by Beth Goobie
But whatever happened, and whomever the police ultimately chose to believe, today’s intended catastrophe had been averted. As this realization hit, Shir’s knees dissolved; seeing her stagger, Finlay ran over and slid an arm around her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, but her exhaustion and shock had finally overcome her and she broke into sobs, covering her face with both hands. Quickly, Finlay slid his other arm around her and they huddled, weeping, as someone behind Shir patted her back and the shattered world began to piece itself together again.
Twenty
It was late the following afternoon. Earlier in the day, the police had come and gone, their interrogation kept to the minimum due to Shir’s head and chest cold. Initially apprehensive, she had given measured responses, wondering if her allegations about Officer Tursi were likely to offend, but the two officers had been neither skeptical nor supportive, simply businesslike—clarifying some details and challenging others. To her relief, she had learned Officer Tursi had been denied bail due to a kilo of cocaine that had been discovered at his residence. Traces of the drug had also been located in the storage room at Bill’s Grocer, and Mr. Anderson and the cashiers brought in for questioning, but in their cases, no charges had been laid yet. Wade and Eunie were at the Youth Detention Center, pending their first court appearances.
Now that the police had left, Shir was seated on the living room couch, cocooned in her bedroom quilt. Across the room, her mother was ensconced in an armchair, and Stella had taken up position cross-legged on the floor. That morning at breakfast, Janice Rutz had announced the need for a meeting, and had asked her daughters to think about what they wanted to say to each other. To Shir, this had the sound of a death sentence, and she had spent the hours since shrouded in dread. Now that they had gathered, all three seemed to be waiting for someone else to begin speaking, their eyes lowered, even their breathing uneasily quiet. Finally, with a heavy sigh, Janice Rutz cleared her throat.
“I’ve been thinking all day at work,” she said slowly. “This has been a hard decision to make. Crazy weekend, but it’s always crazy living in this place. Never, in all my born days, did I think I’d see the likes of something like this.”
Raising her eyes, she looked accusingly at Shir. “You’re not changing,” she said. “You promised no more drinking; you’d go to all your classes; and you’d stop fighting with your sister. And then you went and attacked her in this very room.”
Silently, Shir stared at her mother, each pound of her heart an inner mouth, eating her alive. Her mind was blank; there was nothing she could think of saying in response to these accusations—they were all facts, the plain undeniable truth.
“Mom—” broke in Stella, but her mother lifted a silencing hand.
“I know what’s been going on, Stella,” she said harshly. “But that’s not an excuse. She’s been like this from the day she was born—acting like a wild animal, never considering anyone but herself. And instead of getting better as she grows older, she gets worse. Drug dealers, criminals—could’ve gotten us all killed.”
Eyes filling with tears, Shir pulled the quilt tighter. Too sick to protest, all she could do was watch the inevitable descend. From the beginning, she and her mother had been wrong together, and now it was time to face up to the fact and make the break.
“Wait a minute,” Stella cut in shrilly. “Just hold on a friggin’ second.”
“Hold on for what?” demanded Janice Rutz, her eyes abruptly alive and flashing. “I’ve been holding on for years. I’m tired of holding on.”
“Well …” faltered Stella, her gaze dropping. “What I mean is … well, I live here too, don’t I? And I was the one who got jumped. So I think I should get to be part of the decision.”
“Last I noticed, I’m the one who pays the rent,” Janice Rutz snapped angrily. “So I’m in charge, and I make the decisions about who lives here.”
“Okay, okay,” said Stella, backing off. “You pay the rent and you make the decisions. But at least think about it, Mom. This is a big thing here, kicking Shir out. It’s going to wreck her life, and her life is already pretty wrecked. And, let’s face it …”
Biting her lip, Stella hesitated. In the slight pause that followed, Shir saw her sister swallow hard. “Well, part of the reason her life is wrecked is you,” Stella blurted finally, her eyes glued to their mother’s face. “It’s true, you know. It is.”
White-faced, Janice Rutz sat gaping at her younger daughter. “What exactly do you mean by that?” she hissed.
“All the beating you did on her while she was growing up,” replied Stella, her words hesitant but determined. “I mean, I know Shir’s always been kind of an angry lump, bumbling around everywhere and rubbing everyone the wrong way, but you’ve got to think about why, Mom. Every day, there you were, whaling away on her because she doesn’t look like you, and when you were finished, she would come and whale away on me. And the whole time, growing up, I was just so shit-scared that some day you’d stop liking me and start hating me the way you hated Shir—not because I didn’t look like you, but because I did.”
Janice Rutz’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Blinking rapidly, Stella took a deep breath and continued. “That’s the way it’s been since I was born,” she said, her voice quavering, “and that’s the way it still is. I’ve spent my whole life scared of you both, and I finally got so sick of it, I went out and did something about it. I learned how to defend myself, and now I know I can take either one of you any time, probably together, if I wanted. So I’m not scared of you anymore,” she announced, pointing dramatically at Shir. “And I’m not scared of you, either,” she added, shifting her finger to their mother.
“Stella,” faltered Janice Rutz, but Stella, not yet finished, ignored her.
“It was never the way you looked,” she said, turning to Shir, her eyes filling with tears. “That wasn’t the problem. I just wanted a sister, but you were always, like I said … this lump.” Pausing, she rubbed her eyes like a small child. “I know it’s been hard on you, Mom,” she said hoarsely. “Two girls to bring up, and no husband around to help with anything. But it’s been hard on us, too. I don’t want to live in a house of enemies anymore. Can’t we just figure out how to get along?”
Shir was crying openly, hot tears pouring down her face. “I’ll stop,” she gulped, drying her face on the quilt. “Drinking, I mean. I want to now. Before I didn’t, but now I can see that’s why Mr. Anderson chose me—partly because I didn’t have friends, but a lot of it was because of my drinking. Drinking and drugs—they’re the same, really, like a dog leash jerking you around. Everyone at Manny’s house that day—Wade, Eunie, all of us, even Tursi—we were all on dog leashes. Theirs were invisible, but they couldn’t take them off, either.
“I’m still trying to figure out everything that happened, why Wade did this and Cathy did that; how a nice person like Mr. Anderson got stuck in the middle of all that crap. Some of the stuff they did was just to keep me believing in him—Mr. Superboss, you know? I’ve finally figured out why he hired me, but I still think, all along, he really liked me. It’s confusing, but I do know one thing—I don’t want to end up like him. I want …” She paused, searching for words. “I want my life to be clean,” she finally blurted. “I want other people to look at me and know who I am. And I want … a mother and a sister. I want to want to come home.”
For another long moment, all three sat, their eyes lowered, submerged in thought. Then, reluctantly, Janice Rutz said, “A.A. You will start next week, as soon as you get over your cold.”
Wordless, Shir nodded.
“And if it comes to it, summer school,” added her mother. “I talked to one of your teachers last week, and you’re probably going to fail at least one course. If you do, you’ll make it up this summer, and no arguments.”
Something akin to horror washed over Shir, but she nodded a second time. For several minutes, it was quiet, just the sounds of sniffing and snuffling. Then, w
ith a resigned expression, Janice Rutz said, “Well, that casserole’s probably warm enough to eat now,” and went into the kitchen.
Taking a Kleenex from a box on the coffee table, Shir blew her nose long and hard. “House of enemies,” she muttered, shooting Stella a glance. “I guess. I mean, I’ll try if you’ll try. If you hadn’t taken out Tursi, I’d be dead now.”
“I didn’t know he was a cop!” Stella exploded. Pulling out her own Kleenex, she dabbed delicately at the tip of her nose. “But I saw you jump Manny, you know—I was coming toward you from the other end of the hall when you went over the rail. And Tursi pushed right past me, trying to get to you. So when Finlay held up Manny’s gun, and you said that about Tursi wanting to shoot …” She shrugged.
“They were talking on cell phones while Manny was looking for me,” said Shir. “My guess is, after Manny shot me … and whoever else was around … they were probably supposed to meet up somewhere. Then I think Tursi planned to kill Manny, and maybe even Eunie and Wade, but they hadn’t figured that out.” A shudder ran through her, deep and wrenching. “God,” she whispered. “It felt like the end of the world, the end of everything. I didn’t know what was going to happen when I went over that rail. Now all I can think about is the sound Manny’s head made, hitting the floor. The blood. And what they wanted to do. It’s so sick.”
“You saved the school, Shir,” Stella said quietly. “No one got shot, and Tursi’s in jail. Everyone knows what you did and they’re all talking—about how you jumped Manny, and what you wrote on the floor. It’ll be different when you come back.”
Another shudder ran through Shir, and, exhausted, she rested her head on the back of the couch. “Maybe,” she said quietly, unconvinced.
“You’ll see,” said Stella, a set expression on her face. “Like you said, you never know what can happen. You can change; I can change. So can Collier High.”
Standing high on the Black’s pedals, Shir coasted down the driveway beside the old Anglican church. Ahead lay the familiar haven, with its quietly rippling river and concrete walking-bridge, washed clean by a recent rain. And yes, when she checked, there he was, seated on the first eastern support arch and leaning around the third pillar, grinning at her—Finlay.
“Hi, moose head!” she hollered.
“Hi, moose head!” he hollered back. Dismounting, she locked the Black to the Church Patrons Only sign, then crossed to the base of the first western support arch and scaled it carefully. Though it was now Saturday, her sore arm healed, and her chest cold almost gone, the odd moment of weakness could still catch her by surprise, and so she waited a moment at the second pillar, standing and surveying the scene before completing the climb to the arch’s peak and settling down with her back to the third pillar.
“Did the police come back and talk to you again?” Finlay asked immediately. “Since Wednesday, when you called me?”
Shir nodded. “Yesterday,” she said. “They waited until I was feeling better, and then they really grilled me—I had to think of every little detail. I’m not supposed to talk to you about it, though.”
“I know,” he assured her. “They told me that, too—we might end up changing our stories to make them agree, and it would contaminate the evidence.” Shooting her a lighthearted grin, he added, “Don’t worry, Shir—I won’t contaminate you.”
She smiled tentatively, the week’s events still pressing on her. “Mr. O’Donnell came to our apartment Thursday and talked to me,” she said slowly. “He’s our school principal—the man you gave Manny’s gun to. He wanted to know why I wrote what I did on the floor, and what the other kids had been doing to me. I told him about the dog shit …” Abruptly, it came to her that she had never told Finlay about the Ugly Contest, and she added lamely, “… and some other things.” This afternoon, with its balmy sunlight and vast shimmering greens, didn’t feel like the time to go into it. “He got pretty mad,” she said wonderingly. “Not at me, though. Stella said he was on the PA Friday morning, and he gave the entire school a long lecture about it. They were all late for their first class.” She sighed uneasily. “I dunno.”
“You dunno what?” asked Finlay.
“Well,” she said, “going back after that. It was already bad enough, but now I have to face two thousand kids who had to listen to Mr. O’Donnell bawl them out about me.”
Finlay stared off thoughtfully. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s pretty grim.”
“He said I would have to clean up what I wrote,” Shir added. “Because I put it there, and that was vandalism. But he also told me a couple of girls came into the office Tuesday morning, and they volunteered to do it. He told me their names, and I don’t even know who they are. So they’re going to help, and Stella said she’d help, too. It shouldn’t take long.”
“You should have help,” Finlay said staunchly. “And it should be those guys who rubbed that shit in your face.”
“No, thanks,” Shir said hastily. “I think I’ve smelled the last I ever want to smell of them.”
Finlay snorted and they fell briefly silent, caught by the beauty of the scene before them. “I’m sure glad the one thing Tursi didn’t know about my life is this place,” Shir said casually, cradling her head against the pillar’s warm concrete. “Y’know what I used to call it?”
“What?” Finlay responded idly.
“Myplace,” said Shir. “That was before I met you here, of course. At first, I was really mad at you, busting in here and taking up my private space.”
“Oh, well,” Finlay said carelessly. “Lucky I had the Twinks, eh? Want one?”
Instead of answering, Shir flushed. She had told herself that morning to bring a couple of muffins from the dozen Stella had baked the previous evening, then had forgotten and left without them. Next time, she told herself firmly as she caught the cupcake Finlay tossed to her. Sliding it out of its package, she observed the chocolate icing affectionately. No worms here, she thought.
“Thanks,” she said, and started nibbling.
“Everything’s changed,” Finlay observed as she ate. “I haven’t been here since last weekend—it’s been so busy, what with talking to the police and all. The leaves are all out now, the breeze is warmer, and it smells … greener. Even the water is moving different—quicker, as if it’s waking up.”
“Yeah,” Shir said contentedly. “This place is like a person, almost—always changing. In a month, you’ll hardly be able to see those houses over there because the trees will cover them. And there’ll be a lot more birds.”
“Huh,” said Finlay. “I bet the mushrooms will be singing so loud, even us moose heads will be able to hear them.”
Shir laughed, the glad, clear sound lifting out of her. “Long as I don’t sing back,” she said. “That’d shut them up for good.”
They fell silent again, their eyes roving over the scene, absorbing dappled shifts of light, lush shades of green, and the gleam of the bridge’s support arches stretching out ahead of them. Peace—Shir felt it lapping through her body, a gentle inner river.
“I always thought …” she began slowly, then stopped, flushing.
“What?” asked Finlay, turning toward her.
“Well …” said Shir, her thoughts stumbling. “I thought this was a place to be alone, I guess. It was the one place I felt okay; no one bugged me. I wasn’t … ugly here.
“But now when I think of this place,” she continued, “when I’m not actually here, I mean … I think about talking. Talking about weird things, different things—things I would never think about on my own. This place is still nice; it’s the most beautiful place in the world, really, but when I think about it now, I don’t think about the way it looks anymore—I think about talking to you.”
Shyly, she glanced at Finlay to see a huge smile take over his face. Without speaking, he simply sat and beamed at her. “What?” asked Shir. Taken off guard, she ducked her head and stared fixedly at her knees. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she mumbled.<
br />
“I like looking at you,” said Finlay. “It makes me happy.”
Astonishment exploded softly inside Shir’s head. “Oh!” she said, then burst out with a long “Geeeeeeez!” Never, in all her born days, had she expected to hear anyone say something like that. When she finally got up the nerve to look at him again, Finlay was sprawled contentedly opposite, watching a pair of nearby chickadees. “Do you like cookies?” she asked hesitantly.
“Cookies are good,” said Finlay, turning to smile at her.
Quickly, Shir glanced away. “I know this little old lady,” she said. “She’s, like, eighty or ninety, and she’s got a zillion grandchildren, and she makes the best cookies in the universe. And …” She hesitated, thinking, then added, “Well, I think the two of you would get along.”
“Does she live near here?” asked Finlay.
“Pretty near,” said Shir. “We could get there on my bike. Want to go visit her?”
“Sure!” said Finlay, straightening. Then, with a grin, he added, “Sure, Shir!”
“Come on then, moose head,” said Shir, getting to her feet. “I’ll pedal, and this time you can sit back and relax.”
They climbed down their individual support arches and walked over to the Black. Unlocking the bike, Shir swung her leg over the crossbar and stood gripping the handlebars as Finlay climbed onto the seat. For a moment longer, she stood gazing at the river, a tiny smile on her lips. “It is so beautiful here,” she said finally. “It’s a nice place to have inside yourself.”
“Yeah,” Finlay said quietly.
Then, his hands resting on her shoulders, she pushed down on the pedals, and they set off together into the world.
Epilogue
Handlebars gripped tightly, Shir turned the Black onto the street that led to Collier High. To either side, chattering students filled the sidewalks; as she pedaled past, the hood of Stella’s best sweatshirt pulled over her head, no one gave her a second glance. A block and a half away, the school loomed ominously—a dense lump of dread drawing ever nearer. Quickly, the distance shrank to a block … half a block … and then she was pulling reluctantly into the curb and dismounting.