Sunday, December 13^th, 2009

 

 

Kylee broke up with me today. My class ring is now stuffed beneath my socks in a dresser drawer. Maybe things would have worked out differently if last night hadn’t reminded me of that Saturday night two weeks ago.  It was snowing, and my father was working a twenty-four hour shift, and Clarice was here with me before I left to pick up Kylee for our date. Maybe if Kylee hadn’t pressured me to take her out in the first place, maybe if she would have understood I didn’t feel like going on a date and not gotten all teary-eyed while wondering what was wrong between us, I never would have done what I did.

 

     My hands are shaking because I’m so ashamed of myself.  I know better than to try what I did.  My father always taught me that when a girl says “no” then that means no, and I have to respect that.  He just...Papa never told me how sometimes so many emotions can be pushing and pulling you in other directions, and how easily you can ignore “no” if you let those emotions take over.

 

     Maybe I can figure out why what happened last night happened, if I start at the beginning, which was last Sunday, December 6^th. 

 

     Papa and I didn’t go to church that morning. I didn’t feel like seeing anyone I went to school with, so I didn’t suggest we attend.  Papa didn’t say anything about attending church either, but then, he usually leaves it up to me to mention it. I think he figured it would do me good to sleep late on the last day before I had to return to school, and just in general, not have to be anywhere at a certain time.  Normally, I like going to church, but as I said, I didn’t feel like being around anyone I went to school with, and since I’d stayed up most of Saturday night listening to make sure my father was okay, I was beat.  I slept until noon, which is pretty much unheard of for me unless I’m sick.  Papa was just coming in from outside, as I entered the kitchen after showering and dressing in a pair of faded jeans and a brown sweatshirt Carl had given me last year that bore the logo of the Eagle Harbor Police Department.  My father’s face was red from the cold, and he rubbed his hands together trying to warm them.

 

     “Did you do chores?” I asked

 

     “Yeah.  I called the twins and told ‘em they didn’t have to come by any more.  I’ll give you some money tomorrow to take to school for them.”

 

     “They didn’t do the chores for us to get paid.”

 

     “I know.” Papa turned on the hot water at the sink and washed his hands. “But it was nice of them to offer, and besides, what teenager doesn’t appreciate a little extra cash?”

 

     “True,” I agreed, as I rummaged through the refrigerator looking for something to eat.

 

     Papa wiped his hands dry on a clean dishtowel, then pushed me aside.  “Sit down. I’ll make us bacon and eggs.”

 

     “Didn’t you eat breakfast?”

     “Just had some juice and toast.”  He glanced at the clock as he pulled the frying pan out of a cabinet. He set it on the stove, then walked over and laid a hand on my forehead.  “Are you feelin’ okay?”

 

      I hate it when he treats me like I’m five years old.  The hand on the forehead thing always reminds me of when I was a little kid.  Sometimes it’s comforting, sure. But other times, like last Sunday, it’s just plain annoying. For that reason, I leaned sideways in my chair, which caused my father’s hand to fall away.

 

     “Yeah. I’m fine. Guess I stayed up too late watching TV.”

 

     “Guess so.”

 

     Papa must have been satisfied that I wasn’t running a raging fever, or in danger of dying from some mysterious illness, because he walked back to the stove.

 

     “Is your homework done?”

     “Yep. Got it finished while you were at the station yesterday.”

 

     “Good. Then you’ve got the rest of the day free.”’

 

     “Why’s that good?”

 

     He took the carton of eggs and a package of bacon out of the fridge. “You’ll be able to spend the afternoon with Kylee, and not worry about making time for homework.”

 

     “Oh...oh yeah.  Well...it doesn’t matter anyway, ‘cause she can’t come over.”

 

     Papa half turned to face me as he cracked six eggs into a mixing bowl, and scrambled them with a fork he’d grabbed from the silverware drawer.

 

     “You can pick her up if she can’t get the car. You’ve been feeling fine, so I don’t have any concerns about you driving to town and back.”

 

     “It’s not that she can’t get the car.  She just...she has a lot of homework to do, and her mom says she needs to get it finished.”

 

     “She can do it here.”

 

     I stood to grab a loaf of bread from the cabinet we keep it in. My actions weren’t prompted by the fact that I wanted toast, but because I knew it was more difficult for my father to make eye contact with me if I kept moving.

 

     “I know. But Mrs. Bonnette wants her to stay home.”

 

     I could feel my father studying me, but I refused to look at him as I stuck two slices of bread into the toaster.  As bacon popped and sizzled in the frying pan, he finally said, “It’s too bad she can’t come over, but if her mom says no, then no it is. If you wanna call the twins and see if they can come over, or someone else, go ahead.  My offer of dinner in Juneau still stands. Doesn’t make any difference to me who we take.”

 

     I shrugged. “I’ll think about it. I’m...I’m kinda tired.  It won’t bother me to just hang around here with you today.”

 

     Papa cocked an eyebrow at me. “You sure you’re feelin’ okay?”

 

     “Yeah. Why?”

     “First of all, you just woke up, so you shouldn’t be tired. And second of all, I think the last time you volunteered to hang around with me on a Sunday afternoon, you were thirteen.”

 

     I smiled at Papa’s teasing. His comment wasn’t entirely true.  We do things together on Sunday afternoons sometimes, but yeah, like most teenagers, I usually prefer being with my friends if given the choice.  I don’t know what made me reach out an arm and give him a sideways hug, other than to say I suddenly thought of the Sunday afternoons Carl and Papa hung out together working on the ’66 Corvette Carl started restoring last spring, or playing basketball, or watching a football game, and I felt so bad because it was my fault that friendship had been taken from him.

 

     Thinking of Carl made my smile fade as quickly as it had come.  I let my arm slip from my father’s waist before he got a chance to hug me in return.  His own surprise over the way I’d initiated that show of affection had made him slow to respond, and in a way, I was glad. It felt good to comfort him for a change, instead of the other way around.  Despite all that’s happened in recent days, I often get more of a glimpse of what adulthood is all about.  I don’t always like what I’m seeing, but sometimes I do.

 

     I got out another frying pan, poured some cooking oil in it, and grabbed five round potatoes the size of my hand from the vegetable crisper in the refrigerator.  My father loves hash brown potatoes with his eggs, but he doesn’t make them because he says it’s too much of a hassle. 

 

“Turn the flame down on those eggs so they don’t cook so fast. I’m gonna make you some hash browns.”

 

     “You don’t have to.”

 

     “I want to.”

 

     “It’s too much of a hassle.”

 

     “But you love ‘em.”

 

     “Yeah, when Clarice makes ‘em I do.”

 

     “What?” I asked, feigning insult. “You don’t think I can make good hash browns?”

 

     “I’m sure you can. After all, you’ve been watching Clarice make ‘em for the last sixteen years.”

 

     “That’s true. So see, I can make good hash browns.”

 

     “Probably. I just meant that they’re always better when someone else makes ‘em because it takes too long to fix ‘em, and then you have another pan to wash.”

 

     “We have a dishwasher,” I reminded. “And contrary to the John Gage philosophy on cooking, not everything you make has to be prepared in ten minutes or less, or taken from the freezer and put in the microwave.”

 

     Papa grinned as he snitched a piece bacon out of the frying pan, let it cool a few seconds, then popped it in his mouth. “In my book it does, kid, but hey, if Clarice has taught you culinary skills that are lost on me, I won’t argue with that.”

 

     “Good. Just keep an eye on those eggs, don’t let the bacon get cold, and put the lever down on the toaster when I tell you to. I’ll take care of the hash browns.”

 

Papa’s eyes twinkled at the way I was ordering him around. He gave me a mock salute and said, “Yes, sir.”

 

     I peeled the potatoes, washed them, then took the grater out of what Clarice refers to as the utensil drawer. I grated the potatoes into a deep bowl while I let the pan heat. When the potatoes were cooking, Papa set the table and kept an eye on the other food.  He put the lever down on the toaster when I announced it was time to do so, and spread margarine and grape jelly on the bread slices when they popped up the perfect shade of golden brown.

 

     I turned the potatoes one last time with the spatula I had in my hand, then lifted the pan from the burner.  I shut the flame off and walked over to the table, where I divided the potatoes between the two plates of scrambled eggs and bacon Papa had setting in front of our chairs.  He poured orange juice into glasses, while I carried the empty pan to the sink.  We sat down together, and the first thing my father did was take a big forkful of hash browns.  He chewed, and with his mouth still full said, “These are really good.”

 

     I shot him a smug smile.  “Told ya’ they would be.”

 

     We didn’t say much while we ate, but that had become normal for us ever since Carl died.  For the first time since Carl’s death, though, I thought my father seemed to have a good appetite, so I was glad I’d made the hash browns for him. When we were finished, I stood to clear the table. When Papa started to stand, too, I said, “Sit down. I’ll clean up.”

 

     “I can help.”

 

     “I know. But I wanna do it.”

 

     “If this is what sleeping until noon does for you,” Papa teased, “I think you should do it more often.”

 

     I knew he was referring to the hash browns I’d made, and then to the fact that I’d volunteered to clean up. 

 

     “Don’t get too used to it,” I teased right back. “I can promise it’s not gonna last.”

 

      “Too bad.  I’d enjoy having hash browns every Sunday.”

 

      “Buy ‘em frozen from the store and nuke ‘em,” I suggested.

 

      “It’s not the same.”

 

      “Same as what?”

 

“As when someone makes ‘em from fresh potatoes.”

 

      “I suppose not, but—”

 

      The phone rang in the middle of our discussion on the merits of frozen hash browns versus fresh ones.  Because I was putting dishes in the dishwasher, Papa got up and answered it.

 

     I heard him say, “Chief Gage’s residence,” and then my stomach turned over when he said, “Oh, hi, Kylee.”  Before I could grab the phone away, he said, “Sure he’s here,” and “Hey, sorry to hear you can’t come over this afternoon. If you get your homework done, feel free to call Trevor. He’ll come get you.”

 

     I don’t know what Kylee said in return, but it must have been enough to clue Papa in on the fact that I hadn’t called Kylee and invited her to come over like I’d told him.  He said, “Oh, I see,” in an uncomfortable sort of way, and then said, “Here’s Trevor,” and handed me the phone real fast as though he knew he’d put his foot in his mouth.

 

     Papa took over kitchen clean up, while I took the portable receiver and walked into the great room with it before putting it to my ear.

 

     “Hi.”

 

     The first thing out of Kylee’s mouth was a clipped, “What’s this about telling your papa I can’t come over this afternoon?”

 

     I kept my back to Papa as I crossed all the way to the far side of the great room. I pitched my voice to just above a whisper.

 

“Sorry.  I...I’m not feelin’ too good, and I don’t want him to know.”

 

     Kylee’s anger immediately turned to sympathy. As she murmured soft words of concern the way only women can, my mind drifted to the fact that I’d become quite skilled at lying to her in recent weeks. I’d been doing this since before Carl died – when the whole uproar happened between Pops and me over my book, and that kind of scared me.  I briefly wondered what it meant when lying to your girlfriend becomes second nature, but then tuned back into Kylee’s words and couldn’t take hearing her talk any more when she said, “Everyone at school was so upset over what happened to Carl. It just...it was a real different atmosphere all last week. Really sad. I felt so bad for poor Stephanie. She couldn’t stop crying. I think it’ll be better when you’re back tomorrow. Everyone’s anxious to see you.  I just called the hospital and talked to Jake’s mom. He’s doing better and—”

 

     “Listen, Kylee, I gotta get off the phone. Papa’s expecting a call.”

 

     “Oh...oh, okay.”

 

     I don’t know if she believed me or not, but either way, she sounded hurt, which in turn, made me feel like a louse for lying to her.

 

“I’m sorry. I’ll try and call you later.”

    

“Promise?”

 

     “Yeah...sure.”

 

     “You don’t sound like you mean it.”

 

     “I do.  I just...I’m just not feeling very well right now.  If I don’t call you, I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

 

     “You just promised that you would call me.”

 

     God, women have minds like steel traps.

 

     “I said I’d try to call you, and I will. It depends on when the call comes in that Papa’s expecting.”

 

     “It’s only one-thirty. You don’t have to stay off the phone until nine o’clock, do you?”

 

     Mr. Bonnette leaves for work at five each weekday morning, so it’s a well-known fact that unless you’re willing to risk your life, you don’t call Kylee’s house after nine.

 

     “I don’t know.  Like I said, it depends on when Papa gets that call.”

 

     “I can come over for a while. Mom’s not going anywhere this afternoon, so I’m sure I can use her car.”

 

     “No...no. I...like I said, I’m not feeling well.”

 

     “Trev—”

 

     I glanced over my shoulder. My father was seated at the table reading the newspaper that he must have gone into town for while I was still sleeping.  I turned back to face the wall.

 

“Listen, Pops is giving me the evil eye, so I gotta get off the phone. If I don’t talk to you later, I’ll see you in school, okay?”

 

     Kylee sighed, and I got the impression her sympathy with me had been replaced with exasperation.

 

“Okay.”  There was a moment of silence, then, “I love you, Trev.”

 

     “Love you too,” I said far too quickly, and without any feeling behind it.  “Bye.”

 

     I pressed the button that disconnected the call before I heard Kylee’s “goodbye” in return, if she even said it. 

 

     I walked the receiver back the kitchen and placed it in the phone’s base. When I turned around, Papa was looking at me. He cocked an eyebrow, which indicated he was waiting for an explanation as to why I’d told him I’d called Kylee when I really hadn’t.

 

     I dropped my eyes to the floor and said quietly, “I...I’m just not ready to see her before tomorrow.”

 

     When Papa didn’t respond, I looked up.  He must have been waiting for me to make eye contact with him, because he gave a slow nod.

 

     “Sometimes after you...lose someone you were close to, it’s hard to get back into the swing of daily life.”

 

     I swallowed hard and tried to find my voice around the lump in my throat.  “Ye...yeah.”

 

     “But it’s something you have to force yourself to do, Trevor.”

 

     “I will. Only...only not today. Tomorrow...tomorrow’s soon enough.”

 

     “If that’s the way you feel.”

 

     “It is.”

 

     “Okay then, how about if we go into Juneau and catch a movie?”

 

“Nah,” I shook my head. “We can watch a movie here.”

 

     “Trev, you’ve only been out of the house twice this week, and that was for Carl’s wa...” He didn’t finish with ‘wake and funeral’ like he’d started to say, but instead said, “that was just for a few hours on Thursday and Friday.  It’ll do you good to get away from here for a while.”

 

     “I’ll get away tomorrow when I go to school.”

 

     “How about getting away for some fun this afternoon?”

 

     I wanted to say, “I don’t feel like having fun,” but I knew that would only cause a new round of worries for Papa, so I settled on, “If you don’t mind, I’d just like us to stay here.”

 

     “Okay,” Papa reluctantly agreed. “We can go to Donna’s for supper later.”

 

     “Or we can stay here and eat some of the food Nana Josephine and Nana Marie sent home with us.”

 

     “Trevor...”

 

     “I just wanna stay here today, Papa.  I just...I just wanna stay here and be with you.”

 

     Like Kylee had done a few minutes earlier, Papa sighed.  Whatever concerns he had for me, and I could tell by looking at his face he had plenty, he kept to himself.  He forced a smile.

 

“All right, pick out a movie.  But not Braveheart. I’ve seen it so many times I’ve got Mel Gibson’s lines memorized.”

 

     “How about Lord of the Rings then?”

 

     My father groaned.  Any of the Lord of the Rings films qualify as my second favorite movie, and we’ve seen each of them as much as we’ve seen Braveheart.

 

     “How about anything but Lord of the Rings or Braveheart?”

 

     The oak cabinet next to the TV is filled with movies, so I took pity on Papa and picked out something I knew he liked – Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.  When we finished watching that movie, I put in another favorite of his, Raiders of the Lost Ark.  I helped Papa do chores that evening, and then we watched a third movie while we ate supper. 

 

We’re not usually couch potatoes to that extreme, but for reasons I can’t identify, it felt good to be at home with just my father, rather than being with my girlfriend, or having friends over, or being in a crowded theater in Juneau.  Papa had built a fire in the great room’s fireplace; that action reminding me of the many winter Sunday nights we’d passed with a movie when I was younger. 

 

Maybe that’s part of the reason I’d picked Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone after we’d come in from outside.  For just a little while, I was able to pretend Carl wasn’t really dead, and Jake wasn’t in a hospital’s Intensive Care Unit, and that I was nine years old again and curled up next to my father as we sat together in his recliner.  My world revolved around Papa back then, and in my mind, there was no problem he couldn’t fix, make right, or help me work my way through.  The difference now is, I’m far too old, and far too tall, to share the same chair with Papa, and for as much as my world still revolves around him at times, I know he can’t fix everything, or solve all of my problems. I suppose that’s the hardest part about being a parent – realizing that the day has arrived when your child’s problems go beyond a third grade math assignment he needs help with, or giving him the quiet assurances he needs in order to combat homesickness and go away to summer camp, or repairing the derailed chain on his bike.

 

The way Papa looked at me several times throughout that afternoon and evening, made me think he was pretending Carl was still alive, too, and that my problems were no bigger than those of the average nine-year-old boy. I hated the worry lines I saw that tugged his mouth into a frown, and the slump to his shoulders that broadcast how exhausted he was, and the way he had the heating pad resting against the small of his back while we watched TV.  That was the first time I’d seen him give in to the pain his back was still causing him. For the first time, I began to realize that maybe Papa hadn’t been sleeping nearly as well the past few nights as I’d thought.

 

We had just turned the TV off at nine-thirty and were getting ready to go upstairs to bed, when the phone rang.  I answered it, then passed the receiver off to Papa.

 

“It’s Mr. Montgomery.”

 

I wasn’t happy that Mr. Montgomery called. I knew all he was going to do was talk to my father about things that could have waited until their meeting the next morning. I thought Papa needed to be sleeping far more than he needed to be reassuring Mr. Montgomery that, in some way or another, they’d find a competent replacement for Carl.  I saw Papa rub his forehead with his hand, and could tell the last thing he wanted to talk about was replacing Carl.  I hung around the kitchen for a few minutes, but when I realized his conversation was going to last for a while, I caught his eye and mouthed, “Good night.”  Papa moved the receiver to below his chin and said, “ ‘Night, Trev,” while still listening to Mr. Montgomery voice his concerns.

 

Papa finally came upstairs thirty minutes later. I had my light off and was in bed, but when he gave a quiet tap on my door, I said, “I’m still awake.” 

 

When Pops opened my door, I said, “You should have told Mr. Montgomery that whatever he wanted could have waited until tomorrow.”

 

“He’s just worried, Trev.”

 

“Why? Anton’s the assistant chief. Won’t he be the one they name as chief?”

 

The ‘Anton’ I was referring to is Anton Baklanov. He’s been the assistant chief of police for as long as I can remember.

 

All Papa said in reply was, “I don’t know,” though by the tone of his voice I got the impression he knew a lot more than he was saying.  I wondered what was going on, and why what should have been an easy decision to reach, had so many people up in arms.  I hadn’t given it much thought before then, but suddenly I realized that all the calls Papa had taken that week, and the way he’d had to calm everyone down and assure them that a replacement for Carl would be found, meant that maybe there was some reason Anton wouldn’t be named chief of police.

 

“What’s goin’ on?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“But Anton—”

 

“It’s time to call it a night, Trev.  You’ve got school tomorrow, and I’m gonna be in meetings all day, so it’ll be a long one for both of us.”

 

Whatever was happening, I got the impression Papa didn’t want gossip going around Eagle Harbor, so I figured that’s why he wouldn’t fill me in. Not that I’m a gossip, but I suppose he was afraid I’d tell Kylee, or the twins, and then from there, the news would spread.

 

I didn’t pressure Papa to tell me more. I knew sooner or later I’d find out what the scoop was. News of any kind makes its way around Eagle Harbor with lightning speed.

 

I said good night to my father, then watched as he closed my door.  I heard Papa pacing the floor of his room until exhaustion finally claimed me shortly after one in the morning. I don’t know if Pops got any sleep at all that night, and I was left not knowing if he was pacing because his back was bothering him, or pacing because of something Mr. Montgomery had said.

 

Papa already had chores done when I went downstairs at six-thirty, and had the table set for breakfast. 

 

I pulled out my chair and sat down.  “Sorry. Guess I forgot to set my alarm.”

 

“I shut it off.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I didn’t want you getting up this morning before you had to.”

 

“Pops, I’m fine.”

 

“I know. But a guy’s first day back to his normal routine after he’s suffered a concussion can be pretty tiring.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“What about me?”

 

“You had a concussion, too.”

 

“Yeah, but I’ve had a few more knocks on this hard head of mine than you’ve had on yours.” He tossed me a smile. “And let’s keep it that way, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Papa glanced at the clock as he sat across from me. “You could have slept another half hour.”

 

School doesn’t start until eight, so I could have stayed in bed until seven, but since we’ve always had animals to take care of in the morning, I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t up by six during the week.

 

“I suppose,” I acknowledged, “but I’m not tired.  I was ready to get up.”

 

 I wanted to add, “You’re the one who should have stayed in bed,” but I didn’t, because I knew Papa would just deny it anyway.  He looked as tired as he had on Sunday, but before I had a chance to comment on that, Clarice walked in the door. It was difficult to see her, but yet at the same time, it felt good to have her back with us.  Normally, she doesn’t arrive so early, but I think she was anxious to return to work.  I suppose running errands for my father, cleaning our house, doing laundry, and cooking, helps her keep her mind off Carl.

 

Clarice was a little thinner, and I thought she looked pale, but all things considered, she was trying hard to be her old self.  The hugs she gave my father and me lasted longer than usual.  I wondered if by holding onto us, she felt like she was somehow recapturing a little bit of Carl.  My father told me one time that even after someone you love dies, a part of that person will always live on inside of you. That no one who made an impression upon you will merely pass through your life without leaving some bit of wisdom, or humor, or love behind, that you’ll pass onto someone else.  As Clarice hugged me long and hard, I wondered if she was trying to find what part of Carl still lived within me. I wanted to assure her that so much of Carl was within me, and always would be, but I couldn’t have said it without crying.

 

Papa made Clarice sit down and eat with us. We were having our usual weekday breakfast of toast and cereal.  We lingered around the table talking about everything but Carl – news from town, the latest headlines on CNN, and the fact that one of Clarice’s nieces had just found out she was expecting a baby in June.  Clarice was the one who finally noticed the time.

 

“You two better get going or you’ll both be late.”

 

Papa glanced at the clock, but didn’t jump up from the table like I expected him to. But then, I didn’t jump up from the table either.  I wondered if Pops didn’t want to spend the day in meetings where the agenda was to decide how to replace Carl, any more than I wanted to go to school and be asked questions about the accident. Neither one of us voiced those thoughts, though, and when Clarice said, “Go on you two.  I’ll clean up,” Papa and I stood.

 

I was still in my T-shirt and pajama bottoms, and Pops was in the jeans and shirt he’d worn outside. I took the stairs two at a time, with Papa following at a slower pace. I glanced over my shoulder and saw he had a hand pressed against his lower back.

 

“Are you sure you should be goin’ to work?”

 

“I’m okay.”

 

“You look like you’re in pain.”

 

“The muscles have just tightened up ‘cause I was sitting.”

 

“Maybe you should stay home.”

 

“Trev, sitting around at home is only going to make this worse. Back injuries are a double edged sword.”

 

“How?”

 

“Because it hurts to move, but sitting tightens the muscles and stiffens the joints.”

 

“So in other words, it hurts to sit, too.”

 

“It’s not so much the sitting that hurts, it’s the getting up and walking again part that isn’t much fun.”

 

“I...I’m sorry.”

 

Papa must have read something in my eyes that even I wasn’t aware was present – some flicker of guilt, or regret.

 

“Son, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

 

I quickly covered up whatever emotion it was I’d been broadcasting, because I couldn’t stand to see the worry return to his face. 

 

“I mean, I’m sorry you’re in pain.”

 

“I’m okay, Trev.  I’ve been in pain before and lived to tell the story.”

 

I forced a grin, all the while a voice inside me taunted, This is your fault. Your father’s in pain and it’s your fault.

 

“Yeah, but you’re gettin’ kinda old to be—”

 

Papa reached up and snared my wrist. He tugged backwards just enough to let me know his strength was still superior to mine, but not enough to pull me off balance.  He was the one who was grinning now.

 

“Who are you callin’ old?”

 

I laughed. “Did I say anything about someone getting old?”

 

“I didn’t think so.”

 

I saw him grimace when he let me go, so I knew that display of male ego had cost him, but I didn’t figure he’d admit it, and he didn’t.  He followed me the rest of the way up the stairs. I went in my room to get clean clothes for school, while Papa went to his room to get a clean uniform for work. 

 

Pops was still in his room when I reached the hallway.  His office downstairs was originally our home’s master bedroom and bathroom. Papa’s never used it as a bedroom, but we do use that bathroom when we have company, or when, like that morning, we both need to shower at the same time. 

 

“I’ll shower downstairs!” I called, knowing it would be easier on my father if he didn’t have to go downstairs to shower, then climb the stairs again in order to bring his dirty clothes to the hamper in the second floor bathroom.

 

I heard his, “Okay,” as I raced down the stairs.  I had no desire to go to school, but the only way I’d be allowed to stay home was if I said I was sick.  Given my recent injury, I knew if I said I was sick, Papa would take me to see Doctor Benson. Since I had no desire to spend half the day sitting in a doctor’s waiting room, I figured I might as well get to school on time. Arriving late meant I’d serve another detention in Mr. Hammond’s office on Friday, and I had no desire to do that any more than I wanted to sit in Doctor Benson’s office.

 

Papa and I left the house at the same time.  I heard my father ask Clarice if she’d be okay when he hugged her goodbye – something we don’t usually do – and I heard her say in return that she’d be fine. 

 

“I need to keep busy, John. I have things to do here today.  I’ll be all right.”

 

“If you need me for anything, give me a call.”

 

“I will,” Clarice promised.

 

I hugged Clarice as well, told her to have a nice day – which seemed like a stupid thing to say considering her only child had so recently died – then followed my father out of the door.

 

Papa said, “Have a good day,” as he paused in the act of climbing in the Land Rover. I threw my backpack on the passenger seat of my truck.

 

“I will.”

 

“If your head starts bothering you, or you feel sick to your stomach—”

 

Before Carl died, I would have rolled my eyes at my father’s concern and made some smart remark.  But my guilt over how much Papa was already worrying about me, made me give him a smile of reassurance.

 

“I’m fine, Papa. I’ll be okay.”

 

“All right, but call the station if you need me.”

 

“And you call the school if you need me.”

 

Papa gave a self-conscious grin. “Point taken.”

 

“Have a good one, Pops.”

 

“You too.”

 

I followed the Land Rover into Eagle Harbor, but I kept going straight after Papa pulled into the station’s parking lot.  The school was three blocks south of the station, and about a half mile west off Main Street.

 

I parked in the student parking lot, shut the truck off, and just sat there. It didn’t take long for the cold to permeate the cab.  Each time I exhaled, I saw my breath. Neither that, nor the cold biting at the tip of my nose, prompted me to exit the vehicle.  I shoved my hands in the pockets of my letterman’s coat and stared straight ahead, watching as kids entered the building through the main doors.

 

I reached for the ignition.  All I could think of was getting out of there as fast as I could.  I didn’t want to face anyone.  But before I could start the truck, someone knocked on the driver’s side window.  I turned to see Kylee smiling at me.

 

Oh please, go away, I thought. Just go away.

 

Dylan and Dalton were right behind Kylee, and Amanda and Stephanie was standing next to her.  They were all smiling and waving as though they were welcoming a conquering hero back home.

 

Why can’t they see I wanna be left alone?  I just wanna be left alone.

 

I had no choice but to pull the key out of the ignition. I put my key ring in a coat pocket, grabbed my backpack, took a deep breath, and then opened the truck door.

 

Kylee threw her arms around me and whispered, “Oh, Trev, I’ve missed you so much,” while everyone else told me they were glad I was back. 

 

My friends encircled me, leaving me no choice but to move with them toward the building. We seemed to attract other kids like magnets as we walked. The voices calling, “Hey, Trev, it’s good to have you back!” and “Hi, Trevor. Great to see ya’!” ran together until I couldn’t identify who was speaking, or which direction the voices were coming from. A huge white banner painted with blue letters hung in the foyer that read, ‘Welcome Back, Trevor.’ I found out later the girls in my class had made it at Kylee’s house after the funeral on Friday.

 

 When I spotted Jake’s sister, Amber, and his girlfriend, Jenna Van Temple, standing beneath the banner, I thought, Now I’m gonna get exactly what I deserve from someone in this town.  Amber and Jenna will let me have it in front of everyone, and they’ll all finally know I’m not a hero. They’ll all finally know it’s my fault Jake was hurt and Carl is dead.

 

But that’s not what happened. Instead, first Amber hugged me, and then Jenna hugged me, and they both told me they were glad I was back in school. I wanted to shout, “What’s wrong with you people?  Do I have to wear a big scarlet G in order for you to figure it out?” but I didn’t.  It was easier just to drop my eyes to the floor, mumble a few words that could have taken as anything from “Thanks,” to “Yeah, I’m glad to be back too,” and then move through the crowd.

 

The whole day went like that, with students and teachers welcoming me back as though I were some war hero who had saved hundreds of lives in battle, rather than the kid who had killed their town’s police chief.  As I watched all of them pretend I had nothing to do with Carl’s death, I wondered how much longer I could go on playing this game. 

 

Mrs. St. Clair asked me to stay after class when the bell signaling the end of the school day rang. I stood by my desk and nodded as Kylee said softly, “I’ll wait for you in the hall.”

 

Kylee had been my shadow all day.  I couldn’t shake loose of her, and I’d tried hard not to act like I wanted to, even though there were a couple of times when it took all the control I had not to lose my temper and snap, “Would you leave me alone, for crying out loud?”

 

I knew Kylee’s solicitous demeanor was a result of how much she cared for me, but I just wanted to move from class to class without an entourage of clucking females gathered around me.  At any other time I would have killed to have a group of girls paying that much attention to me, but by lunchtime on that Monday, it was wearing thin.  I began wondering if Kylee and her friends planned to follow me around for the rest of my life.

 

I didn’t appreciate Mrs. St. Clair’s solicitous demeanor any more than I appreciated Kylee’s.

 

“I’m so sorry, Trevor.  I know how close you were to Carl.”

 

I looked at the floor and nodded.

 

“You don’t need to worry about turning in an editorial for this week’s paper.”

 

I nodded again.

 

“And about your book...if you end up needing a little more time, I can make an exception given the circumstances.”

 

I finally met my teacher’s gaze. “I don’t want anyone’s pity.”

 

“It’s not pity, Trevor. It’s just that I understand it may be a few weeks before you’re ready to resume work on the book.  You’re carrying a full class load, and you request extra credit at every opportunity.  Not to mention all the other things you’re involved in.  If you need more time—”

 

“Everyone’s involved in a lot of stuff. You aren’t extending their deadlines, are you?”

 

“Well...no. No, I’m not.”

 

“Then don’t extend mine either.”

 

“You’ll be ready to turn your book in by April first, then?”

 

It was the perfect opportunity for me to tell Mrs. St. Clair that there would be no book, but instead of doing so, I nodded.

 

“Yeah. I’ll have it to you by then.”

 

Mrs. St. Clair gave me a motherly smile and patted my right arm.

 

“You go on. I didn’t mean to delay you. I’m sure you’re tired and ready to go home.”

 

“Yeah,” I agreed.  I wasn’t tired, but I was ready to be at home.

 

Doctor Benson wasn’t allowing me to play hockey for two weeks; therefore, I had no after-school practices to attend at the ice rink that was a few blocks down the street.  I could have gone and watched the guys practice, but I had no desire to do that, any more than I felt like watching the matches that were scheduled between Eagle Harbor High and various schools throughout the time period I was on the disabled list. As a co-captain of the team, I probably should have put in an appearance at each practice and game, but Coach Ivanov didn’t say anything about my absence, so in this case, I milked the sympathy factor over the accident f