“If you’re worried, why don’t you just ask him what’s going on?”
“Because that seems paranoid.”
“No, that’s being an adult.”
47
JESS
The weekend before the trial, I go to Dad’s for the weekend. I know he’s just trying to distract me. Ostensibly I’m there to help him hook up an extra monitor for his work computer. Dad and computers have never mixed, but lately, he’s full of surprises. I’m worried I might see Fish. I don’t know what I’d say to him if I did. That crazy trip across Texas seems like another lifetime ago.
The first night Dad and I watch our favorite movie, The Incredibles. When it ends, I get up to fix some tea. Dad’s asleep, but when I click off the TV, he yawns and rights his recliner.
“I’m gonna check on the dogs and then hit the sack.”
I take my tea and American History homework to my tiny bedroom with the Hello Kitty comforter and the rickety dresser full of Barbies and Beany Babies. In this room, time never passes. The reading is dense and boring; I’ve been slogging away for about an hour when a knock on my window makes me jump and I spill tea on my textbook. Another soft knock convinces me it isn’t the wind, so I set down my tea and look out the window. There’s almost no moon, but I think I see a shadow moving and then the unmistakable flare of a cigarette. Just before I let out a scream, I realize it’s Fish. I’m relieved, but my heart hasn’t stopped racing. What does he want? And do I want him to want something? I open the window.
“What are you doing? You scared the shit out of me!”
“Is your dad awake?”
“I doubt it.”
“Can I come in?”
“That’s not a good idea.” I listen for Dad but don’t hear anything. “Give me a minute,” I tell him. “I’ll come out.”
Homeboy whines, but Willard only watches as I walk past them. Fish waits in the road smoking a cigarette.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
“Want a smoke?”
“No, thanks.”
I pull my hood up and stuff my hands in my pockets, trying not to meet his eye. He stands close and the smell of him—diesel and stale clothes—brings back the maintenance shack where we spent that first night. His hard chest pressed against my back, his arms wrapped around me while I lay awake that long night wondering how far away from Jefferson I could get.
Fish kicks at the gravel in the road. “So, how’s it going?” he asks.
“All right. I mean it’s going, you know. Did anything ever happen with the police?”
“Nah. They had nothing on me. Just a fine for the bike, but Jake paid it.”
“I’m glad.” We walk down the road away from the trailer. I don’t know what to say but whatever I say, I don’t want to be within earshot of Dad. “I’m sorry I dragged you into all that. I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble.”
“I’m used to it,” he says, grinning and reaching for my hand. I let him hold it for a minute, but it feels like a lie.
“Look,” I say, dropping his hand. “We don’t really know each other.”
“I think we know each other,” he says with a smile.
I walk faster, so he won’t see me blush at the memory of asking him to have sex. I was out of my mind and I’m super grateful Fish refused, and I know that makes him an honorable guy, but now I don’t know how I feel or what to say. He’s a good person despite the greasy hair and the cigarettes, but he’s not someone I could be with, not in that way, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings either. I don’t have many friends to spare these days.
He catches up, touches my arm to stop me.
“My dad will kill me if he sees me with you.”
“He doesn’t have to know.” He looks away, kicks at the gravel. “I like you. I thought you liked me.”
“I like you, but things are different now. If the judge doesn’t throw me in prison, I’m getting out of Texas.”
“I’ll go with you. We’ll make it this time.”
“Not like that. I’m going to college.”
Fish lights another cigarette. “So that’s it. I mean nothing to you.”
Honesty seems like the best option. “I’m sorry. I thought I wanted you, but…. I think I just wanted a way out and you were that.”
“So you don’t want to have sex with me now?”
A nervous laugh slips out, but I don’t want him to think I’m laughing at him because I’m not. “That….that was just me trying to find someone to love me and I was pretty messed up.”
He sighs. “And I’m not someone you want to love you?”
“We’re too different. But we could be friends. We are friends.”
“Right. That bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit.”
“What does Jake think? Does he think we slept together?” he asks, rubbing out his cigarette on a tree.
“I don’t know what he thinks. We don’t talk about you.”
Fish shakes his head, focuses on something up the road. I think he’s trying not to cry and I feel like a supreme jerk for making him feel that way.
“I will tell him we’re friends and I want to see you sometimes.”
“Right. That’ll go over well.”
“It’s my life.”
“But you’re his daughter. He’s already told me two ways to seven that I can’t see you.”
“So you’re afraid of him?”
Fish tilts his head one way, then another. He taps his finger on his chin.
“I ain’t afraid of Jake Johnson.”
“Good. Then it’s settled. We’re friends.” I hold out a hand.
He looks at me for a long time, then he leans in and kisses my forehead. “I wish things were different,” he says.
“I do too,” I whisper.
Walking back to the trailer alone, I wonder if I’ll ever see Fish again.
48
LIZ
On Sunday night, when Jake arrives with Jess, I am kneeling in what is left of our front garden. I used my nervous energy to clean the inside of the house and then came out to get the stray bits of trash Jess missed when she picked up after this week’s deposit. Bizarre that it has become a weekly chore—pick up the trash that a stranger throws on our yard. Once I gathered the trash, I spotted the dead flowers left from last summer, forgotten in the chaos of our fall. So, I got my gloves and the wheelbarrow and pulled them out. I guess I am trying to put our house in order.
Jess slams the door to Jake’s truck, glances my way but says nothing and then spots Dylan in his backyard and heads in that direction. Jake approaches me where I am kneeling in the dirt.
“How’d it go?” I ask.
“It went.” He shrugs. “She got the monitor working, we did some fishing, nothing biting.”
I pull off my gloves and sit back on my heels. His dogs lean out the truck window. Drool hangs from the snout of the bigger one. I watch it drop to the sidewalk.
“So, you and Kevin….,” says Jake, raising his eyebrows. “Have a good weekend together?”
I ignore his comment. Kevin and I did not see each other at all. He was too busy. “Did she say anything about the trial?”
He shakes his head. “I thought about what you said, the appeal, I mean. I think if that happens we ought to go with a new lawyer.”
“Kevin is an excellent lawyer.”
“But he said that trial stuff isn’t his specialty. If we lose, well, maybe we should get a recommendation.”
> “I think Kevin is doing a good job.” At least I am hoping he is. I have the same doubts as Jake the closer we get to Wednesday, but what choice do we have?
“You don’t think him having the hots for you is clouding his judgment.”
I frown, roll my eyes. I know what is coming. “What are you trying to say, Jake?”
“Nothing,” Jake says. “Hey, whatever. I just don’t think we need him. I can find the money.”
“Right! Sure you can!” I stand, toss my gloves on the ground with the pile of dead flowers. “You are always going to take care of it, fix everything, only it never happens, does it? You never actually come through with any of your promises.”
“That’s not fair. I’m building the porch. I’m here for Jess.”
“Better late than never, right?” He can’t get back all the time he missed when she was growing up. There is no do-over in raising your kid.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m so tired of having this argument with you. Just drop it. Whatever Kevin and I have is none of your business.”
Jake turns to his truck and I think he will leave it at that, but then he says, “Shit, Lizzie, I never promised to be any more than I am. I’m sorry it’s never been good enough for you.”
I lean down and scoop up the pile of weeds, watch him get in his truck and leave. He doesn’t look back.
“Asshole!” I mutter as I fling the weeds in the wheelbarrow. Where was the grown-up Jake when I needed him?
49
JESS
On Tuesday, Ms. Ellen calls me down to her office. She says she just wants to check-in, see how I’m doing. The trial starts tomorrow.
I shrug. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it.
“You ready for tomorrow?”
“No.”
She smiles. “In some ways, you must be relieved that it will finally be over.”
“It won’t be over.”
“No, but the legal part will be.”
“That depends on whether the Mitchells bring a civil suit.”
“Do they plan to?”
“I don’t know. Mom never wants to tell me anything about that.”
Ms. Ellen scrunches up her face like she does when she’s considering something I’ve said. I like that she listens so hard. I wait.
“I’ve known Helen Mitchell a long time, and one thing I can say for sure about her is that she is a forgiving woman.”
I picture Helen Mitchell yesterday. I saw her on her porch yelling at a brown and white dog running around the yard barking. I almost stopped. “I don’t think I can ever expect the Mitchells to forgive me.”
“Forgiveness is complicated,” she says and then opens her planner like she’s finished talking.
“Why would the Mitchells ever forgive me?”
She sets down her pen, temples her fingers, and looks at me all serious. “You know, Jess, they may need to forgive you as badly as you need to apologize.”
Ever since I was little and my mom made me apologize to Billy Higgins for running over his foot with my bike, I’ve hated to say I’m sorry. He had it coming, and it’s not like I really hurt him. But after he told on me and his mother called, Mom drove me over to his house and made me stand on his porch and tell him I’m sorry. And then she and his mom drank lemonade, and I had to spend my Saturday afternoon at Billy Higgins’ house. I wasn’t sorry. I told my mom that later, and she said, “That’s how life works. You hurt someone; you say you’re sorry. The sooner you figure that out, the happier your life will be.”
It’s not that I don’t feel sorry. I’ve never been sorrier for anything in my life than I am for whatever happened in that car. But saying I’m sorry doesn’t seem like it would ever be enough. Not for the Mitchells or this town.
— — —
I skip practice and text Mom I’m going home early to get ready for tomorrow. On the bus, Dylan is surprised to see me and waves me back to his seat.
“What’re you doing on the bus?”
I shrug. “Can’t I ride the bus?”
“So what gives?” asks Dylan. “Isn’t track, like, every day?”
“I didn’t feel like going today.”
“Cool,” says Dylan. I put my earbuds in so he’ll stop talking, but he doesn’t. “You wanna hang out then?”
“I’m going to go for a run.”
“You make no sense. Anyone ever tell you that?”
I turn up the volume on my music and lean against the window and close my eyes. I wonder if there is any way I could skip the trial. Kevin could just say I was sick. Seeing Coach’s family up close again. I don’t know if I can do it.
Mom is crazy stressed about tomorrow. She’s constantly asking if I’m okay. I’m not okay, but there’s nothing my mother, or anyone else, can do about it. Aunt Kate said not to worry, she’ll be praying all day tomorrow. Our family has never gone to church, but sometimes I imagine there’s this really great dad-type guy who’s up there looking out for people. But then I wonder why he didn’t look out for Coach Mitchell. Still, it’s kinda nice that Aunt Kate will be praying.
As soon as I get home, I change into my running shoes and head out. There’s somewhere I have to go. I can’t explain it, but ever since I talked to Ms. Ellen I feel like I have to do this before tomorrow happens. Before someone makes me apologize.
When I get there, I stand by the mailbox and study the house. It has a stillness about it like it’s waiting for someone. I follow the stone path to the door. If I don’t do this now, I might never do it. Before I can ring the bell, a dog barks. And then Helen Mitchell opens the door.
“Jessica,” she says, then holds up a finger and disappears back into the house. A moment later she reappears and has the source of the barking on a leash. The dog has short hair, like Homeboy and Willard, but he’s less substantial. His short ears bend over crookedly.
Ms. Helen opens the door and hands me the leash. “Could you walk him for me?”
“Uh, yeah,” I stammer.
“That would be so helpful. Thank you, dear,” she says and closes the door.
I look down at the quivering dog beside me. He can’t contain his excitement and launches himself off the porch, dragging me with him. We complete two laps of the block and still, the dog pulls at the leash. Has no one walked him in a month?
When I return to the house, Ms. Helen is sitting on the porch with a book. She smiles when she sees me.
“Oh, good. Did you tire him out?” she calls.
“I don’t know. He still has a lot of energy.”
“Have a seat.” She gestures to a bench against the wall. Miraculously, the dog lays at my feet.
“Mrs. Mitchell, I—”
“My son Robert Junior got me that dog. He thought I needed the company. He wears me out.” She smiles and shakes her head. “The dog, not my son. Or maybe my son, too.” She chuckles softly.
I don’t know what to say. I pet the dog and try to form the apology on my lips again, but I seem to have misplaced it. I take a deep breath and look at her. She’s staring at me and smiling.
“When my husband came home at night, first he’d walk his dog and then we’d sit on this porch if it was nice or in the kitchen if it wasn’t. He always wanted to talk about the boys- the football players,” says Ms. Helen. Now she stares out toward the road to where the daffodils line the picket fence like brightly colored socks. I follow her gaze and watch a rabbit hop between the flowers, nibbling on a few of them. I glance at the dog sleeping by my feet, oblivious to the rabbit’s presence.
&nbs
p; “He loved the boys. Do you know I found a prayer journal of his in the stuff they brought over from the school? There were hundreds of prayers in that book for boys who are grown men by now. I wonder if they ever knew he prayed for them.”
My heart begins to hammer. I have to say it, but now I feel like I’d be interrupting. I can’t tell if she expects me to respond or if she’s just thinking out loud.
“Everyone misses him,” I finally say. “The track team dedicated their season to him.”
Ms. Helen turns to look at me. She stares so long I grow uncomfortable. Finally, I say, “I’m sorry,” but the words sound small and insignificant. Like dandelion fluff, they vanish and I wonder if I really said it.
“You’ll come and walk Sherman again,” says Ms. Helen as she gets up. She reaches for the leash and pulls on the sleeping dog. “C’mon, Sherman,” she says, and the dog follows her inside.
Walking home, I’m convinced I never really said I was sorry. That I only imagined it. It was crazy to go there. She seems crazy too. But maybe it’s grief. Maybe her grief made her crazy.
50
LIZ
On Tuesday, Kevin shuts himself in his office all afternoon, telling me to hold his calls. And then Jill calls. When I tell her he isn’t taking any calls, she says, “He’ll take mine.”
I knock tentatively on the door before opening it. Kevin is leaning over his desk, one hand rubbing his temple, the other staring at his computer. He says nothing.
“It’s Jill,” I tell him.
He looks up like a startled deer. “Here?” he asks.
“No, on the phone.”
He looks at the phone like it might bite him. “Okay, thanks.”
He waits for me to leave before answering the phone.
A few minutes later, he reappears and says, “I need to talk to you.”
Something about him is off. He has been distracted and distant for days. I figured he was just worried about the trial. He locks the front office door and sits down on the loveseat in the waiting area. I sit beside him.
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