art museum and Independence Hall. And I want to see the streets of the mummers parade."

  Kyle smiled at that. "Honey, one day I'll bring you up here for New Year's. Best party in the country.

  They turned at the corner and a similar block of row houses lined the street. Except farther down on one side, the houses ended abruptly in the middle of the block. An open stretch of land extended the rest of the way to the corner and at that end, several large male bodies clamored over possession of the ball on a basketball court.

  Some of her tension started to ease. It all looked very normal now. Not threatening. Not threatening until Kyle parked their car beside the curb and the boys stopped playing ball. It fell to the ground and rolled away and the boys grouped together as Kyle got out of the car and came around to open her door.

  "Stay on my left," he ordered quietly, "and behind me."

&nbs
p; "I will," she assured him. She'd argued for quite some time so that he'd bring her here, but now she understood his reluctance.

  One boy stepped forward as she and Kyle approached the court. He was dark-skinned, tall and lanky.

  "What the fuck you doin' here?" he wanted to know.

  Kyle looked over the rest of the boys, then back to their leader. "I came to thank you for yesterday."

  "Yeah, well, you're alive but my brother is fucking dead. So get the fuck outta here."

  "Why did you do it, Abdul?"

  "Fuck you."

  The others edged forward and she moved a little closer to Kyle.

  "Abdul, I'd like you to meet my wife, Jessica. Jess, this is Abdul Washington."

  "Well aren't you a fucking example of proper etiquette," Abdul said. He scarcely glanced at Jessica before he spat on the ground.

  Kyle stiffened beside her and she felt tension building as the two faced one another with equally hard stares.

  Moving forward just a little, she greeted the hostile leader in Arabic and said, "I, too, thank you for coming to Kyle's aid yesterday."

  His eyes jumped back to her and stayed, deep dark chocolate brown boring into hers.

  "Who are you?" he asked in the same language.

  "My name is Jessica. I'm Kyle's wife."

  "Is this a joke?"

  "No." She understood the meaning of his question. "Kyle allowed me to come here with him because he'd like to speak with your mother."

  "How do you know the language?"

  "I'm a translator."

  He considered that for a moment. "Did he tell you he shot and killed my brother?"

  "Yes, he told me. I'm very sorry for your loss. It was a horrible time that hurt Kyle as well—so deeply, he left his job, his home, and his family. He now works at road construction in Florida."

  "Road construction."

  "Yes."

  "Jess, what are you telling him?"

  Abdul answered. "She's telling me you been working on a road crew down in Florida."

  Kyle nodded. "That's right."

  "You ain't a cop no more?"

  "No."

  "How come?"

  Kyle stared back at Abdul but he didn't answer.

  "She also said you wanna talk to my mother. Why should I let you anywhere near my mother?"

  "Maybe you shouldn't. I'll have to trust your judgment. But I'd like the chance to look in her eyes and tell her how sorry I am."

  Jessica made a decision. Again in Arabic she said, "When Kyle was a young boy, he stole two guns. He had a small brother, like you did, but the boy found one of the guns Kyle stole and accidently killed himself with it."

  Abdul jerked his gaze back to Kyle.

  "Shooting your brother—for Kyle—was like watching his own die all over again. He'll never be a policeman again because of that."

  "Jess?"

  "She's telling me you had a brother."

  Kyle's eyes snapped to hers and they were hard. He was angry with her. He'd scold her later for sharing something that was private to him.

  He turned back to Abdul. "Yeah, I had a brother."

  "Did that have anything to do with you walkin' up to death's door yesterday? Was that where you used to live—as a kid?"

  "Yes," Kyle said crisply, and Jessica knew he wouldn't be pleased that she now knew he'd walked up to death's door.

  "That what those pictures were? You got one of your brother?"

  "Yes."

  "Lemme see."

  For a minute she didn't think Kyle was going to comply. Then he reached for his wallet, slid out the reduced copy of Joey looking up at him while he read a storybook, and passed it over.

  She'd seen the photograph. For a long time she'd stared at its larger version, at the open devotion in the little boy's eyes as he rested against Kyle and looked up at him. He'd recovered from his illness a few days later, but their mother hadn't.

  "When did he die?" Abdul asked.

  Kyle breathed in deeply. "A week after that picture was taken."

  Abdul stared at the photo then palmed it as though he planned to keep it. He turned to face his friends and said, "Jose, watch the lady's car." Then to Kyle he said, "Come with me."

  He led them across the street and two houses down. Jessica realized Kyle could just as easily have gone directly to the residence himself when Abdul wasn't home, but he'd shown respect by asking his permission instead.

  Unlike Derek's and Kathy's house, there was no storm door on the front of Abdul's, just a worn down stone step, then the door, just a foot away from the sidewalk. He brought them into a long narrow living room and told them to wait. Then he disappeared toward the back of the house and Jessica looked around.

  The furnishings were sparse, but the room was tidy and very clean. Sheer curtains hung at the single front window, allowing as much light to come in as possible, but the room was still quite dim.

  Abdul returned no more than a minute later, followed by a lighter-skinned woman who was nearly as tall as he. She paused at the entranceway, her eyes going to Kyle, then swiftly to Jessica. His mother's name was Hayfa, and the meeting was not an easy one for any of them.

  "Tell my mother about your brother," Abdul said.

  "My brother has nothing to do with why I'm here."

  "Wrong. Your brother's the only reason you're in this house right now. I want my mother to know you understand her pain." Then he handed the photograph to her.

  Kyle didn't speak. Jessica knew he struggled within himself, but he looked to Mrs. Washington and began to tell her about Joey.

  Jessica translated, learning a little more about Kyle's childhood. He spoke of his brother stealing a bicycle and taking it apart, then of Kyle and his friend Michael putting it back together and returning it late at night because no boy wanted to be caught riding a girl bicycle. He told her about Joey shining a flashlight down a drainage sewer, dropping it, and getting himself stuck when he tried to get back out. Then he told her about stealing Mr. Pelvine's guns, about Joey getting sick, then his mother. He'd been on his way to steal medicine for his mother, but he heard the gunshot before he even left the yard."

  "Your brother shot himself with the gun you stole."

  A muscle ticked in Kyle's jaw. "Yes."

  Mrs. Washington nodded. "Yet you became a police officer, carrying a gun."

  "Yes. My mother died the same day as my brother and I was placed in foster care. The man who raised me is a cop and I spent a lot of the next six years around law enforcement people."

  Mrs. Washington looked down at the photograph. "They showed me the video," she said quietly. She looked up. "They didn't want to, but I told them you took care of my boys. I told them you ate at my table and I needed to see with my eyes. So I saw my son with the gun. I saw him turn and point it at you and I saw you shoot him in his chest." Tears formed in her eyes and spilled over.

  "Mrs. Washington—"

  "I saw your face when you recognized him. There was no sound. But I saw you shout his name and I heard it in my heart."

  "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love him too, and I'm sorry."

  Mrs. Washington nodded. "I know this. I know you shot my son because your life was in danger. I understand it Kyle. I see your grief and I hear it in your words." She handed the picture back to Abdul. "But he was my son, and I ask for your understanding now. To understand that as a mother . . . I hope you won't come back here again. I want you to have a good life with your new wife, but please, I hope you won't come back here again."

  Jessica could feel Kyle's pain, but he accepted her decision and after a brief moment, inclined his head.

  She thanked Jessica for assisting them, gave a heartbreaking last look at Kyle, and returned to the back of the house.

  Jessica slipped her hand into Kyle's and squeezed lightly. There was much heartache in this house.

  Abdul looked at Kyle. "Don't come back here no more." He held out the photo of Joey. "We took care of you yesterday 'cause of all the times
you took care of us. But you're on your own now."

  Jessica's heart cried for Kyle. But Kyle seemed to accept Abdul's words as though he expected them.

  "Why were you watching my parents' house?" he asked.

  Abdul shrugged. "I wanted to know what you was doing back in Philly."

  Kyle nodded. "I'm sorry, Abdul."

  "Yeah, I know all about sorry." He opened the door and walked with them back across the street.

  The others were gathered around the rental car, two of them sliding down off the front of it as she and Kyle neared.

  Abdul looked at Kyle. "Say your goodbyes."

  Opening the passenger door for her, Kyle waited while she settled herself before closing it. Then he walked over to the taller boy who had been sitting on the car and held out his hand. The boy looked down at it, then reached out and clasped it, his face solemn as he gave a single nod.

  The next boy did the same, as did the boy after that. But when Kyle held out his hand to the last and shortest one, the boy ignored the hand and stepped in, giving Kyle a strong hug. Then he backed up, looked into Kyle's eyes, and like the others, gave a single nod.

  Tears welled in Jessica's eyes. She didn't know these boys and wouldn't have suspected the close relationship Kyle had with them had she not witnessed this sad goodbye.

  With a last look at each of them, he turned away, got into the car, and turned on the engine.

  The scenery changed gradually as they drove from the disrepair of row houses. She left him to his silence because she thought he might want time alone with himself, but she made a silent vow sitting quietly in the passenger seat. She was glad he'd left his job and moved to Florida. She was glad he'd found Michael Vassek so he could share the happier times ahead with his childhood friend. And she was glad she'd come full circle, back to the country of her birth, glad she'd gone to RUSH one Saturday afternoon and walked into Threshold to be rescued by him.