He dismounted and walked alongside me. “I rode past your house last weekend. I was going to say hello, but you weren’t home.”
“We visit Mama every Saturday at the hospital.”
“How’s she doing?”
I didn’t get to answer because just then we heard the roar of an engine and turned to see J.T.’s truck bearing down on us. Jason grabbed my arm and pulled me aside just as the truck skidded to a halt. J.T. and his friend Frankie were out of the cab in a split second and standing like a wall in front of us.
“Well, what have we here?” J.T. said, glaring at us. “If it isn’t Darcy Quinlin and her good buddy Motorcycle Creep.”
Fear welled up inside me. Not for myself, because I didn’t believe J.T. would harm me, but fear for Jason. “You go on, J.T.,” I said. “No one’s bothering you.”
“You hear that, Frankie? She wants us to go away.” The sneer on J.T.’s face was frightening. “You stay and watch, Darcy. I want you to see what we do to him.”
“I don’t want any trouble,” Jason said.
“Well, you’ve got it,” J.T. said, balling his fists and taking a step closer. “I don’t like someone taking what belongs to me. And I really don’t like you.”
Of course he was referring to Donna—as if she was a piece of property instead of a person. I thought about screaming for help, but my tongue felt like a swollen blob in my mouth. And out here, we were alone. There was no one to hear me no matter how loudly I screamed.
Jason pulled me behind him as Frankie closed in on our left.
What happened next was so quick that it blurred. One second Jason was shielding me, the next he was crouched with an open switchblade in his hand. He lunged sideways, caught the fabric of Frankie’s shirt with the tip of the blade and drew it clear across his stomach, slicing open the shirt. Frankie yelped and staggered. He stumbled and fell. My stomach heaved, for I was certain that Jason had stabbed him and he was dead. J.T. stopped advancing. The blade of the knife flashed in the sun.
“Don’t make me cut you,” Jason said quietly. He flicked his wrist, made small threatening circles with the blade, then jabbed at the air between him and J.T.
“Hold on, man,” J.T. said. He stepped back, tripped over Frankie and landed in a heap on top of him. Both of them lay still, staring up at the shining knife.
Jason stood over them, tossing the knife expertly from one hand to the other. “You stay clear of me, Rucker.” Jason’s voice was stony cold. “Because if I have to cut you, I’ll make certain you never play football again. And as for Donna, you can have her back. I’m through with her.”
Nothing moved, not even the air. I stared down at Frankie’s slashed shirt. A drop of blood wet the fabric, and I realized that although the shirt had been slit across the entire front of Frankie’s body, Jason had left only one small nick in the skin. He could make good on his threat to J.T., and we all knew it.
Jason caught my hand. “Come on, Darcy. I’ll give you a ride. You can get the wagon later.”
We backed toward the cycle and got on. This time, I wasn’t wearing a dress to encumber me. I straddled the seat behind him, locked my arms around his waist and clung to him. He kick-started the engine and roared out of the field, leaving a cloud of dust and a terrified J. T. Rucker behind us.
We rode south out of town for miles. I felt icy cold with the wind whipping around me, my mind reeling over what I’d seen. When Jason finally slowed and stopped, we were on a two-lane road far out in the country. Cows, grazing in a field beside us, gave us curious stares. Jason asked, “You all right?”
“I—I think so.” But I wasn’t. I felt shell-shocked, the way Kyle had described it in his journal. Numb, with a buzzing in my ears, my skin prickling all over.
“You look cold.” Jason removed his leather jacket and slipped it around my shoulders. He caught the collar on either side in his hands and pulled me toward him so that I was standing on tiptoe and only inches from his face. “It’s okay, Darcy. J.T. and I have been on a collision course for a long time. I’m sorry you had to be there for the crash.”
I looked into the depths of his eyes, searching for remorse, or perhaps regret. “Would you have hurt him?”
His expression was resolute. “Yes. I would have hurt him. Because if I didn’t, one day he’d hurt me. It’s the law of the streets.”
“Even in Conners?”
He nodded ruefully. “Even in Conners.”
“And are you really throwing Donna back to him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m through with her,” he said simply. “I never really wanted her.”
“Why did you take her from J.T. if you didn’t want her?”
Jason shrugged. “Because I could,” he said, as if it was the most logical explanation in the world.
His answer left me colder than had the ride through the March air. “Will you take me home?”
He slowly let go of the jacket’s collar and stepped aside, putting distance between us that felt as wide as a canyon to me. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s go.”
I got on the cycle and we returned to Conners and my driveway, where I dismounted, handed him his jacket and hurried into my house without so much as telling him thank you, or even goodbye.
Papa had arranged with the hospital for our family to take a phone call from Adel all the way from Germany on the first Saturday in March. Mama, Papa and I were in a small conference room staring at a speakerphone, which was nothing more than a little box sitting beside a telephone on the table. When the phone rang, we all jumped. Papa picked up the receiver, then pushed the button on the speaker box so that we all could hear Adel.
“Mama, I miss you so much” were her first words.
“I miss you too, honey,” Mama said.
“How about me, Adel? Do you miss me?” I asked.
“Yes, Darcy. I miss you and Papa both. You still doing good in school?”
“All A’s,” I said, which was the truth.
“I—I would have never believed I would be so lonesome.” Adel sounded weepy.
“It will pass as you adjust. Promise,” Mama told her.
“What’s it like in Germany?” Papa asked, changing the subject.
“Not like living in Georgia,” Adel said. “Barry took me to see the Berlin Wall and it was scary. The East German border patrol walks along the top with machine guns and they pick off anybody who tries to escape from their side of Berlin. Someone got shot last night trying to cross the border.”
“That’s awful,” Mama said. I saw her take Papa’s hand. “Adel, why are you crying?”
“B-because I’m so lonely. I—I want to come home.”
I thought, Adel wants to come back to Conners? Adel, who couldn’t wait to shake the dust of our small Southern town off her dainty little feet? “But why?” I asked. “You’ve always wanted to travel.”
Papa gave me a glance that warned I shouldn’t digress. “How’s Barry doing?” Papa asked. “Does he know how you feel?”
“Barry’s wonderful. It’s just that he’s gone a lot. We hardly ever see each other. We live in horrible housing. It’s always cold and the kitchen’s about the size of my closet back home.”
“Aren’t there other army wives in the same boat?” Papa asked.
“I really don’t like them all that much. They’re different from me. Army life is—is . . .” She searched for words and finally settled on “I just don’t like it here. I want to come home.”
“But, honey, you’re married,” Mama said. “Your place is with your husband.”
I couldn’t believe that Adel was saying the things she was saying.
“Mama, I have something else to tell all of you.” Adel’s sniffly voice crackled through the speaker box.
“Tell us, honey.”
“Mama, I’m going to have a baby. I just found out yesterday.”
The three of us sitting at the table looked at each other. Papa’s eyebrows shot up, Ma
ma shrugged and I groaned, remembering J.T.’s hateful take on Adel’s sudden marriage plans. After a few seconds Mama said, “Why, Adel, honey, that’s wonderful news. When?”
“Early November,” she said. “The army doctor says I’m just barely six weeks along.”
I did a quick calculation and breathed a quiet a sigh of relief. November was eight months away. Adel hadn’t been pregnant when she married at Christmastime. “That’s so cool!” I blurted out. “I’m going to be an aunt!”
Adel burst into tears. “I’m sick to my stomach every day.”
“It’s morning sickness. Trust me, it’ll pass,” Mama said.
“And you’re sick, Mama. I can’t stand the idea of you so sick with cancer and me so far away.”
I was suddenly sympathetic to my sister, which I had not been up to that point. Being worried about Mama’s health was something we certainly had in common.
“I’m almost finished with this round of chemo,” Mama said. “Then I’ll be going back home. So don’t worry about me. You just take care of yourself and our grandchild.”
We could hear Adel sniffing.
I saw bright tears in Mama’s eyes. I felt moisture in my own.
“You take it easy, little girl,” Papa said into the speaker. “I don’t know how many crying women I can handle at one time.”
We all laughed self-consciously, which broke the tension.
“I—I have to go,” Adel said. “The communications sergeant who’s letting me make this call is saying my time’s up.”
“I’m glad we talked,” Mama said. “And I’m excited and pleased about your news. Give Barry a hug from us.”
“I want you to see my baby, Mama,” Adel said fiercely. “I want you to hold it in your arms.”
“And so do I,” Mama said. “You write us, you hear?”
“I’ll write every day.”
We said our goodbyes, then sat quietly in the room. It had never occurred to me that Mama wouldn’t hold the baby when Adel and Barry returned to the States. Yet Adel’s pleas had sent a chill through me that made me shiver. I gave my parents a sidelong glance, studying their entwined fingers. Well, of course Mama would see the baby. Her doctors were sending her home, and they wouldn’t do that unless she was better. Would they?
Nineteen
On Monday morning, I was called down to Principal Hagan’s office. I knocked on the door, and when he opened it and I walked into the room, I found myself facing Jason, J.T. and Frankie, all sitting in a row of chairs. My mouth went bone-dry.
“Hello, Darcy,” Mr. Hagan said. “Sit down and join us.”
I sat in the chair he pointed to, across from the three boys.
The principal rocked back on his heels. “First off, Darcy, you’re not in any trouble.”
I felt no relief.
“I asked you here in hopes that you can clear up some confusion in the story two of these boys are telling me.” He gestured toward the stony-faced threesome. “Mr. Rucker and his friend have accused Mr. Polwalski of pulling a knife on them and threatening them with serious bodily harm. In fact”—Mr. Hagan paused, reached for a bag on his desk, opened it and pulled out Frankie’s slashed shirt—“they have even brought me evidence to support their story.”
I understood the situation instantly. J.T. was getting back at Jason the only way he could—by telling on him.
Mr. Hagan crossed his arms and continued in his strongly accented Southern voice. “Now, I pride myself in knowing what goes on in the lives of my students. Why, I’ve known most of the kids here all their lives. So, it has not escaped me that Mr. Rucker has, on occasion, given Mr. Polwalski a hard time.”
J.T. opened his mouth as if to speak, but Mr. Hagan gave him a withering look. “I am still talking, son.” He turned to me. “J.T. says that you were present when this knife incident happened. Therefore, I have called you in to either verify or refute the story.”
“What did Jason say?” I asked, buying myself some time.
Mr. Hagan glanced over at Jason, whose expression was inscrutable. “Mr. Polwalski has neither confirmed nor denied the story. In fact, he has said nothing in his defense. Not a word.”
Jason’s face was a mask of calm, and I wondered if his silence was peculiar to the streets where he’d grown up. I reminded myself that J.T. and Frankie had been out to do Jason bodily harm. If they hadn’t, the knife might never have appeared.
“Darcy?” Mr. Hagan’s voice sliced through my thoughts. “Were you present when this alleged incident occurred?”
I nodded.
“And did Mr. Polwalski draw a knife?”
My conscience dogged me to be truthful. And then there was my blushing problem—any hint of a lie was likely to turn me cherry red. J.T. shot me threatening looks. Yet what he was doing to Jason angered me. He was a rat fink. He had gone to Principal Hagan because he couldn’t get even with Jason any other way. This incident would surely mean an automatic expulsion. And with it, J.T. would be free to strut and brag about how he had gotten Jason thrown out of school. Jason would not graduate, and J.T. would be free to terrorize again. He was a football hero. He was a god. Who would stop him?
I looked up into Mr. Hagan’s eyes. “Here’s what happened,” I said. “J.T. and Frankie were intent on taking Jason out. They found him alone in the junkyard with me and figured it would be a good time to do it. Jason saw them coming. He grabbed my hand and we ran to his motorcycle, got on and got out of there as fast as we could.”
J.T. shot forward. “You lying little b—”
“Hush your mouth, J.T.!” Mr. Hagan roared. “You will not speak like that to anyone in my office. Understand?”
“But she’s lying! Jason had a knife. You’ve got the shirt to prove it.”
“Anyone could have cut this shirt, J.T.,” Mr. Hagan said. He turned back to me. “So, Darcy, you’re saying that you never saw a knife?”
I sat very straight, my gaze riveted on the wall just above J.T.’s head. “No, sir, I didn’t see a knife.” I didn’t flinch. And for the first time in the history of my life, my face didn’t turn red and betray me.
“But he—” J.T. started.
“You are excused,” Mr. Hagan said. “All of you are excused. Return to your classes.”
We shuffled to our feet and crossed single file to the door.
“Thank you, Darcy,” Mr. Hagan said. “Please give my regards to your mother.”
“I will, sir,” I said.
In the hall, J.T. brushed past me and might have shoved me into the wall except that Jason sidled between us. We fell into step together. Jason said, “Hear me, Rucker. If you come back on Darcy in any way, I will hunt you down and finish what I started.”
“Are you threatening me again?” J.T. snarled.
“No,” Jason said. “I am predicting the future.”
J.T. and Frankie kept moving. With a thrill of satisfaction, I watched them swagger down the hall. Without another word, Jason took my hand and ducked out a side door, pulling me with him. The sun shone, but a cool breeze had kicked up.
“I have to go back to class,” I said. The enormity of what I’d just done was starting to sink in. I had lied. I had lied to the principal of the school. I, Darcy Rebecca Quinlin, who had been taught from infancy that lying was a sin.
Jason backed me against a brick wall. “Why did you do it, Darcy? Why did you lie for me?” His expression was wary and not one bit grateful.
I raised my chin in defiance. “Don’t be so conceited. It wasn’t all about you. I saw a chance to slam J.T. He had it coming.”
Jason studied my face as if looking for magic writing to appear and give him a message. After a long time, he said, “Thank you for saying what you did. I’m not sorry about what happened, but I wouldn’t want to make trouble for Carole and Jim.”
“Me either,” I said. And of course, I could never tell him that the real reason I had lied was because I loved him. No. I could never tell him that.
Mama came ho
me in the middle of March. The night before Papa was to pick her up, I was writing a paper for English lit class at the kitchen table. Papa pulled out a chair across from me and said, “We need to talk, Darcy.”
“All right.” I put down my pencil and closed my Shakespeare book.
“Things will be different this time for your mother.”
“How so?”
He laced his fingers together. “Dr. Keller will be taking over her care.”
This surprised me, for I remembered that the reason she’d gone to Atlanta in the first place was because Dr. Keller couldn’t take care of her. “He has new equipment?” I asked.
“No, that’s not the kind of care she’ll need. The doctors in Atlanta have done all for her that they can. Dr. Keller will be taking over her physical care, the day-to-day things.”
I must have looked confused because Papa added, “That is to say, Dr. Keller will make certain that she’s pain-free as much as possible.”
This made sense. Doc Keller was a whole lot closer than the doctors at Emory. “Okay,” I said. “How’s he going to do that?”
“There’ll be pills, of course, but injections too.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Shots for pain?” I said, for clarification. “Faster than pills, I guess.”
“I must work. And you must attend school. Therefore, your mother will be spending a large portion of her day here alone at the house. Friends have promised to check in on her. Carole says she’ll come every day and fix lunch. I’m having the phone company install another phone line on Monday in our bedroom. If your mother has a bad spell with the pain and nobody’s here, she can call Doc Keller herself. If you’re here with her, you call Keller.”
I nodded, realizing that Papa was giving me an important mission. “You know I will, Papa. I mean, if Mama’s hurting, I’ll call the doctor to come help without you telling me to.”
Papa’s brow furrowed and I saw that his eyes were glistening. Concern squeezed my heart; sympathy caused a lump to rise in my throat. I rarely saw my father show emotion.
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