“I’m on my way.”
Before I can respond Jim hangs up. I return the handset to the cradle and look at Tommy. “Let’s go sit in the den,” I say. “You can warm up by the fire.”
Tommy sets his empty mug on the counter and we head for the den.
“I did blame you, Glen,” Tommy says as he sits on the brick hearth. “But now I think it’s my fault.”
“Why? Chris told you in his letter not to blame yourself.” I sit on the floor at Tommy’s feet.
“I know. But...it was really me who started everything that night...just like I tried to do with you.”
“What about Curtis Sloan?” I ask.
Tommy hesitates. “Curt?”
“Yes, Curt. You ever do anything with him?”
“You think I’m gay, don’t you?”
I shake my head. “Tommy, I don’t think it’s something you need to worry about. All boys your age are capable of having the kinds of feelings about other boys or men that you have had. It doesn’t necessarily mean you are gay, but if you are, well…it’s who you are. You don’t have to be ashamed of it.” I get up and sit beside Tommy on the hearth.
And with that Tommy leans over and buries his head in my breast. He sobs like his heart is broken as I hold him.
After a few minutes the tears subside and Tommy leans up. I hold his wet face in my hands and brush the tears from his freckled cheeks with my thumbs. “Feel better?” I ask him.
“Yeah,” he says with a slight smile.
I point down the hall off from the den. “Go on down to the bathroom and wash your face. Mr. Moultrie will be here shortly.”
The doorbell rings. Too late.
I look at Tommy. “That’s probably him now. Run along and get your face washed. We’ll be in the kitchen.”
I get up to answer the door.
“Glen?” Tommy says.
I turn back to him.
“Do we have to tell Mr. Moultrie about Curt and me?” he asks.
“No, not unless you want to.”
“Okay.” He hesitates. “Glen, I never really wanted you to get in trouble. I was just mad...I don’t know why I told ’em you did it. I’m really sorry.”
“I know you are, Tommy. I know you are.”
“Is Tommy Jackson here?” Moultrie says as I open the door.
“Come in, Mr. Moultrie. Yes, he’s here.” I step back and motion for the solicitor to enter.
“I didn’t think this case could get any stranger,” Moultrie says.
“What do you mean?” I say and close the door behind him.
Moultrie avoids an answer with a wave of his hand, and I lead him to the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?”
“No thanks. Where’s Tommy?”
“In the bathroom.”
“He said he’s got something to show me. You know what it is?”
“Yes. But before we do any talking, I’d like my attorney to be here—” The door bell rings again. “That should be him now.”
I go and let Jim in. When we get to the kitchen, Tommy is sitting at the table with Moultrie.
“Hello, Nathan,” Jim says.
“Hi, Jim.”
Tommy looks at Jim and then me. We sit.
“Alright, Tommy,” Moultrie says, “what’s this all about? Why are you here?”
“Glen didn’t do anything to me. I came over here to tell him I was sorry and show him this.” Tommy pulls out Chris’ letter and hands it to Moultrie.
The solicitor takes it from the envelope and reads it. “You’ve had this since last fall?” he says to Tommy.
Tommy nods but doesn’t say anything.
Moultrie looks at me. “Chris Manning was his counselor?” He nods toward Tommy.
“Yes,” I answer.
“And you knew he was the one who molested—”
“He didn’t molest me,” Tommy says with a little irritation in his voice.
Moultrie turns to Tommy. “He had sex with you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, and I wanted to do it. I started it. It was all my fault.”
Moultrie looks dumbfounded
“You still don’t get it do you?” I say to Moultrie. “You still can’t believe this is something a boy Tommy’s age would want to do.”
Moultrie looks up at me. “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth about all this when we interviewed you last fall?”
I take a deep breath and explain the whole implausible situation with Chris Manning and my promise to him.
“So Manning killed himself rather than face an accusation of child abuse?” Moultrie says.
“I think that’s about the size of it, Nathan,” Jim offers.
“And you kept quiet to protect his wife?” Moultrie says to me.
“And because I told Tommy I wouldn’t tell,” I say.
Moultrie shakes his head.
“So, what are you gonna do now, Nathan?” Jim asks.
Moultrie leans back in the chair and absentmindedly bites his thumbnail. “I’ll move to dismiss the charges in the morning,” he finally says. “After Tommy’s performance today in court, I was seriously considering doing that anyway.” Moultrie looks at me. “Your lawyer did a good job, Dr. Erskine. He made me doubt my own case, and I don’t prosecute people I’m not 100% sure are guilty.”
I smile and look to Jim.
“And what else?” Jim says to Moultrie.
“What do you mean?”
“What about Tommy?” Jim nods toward him. “You’re not planning on filing any charges against him, are you?”
I watch as Tommy’s eyes get big and he slowly turns his gaze on the solicitor.
Moultrie considers Jim’s question, then looks at Tommy. “Do you realize how serious what you’ve done is?” he asks. “You’ve lied under oath. You falsely accused this man and ruined his life.”
Tommy looks down and begins to sob.
Jim clears his throat. “Nathan, I don’t think—”
Moultrie holds up his hand to stop Jim. “Tommy, look at me.”
Tommy forces himself to look up.
“What you’ve done is not only wrong, it’s criminal.” Moultrie reaches up and scratches his head. “But, you finally manned up and told the truth. And I think you’ve been through enough,” he says, and leans back in the chair. “And I’m not going to put you through any more.”
Tommy blinks and the relief in his face is obvious to us all.
“And Manning’s wife?” Jim asks.
“I’ll have to show this letter to the judge,” Moultrie says. “But we can explain the situation—the two of us. I believe she will agree that there is no need to make public what we know. Nothing will be on the record about Tommy’s counselor.” Moultrie looks at me. “Manning’s wife won’t find out, Dr. Erskine. You can keep your promise.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Well,” the solicitor says as he gets up from the table, “I need to get this boy back home. I called the Pierces, Tommy, and told them you were with me. They thought you were asleep in your room. You’ve given them quite a scare.”
We all walk to the front door. Moultrie shakes Jim’s hand and then turns to me. I hesitate and then take his hand. “I’m sorry, Dr. Erskine,” he says, “but you should have told the truth in the beginning.”
“Would you have believed me if I had?”
He looks at me, but doesn’t offer an answer. Moultrie and Tommy walk out the door. Tommy looks back and waves. I return the wave as he gets in Moultrie’s car.
Jim looks at me. “You’re amazing,” he says. “That kid almost put you in prison for the rest of your life and you just wave to him like nothing has happened.”
I shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jim. I can’t hate him. That’s just what he would expect, and the very thing he doesn’t need.” I turn to Jim and offer my hand. “I want to thank you for all you’ve done.”
Jim takes my hand. “I appreciate the thanks, buddy. But we need to discuss my fee.”
> We both laugh.
And, at last, my ordeal is over.
Epilogue
Six months have passed since that night Tommy came to see me. Jim suggested the next day that I set all this down on paper. I told him I already planned to. The manuscript sits before me now as I write these concluding thoughts.
John Brantley called me the day after the trial ended to say that I was welcome to come back to New Horizons. There was a part of me that wanted to say, “Great! I’ll be back tomorrow.” The part of me that wanted to say, “Go to hell” won out.
I received a letter today from Tommy, with a picture enclosed. A family in Columbia has adopted him. He tells me how happy he is. He tells me again how sorry he is for what he did to me. And he thanks me for all I did for him. I’ll never forget you, he writes.
Jim was right. There is no return to innocence. A local TV station interviewed the jurors after the trial. Two were firmly prepared to vote “guilty.” And I still hear talk that I must have gotten away with something, that my attorney got the case tossed on some backroom “technicality.” But I no longer lament this. The people who matter the most to me know the truth.
Tommy Jackson and I share the simplest truth of all: You cannot return to a place you have never been.
Here I sit, alone in my study with my thoughts, my dreams, my hopes, my memories. I think about my life, who and what I am. I look at Tommy’s picture, his smiling face, his freckles, his bright eyes, and these haunting words of André Gide come to mind; words he penned as he reflected on his own life and loves—words I could easily write about myself:
The mystery remains, the link between my dark childhood, my restless adolescence, my young adventurism, my writings. But the moment of death will find me in a state of ecstasy, for the green and blue water of the river at the end of life has been known by me from the beginning; and the boy who waits there to guide me has eyes as blue as a sea of ice, skin like lilies, hair as a cloud colored by the sun at dawn. He is mysterious, waiting there, sketching his dreams in the sand. Is he the angel I have sought through life’s voyage? Or is he the child I was, born of two stars?
Perhaps innocence awaits me on the shores of that distant river where Tommy and I will someday meet again.
Perhaps.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
In the summer of 1995 I finished the first draft of Return to Innocence and, after some judicious editing of my own, began the arduous process of shopping the manuscript around to agents and publishers. I received a lot of praise for the story and the writing, but the final verdict was always the same from editors and agents alike: “I don’t think we can successfully market this work.” And so I set the manuscript aside and moved on to other projects.
By 1998 I was working as an editor for a small publishing house and decided to dust off the manuscript for a fresh look and a new try at getting it published. This was right about the time the infamous Rind Report was in the news for being the first ever study in a professional scientific journal to be condemned by the U.S. Congress. Hence, I completely reworked the story to make it more “controversial” in tone and subject matter based on some of the findings in the Rind Report. This was ostensibly to make the manuscript more marketable and therefore more appealing to potential publishers. I shopped around the revised manuscript, largely with the same results as before. However, an editor at a well-known publishing house in New York did tell me that were it not for other similar titles on their list they would have offered to buy my novel. Then, in the fall of 1999, I received an offer from a small start-up publisher for a limited print run. And so the first edition of Return to Innocence was published, albeit in such a limited quantity (and with no marketing) that hardly anyone noticed.
I am offering this second edition of Return to Innocence, which is based on the first draft of the story, so that it can at last be read and judged as I originally conceived it, and without the more salacious plot twists of the first edition (and the subsequent independent film based on it) that were the product of the 1998 rewrite.
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