Authors: Sandra Kitt
Leah turned her head to look earnestly at Jason. “What’s a puck?”
“The puck?” he repeated blankly. The puck was the game. Jason wondered how he was going to explain that when he saw Leah’s expression. Curious. Guileless. Teasing. He started to chuckle and felt a gentle purging of his distraction.
“Didn’t mean to get so serious,” he said sheepishly.
“I can see you’re a big fan,” Leah murmured with a smile.
The game began. While Jason yelled insults at the referees and cheered on the Rangers, Leah made a concentrated effort to follow the movement of the puck and players. It made her dizzy. Jason tried to explain an offsides, but Leah promptly gave up hope of ever seeing one. She surprised herself and Jason, however, by jumping to her feet and cheering when someone scored a goal. Not so much for the team scoring—it was the opposition—but because she was able to spot the goal at all. Leah put her fingers to her mouth and managed a shrill whistle.
Jason raised his brows in surprise. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“Kenny taught me,” Leah boasted proudly. She could see that Jason was impressed. After all, whistling was not a girl thing to do. In that moment she began to enjoy herself.
Jason watched Leah become animated, and his uncertainty disappeared. When he’d first spotted her, standing stiffly and impatiently outside the Garden, he’d thought this whole idea of his was crazy. Plus Joe had harangued him all afternoon about taking Leah Downey to a hockey game. Jason glanced at her as her face expressed concentration, excitement, and surprise. He decided to make sure that the evening went well. She was the one on alien ground. …
The Rangers lost. He went on to explain why, but it was all way over Leah’s head and she really didn’t care about the details. The game had been visual. Incredibly fast. The fistfights had made her gasp and stare, fascinated at the rituals of a game that allowed for action to stop for a brawl.
When the game ended, there was a general exodus. Jason guided her out of the Garden, using his body to block the pushing fans rushing for the parking lot or the subway. His light touch, as before, continued. Leah recognized that it was not really possessive but protective. She glanced at Jason’s profile and watched the way his eyes scanned the crowds; the cop in him was fully aware of everything and everyone around them.
Once outside, Jason looked at his watch and suggested they stop for a drink before heading back to Brooklyn. At a deli on Seventh Avenue they sat at the counter. He had a beer and Leah had hot chocolate.
Jason grimaced at her. “I don’t think I know anybody who really drinks hot chocolate.”
“Well, you know one now,” Leah said, grinning. “And I’ll be sober when I’m done.”
“Touché,” Jason said good-naturedly, lighting a cigarette. “How did you like the game?”
“I still don’t understand it, but it was fun,” Leah admitted. “You took a real chance, you know. I might have hated it. This could have been one hell of a long evening.”
Jason watched her carefully, but he didn’t seem offended by her comment. “Supposing you had hated it. What would you have done about it?”
Leah sighed. “Stuck it out. I would have looked stupid storming out and leaving you there alone.”
Jason chuckled softly. “It’s been done.”
“Why did you ask? Did you think I might?”
Jason didn’t even hesitate. “No,” he responded. “It wasn’t such a big risk. You strike me as a person who can still be surprised, who doesn’t mind trying new things.”
“Do I?” Leah asked, intrigued.
Jason nodded, exhaling smoke. “There’s a certain wide-eyed look about you.”
Leah rolled her eyes. “Sappy, I think you call it.”
“No, not sappy. Just interested. Curious,” Jason said, looking at her. “Curiosity will keep you young forever.”
Leah half smiled at his observation. “I don’t think I’ll give up my pension fund on that basis. Sometimes I feel very old. Ancient.”
“Yeah, so do I,” he agreed with some sadness.
Leah sipped her chocolate. In her head she started drawing comparisons between Jason and Allen. She quickly stopped. It wasn’t fair. She still knew next to nothing about Jason.
“So, I guess it’s fair to assume you like sports. You’re a jock as well as a cop. How macho,” she teased.
Jason shrugged slightly and grinned at her. He nodded toward her half-finished cup. “I should have asked if you wanted anything to eat.”
“No, thanks. If I eat this late I’ll have nightmares.” She immediately wished she’d made a different reference. When she glanced at him, he was closely studying her face and Leah hoped that he couldn’t detect her nervousness. “The hot chocolate is fine, thanks. Tell me something about these kids you work with. How do they find you?”
Jason finished his beer and signaled for another. “They don’t find me. It’s the other way around. Referrals come in from family court, social services, schools, detention centers.”
“Are they really … bad?” Leah suspected that she sounded naive. Judging from Jason’s expression, he thought so, too.
“Worse. These are kids whose parents, assuming they have any and know who they are, stopped interacting with them around the age of four or five. By seven they’re stealing from stores, from other kids, and getting into fights at school. By nine they’ve tuned out school but go because it’s better than home. They start drinking beer and cheap wine, smoking, more stealing.” Jason stopped and narrowed his gaze at her. “Do you want me to go on?”
Leah could only nod, already speechless.
“Now they’re being sent to detention, and the family is called in. At this point the authorities realize that no one is responsible enough or cares enough to do anything. But they don’t have any answers, either. At age eleven they’re probably carrying weapons, extorting smaller kids, working for older kids. This way there’s someone who might protect them when they need it.
“At around fifteen or sixteen, when the state is ready to sweep them under the carpet, I get involved. There’s an intervention program set up that tries to show these kids that there are other options to choose from.”
“Sports as opposed to jail?” Leah questioned.
“It’s cheap therapy.”
“How successful are you?”
Jason spread out his left hand and banked it left and right. “I’d say about fifty-fifty.”
“Is that all?”
“It’s better than zero.”
Leah shook her head sadly. She’d never known kids who lived the kind of life Jason had described. She’d never known kids who didn’t have parents.
“Look,” Jason said, lightly touching the back of her hand. “When I get them it’s already almost too late. But if they get convicted of something and get sent away, then it
is
too late. We’ve lost them. Jail only makes them better at what put them there to begin with. Sports …” He lifted his shoulders. “It’s physical. The guys get to work out a lot of stuff. They get a chance to win, for once.”
Leah continued to look at Jason. Slowly she began to smile.
“What?” he asked.
“You sound so passionate about it.”
He actually blushed but tried to cover it. “I wouldn’t use the word passionate myself, but someone has to do something, start somewhere. The alternatives stink.
“The guys are okay. Many of them are smarter than they get credit for. But they can be mean, and you can’t really trust them. And every once in a while there’s a real hard case, like this one kid, Slack. You know you’re not reaching him, and it’s not clear he wants to be reached.”
“Slack?” Leah repeated skeptically.
Jason nodded. “Right. As in, he doesn’t give any.”
Leah chuckled. She liked listening to Jason talk. He had a sense of humor.
He frowned at her. “Are you sure you want to hear this? We can talk about that new book by what’s-his-name.”
She chuckled again. “I’m sure. It wasn’t a trick question to stroke your ego.”
Jason exhaled the last of his cigarette, crushed it in the ashtray, and shook his head, bemused. “Most women I know wouldn’t give a—” He stopped, realizing that perhaps he was venturing onto delicate ground.
Leah stared into her cup. She cleared her throat. “Do these kids from hell play hockey?”
“Sort of. Street hockey on roller skates. We get old pairs donated by a rink in the Bronx. They call it a white boy’s game.”
Surprisingly, they chuckled together. Then Leah gnawed her lower lip and then took a deep breath. “Did you ever take Michael to hockey games?”
Jason took a large gulp of beer. “Sure. Lots of times. We used to play when I went to visit him. There’s a pond behind the school—his school …”
Jason stopped for a moment and Leah waited.
“It would freeze pretty solid in winter. We’d get together about fifteen boys and make up teams. We’d play by our own rules and always manage to find a spot for every kid.
“I once brought a bunch of guys from a detention center to a game. These kids were from Harlem and the Heights. They didn’t get it. Loved the fighting, but the game was over their heads. They all wanted to be football players anyway, for the NFL.” Again, his eyes got that faraway look. “Michael said he wanted to be a football player, but …” The thought trailed off and Jason shrugged. “He was going to spend Christmas with me this year. He would have graduated next June.”
“What will you do for the holidays?” Leah asked quietly.
“Don’t know yet.”
“You shouldn’t spend it alone.”
“I’m not afraid of being alone,” Jason said easily.
“That’s not the point.”
He smiled at her. “I’m afraid to ask what is.”
Leah shook her head. “You’re either being cynical or you’re making fun of me.”
Jason slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m not …”
“Then you’re trying to tell me to mind my own business. Fine. You’re right. I don’t really care,” she said with a vague gesture.
Jason began to smile again. It wasn’t so much a smile of amusement as one of sudden awareness. “Yes, you do,” he said. “Thanks.”
They finished their drinks and took the subway back to Brooklyn. There didn’t seem to be much need for more conversation, and Leah didn’t mind the occasional lapses into silence between them. She was very aware of Jason’s presence next to her, and very aware of passengers who sent covert or blatant glances their way. The curiosity seemed unnecessary, but Leah knew that some of their whispered comments and laughter among themselves was about her and Jason. Leah hated that it made her feel defensive. Like the men in the coffee shop the first time she and Jason had been out.
In Brooklyn, they passed the corner market. Leah noticed the usual contingent of teens hanging out, and the tall, skinny one in particular who always had something to say. This time was no different.
“Hey! Sweet thang. What you doing with that dude?” The teen began to laugh. “He all in your pants, right?”
Leah stared straight ahead and said nothing, feeling both angry and uneasy. Jason turned to look at the boy, and then excused himself to approach the teen. Leah felt her heart begin to pound. There was going to be trouble.
She didn’t move. Leah couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, but Jason was talking quietly. His hands were in his jacket pockets. His breath made vapor out of the cold air around him.
“Fuck you, man,” the boy suddenly shouted defiantly.
Jason continued his low-voiced response. For a moment the boys seemed to be listening to what he had to say. They appeared impatient and disgusted, their body language indicating clearly that they were not intimidated by Jason, but there seemed to be a reluctant acceptance of what he was telling them.
The leader had one more parting shot to make, but Jason cut him off with a clear hand signal that they should leave. The boys had more to say but nevertheless ambled away from the corner.
Jason walked back to Leah, and they continued down the block to her house.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered.
Jason frowned at her. “Do you know those guys?”
“Not really. They live around here, but. …”
“Then why should you be sorry? Look, I deal with guys like that every day, all day long. They’re wimps compared to someone like Slack. I’m not offended. You shouldn’t be.”
“What did you say to him?”
Jason grinned. “I told him he showed a lack of good manners. I told him that was no way to talk to a lady. Not in those words, of course. My ancestry came into question. And we both talked about doing certain things to certain parts of each other’s bodies. …”
Leah shook her head and couldn’t help smiling. Their steps slowed as they reached the brownstone. At the lamp post by the curb near her house they stopped completely. Jason wrapped an arm around the post.
“See this post? This is my lamp post. This post kept me upright that night when I thought I was going to sink into hell. See, here’s my name.” Jason pointed at some meaningless spot on the pole.
“I don’t understand how you can joke about it,” Leah said.
“What else should I do? Curse it? Kick it?”
Jason stroked the lamp post as if he’d developed some sort of personal relationship with it. He gave Leah a self-deprecating grin. “At least I had the good sense to stay from behind the wheel of my car. I might have ended up wrapped around this same pole.”
Leah wasn’t listening. She was watching Jason and building up the courage to speak. She knew that she was on the cusp of either withdrawing from her acquaintance with him or pulling closer. The words she felt like saying struggled with her common sense.
“Would you like to come for dinner sometime?” she blurted out.
Jason’s eyes swung quickly to stare into her face, trying to gauge her. The grin never changed. “Feeling sorry for me?” he asked.
Leah lowered her gaze. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Don’t,” Jason whispered, his expression becoming serious. He studied her for a long second. “This is not like the time with coffee, Leah. Not anymore.” He let go of the lamp post and stepped closer to her.
Leah made an impatient tsking sound with her tongue. “You know, already I’m sorry I said anything.”
“Why? I didn’t sound grateful enough?”
Leah turned abruptly away. Jason took hold of her arm and gently turned her back to face him.