These Gentle Wounds

by Helene Dunbar

  You’d think she’d know by now that I’m really not good at not worrying about things.

  “Where’s my father?” I ask, more directly. It isn’t like I really care, but not knowing is making me nuts.

  She leans forward and I can tell she’s trying not to watch my hand shaking on my knee. “He’s in jail, Gordie. Between what you and Kevin told us, and the bruises the doctors documented on you and Jordan, not to mention how he acted at the house, there’s enough evidence to charge him with assault and child endangerment. And given how he disappeared, before, they’re considering him a flight risk. It’s up to the court to decide how long he’s going to be in prison. I think we all agree that we don’t want you to have to testify at a trial, so I’m going to try to get this all resolved as soon as possible.”

  That really isn’t the answer I want to hear.

  But I guess it’s a start.

  I jump when the doorbell rings. For a minute I think I’m back at the old house and I can’t catch my breath, but then I hear Jim’s voice and it all comes back to me.

  Sarah comes flying into the room and hugs me. She feels solid and real and I don’t want to let go. I close my eyes and burrow my face into her neck. She smells like lilacs and warmth and everything good.

  “Easy there, big boy,” Kevin says from the kitchen doorway. I turn my head just far enough to glare at him. He looks tired, but I guess I’d rather have him giving me a hard time than shutting down.

  Jim nudges him out of the room and down the hall.

  Sarah and I pull apart and she reaches into her bag.

  “I don’t know if you still need these,” she says, holding a folder out to me. “I was going crazy worrying about you and had to do something.”

  When I open it, I see the photos she took in the broom closet.

  “Thanks,” I say. I don’t know if I still need them either, and I don’t really want to think about her looking at them, so I start to close the folder, but she puts a hand out and stops me.

  “There are other pictures in there too,” she says. “I thought you might want them.”

  I flip quickly past the photos of my bruised skin and land on a couple of me playing goal in summer league last year. Also, one I didn’t know she took of me that day when we were working on our Moby Dick assignment. That one I pull out.

  I’m lying on top of the wooden train, the snowy sun behind me and a faraway look in my eyes.

  “I’m going to submit that one for the school athlete calendar,” she says. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

  I’m about to say no, that I don’t want to be in the stupid calendar and somehow this picture is … I don’t know … private. But the look on her face tells me she really wants this, and I don’t want to disappoint her.

  “I guess,” I say.

  It’s the right answer, because she moves over and hugs me again.

  “I’m really proud of you,” she whispers in my ear.

  I want to thank her, or kiss her, or something. I want to keep her here and I want to learn how to be the person she thinks I am.

  I wonder if it’s always like this. If really liking someone means that you just want more and more all the time. If no amount of kissing is ever enough, and if no matter how much time you get with them, you always want more.

  I think of asking her, because it seems she’d know the answer. But all I can do is hold her too tight and listen to the refrain in my head saying, Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.

  Thirty-One

  A week later, we head to the courthouse to discuss custody. Ms. DeSilva has explained that there’s a huge difference between Jim fully adopting me, the type of custody where I have to live with my father, and the type where I can live with Jim even though my father is still legally in charge of me. She says some judges might say “no” to the adoption and force me to see my father, regardless. So now we have to sit down and discuss all of it. The whole thing sucks and makes me feel dizzy, like I’ve been spinning for a week.

  Kevin and I take the day off school again and Jim doesn’t go to work. Instead he drives us downtown to this huge white-marble building that looks like a mini White House. When Kevin and I get out of the car, I can tell from the way he keeps fidgeting that he’s on edge, which doesn’t do anything to make me feel better.

  Jim puts an arm around each of us, even though Kevin is almost taller than he is. Jim isn’t usually touchy-feely, so I guess he’s nervous too. That also doesn’t make me feel any better.

  None of us says a word as we walk up the steps. I shove my hand in the pocket of my dress pants when I feel it start to act up. I think the last time I wore dress clothes was at the funeral. One more thing on the “doesn’t make me feel better” list.

  Ms. DeSilva hugs us and brings us into a conference room similar to the one at her office. She and Jim talk while Kevin and I stare at the clock. I’m not sure if he’s trying to speed it up or slow it down. I’m not sure what I want either, aside from wanting all this legal stuff to be over with. I’m trying to act like I don’t care, but I’m pretty sure I’m doing a crap job of it.

  Ms. DeSilva calls us over and gives us a cell phone and tells us not to wander far. Trying not to disturb all the office people staring at their computers with frazzled expressions, we make it to the end of a hall where there’s a window looking out onto nineteen floors of air. I press my forehead against the glass, but it isn’t the same as being out there. I try to focus on the beating of my heart but it’s making my head spin.

  “Deep breath,” Kevin says, squeezing the back of my neck.

  “Easy for you to say,” I mouth into the glass, watching the condensation form. “It isn’t your future that’s being decided.”

  “You think?” he asks, all attitude.

  Okay. Fine. Obviously he’s going to be affected by the outcome, but not like me.

  I look down and watch myself snap the band against my wrist. It doesn’t even feel like it’s me. I feel disconnected from everything. I’m so out of it, I don’t even notice the phone start to buzz until Kevin grabs it out of my back pocket.

  “Yeah. Right. Okay. Sure.” He rattles off these meaningless words while I’m waiting, waiting, waiting to hear what’s going on.

  “Come on,” he says as he pockets the phone and tugs on my sleeve. “She wants us back there.”

  I know I’m not moving, and I know I need to move, but … this feels too big. Like everything is going to change all at once.

  Kevin leans against the wall next to me. “Ice, come on, man. It’s gotta be okay, right?”

  “Why?” I ask. “Why does it need to be okay? It could just as easily suck. I mean, things go wrong all the time. They break, and people screw up, and then it all goes to hell, and … ”

  My voice gets louder and louder until Kevin covers my mouth with his hand.

  “Shhh … ” he says.

  I take a deep breath and swallow the rest of the words that want to come pouring out. When I’m sure they’re all contained, I nod and he removes his hand and stands right in front of me, blocking everything else out. “I promise. Do you hear me? I promise this will all work out somehow.”

  I nod again, but it’s that last bit that kind of scares me. I don’t even want to point out the number of promises that have been broken lately.

  “Come on,” he says, pulling my sleeve.

  The walk through the hallways feels much longer than it did the first time. I think if I had to find my way back alone, I’d get lost in the twists and turns of offices that each look the same as the one before.

  I close my eyes as we walk into the room and let Kevin guide me like a tugboat. I feel seasick, like everything is churning inside me.

  Kevin stops short and I come close to walking into him, which makes me open my eyes even though I don’t want to. I look around the room. We’re here, obvi
ously, and Jim and Ms. DeSilva, and a guy I’ve never seen before who looks kinda young and relaxed and not like a judge or anything.

  There’s an empty chair. My father isn’t here.

  I look over at Ms. DeSilva and bite my lip, nervous about what she’s going to tell us. She comes up to me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “Relax, Gordie. Your father isn’t here. There was an altercation with another inmate and he’s still in jail. At least until this is settled.”

  Kevin and I look at each other. His eyes are wide.

  Jim said my father was going to be in jail a long time, but I’ve learned that things don’t always happen like they’re supposed to.

  “Gordie?” I turn my head. The young guy says, “My name is Sam Harrison.” He holds a hand out to me, which I shake, although I’m embarrassed because I’m sure he can feel how badly my own hand is quivering.

  He shakes Kevin’s hand too and explains that he’s a mediator, not a judge. He’s just someone who makes recommendations to the judge.

  He gestures for us to take our seats. I sit down and, even though I know Sarah wouldn’t approve, I jam my hands under my legs. I can’t imagine that showing Sam Harrison what a freak I am will help my case any.

  “This isn’t court,” the mediator explains, looking at me. “So you can call me Sam and we’re just going to talk, if that’s okay. I know this isn’t much fun, but really, there’s nothing to be stressed out about.”

  I hear Kevin let out a loud breath and feel my shoulders relax a little. This Sam guy seems okay.

  “We’ll just go through the few remaining issues one by one. And you should feel comfortable to say whatever is on your mind.” He looks around the room. “That goes for all of you.”

  Jim gives Kevin a look that almost makes me laugh. I guess he doesn’t want Kevin feeling too comfortable talking about what’s going on in his mind.

  “So,” Ms. DeSilva starts. “Sam has reviewed all of your records, Gordie, but I’m officially going to present my recommendations here and if Sam agrees, he will take them to the judge.”

  We all nod.

  “First,” she says, “Jim would like to officially adopt Gordie. He’s been living with Jim for the last five years. He’s doing well in school, he’s an excellent hockey player, and he wants to stay with his brother Kevin. I don’t see any good that could come of disrupting that.”

  Sam looks at me and smiles. “Okay.” He looks down at his pad again and scribbles some notes and then starts to say something else.

  I can’t help myself. “Wait. That’s it?”

  Sam laughs and his blue eyes crinkle. “Did you want it to be more complicated?”

  I feel my cheeks get hot. “No, I just … no.”

  “That’s okay. Nothing is a done deal until we get the judge’s signature, but we all seem to be in agreement on what would be best.”

  He makes some more notes. I lean forward, trying to see how many things he has on his list, but Kevin pulls me back into my chair, which makes my still-bruised body ache.

  “The next issue,” Sam says, “is visitation. Should the judge not approve full legal custody—which I think is unlikely—and Gordie’s father be considered rehabilitated, we might have to cross that bridge in the future. But I think we’re best served waiting to see how things play out on that front. He isn’t being terribly cooperative from what I’ve heard.” He checks something on his clipboard. “Given Gordie’s age, I think his father will be incarcerated at least until Gordie is a legal adult.”

  “But what about Jordan?” I ask. I can’t stand the thought that I’m getting everything I’ve dreamed of and Jordan might be stuck in that strange plastic-covered house waiting for my father to get out of jail.

  “Jordan is fine,” Ms. DeSilva says. “The family he’s with has fostered a lot of kids over the years. I’ve told them about you and they’re happy to arrange a visit.” She shuffles some papers. “He’s been seeing someone. A doctor. Someone who can help him deal with everything that’s gone on. And his mother is getting help as well, for a long-term drug addiction. We hope that eventually we’ll be able to send him back to her.”

  “But what about when our father gets out?” I twist the band on my wrist and hold my breath. They can’t have all these solutions for me and just let him have Jordan.

  Jim moves over behind us and stands with one hand on my shoulder and one on Kevin’s, even though my brother is now staring down at the table like he wants to break it into two.

  “When he gets out, he’s going to have to deal with me.”

  Jim’s voice makes everything in me stiffen up. Not only have I never heard him sound like this, but he sounds just like Kevin does when he talks about killing my father.

  I look at Ms. DeSilva, hoping she’s going to say something. She looks at Sam, who nods and says, “Like I said, I think it will be years before that happens. But you have my word, Gordie, that we’ll look out for Jordan. For both of you, even after you’re adults.” Then he looks at Kevin and I’m relieved to hear his voice, so calm and quiet, say, “For all of you.”

  Sam tells us the rest of it is all paperwork that Jim needs to sign and that we don’t need to sit there. I tug on Kevin’s sleeve until he follows me out into the hall.

  “You okay?” I ask him.

  He’s usually the one who owns that question, and I’m not surprised when he doesn’t answer it. He just hangs onto his belt like a life preserver and takes a few deep breaths.

  “Kev?”

  It takes a minute, but then his shoulders relax. “God, I hope we’re done with all of it now. I just want everything to get back to normal.”

  We stare at each other and laugh at the same time. What do either of us know about normal?

  The conference room door opens. Sam comes out and says how glad he was to meet us, then heads down the hall.

  “Come on. Let’s go home,” Jim says.

  Kevin launches himself off the wall like he’s been shot out of a gun. But I think of Mr. Brooks and realize I have something else to do before I can join them.

  “Wait. Can you give me a minute?” I ask.

  Both of them look puzzled, but that’s okay. I head back into the conference room. Ms. DeSilva is gathering her papers and clipping them with those little black things that I’m always afraid will snap onto my fingers. I walk the length of the room, which feels like it’s a million miles long.

  She smiles like she knew I was going to come back. “I just wish I’d known earlier,” she says. “We never would have sent you there. I’m really sorry. I hope you know that.”

  “It’s okay.” I know it wasn’t her fault, and I can’t really think of much we could have done differently.

  I bite the inside of my cheek and pull at the band. My question is simple, but scary enough that I’m not sure how to ask it. I just know I can’t do this anymore either. I can’t keep living for the time between spins, which is never really living because all I’m doing is worrying about the next spin. And I certainly don’t think I can take hearing Mom’s voice again, even though I know it really isn’t her.

  Especially because I know it isn’t really her.

  Ms. DeSilva might not be able to help me. There may be no one who can really help me. But if anyone could, I think it might be her.

  “You know how you said they’d found someone for Jordan to talk to?”

  She nods.

  “Could you … I mean, maybe … ”

  I can tell by her eyes that she knows what I’m going to ask, but she waits while I try to get the words out.

  “Everyone keeps saying that I should, too. Talk to someone. I mean, if you know someone.” I wrap my arms around myself and dig my nails into my skin. For some reason, just saying that makes me feel really strange inside.

  “Yes,” she says without hesitating. “Yes, I
do.” She pulls me into a hug and whispers, “See, I told you that you were brave,” before she lets me go.

  Thirty-Two

  Jim’s cell phone is warm in my hand. Kevin reaches from the front seat of the car and I just manage to delete the text before he swipes it.

  He laughs. “My brother, the stud.”

  I ignore him, savoring Sarah’s words saying again how she really, really likes me and that she thinks I’m brave for saving Jordan. I don’t know why everyone suddenly thinks I’m so brave, but I pull Sarah’s “really, reallys” around me like a blanket.

  No way am I sharing them with Kevin.

  I smile all the way home.

  “I was thinking … ” I say once we’re back at the house. “Now that I’m really living here, I think I need a key to the walk.”

  Jim and Kevin look at each other and say “No” in unison.

  Then Jim says, “You were always living here, kid. You just never believed it.”

  “Come on.” Kevin tugs on my sleeve. “I’ve got to get out of these clothes.”

  We race upstairs and strip out of our stiff clothes and pull on jeans and T-shirts.

  “I left all my stuff over at the old house, you know,” I say, sinking down onto the bed.

  “Anything important?” Kevin rips open a bag of chips and shovels some into his mouth. “Damn, stress always makes me hungry. Want some?”

  I shake my head. I do a mental inventory of my bag and, aside from my homework, the only thing that mattered in there was Ms. DeSilva’s card. But I guess I don’t need that anymore. “Just a few of your shirts.”

  “I don’t care about any of those. And why are you being so quiet?” Kevin asks. “I thought you’d be happy.”

  I know I should be flying-off-the-walls happy. I’m not sure why this thing in the pit of my stomach is telling me not to be.

  I shrug.

  “Everything that happened at that meeting was good. You get that, right?” he asks, trying again.