by Don Aker
Reef smiled at him. “I learn somethin’ new every time,” he said, and slipped the object into his pocket. He glanced at his watch. “And speakin’ ‘a time, we’re just about out of it. But before I go, there’s one more thing I’d like to say.” He cleared his throat. This wasalways the hardest part: trying not to sound preachy. “There’s another reason I’m glad the judge ordered me to do this. It’s because I hope what I have to say to people will make a difference. I’m only a few years older ‘n you are, but that’s plenty ‘a time to make mistakes. Big ones. Most of the things I regret in my life I did because I was afraid. I used to think it was because I was angry. Anger is a hard thing to deal with. But I think fear is harder. It makes you feel more alone. If there’s somethin’ botherin’ you, there are people who can help. I’m gonna leave some cards with your teacher, and if you think you’d like to talk to someone sometime, call the number on the card, okay?”
Mr. Brighton stood up and moved to the front of the room. “I’d like to take this opportunity,” he said, “to thank you for coming in to talk to us. You can tell from the questions that everyone was very interested in what you had to say today.” He turned to the class. “Let’s show Mr. Kennedy our appreciation, okay?”
Everyone clapped, including Robbie. When the bell rang and the class was filing out, he said to Reef, “I still think you should be gettin’ money for this.”
Reef grinned and turned to collect his jacket, which he’d hung over the teacher’s chair.
“Great presentation,” Mr. Brighton said, smiling. “Really. I wish they paid as much attention to me.”
Reef flushed. “Thanks.”
“You ever think of making a career of this?” the teacher asked.
Reef nodded. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that quite a lot lately.”
“You’re a natural. I’d give it some more thought if I were you. What are you doing now?”
“I’m in my final year ‘a school. I get time off to give these talks.”
“How many more do you have left to do?”
“Technically,” Reef replied, slipping on his jacket, “I’m all done. Finished last semester.”
The teacher cocked an eyebrow. “And today?”
Reef shrugged. “Hard to explain. People keep callin’ and askin’ and I keep sayin’ yes. Just somethin’ I still need to do, I guess.”
Brighton held out his hand. “Well, I’m certainly glad you’re doing it.” He shook Reef’s hand firmly.
“Mr. Kennedy?”
Reef turned to see the red-haired girl standing by the teacher’s desk. She was the last of the students to leave. “Call me Reef,” he said. “The ‘Mr. Kennedy’ stuff is hard to get used to.”
“There was something else I wanted to ask you.”
“What’s that?”
“Did you ever see that girl again?”
He’d hoped he would make it through at least one of these presentations without someone asking that question. It was the one he dreaded most. “There’s not a short answer to that,” he said.
“Yes or no seems pretty short to me.”
“Kelly,” said Mr. Brighton, disapproval in his tone,”maybe that’s something Reef doesn’t want to talk about.”
“That’s part of it,” Reef said, “but the more important part is because yes or no doesn’t really tell you anything. Actually, the answer is kind of both.”
Kelly just looked at him.
Reef turned to the teacher. “Is there anybody coming in here now?”
Mr. Brighton shook his head. “This is my prep period. What class do you have now, Kelly?”
“Gym.”
The teacher looked at Reef. “You’re welcome to stay here and chat longer if you want.”
“Fine with me if it’s okay with Kelly,” Reef said. He thought of the times he’d done this before, had lost track of how many.
The teacher walked over to the door and pressed a button on the wall. In a moment, a secretary’s voice came over the classroom speaker. “Yes?”
“This is Paul Brighton. Would you please tell Mr. Marshall in the gym that Kelly Bradshaw will be in my classroom a while longer? If that’s a problem, he can let me know.”
“I’ll tell him,” the voice said.
“Thank you.” The teacher turned to Reef. “Do you mind if I stay? I’d like to hear the answer to that question myself.”
Reef pointed to the chairs. “We may as well sit down. This’ll take a while.”
Chapter 27
Leeza sat at her desk looking at the pages of neatly written script, her eyes now and then drifting to the newspaper clipping included along with all the color photos she’d pulled from the fat envelope. She was, yet again, surprised by Brett Turner, who was now Brett Hollister. She and Sam had got married in March, and the letter was filled with details about their honeymoon. To Leeza, however, it sounded more like an Iron Man endurance test, because, in typical Brett fashion, they had gone white-water rafting in British Columbia, had helicoptered into the Interior to hike on a glacier, and then whale-watched a pod of Orcas off the Queen Charlotte Islands from the dubious safety of a rubber dinghy. Brett complained in her letter about having to work overtime now at Home Hardware to help pay off their Visa bill (“our Rocky Mountain of debt,” as she called it), but from both her account of their adventures and the pictures she had sent, it was clear she and Sam had enjoyed every minute of it. It would take more than falling from an airplane to slow Brett down.
“What’re you looking at, sweetheart?”
Leeza jumped, turned to see her mother in her bedroom doorway. “Brett sent me some pictures of her honeymoon.”
“Really? May I see?”
Leeza casually slid Brett’s letter over top of the clipping as her mother entered the room. She picked up the pictures and moved to the bed, spreading them out for her mother and herself to examine.
“Oh, my,” said Diane. “Who do you suppose was brave enough to take this one?” She held up what looked to be a shot of Brett and Sam standing on the edge of a gigantic sheet of ice that dropped away dramatically behind them.
Leeza grinned. “Had to be someone almost as crazy as Brett.”
The two laughed quietly as they pored over the remaining photos. Then Diane stood up. “Okay if I read her letter?” she asked, moving toward the desk.
Leeza got up quickly, gritting her teeth to conceal the twinge in her left leg that caught her momentarily. She scooped up the letter and envelope. “As soon as I finish with it,” she said with forced nonchalance. “I’m only halfway through.”
“Okay,” Diane said. “Jack’s taking us out to dinner tonight, so I’ll be on the deck with my novel while it’s still warm. Bring the letter down when you finish.”
Leeza listened to her mother go downstairs but waited until she heard the patio door slide open beforeclosing her bedroom door and returning to her desk. She pulled the newspaper clipping out from under the pages of Brett’s letter, looked at the black-and-white photo and read again the four words Brett had penciled on the edge: “A person can change.”
She absently rubbed her thigh, easing the cramp that had caught her, and looked out the window over her desk. She remembered hearing those same words spoken to her at the rehab the day she’d had her fixators removed.
“I’m not going to lie to you. Leeza,” said Dr. Dan. “This will hurt.”
Is there anything that doesn’t? she’d wanted to ask as she stared at the ceiling, but she was afraid she’d just start crying again. The way she had cried the night before. Despite having jammed the corner of her pillow into her mouth, she’d made noises that had even blocked out the sounds Stephen made. Or maybe Stephen had lain awake listening to her for a change.
“I’m going to give you some local freezing first, okay?” explained the doctor. “That will dull the pain somewhat. It won’t stop it, but it should make it more bearable.”
That’s what she needed, Leeza thought. Something to dull the pa
in. She could have used it yesterday. You bastard! What are you doing here? She made a straightline with her lips, tried once again to keep from crying. Don’t you know who this is?
“If it starts to hurt too much, you just squeeze real tight, okay sweetheart?” Diane said. She gripped Leeza’s right hand while Jack, his face pale but determined, held her left.
“That’s what my husband told me the night I gave birth to our first son,” a nurse offered as she passed the doctor the needle.
“Did it work?” he asked.
The nurse laughed softly. “I nearly broke his hand,” she said.
Leeza tried to let their small talk do its job, get her mind off things. Not the medical procedure they were involved in—removing her fixators—but the drama that had unfolded before her the previous day. Is this some kind of sick joke? Wanted to forget the shock, the deception, the betrayal. That monster is the one who put you here!
“Everything okay?” the doctor asked.
Leeza nodded. Get that goddamn son of a bitch out of my daughter’s room! “Everything’s wonderful,” she lied.
The procedure took less time than Leeza would have expected. Of course, she had no idea just what to expect any more. She’d learned you really couldn’t depend on anything. Or anyone.
“All finished,” the doctor said as he placed the last of the metal pins on the tray. “Sheila here is going todress the pin-sites again. You’re going to notice quite a difference in the healing process once the holes begin to close over.”
Leeza would think of those words often the rest of that morning, think about holes that weren’t drilled through skin and bone. Holes you could see and holes you couldn’t. Holes you didn’t think could ever close over. Would, instead, remain red and raw, would ooze pus and grow leathery tissue around the edges that would only crumble and decay. Perhaps there were things you could depend on after all. Death and decay. And disappointment.
When she was returned to her room and Jack and her mother stepped out for lunch, she finally allowed the tears to come. And they kept coming, gulping sobs clawing at her throat, making her shudder. She was reaching for yet another tissue to dry her eyes and blow her nose when one was handed to her. She looked up.
“I’m sorry, Leeza,” Reef whispered hoarsely. If anything, he looked worse than she did. As if he’d had something of his own surgically removed.
“Go away,” she moaned, turning her face toward the window.
“Leeza.” It was Brett’s voice. “You need to hear him out. He’s been calling. He was downstairs with me all morning. He really didn’t know who you were. Honest.”
Leeza stared at the window across the room, herback an iron bar. “Does that even matter?” she asked. “He did this to me!” And then she was sobbing.
“Yes, I did that to you.” Something seemed to clutch at the voice behind her, and the rest came out sounding strained. “I’m so sorry. You gotta believe me.” The voice caught again and there was silence for a moment before it continued. “But the guy who did that isn’t the guy who’s here now. A person can change.”
“What in HELL do you think you’re DOING?”
Leeza turned to see her mother enter the room. Except that “enter” didn’t describe her movement. She advanced into the room, took the room like a general would take an enemy camp. Thrusting herself between her daughter and Reef, she lowered her voice, but the intensity of emotion was the same as if she’d shouted the words: “You get out of this room and you stay out or I’ll call the police.”
“Please—” Reef began.
“And if I ever see you near my daughter again, or if you ever try to contact her, I’ll make sure you end up where you should have gone in the first place. Do you hear me?”
“I just want to—”
“No one wants you here!” she screamed. “Is that clear?” She picked up the phone on Leeza’s bedside table and began pressing numbers. “You’ve done all the damage to this family you’re ever going to do.” She spoke into the phone. “I’d like the police. I want to report—”
“Fine!” he shouted. “I’m outta here!” He was at the doorway when he turned again. “Leeza—”
“GET OUT!”
And he was gone.
There was a terrible silence in the room, a silence so palpable that the air seemed thick with it. Brett was the first to puncture it. “He just wanted to say he was sorry.”
Diane tore her eyes from the empty doorway and stared at Brett. “How could he think saying he was sorry would make up for what he did?”
“I don’t believe,” Brett said softly, “that he thought that.”
“I don’t care what he thought or didn’t think. I’ll see him in jail before I see him anywhere near Leeza again.”
And that’s how it ended. Leeza later learned from her mother that a judge had issued a court order preventing Reef from contacting her again. And she learned from Carly that Reef was reassigned to the Victoria General Hospital to complete his volunteer service.
And she learned from Brett, who had called North Hills and spoken to someone named Alex, that the Reef they knew really wasn’t the person Leeza had seen standing on the overpass that afternoon a lifetime ago. That person had never known his father, a boy not much older than himself who had gotten adeaf girl pregnant and then run off. Nor had that person known his mother, whose world of silence had kept her prisoner within herself until the boy’s attentions had drawn her out and then betrayed her. She’d wasted away, barely pushing the scrawny baby out of her body before leaving it herself. That baby became the focus of his grandfather’s anger: the reason for their poverty, the justification for every drink, the root of every rage. That baby became the frightened, angry boy who lost his grandmother to a disease he couldn’t see, the boy who was then shunted from one foster home to another, one school to another. That was the person on the overpass. Not the person who had sat with her, taken her for walks, taught her how to play poker, reminded her it shouldn’t hurt to laugh again.
There had been times during the rest of her rehab when she’d considered calling him herself. There’d even been times after she’d returned home that she’d picked up the telephone book and turned to the Ns to find the North Hills number.
But something had stopped her, some part of her that couldn’t forget the rock and the windshield and the cars that slammed into her, the sounds that she still heard sometimes at night, still made when the nightmares came too close, got too real.
She could not forget that. Would not excuse what had happened to her. What was still happening to her.
And then last Sunday her mother had convinced her to go to church with her and Jack, the first timeshe’d attended since Ellen’s funeral. She’d sat there, bored as usual, seeking a distraction to get her mind off the hard pew that cut off the circulation in her legs and made the left one throb. Her eyes were drawn to the stained-glass windows, drawn to the thousands of fragments, the shards of color that combined to form scenes and symbols and words. And it was at that moment that she heard the words of the minister as he preached about forgiveness from the Book of John: “And when the scribes and the Pharisees dragged the adulterer to the temple to be punished, Jesus said, ‘Let the person who is without sin cast the first stone.’“
Leeza picked up the clipping again, looked at the black-and-white photo and those four pencilled words one more time.
Chapter 28
“Sorry, Frank,” Reef said as he climbed into the pickup. He was almost thirty minutes late coming out of the school, and the April air had turned cool.
“You got the question again, right?” Colville asked.
Reef nodded.
Colville pulled the truck out into traffic, then glanced at Reef. “Doesn’t get any easier, does it?”
Reef shook his head. “Some parts do,” he said. “But not that one.”
They rode in silence for a few blocks. A light up ahead turned red and Colville geared down, eased the truck to a stop beside a
Mustang convertible. Despite the cool air, the top was down and two girls sat in the front bucket seats, laughing and talking above the tortured wall of the stereo. The driver looked over at Reef, said something to her passenger, and they both waved at him and smiled. Then the light turned green and they were gone.
Reef stared ahead as Colville eased into the left lane, waited for oncoming traffic to pass so he could turn. “Frank …” Reef began.
Colville didn’t need to look at Reef to know the question on his mind. “You know you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because of the injunction.” Colville sighed. “We’ve been through all this before, Reef. If you try to contact her, a judge could rule that you broke the terms of your probation. You know what happened before. Next time you won’t be so lucky. And you’ve come too far to throw it all away now.”
The traffic passed and Colville swung left, then straightened out the wheel. It took a moment before Reef realized where they were. Birmingham Avenue, heading west toward the Park Street overpass. He looked up, saw the overpass approaching, saw the chain-link fencing that now made it impossible for anyone to throw objects into the traffic below. Because of me, he thought. That’s because of me.
There were times when it seemed like the events of that day on the overpass had happened to someone else, some other Reef Kennedy, a Reef Kennedy who thought that life could be summed up in stupid lessons like Shit happens. Shit didn’t just happen. He knew that now. Shit got made. And the worst shit is the shit we make for ourselves.
He looked up, watched the Park Street overpass slide over them, then grow smaller in the truck’s side mirror as they left it behind. He had, he realized, left so many things behind during the past year. Some of them he’d worked hard at leaving. Like the anger andfear he’d spoken about to those students today. Some things, though, had just happened. Like friends. One of them was Alex, who had moved back in with his parents. The last time they’d spoken, Alex had cranked up his Hollywood diva act five notches and drawn numerous stares as they’d sat talking in the food court at the Halifax Shopping Center. He’d told Reef that things at home were “absolutely fabulous, honey,” but Reef had sensed the opposite was true. He’d thought of the Robert Frost poem they’d read in English class that week, thought of the part about home:
