Return to Innocence

by G. M. Frazier

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “I don’t want to hear it. You know what you’ve done? You have completely undone all we’ve been able to accomplish with Tommy since he’s been here.” I lean back in my chair and try to calm down. “Chris, that boy trusted you. I’ll even go so far as to say he loves you. And then you go—”

  “I love him, too, Glen. I never meant to hurt him. And I was going to come to you about this. I swear it.”

  “Yeah, right, Chris.”

  My phone beeps. I answer. It’s John Brantley, the administrator—and my boss. He wants to know about all the shouting coming from my office. I tell him I’m in a meeting with Chris Manning and that I just lost my temper, and leave it at that. He’ll find out about this soon enough.

  I hang up the phone and look at Chris. “I’ve spent the last ten years developing a good rapport with Children and Youth Services down at DSS. Since I am on their board of advisors, they have given me considerable latitude in deciding what incidents at New Horizons are significant enough to pass along to them. But if I know of a case of outright sexual involvement between a staff member and one of our residents, I am required by law to report it. You know that.”

  “There’s no way you can make an exception this one time? I swear to you, Glen. This won’t happen again. Let’s just forget it. We can work with Tommy—”

  “Chris, I like you, I really do. Up until a couple of minutes ago I thought you would make a good therapist. But this is not something we can just forget. If you had told me that you and Tommy just engaged in petting or fondling—so long as there was an appropriate resolution to the incident, well, I probably wouldn’t report it. My primary concern would be for Tommy. In that case, reporting it would not be in his best interest. But I’m not going to jeopardize this entire operation for you. Suppose I don’t report this and Tommy decides to tell someone, despite your threat—”

  “I didn’t threaten him.”

  “The threat was implied, and you know it. If he comes to me with this, then I have to report it. And what am I going to say when it comes out that you had already told me about it? No way. How would I explain that?”

  “Please don’t do this to me, Glen. I swear it will never happen again. This is my life we’re talking about, not just my job. Mary will never understand.”

  I look at the incident report in front of me. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Chris. I’m not going to date this report until tomorrow,” I flip the page on my desk calendar, “the thirty-first. I won’t say anything to anyone about what has happened until tomorrow. That will give you twenty-four hours to explain this to Mary so she won’t have to find out some other way.”

  “Some other way?”

  “In case the media gets wind of this. I can see the headlines now.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Chris moans.

  “You better believe it. Here,” I hand Chris the incident report form, “sign this.”

  Chris takes the pen from his shirt pocket and signs the form. He hands it back to me. “I gotta go, Glen. I’ve got that ten o’clock appointment.”

  “No, you don’t. I told you, you’re suspended. When you leave here I want you to go to your office, get your stuff, and go straight home. You’ve got twenty-four hours to square this with Mary. But whether you do or not, tomorrow morning I’m informing John Brantley and filing this report with DSS.”

  Chris gets up and slowly walks to the door. I reach over and push the STOP button on the recorder.

  As soon as Chris is gone I call Kay and ask her to notify me when she sees Chris leave the building. I tell her to re-schedule Chris’ ten o’clock appointment with another counselor.

  I hang up and check the list of schools that each of our boys attends. Tommy is at Capshaw Middle School. I call the principal, a Mr. Mullens, and explain that I need to speak with Tommy as soon as possible. I tell him I’ll be there within the hour.

  I look at the incident report and fill in Tommy’s name at the top. A copy of this form will be placed in Tommy’s file as well as Chris’ personnel records. I am about to write Chris’ name on the form when I think of something. I need Tommy’s case file. I grab the recorder and slip it in my pocket. I get up and walk down to Chris’ office. He is still there, sitting at his desk, writing.

  “Chris, I need Tommy’s file.”

  Chris looks up from his desk. He closes the manila folder in front of him and hands it to me. It’s over an inch thick with paperwork.

  “Is this everything? All your notes?”

  “That’s everything,” Chris says.

  My anger has subsided somewhat and I am able to see Chris a little differently now. I feel for him. I start to tell him that we’ll probably be able to work with DSS to avoid any criminal action. But I know I can’t make that promise. Once this is in their hands, my influence is limited.

  “Chris, if you need me—”

  “Yeah,” he says. He picks up the papers from his desk and stuffs them in his briefcase. He snaps the locks deliberately as he closes it. “If you’ll excuse me, Glen, I’ve got to go tell my wife that her husband is a child molester.”

  Chris walks by and I grab his arm. “Chris, you’re not a child molester.”

  “Just leave me alone, Glen.” He jerks free of my grip and leaves me standing in his office.

  As I am walking back down the hall, John Brantley comes around the corner from his office.

  “Glen, can I talk to you a minute?”

  “Sure, John, come on in.” I point to my office door.

  We walk in and John sits in the chair where Chris had been sitting.

  “What in the world was going on in here with Chris Manning?”

  I take the incident report from my desk and slip it into Tommy’s file. “Nothing, John.” I sit at my desk with Tommy’s file in my lap. “Chris and I had a disagreement about something. I lost my temper. That’s it.”

  “What was the disagreement about?”

  “It was personal,” I say. Is it a lie? I am tempted to tell John what has happened. I am violating policy by not reporting this incident immediately. But I told Chris I would give him twenty-four hours. And I will. John will know what all this is about tomorrow. He’ll be ticked that I waited to report it, I know. But I also know that he will understand.

  He smiles. “So this disagreement is nothing I need to be concerned with?”

  “You don’t need to worry about it,” I tell him. “It’s been taken care of.”

  The principal at Tommy’s school asks if I would like him to call Tommy to the office. I tell him that I think it would be best if I go personally to Tommy’s room and get him. I explain why: I don’t want Tommy to think he’s in trouble with the principal. Mr. Mullens laughs. He writes a note for me to give to Tommy’s teacher stating that it is okay for me to take Tommy out of class.

  I clinch the note tightly as I turn down the barren hallway lined with lockers and classroom doors. The smell brings back memories. I suppose all schools have the same odor. The same cinder block walls. The same terrazzo floor. I knock on the door to room 27. A plump and pleasant looking woman answers. I smile and hand her the note. She calls Tommy to the door.

  “I’ll have him back in a few minutes,” I tell her.

  She smiles and says that will be fine. Tommy looks at me, obviously curious, but he is silent. We start to walk down the hall. “I need to talk with you, Tommy. It’s about...” I stop because I realize I don’t want to discuss this out in the hallway. “Let’s see if we can find an empty room to talk in,” I say.

  “Let’s go in here,” Tommy says. “I gotta pee.” We are standing at the door to the boys’ restroom. Tommy pushes the door open and I follow him in.

  “Tommy, I wanted to talk to you about Chris,” I say, looking to see if there is anyone else in the bathroom. “He told me what happened Friday night.”

  Tommy walks over to the urinal and unfastens his jeans. A few seconds pass and I hear his stream hit the wh
ite porcelain. He doesn’t say anything.

  There is a small chair over by the window. I sit. The bathroom is fairly clean but it still has the smell of stale urine. Tommy finishes and flushes the urinal. Zipping up, he turns to look at me.

  “Nothing happened,” he says flatly and fastens the snap on his jeans. He backs against the wall beside me and slides down until he is seated with his knees up in front of his face. I notice the right knee of his jeans is almost worn through.

  “Yes, something did happen, Tommy. Chris admitted it. I think it would be good if you would, too. We need to talk about it.”

  “Did Chris say what I did wrong?” Tommy says, his face still buried between his knees.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. I know you’re struggling with feelings right now that are hard to understand.”

  Tommy reaches down and fiddles with the lace on his sneaker. “Chris probably thinks I’m a fag or somethin’.”

  I can feel my anger at Chris Manning rising again. “Tommy, you did not do anything wrong and Chris is not mad at you. He just realized that what he did was wrong and he didn’t know what to do. Do you understand?”

  “Is Chris in trouble?” Tommy looks up at me. His expression has changed, the defiant look replaced by concern. Tommy’s question is totally selfless, rooted in genuine concern for Chris. The bond between them is still there.

  “In a way, yes. What Chris did was wrong. I will have to report what happened to DSS and there will be an investigation. Your case worker will probably be asking you a lot of questions. It will be best for you and Chris if you are truthful and tell her exactly what happened.”

  Tommy stands. “NO! I won’t do it! Not if it’s gonna get Chris in trouble. I’ll tell them nothin’ happened. Chris said not to tell. He didn’t tell you nothin’. You’re just tryin’ to get me to say somethin’ to get him in trouble.”

  I don’t follow the logic, but to Tommy I’m sure his reasoning seems sound. “Tommy, listen. Chris has already admitted that you masturbated him.”

  Tommy looks at me. Is it a look of surprise? “Is that all he said?” he asks.

  The question seems odd. I ponder it for a second. And then it hits me. “What else happened, Tommy?”

  Tommy turns away and walks over to the row of sinks. Silence.

  “Tommy, if something else happened, I need you to tell me.”

  “If Chris tells me it’s okay, I’ll tell.”

  No matter what, Tommy is going to try and protect Chris to the end. It occurs to me that Chris’ implied threat is not the motivating factor in Tommy’s denial. This is Tommy acting on his own to altruistically save someone he cares for. Despite Chris’ reprehensible conduct Friday night, he is probably the only man—other than myself—who has ever treated Tommy with genuine love and affection. I momentarily consider not reporting the incident at all. But I know I must.

  “You won’t be able to see Chris anymore,” I tell him. “Chris is on indefinite suspension until this matter is resolved.”

  “NO! You can’t! You can’t do that! Chris is my friend. He’s my friend. You can’t take him away.” Tommy turns to me with tears in his eyes. “Please, Glen, don’t fire him. If I tell what happened, can Chris stay?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  With that, Tommy bolts for the door. I try and stop him but he is too quick. I get up and run after him.

  “TOMMY!” I shout. My voice echoes down the hall.

  “I HATE YOU!” comes reverberating back down the cinder block walls as Tommy turns the corner at the end of the hall.

  What a day.

  .

  Chapter 3

  The Promise

  “Good game, son,” I say and reach to give Peter a hug. His green jersey is soaked from perspiration. As I release him, Benjamin hugs his brother around the waist.

  We’re standing in the gym of the Cathedral School, where Peter has just started the seventh grade, though the team he’s on is a church team, not the school team. The game has just finished and we start working our way out amongst the noisy parents and sweaty players.

  “How about Pizza to celebrate the victory?” I say as I open the exit door.

  “Yeah!” says Benjamin.

  “Alright, Dad!” Peter says.

  “I hope you don’t catch a cold,” Suzanne says to Peter as we step into the chill of the late October evening.

  “This feels good,” Peter says, “I was burning up in there.”

  “I wanna ride in the new car!” my five-year-old shouts, pointing to my Impala SS parked by itself far out in the lot. Suzanne is driving what serves as her car and the family car, our giant Suburban, which is only a year old. To Benjamin, I guess it doesn’t qualify as a “new car” anymore.

  Peter and Benjamin think my car is “cool.” So do I. The Chevrolet Impala SS is a big, four door sedan with a Corvette engine. It’s a blast to drive. Suzanne could not understand why I would want a car like that. I tried to explain, but she finally just said, “Get it.” So I did.

  Benjamin tugs on my pants leg. “I can ride with you, can’t I, Daddy?”

  “No, Ben, you ride with Mom,” Peter says. “I wanna ride with Dad.”

  “No, I wanna ride with Daddy.”

  I look at Suzanne. “It’s alright,” she says to our sons, “you both can ride with your father.”

  Peter and Benjamin run ahead of us to my car. I reach over and put my arm around Suzanne and pull her to my side. I give her a quick kiss at the Suburban. She gives me a wink. “I waited for you a long time by the fire last night. Why were you in Tommy’s room so late?”

  I look at my wife’s visage in the pink glow of the sodium street light above us. I kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll tell you about it later,” I say.

  The Pizza Hut nearest the church is the restaurant of choice for hungry basketball players and their parents tonight. In other words, the place is a mad house. When I saw the crowd, I almost suggested that we go somewhere else, but I knew how disappointed Peter and Benjamin would be if we did. So Suzanne and I endured the long line. We have finally gotten a table and our order has just been taken.

  “Daddy, I gotta pee,” Benjamin says rather loudly.

  Peter scowls at his brother. “Ben, don’t say that word in public.”

  “What word?” Benjamin asks in all innocence.

  “Pee.”

  “You just said it.”

  Peter rolls his eyes and looks at me.

  “I think what your brother means, Benjamin, is that you should just say, ‘I have to use the bathroom.’”

  “Right,” Peter says.

  Benjamin leans forward and puts his chin on the edge of the table. “Well,” he says matter of factly, “I still gotta pee. Is somebody gonna take me?”

  Suzanne starts snickering, and I can’t help but chuckle, too.

  “Come on, Ben,” Peter says, “I’ll take you. I have to use the bathroom.” Peter takes Benjamin by the hand and gives Suzanne and me a look that says, And you call yourselves parents. As they walk away we hear Benjamin ask his brother, “Do you have to do number one or number two?” Immediately Peter’s hand is over Benjamin’s mouth. He rushes his little brother past the salad bar and into the hall where the restrooms are.

  “What was that all about?” Suzanne asks, still laughing.

  I shake my head. “Our oldest son is becoming a young man,” I say. “He’s just exercising his newfound sense of decorum. Little boys say, ‘I gotta pee,’ in public. Young men say, ‘I have to use the bathroom.’”

  “Thank you for that lesson in the social development of an adolescent, Dr. Erskine.”

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Erskine. You know I have a Ph.D. in that.” I wink at her.

  Before she can respond, the cell phone rings in her purse. She answers and hands it to me. “It’s for you.”

  I take the phone. “Hello?”

  “Dr. Erskine?” The voice is female. Very upset. Crying, it sounds like.

  “This
is Glen Erskine,” I say.

  “This is Mary...Mary Manning...Chris’ wife. I’m sorry to bother you. Your service gave me this number.” She is crying.

  Good Lord. Chris has told his wife and she’s calling to beg me not to report him. It briefly crosses my mind that Chris has put her up to this.

  “Chris has been in an accident,” she says and then sobs loudly.

  That catches me off guard. “What kind of accident, Mary?”

  “A car wreck. Sometime this afternoon. They just found him a little while ago. I’m at the hospital now. They just told me that he probably won’t make it through the night.”

  “Mary, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes...yes. They let me see him. He’s in and out, but he wants to see you. He kept asking for you.”

  “I’ll be right there, Mary. What hospital?”

  “They brought him to the Medical University by helicopter.”

  “Okay, Mary. I’m over in Mount Pleasant. I should be there in less than twenty minutes. You tell Chris to hang on, okay?”

  “Please hurry.”

  “I’m leaving now.” I hand Suzanne the phone. “I’ve got to go, honey. Chris Manning has been in a car wreck. It doesn’t sound good.”

  “Oh, Glen...”

  “I’ll be home later,” I say and get up. “Tell the boys I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.”

  “Alright. But call me as soon as you know for sure how Chris is, okay?”

  “I will.”

  Exactly seventeen minutes later I arrived at the Medical University of South Carolina. I met briefly with Mary. She is a basket case. Her due date is still three weeks away but her doctor has told her that it could be any day. And now this has happened to her husband. I thought the prognosis she conveyed to me on the phone was perhaps overly pessimistic. But I spoke with the doctor. He doesn’t know how Chris has survived as long as he has. I asked Mary about the wreck, but she doesn’t know anything.

  I am standing by Chris’ bed now. He is unconscious. Mary said he asked to see me. But the doctors don’t think Chris will ever wake up. His breathing is extremely labored. His face is barely recognizable. It is obvious that Chris went through the windshield of his car. There is a drainage tube running from his chest and its contents are deep red.