Return to Innocence

by G. M. Frazier

  The sights, the sounds, the palpable suffering. I am reminded of my first trip to an ER as a pre-med major in college. I knew I’d never be able to handle it. It was then I decided to change my study to psychology.

  I lean over the bed. “Chris? It’s Glen Erskine.” I know he cannot hear me. But suddenly his eyelids flutter. He is opening his eyes. It’s as if he has been lying here just waiting for me to arrive. He tries to speak.

  “Don’t, Chris,” I say. “Save your energy.”

  Chris blinks twice, three times, as if he’s trying to focus on me. He licks his lips and I am struck by the color of his tongue. It’s almost white. “Glen...”

  I can hardly hear him. I lean down.

  “I’m...sorry, Glen. Tell Tommy I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt him.” Chris closes his eyes.

  “I know, Chris. You’ve got to get well so you can come back and finish your work with him.”

  Chris opens his eyes and the edges of his mouth turn. Almost imperceptible, but a smile, nonetheless. Chris knows how hollow my words are. His time on this earth has come to an end and he knows it. He is trying to speak again.

  “What?” I say.

  Chris licks his lips, this time with a grimace. “I couldn’t tell her, Glen. I couldn’t do that to Mary. Promise me...”

  “What, Chris?”

  “Promise me you won’t let her find out. It would kill her, Glen. Promise me.”

  “I promise,” I say. “I won’t tell anyone. There will be no report.”

  “Swear it,” he says with urgency.

  “I swear I will never let Mary find out, Chris. You don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

  I see the tension leave his face. He closes his eyes for the last time and the beeping heart monitor goes to a steady tone.

  Ego absolvo te.

  With a single oath-bound promise I have granted Chris absolution. To heaven or hell or nowhere at all, he has gone with the knowledge that his wife will not spend the rest of her life believing him to be a child molester.

  Rest in peace, Chris.

  As I leave the Medical University complex my thoughts turn to Tommy. It is late, after lights out at New Horizons, but I feel I must tell Tommy of Chris’ death. Tonight. I don’t want him to find out piecemeal, through the rumor mill, at breakfast in the morning. I am on 17 headed back home to Mount Pleasant. At the last minute, I cross over and take the I-26 exit. It will take fifteen minutes to get to New Horizons. I should be there by 10:30.

  Currently we have twenty-seven boys living at New Horizons. Their ages range from ten to seventeen. Tonight, there are three staff members on duty. Karen Stillman is at the front desk when I arrive. I catch her by surprise as I walk in the front door, which was locked. I used my key.

  “Dr. Erskine! What are you doing here so late?”

  “Chris Manning was in a car wreck this afternoon, Karen. I’ve just come from the hospital. I’m afraid Chris didn’t make it.”

  “Oh, that’s awful. How’d it happen?”

  “Apparently he lost control of his car.”

  “The boys will miss him. He’s the most popular counselor.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Listen, Karen, I know it’s past lights out. But Tommy Jackson and Chris were very close. I’d like to tell Tommy tonight so he won’t find out second hand in the morning.”

  “Sure, Dr. Erskine. You know which room he’s in?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “It’s seventeen. Curtis Sloan is his roommate.” She hands me the clipboard with the staff entry log on it.

  I sign the log, filling in the time. Under Reason for visit I write, Personal counseling, Tommy Jackson. I look at Karen and smile and then head to Tommy’s room.

  I try to collect my thoughts as I walk down the hallway. All is quiet at New Horizons at this hour. Lights out is at ten o’clock and only half the fluorescent bulbs are burning in the hall. The dim, cool white light is almost eerie. I walk by the staff lounge. The TV is on. Whoever else is on duty is taking a break. I am aware of my footfalls on the tile floor. I tread lightly so as not to awaken the sleeping boys.

  Number 17. Tommy’s room. And Curt’s. Curtis Sloan has been with us for over two years. He is fifteen now, and the only openly gay resident at New Horizons. He spent this past weekend with a couple from Beufort who are thinking about adopting him. I hope it went well. I knock softly and open the door.

  “Tommy?” The room is dark and stuffy. There is the faintest hint of body odor. The subdued light from the hall cuts a single path into the room. I don’t know which bed Tommy is in.

  “Tommy?”

  Nothing.

  “Tommy?” I say a little louder.

  “Huh?” The boy in the bed on the right stirs.

  “Tommy?”

  “Yeah?”

  It’s Tommy. Evidently Curt is a sound sleeper. He hasn’t moved.

  “It’s Glen,” I say and step into the room.

  “Glen? What time is it?”

  My eyes are adjusting to the dark room. I can see Tommy sit up in the bed. He turns to look at the glowing blue LEDs of his bedside alarm clock: 10:38. He gives an audible yawn.

  I go over and sit on the edge of the bed. Tommy looks at me. I can see his face, but I know mine is in a shadow. He can’t see me.

  “What do you want, Glen?”

  “It’s about Chris, Tommy.”

  “Yeah? What about him?” Tommy yawns again.

  “He died tonight.” I had not intended to just blurt it out like that. Tommy’s expression does not change. I wonder if he is so sleepy that he doesn’t grasp what I have said. “Do you understand?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  My eyes have adjusted now. Tommy’s face is clear, though colorless. The cones in the human eye, which are responsible for color vision, do not function in low light. Tommy’s tousled hair almost looks silver, his skin grey. I don’t know how I expected him to react to the news of Chris’ death, but I did expect some sort of reaction. Tommy’s face is blank. Or is it? I see a tear leave the corner of his eye. I reach out to Tommy and he embraces me. I can feel him cry softly into my shoulder.

  “It’s alright, Tommy, let it out. It hurts to lose someone you love.”

  After a moment Tommy leans up. I reach over to the box of tissues on his night stand and pluck out two. Tommy takes them and wipes his eyes and nose. “What happened?” he asks.

  I tell him about the accident and the promise Chris made me swear to on his deathbed. “I want you to know that Chris didn’t tell anyone about what happened,” I tell him. “And I’m not going to report it. Chris didn’t want his wife to find out so I told him I wouldn’t tell. Do you understand?”

  Tommy nods and sniffs.

  “I think you and I can work this out where no one will ever know,” I say. “That’s really what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  Tommy wipes his nose again. “I don’t know,” he says, “I told you I wasn’t gonna tell.”

  “I know. I just wanted you to know that Chris didn’t tell anyone before he died. And I’m not going to tell. It’s our secret now. Okay?”

  “Yeah.” Tommy looks down. “Chris is dead,” he says, not to me.

  “Yes.”

  “Who will be my counselor now?”

  “Who would you like?”

  “Can you do it?”

  “I think that can be arranged. Tomorrow, after school, you and I need to talk about what has happened, Tommy. Chris should have never made you feel ashamed. He should have never left you alone like that...without talking to you.”

  “I’m gonna miss him,” Tommy says and stifles a sob. He reaches out and hugs me again. I begin to rub his smooth back. The tiny hairs that run along his spine and up to his neck feel like the finest velvet. This close to Tommy, I know that he is the one in the room who has not bathed today.

  “I’ve got to go,” I tell him.

  “No, Glen, don’t leave,” he whispers in my ear and hugs me tighter. “Stay with me
...like last night. Please.”

  “Alright, Tommy. Lie back down.”

  Tommy lies back and I pull the covers up and tuck them under his chin. I brush his smooth cheek with the back of my hand. He smiles and takes my hand and moves it up to his hairline. I know what he wants. He fell asleep last night with me massaging his scalp.

  I run my fingers through Tommy’s thick hair and go to work on his scalp. My uncle used to do this to me when I was a child. Whatever was troubling me, I knew I could go to Uncle Ben and he would make it go away with those magic fingers of his. I’d like to think I have his touch—at least tonight, for this boy’s sake.

  “That feels good,” Tommy says, “keep doin’ it.”

  “It’s amazing how much can happen in a day,” Suzanne says. Almost exactly twenty-four hours ago she and I were where we are now, sitting together in front of the fireplace in our den.

  At the hospital, when I came out of Chris’ room, two sheriff’s deputies were there talking with Mary. One of the doctors interrupted to tell her that Chris had died. Mary fainted. She was admitted for observation. The deputies asked who I was and my relationship to Mr. Manning. I told them and then asked about the accident.

  It wasn’t until I got home that the full import of their answers hit me. Though they didn’t say so, it was obvious they suspect Chris Manning’s accident was no accident. No other vehicle was involved. Chris was traveling at a high rate of speed on a back road miles away from his home. He left the pavement and collided with a huge oak tree. There were no skid marks. Chris was not wearing a seat belt. The car virtually disintegrated and Chris was thrown over sixty feet. A farmer happened by and found him tangled in barbed wire and impaled on a fence post. They don’t know how long he had been there. Hours maybe.

  Do I blame myself? Should I? I honestly don’t know. I could have gone easier on Chris. But as director of New Horizons my primary concern has to be for the boys. I probably should have spoken with Tommy before telling Chris that I would make a report to DSS and Children and Youth Services. The resolution of Friday night’s incident could possibly have come with a meeting between Tommy and Chris and myself. Should I have done it that way? Would Chris still be alive if I had?

  I look over at Suzanne. I see my own emotional turmoil reflected in her expression. But she has no idea of its cause. She thinks I am only upset over the death of Chris. That, I suppose, has not hit me yet.

  I have not told her of Chris’ indiscretion with Tommy. And I never will. I will keep my promise to Chris. Tomorrow morning I will remove the incident report from Tommy’s file and run it through the shredder. I will take over Tommy’s case and help him work through the loss of Chris, his counselor and friend.

  These things I will do. Life goes on.

  Chapter 4

  The Accused

  Benjamin woke up with a fever this morning. Or rather he woke Suzanne and me up with a fever this morning. A little before five he crawled in bed with us and said he didn’t feel good. He was burning up. Suzanne took his temperature: 101.2. She gave him two children’s Tylenol and he snuggled up between us and went back to sleep. I did not. Chris Manning would not let me.

  Chris and I were not close as friends. He was my employee and though I am very informal at work I still maintain a certain professional distance. In my line of work, it’s a must. Nevertheless, Chris’ death has affected me more than I thought it would. He was a loving and caring man who had a gift—it was more than a talent—for working with troubled boys. Chris reminded me of my Uncle Ben, now in his death more than in life.

  I am still thinking on the events of yesterday as I sit at the kitchen table. Peter is eating cereal and reading a computer magazine. The paper is in front of me. I have yet to look at it. My buttered toast is in front of me. I have yet to touch it. I take a sip of coffee and look over at Benjamin. He is playing with his oatmeal.

  I sigh and start turning the pages of the morning paper. There is a brief piece on Chris’ car wreck and death on page two. No mention of suicide. I guess the official version will be that it was an unfortunate accident. Perhaps it was. I don’t know. Suzanne walks in and looks over my shoulder.

  “A real shame,” she says. “How old was he?”

  “Twenty-nine,” I answer.

  “Daddy, I’m not hungry,” Benjamin says. He is now trying to make a small mountain from the hardening oatmeal in his bowl.

  Suzanne walks over and takes the spoon from Benjamin’s hand. “You may be sick, but we still do not play with our food,” she tells him. “Go wash your hands and face and get back in the bed.” She snaps her fingers, a habit of hers I find irritating as the devil. But the boys don’t seem to mind. They know it’s their mother’s way of saying, Hey, I’m serious.

  My little boy puffs and slides from the chair. The change in his personality is quite striking when he doesn’t feel well. But I know what’s really bothering him. Today is Halloween. And he’s worried that we are not going to let him go trick-or-treating tonight.

  “Daddy, will you come tell me a story?”

  “Sure, honey. Go wash up like Mommy said and I’ll be there soon as I finish eating.”

  “Okay.”

  “I hope you feel better, Ben,” Peter says without looking up from his magazine. Benjamin doesn’t answer.

  Suzanne raps her knuckles on the table. Peter looks up. “Go brush your teeth,” she tells him. “We need to go. Now, what did I do with my briefcase?” She looks around.

  Peter takes a last spoonful of corn flakes and gets up.

  “You’re sure you don’t mind staying with Benjamin this morning?” Suzanne asks me.

  “No, I wasn’t going in until later anyway.”

  “Did you call John Brantley about Chris’ accident?”

  “No, I didn’t. I should have called him last night.”

  “I must have left my briefcase in the upstairs study,” Suzanne says and heads for the back stairway off from the kitchen.

  John is probably going to be upset with me for not calling him last night about Chris. After I left New Horizons, I just didn’t think about it.

  Peter walks in shouldering his book bag. “I’m ready. Is my tie on straight, Dad?”

  “Looks fine,” I tell him. The boys at the Cathedral School have to wear a coat and tie. That’s the dress code.

  “Where’s Mom?” Peter asks.

  “Right here.” Suzanne walks in and grabs her purse from the kitchen counter. “Don’t worry about cleaning up,” she tells me. “Let Constance do it.”

  Constance is our housekeeper. She comes on Tuesdays and Fridays.

  “Bye, Dad.” Peter gives me a kiss on the cheek. I smell mint toothpaste. And something else.

  “Hey,” I say and pull him back to me. I sniff. “Is that my cologne?”

  Peter smiles and his cheeks flush a little. “I didn’t think you’d mind, Dad. You never wear this stuff.”

  “I don’t mind...but you put a little too much on, don’t you think? What’s the occasion?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Have a good day,” I tell him. I look over at Suzanne. She gives me a knowing nod. Peter’s got a girlfriend.

  “Glen, check Benjamin’s temperature again in about an hour. If it’s still up, give him another Tylenol.” She leans down and gives me a kiss on the lips.

  Umm. Nice. “Cherry Chapstick?” I ask.

  “Yes, it’s cold this morning. You know how my lips chap. Alright, Peter, let’s go. We’ll see you tonight, honey.” She opens the kitchen door and walks out.

  Peter walks back over to the table. “Dad, I asked Mom about inviting some of the guys over to spend the night tonight. She said it was up to you.”

  I wish Suzanne would not do this sort of thing. We have agreed that Peter cannot invite friends for sleep-overs on school nights. Why didn’t she just tell him no instead of making me do it? “You know the rules, Peter. Tonight’s a school night.”

  “I know. I just thought since it’s Hallo
ween...can’t we make an exception tonight?”

  “Aren’t you going trick-or-treating?”

  “Dad, I’m too old for that. I told everybody about our pool. I thought maybe we could try it out tonight. Sort of a Halloween pool party.”

  We had a heater installed on our swimming pool back in September so we can swim year round. Peter has been waiting for the first really cool night to try it out. To see if it works, I guess.

  “Okay,” I tell him, “since it’s Halloween. But you better get your homework done in study hall.”

  Suzanne is blowing the horn.

  “I will. Thanks, Dad. Bye.” Peter waves and is out the door.

  I pick up the cordless phone and punch in John Brantley’s home number. John’s wife answers.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Camille, this is Glen. How are you this morning?”

  “Fine, Glen. And you?”

  “Okay, I guess. Could I speak with John, please?”

  “He’s not here, Glen. He’s already at the office.”

  I look at the clock on the microwave. It’s 7:25. John is rarely in the office before nine. Strange.

  “Glen?”

  “Yes, Camille, I’m sorry. I’ll call John at New Horizons. Thanks.”

  “Sure thing, Glen. Goodbye.”

  I punch in the number for New Horizons. Kay answers.

  “Morning, Kay. It’s Glen. I need to speak with Dr. Brantley, please.”

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Erskine, he’s in a meeting.”

  “John’s in a meeting this early?”

  “Yes, sir. Karen said something happened with one of the boys last night. Would you like me to have Dr. Brantley call you?”

  “Yes...no, no Kay, that’s alright. I’ll see him when I get there.”

  “That was terrible about Chris, wasn’t it?” she asks.

  “So you’ve heard?”

  “Karen told me about it when I came in this morning.”