by Rick R. Reed
Truman had almost made it to the point where he could turn and safely swing his legs over the edge when he slipped.
And in an instant he was airborne, no longer on the roof.
Dane was too startled to scream. He jammed a fist into his mouth.
A siren gave a piercing whoop just behind him as the paramedics arrived.
Chapter 8
DANE’S HORROR turned to qualified relief as a figure rushed out from behind the boy and hooked his arms underneath Truman’s armpits, preventing him from the long, surely fatal fall to the concrete below.
Dane’s heart hammered in his chest so hard he feared it was the onset of an attack.
Like everyone else in the crowd, he peered upward at the drama unfolding. The sun was still obscured by a heavy bank of gray clouds, so Dane could see who had snuck up behind Truman. It was Seth.
Thank God for Seth.
But Truman wasn’t safe yet. His whole body still dangled precariously from the rooftop. He wasn’t helping matters by kicking his legs, surely a panicked reaction. The hold Seth had on the boy was tenuous, and Dane knew the simple law of gravity was not working in Seth’s favor. The strain on his back, his arms, and his psyche must be incredible at the moment. It would be all too easy, Dane knew, for Truman to slip from Seth’s fingers. Or worse, for gravity to pull them both over the edge….
Dane couldn’t see well enough to make out much detail in their faces, but Dane imagined Seth as red and breathless, the strain of trying to keep this slight boy from falling an incredible challenge. He also imagined the terror that must be lighting up Truman’s features. Dane wanted to believe the boy had changed his mind and was coming back when he slipped—accidentally.
“Pull him back!” someone cried.
“You can do it, Mr. Wolcott!” someone else yelled.
“Let the faggot fall!” another voice added. Dane’s head whipped around and glared at the crowd of mostly students behind him. Although there’d been a few titters at the remark, it wasn’t apparent who’d uttered it.
“Truman, we love you!” someone else shouted, and Dane felt his faith in humanity restored just a little bit.
Dane lifted the bullhorn. “You can do it, guys. Just don’t panic.” Easy for you to say! “Slow and steady. Slow and steady.”
And Dane’s breathing, respiration, and heart rate slowed, timed with the rescue. Seth managed, at last, to pull Truman back from the edge. He got him to his feet. Once he had the boy secure, Seth’s arms wrapped protectively around his chest, the crowd burst into cheers, applause, and whistles.
And Dane smiled, even though his knees were so weak he feared he would simply drop to the ground. He felt a rush of giddy relief course though him that made him want to alternately laugh and sob. His hands were trembling, and he flexed them to try to quell the tremors.
Seth leaned forward with one arm still around the boy. He raised his other arm and gave the crowd a thumbs-up, which incited a whole new wave of cheers and whistles.
Dane watched as Truman and Seth moved back and away from the ledge, heading, Dane was certain, for the door at the back. And the stairs… oh God yes, the stairs.
Dane turned away once Seth and Truman were out of view. He didn’t know what would happen next. He wasn’t surprised to see the crowd beginning to disperse as people headed back inside the building. Principal Calhoun urged everyone to get back inside and to “Keep it orderly.”
The cold helped push everyone back inside the school’s warm embrace.
But then Dane noticed two things that surprised him, although they shouldn’t have.
The first was that official help had arrived, presumably heralded by sirens. Dane had been so caught up in the drama and the peril, he couldn’t recall noticing the red-and-white ambulance and the black police car. Right now EMTs were folding up a large net to put back in the ambulance and talking to one another. Their words were snatched up by the wind and carried away before Dane could hear them. The sight of the net—and the possibility of what could have happened—made Dane shiver and caused a splash of acid to jet up from his stomach to his throat.
The second thing Dane noticed, and this was almost simultaneous with the first, was a young woman rushing toward him. At first he thought she was a student. Her slight figure and dark curly hair belied her age until she was practically standing right before him. She wore tight jeans and a cropped ski jacket. Big gold hoops dangled from her ears. Too much makeup.
But in spite of the party-girl appearance, her face was a mask of desperation. It was this last that made Dane realize who she probably was.
“Are you Mr. Bernard?”
“Yes.” Dane tried to smile, but at the moment he found he was incapable.
“The school called me, said you were trying to talk my baby down from the roof.” She swallowed hard, and Dane could see she was trying not to collapse into sobs. She looked wildly about her—at the parking lot, at the EMTs and cops finishing up, calm after the storm.
Her gaze finally returned to him. “I’m Patsy. Patsy Reid, Truman’s mom.”
“Oh, of course!” Still, she seemed almost too young to be Truman’s mother. “I think we met before. Last fall? PTA?”
Patsy waved his questions away impatiently. “Is he okay?” she wanted to know, a little breathless. “Where is he?” And then she did break into a short burst of tears, her mouth open in an anguished O. Finally she asked, her voice a plaintive plea, “Why would he do this? Why?”
Acting on instinct, Dane quickly gathered her up in his arms and stroked her hair. “He’s had a lot to deal with. I suspect it all just became too much. But he saw sense. He should be out any minute.”
She pushed back, away, probably not ready for comfort. “They said you saved him. They said you turned things around.” Her eyes grew big with fear. “They said he was ready to jump.”
She actually hit herself in the chest, hard, one, two, three times. “It hurts me here to think he would do that. I haven’t been able to give him much, but I always gave him all I had. I always tried to be the best mom I could!”
“I know, I know.” Dane reached out and patted her shoulder. He looked behind him.
Seth and Truman emerged from the building. Seth had his arm around Truman. Both of their faces were white, and Dane wasn’t sure which of the two looked more shell-shocked.
Patsy let out a hoarse combination of a sob and a wail and dashed toward her son, arms outstretched. She snatched him up and held him close, stroking his hair for all she was worth.
Seth stood away. Dane didn’t move.
Both were silent until one of the EMTs came up to mother and son. Dane couldn’t hear every word the young woman said, but he caught enough to understand that they wanted to take Truman to Summitville City Hospital Urgent Care to “just check things out” and “make sure everything was okay.”
Reluctantly, it seemed, Patsy and Truman followed the EMT. Dane and Seth, as if in concert, moved closer. Another EMT, an older man with a shaved head and a powerful physique, pulled a gurney from the back of the ambulance.
Truman snapped, “I don’t need that. I didn’t jump, for Christ’s sake.”
The female EMT said, “It’s just policy.”
Truman stepped back, arms folding across his slight chest.
Patsy said, “Come on, honey, it’ll be fun. How often do you get to take a ride in an ambulance?” She said it like she was talking about a spin on a Ferris wheel.
Truman, shaking his head, allowed the EMTs to help him aboard the gurney and lie down. He blew out a breath. “This is stupid.”
Patsy said, “I’m coming with.” It was not a question.
Dane and Seth watched as they loaded Truman into the ambulance. Patsy climbed in behind, and the EMTs slammed the double doors. They both jogged around to the front and drove away.
No siren.
The police were already gone.
Dane looked at Seth. “I can’t go back inside.”
S
eth said, “You were very brave today.”
Dane waved away the compliment. “You were the one. You really put your life on the line.”
Seth thought for a moment. “So did you,” he said. “So did you.”
They said nothing as several moments ticked by.
At last Seth asked, “Should we maybe follow them down there? Make sure everything’s good?”
“That’s not a bad idea. My car’s over here.” Dane took his keys from his pocket and clicked the remote so that a beep issued forth from his Kia Soul.
“Just let me run and let Calhoun know what we’re doing.” Seth smiled.
Dane slapped his forehead. “Yeah! Thank goodness one of us is responsible and has a bit of common sense.”
“Why, thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever had those qualities attributed to me, so it means a lot.” Seth grinned and winked at Dane.
As he stood alone in the parking lot, waiting for Seth to come back, Dane had a sudden realization. The realization, he thought, was a selfish one in light of what had just occurred, but there it was.
I just outed myself to the whole school today.
He shivered and didn’t think it was because of the bitter wind.
What would happen now?
Chapter 9
SETH FOLLOWED Dane up the front steps of Summitville City Hospital. His thoughts were, he supposed, totally inappropriate for a caring teacher on a mission of mercy to a traumatized teenaged boy.
Dane Bernard is gay. I had no idea. Seth had been crushing on the man since he had seen him, only yesterday in the parking lot. The moment had been one of those instalove situations he read about in romance novels, the kind of thing he scoffed at, preferring more angst for characters as they struggled down the road to finding true love.
While he couldn’t deny the immediate physical attraction toward the big man, he’d also sensed his caring and compassion. Dane Bernard was not only a very sexy specimen of the male species; he’d also proved himself to have a kind and caring heart.
What more could I ask for? Seth wondered. Hot and sweet all rolled up into one delectable package. And gay too! Who knew? Clarissa Bernard was in one of Seth’s classes, and he’d just assumed her dad was straight, completely.
Seth’s gaydar had failed him.
Dane turned to look down at Seth, who was frozen on the sidewalk at the foot of the stairs. He smiled. “Are you coming?” He held one of the heavy glass doors open for Seth. There was no indication on Dane’s ruddy face that he had any idea of what was going through Seth’s head.
“Sorry. Just got carried away with my thoughts.” Seth hurried up the steps to join Dane.
“Understandable.”
Seth looked back at Dane, coming in the door. “What?”
“It’s understandable, I said. After the morning we’ve had….”
Seth felt heat rise to his face and laughed. “Oh! Right, of course.”
Dane moved ahead toward the information desk in front of them. Seth stayed quiet, moored to his own internal dialogue. He must think I’m a complete buffoon. Now come on, don’t chastise yourself that way. You did a good thing this morning. Maybe even helped save a boy’s life. That’s what you need to concentrate on. The kid. The kid you just might be able to help even more if he’ll let you.
Seth moved quickly up behind Dane, listening as the bespectacled woman at the front desk told them Truman Reid was in room 402.
PATSY BRUSHED some hair away from Truman’s forehead and gazed down at her son. He was sleepy now, his eyelids fluttering. The doctor who’d been in to see him had given him something to calm him and told Patsy that Truman would most likely fall asleep.
Her son’s gaze met her own, and she liked to believe she could see gratitude there, that maybe Truman was comforted by the presence of his mom. Patsy hoped so, anyway. She prayed she wasn’t part of the reason he had almost taken his life that morning.
She wanted to ask him so much, the foremost being: Why? She knew things were hard for Truman. Honestly, he was the biggest sissy she’d ever seen in her life, but he was her big sissy. And he couldn’t help it, anyway. Truman had always been Truman, and she loved him for it. She wouldn’t want him to be any different—more masculine—because then he’d no longer be himself. What kind of parent, Patsy wondered, would wish for their child to stop being himself?
That was crazy.
But she knew being as different as he was made things rough, made him the object of teasing and bullying. And she wished that could change. Patsy’s heart clenched the way only a parent’s can when they realize they can’t be with their child every moment of life, protecting him from the cruelty it so generously and casually doled out.
Patsy was also angry. Didn’t Truman think at all about how his suicide would affect her? How it would tear her apart?
Patsy didn’t know if she could have gone on….
But she didn’t want to think about a world without Truman in it. She didn’t know if she was able to even imagine such a dark and lonely place.
She gazed down and watched as Truman drifted off. She was glad. Sleep offered oblivion, an escape from the pain even she hadn’t known he was feeling. Oh sure, she realized he’d been teased and bullied, that he had no friends. Those things hurt her heart as much, if not more, she thought, than Truman’s own. But Patsy had no idea how bad the pain had gotten. To want to end it all? That was nuts. Why? she asked herself once more. Even if he has nothing else, he always has me. She smiled. And Odd. We’re a little family unit. We don’t have much in terms of material stuff, but we have each other. Isn’t that enough? And besides, Truman’s a smart kid. He’ll leave this shit-hole town one day, go to one of those big cities like New York or Chicago, and be something. Then he can thumb his nose at those mean kids who tormented him. Why doesn’t he see that? His whole life is still in front of him. She placed a hand gently on his cheek. Truman smacked his lips and shifted a bit but did not wake.
Patsy wasn’t sure what else she could do for him, other than continue to demonstrate her love and to make damn sure the kid knew that who he was and what he was were nothing to be ashamed of. And God help the person who tried to tell her different.
She allowed herself to finally sit in the blue vinyl-covered chair at the side of Truman’s bed. He looked so tiny, the glare of the fluorescents making him look even paler than usual. All Patsy wanted to do was protect him. But the sad thing, and she knew this too, was that the older your kid got, the harder it was to shield him from life’s cruelties.
The arrival of two men interrupted Patsy’s thoughts. They were the teachers from Truman’s school who had saved him. The first guy was Mr. Bernard, of course. And the second guy? He was a kind of geeky-looking fellow, with glasses, dark hair, and pale eyes. He wore a pair of jeans, button-down shirt, knitted tie, and a vest. She made him think of that Mr. Schuester on that show Truman used to love, Glee.
Patsy remembered being at PTA last fall and overhearing someone talking about how Mr. Bernard’s wife had just been killed in a car accident. It was so sad! And him with two kids to raise alone!
The other guy had been with Truman when he came out of the school. Why, he must have been the one that pulled him back from the edge of that roof!
Patsy stood up, and her eyes welled with tears. “You guys!” she cried. “You guys are heroes!” She propelled herself first into Mr. Bernard’s arms, squeezing him tight, and then moved on to the other guy. She couldn’t help herself—the tension and the possibility of loss were too real. She sobbed into both of the men’s chests, wetting their shirts.
Finally she pulled away, embarrassed. She dabbed with her fingertips at their damp shirts. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that it’s been so upsetting today! And if you guys weren’t there to help, I might be at the damn morgue instead of here!” Patsy realized how awful she must sound, how stupid, with her hiccupping sobs and curse words. “I’m sorry,” she said again weakly, trying to rein in her tears.
�
��No need to be sorry, Mrs. Reid,” Mr. Bernard said.
Patsy smiled. “It’s Ms. But you can call me Patsy. Everybody does. Down at the Elite Diner, I wear it on a little pin.” She tried to laugh.
Dane said, “I’m Truman’s English teacher. He’s a bright kid, has great sensitivity, which I suspect works against him a lot.”
“Oh yeah, you got that right.” Patsy smiled. She wanted to make a good impression. She held out her hand to the younger guy. “Patsy,” she said, looking into his eyes and noticing how they seemed to shift in color in the light, from green to brown.
“Seth Wolcott. I haven’t had the chance to work with Truman in the classroom yet, but Dane told me in the car on the way over that he really has something. He writes beautiful short stories.”
“And poems too! You should see the one he made up for me for Mother’s Day.” Patsy bit her lip and had to stop speaking for a moment. “It didn’t rhyme, but it touched me here.” She placed a hand over her heart.
“How’s he doing?” Dane asked, looking over Patsy’s head toward Truman.
“They gave him something—Valium, I think—to calm him down. Knocked him right out.”
“Probably for the best,” Dane said.
At his voice, Truman stirred a little.
Dane said, “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking around him. Let him sleep. Can Seth and I treat you to a cup of coffee? We passed a Starbucks on the ground floor.”
“Oh, I don’t want to leave him.” Patsy looked anxiously back at the bed. “But I also don’t want to wake him up. You guys go get coffee if you want. I’ll be here.”
Seth smiled. “Tell you what. We’ll go get us all something, and we’ll bring it back. Then maybe we can talk a little just outside the room. Would that be okay?”
Patsy nodded.
Dane asked, “Do you want anything special? Cappuccino? Latte? Something to eat, maybe?”
“Aw, that’s nice of you, but I’m just a plain old drip coffee girl. That’s why I never go in a Starbucks. They make me scared I’ll order wrong. Just coffee, black, for me.”
