Authors: Will Allison
“Miss me?” she said in an accusing tone.
But we patched things up on the way to school, making plans to build a more elaborate fort, and we were still doing okay right up until I noticed the calendar on her classroom door. I was scheduled to be the parent helper that morning. It had completely slipped my mind. I was apologizing to Sara’s teacher, telling her I’d have to come after my appointment, when Sara realized what was going on.
“You’re supposed to be here this morning,” she said.
“I will be,” I said. “Just later.”
“You’re supposed to be here
now.
”
Not ten minutes after I left, as I was merging onto the parkway, the school nurse called to say Sara wasn’t feeling well. I had her put Sara on. She said her stomach hurt.
“Why didn’t you say something before?”
“It didn’t hurt before.”
Liz was already on her way to work, so I suggested Sara have the nurse call Helen to come get her, but she began crying and said no, she wanted
me
. I turned around at the next exit.
I called home to let Helen know I was bringing Sara back, but she didn’t answer the phone, and Sara started begging to go with me, promising she’d be good. I figured it couldn’t hurt for Tawana’s lawyer to meet her. Knowing his client’s son almost killed a little girl and actually seeing her face-to-face
were two different things. Perhaps he had kids of his own.
The practice was located in East Orange, in a big Victorian that had been converted into offices. On the way in, hurrying through the November chill, I started to ask Sara not to talk about the accident while we were there, then reconsidered; I didn’t want her telling anyone she wasn’t allowed to. We were ten minutes late, but it didn’t matter. The lawyer, Raymond Burris, was running behind schedule. When he came out of his office in a pinstriped suit, Sara was assuring me she wasn’t too sick for the class play that night. She fell silent and slid closer to me, and then I saw why: he was with Tawana Richards. I was tempted to get up and leave. Nobody had said anything about her being there. I felt like I’d walked into a trap.
But Tawana seemed as surprised as I was. After an awkward moment, she put out her hand and introduced herself, saying she hadn’t properly done so before. She looked nothing like the last time I’d seen her. Her eyes were clear, her hair was pulled back, and she wore an expensive-looking dress and boots. She thanked me for coming.
“I didn’t want Ray bothering you,” she said, “but seeing as you’re the only one who saw what happened—”
I said it was no trouble. Behind his smile, Burris looked uncomfortable. I’m sure he didn’t want his client talking with a potential defendant.
“Hey there, young lady,” he said to Sara. “No school today?”
“I’m sick.”
“Sick?” He turned to his receptionist. “Monica, did you hear that? We’ve got a sick little girl over here.” He touched Tawana’s elbow. “If you’ll excuse us, please, Mr. Bauer.”
Burris helped Tawana with her jacket and led her to the door as the receptionist brought over a 7-Up and saltines for Sara. When he came back, he said if Sara was feeling up to it, he’d like for her to join us. I gave him the party line: she hadn’t seen anything, she was going to a therapist, she’d been through a lot. He seemed disappointed, but he said he understood and ushered me into a room with bay windows and a marble fireplace. We sat at a coffee table instead of at his desk. He started by saying Tawana had told him how I’d taken her into my home. He said he imagined the accident had been quite an ordeal for me and my family. As he was talking, I noticed what looked like a framed photo of Juwan on the table. Maybe he saw me staring at it, or maybe it was part of his plan all along.
“That’s him,” he said, picking it up. “My sister’s boy. I still can’t believe it.”
The family resemblance was suddenly clear. It was unnerving, like I was talking to an older, heavier version of Juwan himself. Burris held out the photo. I didn’t want a closer look, but there was no avoiding it. Juwan was leaning against the Jaguar, clowning, his hands arranged in a crisscross of signs. He looked like a kid who didn’t take himself too seriously.
Burris went on to say he’d sponsored Juwan’s baseball
teams for years. The team photos were in a row on the wall above a bookcase lined with trophies. He said Juwan had had a good arm for a skinny kid, and he’d been disappointed when he didn’t go out for varsity. “But by then, it was all skateboarding.”
With every word he spoke, I imagined him gauging my reaction. Surely he could tell how uneasy I was. The more he said, the worse I felt. Up to a point—when I’d listened to Liz read the obituary, or to Juwan’s friends’ stories at the funeral—I’d felt like I was taking my medicine, fulfilling some obligation. Now I’d had enough. Maybe Liz had been right. My lawyer, if I’d had one, would have put a stop to this.
But when Burris started pointing out Juwan in the photos, I couldn’t very well just sit there. We stood together in front of the bookcase. Juwan was easy to spot. As a kid, he’d had his mom’s hair, puffing out like hi-fi earphones from beneath his cap. Also the biggest, most disarming smile of any kid on the team, year after year.
Finally Burris took a seat and got down to business. He assured me he wasn’t on a witch hunt. “Right now, I’m just trying to find out what happened.”
He asked if I could start by telling him everything I remembered about the accident. I’d thought I wouldn’t be nervous, as many times as I’d been over it, but surrounded by all those photos of Juwan, it was hard to concentrate. I managed to tell him what I’d told the police. He took notes. When I was done, he asked me to draw a diagram
of the accident. He had questions, too: Did the town do a good job of maintaining our street? Were there any potholes or other chronic road conditions? How quickly did the police and medics arrive? What was my impression of the job they did?
Through it all, he addressed me as if I were on his side, a potential witness for the plaintiff. At no point did he give any indication that I was the only obvious defendant, and at no point did I acknowledge my awareness of this fact. I supposed he could have gone after the girlfriend’s parents, if that’s where the alcohol had come from, or the car dealer, if there turned out to have been some mechanical issue, or maybe the town itself, but those would have been long shots. I figured if he didn’t have a case against me, he didn’t have a case at all.
When we came out of his office, Sara was on her fifth pack of saltines. Burris asked how she was feeling, and she said, “Better.” I didn’t want them getting into a conversation, so I got us out of there as quickly as I could.
Outside, I took Sara’s hand, relieved. Liz would be waiting to hear how things went. No surprises, I’d tell her. No reason to think they’d actually sue. I was considering calling her right there in the parking lot, when I looked up and saw Tawana. She was waiting at our car in a long suede jacket with a fur collar, her arms folded against the cold.
“Mr. Bauer?” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for the other day. For imposing on you. Sara, I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
I remembered the look on Sara’s face after Tawana had taken the axe to the tree. Now she was practically hiding behind me.
“That’s okay,” she said.
“I want you to know that’s not who I am, Mr. Bauer,” Tawana said. “And I’m not the kind of person who goes around suing people, either. My brother, he’s just doing what he has to.” She glanced at Burris’s window, where he stood watching us. “I realize that crash was my son’s fault. I don’t like it, but I accept it. This business where something bad happens, somebody automatically gets sued—” She shook her head, holding back tears. “That’s not going to bring my boy back.”
I just stood there, at a loss. The idea of Tawana apologizing to me was almost too much. I wanted to cover my ears. At the same time, hearing her say the accident had been Juwan’s fault almost felt like she was
forgiving
me, though I knew how absurd that was. She didn’t know what I’d done and surely wouldn’t have forgiven me if she had. At any moment, I was certain she’d look into my eyes and see me for what I was.
“Anyhow,” she said, “don’t take this wrong, but I hope this is the last time we meet. It’s just too hard.”
I managed to nod and say I understood as I opened the door for Sara to get in. Tawana turned to her, blinking, as if she’d forgotten she were there. Then her expression softened, and she put a hand to Sara’s cheek.
“Poor baby,” she said. “You must have been so scared.”
I knew how uncomfortable Sara was, but I remember hoping she’d at least be polite. And in fact I think that’s exactly what she was aiming for. I’m sure she didn’t mean for what she said to come out sounding like a boast.
“Not really,” she said. “Not like the first time.”
Looking back, I suppose it must seem like I
wanted
to get caught. Why else would I have been standing outside Burris’s office, letting Sara talk to Tawana? Why else would I have brought her along in the first place when I could have just taken her back to the apartment and rescheduled the meeting?
Now it was out of my hands. There was nothing to do but hope Tawana didn’t understand what Sara was saying, that she’d just let it go. But she was too nice for that.
“First time, baby?” She gave Sara a blank sort of smile. “First time what?”
“That he almost hit us,” Sara said. “We stopped so fast, the seat belt hurt my shoulder.”
I was already buckling her in, silently begging her to be quiet.
“Who?” Tawana said. “Juwan?”
Sara nodded. Tawana looked to me for help. I turned up my palms.
“You mean that guy on Thomas Boulevard?” I said. “The one who stopped in the middle of the street?”
“No, Daddy. I spilled my grapes, remember?”
“That was the man in the SUV. I think you’re getting them confused.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Juwan was in a convertible,” I said, “not an SUV.”
“I’m
talking
about the convertible.” She made a face and slapped her knee. I must have seemed like some stranger who’d taken over her dad’s body.
“It’s okay, baby,” Tawana said. “I’m just glad you weren’t scared.”
I realized Tawana was barely holding it together. All that talk about the accident must have taken a toll. That and possibly just seeing Sara, being in the presence of someone else’s living, breathing child. I closed Sara’s door and apologized for her.
“No need,” Tawana said. “Juwan was the same way, so
stubborn
sometimes—” She caught herself and smiled, to show me she didn’t mean any offense, but the tears were already coming. Sara crossed her arms and scowled at us. Burris was still at the window, probably wondering if he should come out and put a stop to whatever was going on. I felt like crawling under the car. As much as I wanted to get out of there, though, I couldn’t just drive off and leave Tawana like that. I waited until she got control of herself. She blew her nose and took out her keys.
“He was a good boy,” she said. “I know it must not seem like it, but it’s true.”
“I’m sure he was.”
She looked at me like I still needed convincing. “He just made some bad decisions.”
I nodded. “Like everybody does.”
_______
Once upon a time, I didn’t think I wanted kids. In fact, even after you were born, there were days when I felt that becoming a parent was something I’d done for you and your mom, not for myself. I got over that in a hurry, but the shame of it has never completely gone away. There are still days I know I don’t deserve you.
_______
“Why did you say that?” Sara said. “Why did you make her not believe me?”
I was driving her back to school, hating myself for running roughshod over her, wishing there had been another way. And it was only going to get worse, because now she’d go tell her mom, looking for sympathy, and Liz would realize there was still more about the accident I’d kept to myself.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. Sometimes people remember things differently.”
Our eyes met in the rearview mirror. She was staring at me in disbelief. She knew perfectly well what she’d seen. She knew perfectly well what
I’d
seen.
I pulled over and killed the engine. “You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m the one who got confused.”
At first she wouldn’t even come up front. Then, after she had a long cry, she gave me a solemn stare. “I accept your apology.”
That was something she’d learned in school, instead of saying “That’s all right” when really it wasn’t. She wiped her eyes and leaned her head on my chest. I could have sat there like that all day, feeling the weight of her, listening to the traffic go by.
My phone beeped, a text message from Liz. All it said was, “So?”
Might as well get it over with, I thought. Sara was going to tell her what happened sooner or later. At least this way, I’d know what was said. I dialed Liz’s office and told her Sara was with me, that she hadn’t been feeling well so I’d brought her along to the lawyer’s office. Then I put her on speaker, hoping for the best.
“Hi, butterfly,” Liz said. “I’m sorry you don’t feel good.”
“I feel better,” Sara said. “Dad and I were having a fight, but now we’re making up.”
“Oh, no. About what?”
“About the dead boy—”
“Not a fight,” I said. “A disagreement. I remembered something wrong, and Sara corrected me.”
Sara liked the sound of that. “I have the best memory in the family. That’s what Nana says.”
“Tawana was there,” I said, changing the subject. “She was waiting for us after the meeting. She apologized for the accident and said it was his F-A-U-L-T.”
“Why are you spelling?” Sara said. “What’s the secret?”
“She said she wasn’t the kind of person who goes around S-U-I-N-G.”
“She really said that?” Liz said. “I mean, you have to admit, it’s almost too perfect.”
“What’s ‘suing,’ ” Sara said. “Will someone please let me into the conversation?”