by Kelli Kimble
“You knew his favorite food, and you let me make this?” She swept her hands wide over the salad ingredients.
“I’m sure he’ll enjoy whatever you made. You’re worrying too much. He eats in a diner. He can’t possibly care that much about what he eats.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Maybe you should go set the table.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As I set dishes and cutlery out in the dining room, I overheard snatches of conversation from the living room. A lady never eavesdrops, but I was only doing what I was told. It just happened that the place settings nearest the living room required the most attention.
“You married, Anu?”
“Widowed.”
“Kids?”
“Yes, but they’re all grown.”
Daddy grunted. “These damn referees. They need their eyes checked.”
“Iris tells me that you sell insurance.”
“Yes. Property and car insurance. I handle the dealings of a local who retired.”
“Maybe you could assist me, then. I’m shopping for a new insurance policy on my farm. Do you cover agricultural concerns?”
The mechanism of Daddy’s recliner creaked. “Of course. Would you like a quote? I could stop by your place tomorrow. Or you could come to the office if you prefer.”
“Yes, a quote would be most welcome. If you wouldn’t mind stopping by tomorrow, that would be very helpful.”
Mr. Anu sure knew how to get Daddy on his side.
“Iris,” Mother called. “Are you done with the table?”
“Coming,” I said as I finished the last setting.
She had oven mitts on her hands, and the oven door was open. The shepherd's pie was still sitting inside. It smelled heavenly.
“Does this look done to you? Should I let it brown a minute more?”
I laughed. “Mother, it looks and smells wonderful.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The salad sat ready on the counter, and I took it to the table, along with a basket of fresh-baked rolls. She followed and placed the pie on a trivet in the center of the table. She shook the mitts off of her hands and fussed with the place-settings for a moment. When she was satisfied she went to the living room.
“Dinner is ready, gentlemen.”
“It smells delicious, Mrs. Hond. I cannot tell you how much I’m looking forward to a home-cooked meal.”
We converged on the table.
“I hope that you like it,” Mother said. She passed Mr. Anu the salad bowl.
“Tell us about where you’re from,” Daddy said.
“You have a lovely accent,” Mother interjected.
“I was born in Egypt. I haven’t lived there for a long time, though. I’ve traveled extensively, and that is why my English still leaves a little to be desired.” He smiled at Mother, revealing his white teeth.
“Have you been to Paris?” Mother asked.
“France, yes. Paris is lovely.”
“How delightful,” Mother breathed. “We should go to France, Clark.”
“Have you won some kind of sweepstakes you haven’t told me about?”
Mother frowned. “Don’t be crass, Clark.”
“To tell you the truth, the loveliest vistas I’ve seen around the world have been right here in West Virginia. There’s no need to leave when there’s beauty right here in your backyard.”
“Mr. Anu’s farm is quite pretty,” I said.
“What brought you here?” Daddy asked, ignoring my comment.
“I was getting restless in my wanderings, and I thought I’d try to settle down. An acquaintance told me of the Thompson’s desire to retire and leave their farm. We worked out a deal and here I am.”
“We didn’t know the Thompsons,” Mother said, “I heard they moved to Florida.”
“Yes. To be near their grandchildren.”
“You said your children are all grown. Do you have grandchildren?”
“Yes, but circumstances keep us apart,” Mr. Anu said. “I must tell you, Mrs. Hond. This dish is the best thing I’ve eaten since I moved here. What do you call it?”
Mother blushed. “Shepherd’s pie.”
“I’m always telling her that she’s a fine cook,” Daddy said.
“That is what Iris told me, as well. I very much appreciate your generous hospitality. It’s been too long since I’ve shared a meal with another, let alone something so lovingly prepared.”
“Oh,” Mother said. “You’re always welcome to come. We appreciate you giving Iris such a wonderful opportunity.”
“Yes, it’s important that she learns the value of hard work,” Daddy said.
“I’ve only known her for a short while,” Mr. Anu said. “But I can assure you that she understands how to work hard. I thought I needed a boy to help me around the farm. But she’s proven to be a much better choice.” He smiled.
Then all three adults were beaming at me.
Bingo.
If I wanted the job, it was mine. My parents couldn’t approve of Mr. Anu more than if he’d discovered a vein of gold running under the sofa.
I wanted the job; rather, I wanted the opportunity to make a decent amount of money. But did I want to be drawn into Mr. Anu’s delusions of grandeur? Would I be able to find my way through his stories to the truth?
There was only one way to find out.
Chapter 6
Mr. Anu was in the stands during the football game Friday night. He smiled and waved at me when he first arrived. My ears burned whenever we stood clustered in groups on the sidelines; the other cheerleaders laughed and gossiped together while looking past me as if I were invisible.
Beyond Mr. Anu’s presence, there was nothing special about the game. Salvation is a small town and virtually everyone who was able was either in the stands or on the field, including my parents. Mother comes only to sell raffle tickets for the PTA. Daddy, though, was in the stands watching with rapt attention.
After the game, I went to the locker room with the cheerleaders to change. While the other girls spoke of which boy was going to take them somewhere before going home for the night, I changed into my street clothes. Their comradery drove me from the locker room faster than usual; it pricked at my pride to be the butt of their exclusionary cruelty.
Mother and Daddy were waiting for me in the parking lot. When I stepped out of the school, cool night air greeted me. Just away from the doorway, the sidewalk was in shadow.
“I was hoping you would come out soon,” someone said from the darkness.
“Who’s there?” I asked. My pulse kicked up a notch. The smell of sweat and dirt assaulted me. There was someone standing there, looking at me. The light flashed against the whites of their eyes as they stepped forward.
Gary materialized into the light. He was still wearing his uniform, streaked with mud and grass stains from the field. The metal cleats on his shoes clicked on the cement.
“Oh. Gary. You startled me.”
“My apologies,” he said, his voice smooth. “Why don’t you let me take you out for an ice cream. To make up for scaring you.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I tried to take a step past him, but he shifted into my path. “But my parents are waiting for me in the parking lot.”
“That’s the thing. I saw your father just after I left the field. I asked if I could take you for ice cream and bring you home, after. He agreed and he and your mother left. He said he’d see you at home.” Gary stretched his lips into a smile that looked more like a leer.
I tried to take another step, but he matched it again.
“Oh. Well, that’s very nice of you, really. But I should just go home,” I said. “I’ve got to get to work early in the morning.”
“All right then. We don’t have to get ice cream. How about I just drive you home?”
I didn’t answer. I backed up until I bumped into the wall of the school. He advanced, standing much closer than was polite. The rough br
icks snagged on my sweater, and I put my hands on his chest in a feeble attempt to hold him back. He dipped his head down, his eyes intent on my lips.
“That’s very nice of you, but I don’t want to keep you from your friends.”
“I’m not interested in my friends tonight. Just you.” He pressed in closer. His lips were almost against mine.
“Please let me alone,” I said.
He dropped his football helmet, and it clattered over the sidewalk. He grasped me by my upper arms, trapping me. He forced one knee between mine and ground his hips against me. I writhed and twisted, but he didn’t let go.
“I played a good game, and you cheered me on. It’s time to let loose a little.”
“Gary. You’re hurting me.”
“Come on, Miss Priss. I only want a kiss.” Then his lips were on me, sliding across my face and along my neck, leaving a slimy trail. His grip tightened and his fingernails dug into me through my sleeves. One hand released and drifted, touching first my shoulder, then my neck. And then it started trailing down, towards my chest, groping.
Alarms went off in my head. Fear prompted me to start kicking, scratching, biting, and screaming. It sort of worked; he stopped groping me and leaned back, letting my ineffectual blows fall on the padding of his uniform. And he laughed. He laughed.
The way Daddy dismissed my complaints about Gary’s attempted kiss at home, the way Mother acted as if it were something to simply endure, the way the other cheerleaders abused me with their exclusion, the way Gary called me ‘Miss Priss’ while he held me against a wall to grope me, and his goddamn laugh — his laugh! They all compounded into a singular white-hot rage.
I don’t know what I did, or what I said. But somehow, someone had ahold of my wrist. I was sitting astride Gary, who was on the ground on his back, and I was beating him in the face with his own helmet.
“Iris,” a voice broke into my consciousness. I paused, partly because something was keeping me from hitting Gary again, and partly because something in me was quiet now.
“Iris.” The voice was firmer this time, the grip on my wrist increased in pressure.
Mr. Anu.
“Oh,” I said.
“Can you stand, Miss Hond? Are you injured?”
I was wielding the helmet by the metal chin bar; the shell of it was bloody and cracked. I released it and it fell on Gary’s chest and rolled to the ground. Gary didn’t move.
“Mr. Anu,” I said. He was bending over me, and I held my arms up to him, like a toddler wanting to be picked up. He helped me to my feet. “He was hurting me.”
“I know, Miss Hond. And we’ll talk to the police about that. But right now, he needs a doctor.”
My hands shook and I leaned against him. I wasn’t sure that I could stay standing on my own.
“Is there a phone nearby? We need to call for a doctor.”
“The locker room,” I said. “The boys’ coach will be there; he’ll know what to do.”
Mr. Anu helped me to a bench. I sank onto it, grateful for the solidity of it. He went and looked at Gary, maybe he was checking to see if he was breathing.
“Wait here.” He went inside. I kept my eyes on the door, willing for him to return. I didn’t want to see Gary.
The door burst open and the cheerleaders poured out, noisy and oblivious. One of them, Bertha, noticed me on the bench. She fell silent and elbowed the girl beside her. They didn’t yet see Gary since I was sitting in the light and more obvious.
“Let’s go,” Bertha said. She took a step forward and tripped over Gary. She caught herself, but when she saw him she started screaming.
The other girls flew into a tizzy, screams, and calls for help and old-fashioned wailing had me clamping my hands over my ears.
“Stop!” I yelled. “Stop it!”
But they couldn’t hear me over their own sounds — that, or they didn’t care if their reaction upset me. It stretched on forever: me with my hands over my ears, the girls holding various poses, shock pouring off them in the sounds and smells they produced, the skin on the backs of my knees sticking to the bench, and the stars over it all.
I don’t know how long it was. The football coach came out and pushed a path through the girls to Gary. Mr. Anu was behind him, and other boys from the team.
“Get back out of the way,” the coach demanded. He ran his hands over Gary. It forced me to notice the amount of blood. It puddled in a dark ooze around Gary’s head.
Bertha took hold of this opportunity.
“She did it.” She pointed an accusatory finger at me.
“There’s no time for that,” Mr. Anu said. “This boy needs a doctor.”
The coach dashed off, turning out of sight towards the parking lot. Coins in his pocket marked his progress away from us until it faded.
“Does anyone have a clean towel? Or a blanket?” Mr. Anu asked.
A football player held out a towel that had been draped around his neck. Mr. Anu tried to wipe some of the blood from Gary’s face.
“Boy, howdy,” the boy who’d given the towel said, now that he was close enough to observe Gary’s condition. “Did she really do that to him?” He jerked his thumb towards me. Everyone but Mr. Anu stared at me.
“I —” But that was all I could say. No words came to mind, and no thoughts came forward, either. I was blank. Numb.
A gleaming station wagon came careening around the corner and up the sidewalk, lurching to a stop beside Gary. The coach got out and directed Mr. Anu and the football players in placing Gary in the backseat.
“Johnson,” the coach barked when he was getting back in the driver's seat. “Come with me.” He pointed at Mr. Anu. “The police are on the way. Wait here with her.”
A boy broke from the group and got into the car. He’d barely shut the door when the car started backing erratically away from us. When it reached the pavement, it swung out wide and squealed away.
“Are any of you children witnesses?” Mr. Anu asked.
They shifted under his gaze, shuffling their feet and muttering unintelligible things. He was a stranger, and they were reluctant to think of him as an authority figure, but Mr. Anu seemed to grow several inches taller.
“No,” Bertha finally stammered out with enough clarity to be heard. “We were in the locker room.”
“I know none of you boys saw it,” he said. “I thank you all for your assistance. Perhaps you should go about your business, now.”
Flashing blue and red lights against the wall announced that the sheriff had arrived in the parking lot. It spurred them to action, and they dispersed. I was relieved. Snatches of their conversations reached me, but I blocked them out.
Alone for the moment, Mr. Anu sat beside me.
“He hurt me, Mr. Anu.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
But the numbness was fading. I couldn’t say anything around the lump that was forming in my throat. I shook my head.
A sheriff’s deputy appeared.
“Excuse me. Did you call for the sheriff?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.” Mr. Anu stood and shook his hand, while simultaneously moving him away from me. They talked in hushed whispers, though I could hear everything they said. It didn’t sound like anything. Just air, moving. Wind.
Eventually, Mr. Anu led me to the deputy’s car and helped me inside while the deputy recited numbers and my name into his radio. He drove me to the station in silence, where Daddy was sitting in the waiting area looking like he’d been boiled. Mr. Anu came in behind us.
“What’s the meaning of this? Why are you treating my daughter like a criminal?”
“We’re not treating her as anything as of yet.” The sheriff emerged from his office and shooed the deputy out. He was old — too old to be running around, chasing criminals. Although that was probably more of a commentary on the criminal activity in Salvation than it was on the date of the sheriff’s birth. He had folds and folds of wrinkles hiding his eyes, and jowls that hung
an inch below the level of his chin. He wore his hat just a little bit crooked.
“What do you mean? Look at her! She’s had a shock. She’s just a girl.”
“This girl might have put one of our local boys in the hospital. Sally,” he called out to a woman sitting at a desk nearby. “Call Mercy and find out the status of that boy. What’s his name?” He turned to Mr. Anu.
“I believe they called him Gary. He’s a football player.”
The sheriff clapped a hand to the top of his hat, knocking it further askew. “Not Gary Damien. He’s our best offensive player.”
“See here,” Daddy said. He pulled me to him and tucked me under his arm. He smelled of aftershave and beer, and it comforted me. “I don’t care if he’s the best quarterback in the NFL. I’m taking my daughter home.”
He made towards the door, taking me along, too. But the sheriff held up a hand.
“I just have some questions for her. If she’s a minor then you can sit in, too.”
Daddy considered the sheriff. “All right. But only for a few minutes. She’s shaking like a leaf and her mother’s worried sick.”
We followed the sheriff to his office. It was small and smelled of cigarette smoke. An ashtray on the desk overflowed with ashes and crushed butts. He gestured us towards a pair of seats across from his desk. He lowered himself into his own chair with a squeak of cheap vinyl.
“Now. Tell me what happened, in your own words.”
“I . . . do I have to? It was all so horrible.”
“I’m sure you’ll agree that Mr. Damien’s injuries are horrible. Don’t his parents deserve an explanation for his state?”
I licked my lips. “Yes, sir.”
“Go on, then.”
“I was leaving the school, after the football game —”
“Were you alone?” he interrupted.
“Yes, sir.”
He noted something on a pad of paper. “You always go around after dark, alone?”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but there wasn’t anyone else to walk with.”
“You were inside the school alone, then.”
“No. The other cheerleaders were there.”
“Why didn’t you walk with them?”