Sway (28 page)

“What happened to your face?” Bridget asked.

“Nothing, I was born this way,” I said innocently.

“Very funny,” she said in a tone that didn't sound as if she thought I was funny
at all
. “Were you in a fight?”

“Yes, with a flight of stairs. I lost.”

Her expression was cool, her lips slightly pursed, as we started the silent game again. I was holding out, I was almost winning, when she took a deep breath and let out a quiet sigh, as if to convey her disappointment in me. And … fuck! I was going to lose. Again. She was like an Olympic-qualified silent game player.

“I got jumped by a couple of guys,” I said. “It was no big deal.”

“It looks like a big deal,” she said, but let me off the hook by turning to look at Ken and Theresa in the spotlight. “She looks beautiful, doesn't she?” Bridget asked wistfully, her expression soft and difficult to read. Theresa was wearing a full-length black gown, the dress cut to accentuate her best features, a full bust and an hourglass waist. Her long, wavy brown hair hung loose around her shoulders. Theresa held herself with the kind of confidence that makes people beautiful.

“Are you disappointed?” I asked. “That you didn't win homecoming queen?”

She turned her attention back to me as she shook her head. “Oh, no, not at all. I'm glad Theresa won. I mean, look at her. She's so happy. I was really excited when they announced that she was elected queen. People can be so superficial, especially in high school, but Theresa is awesome and I'm glad people can see that about her.”

“I figured it would make you happy that she won,” I said.

“Ken was disappointed, of course,” she said dryly. “He wanted us to be king and queen together.”

“Does he treat you right?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Sure. Yeah, I guess. He doesn't point out all of my faults the way you do. We don't have anything to argue about. And he never punches my kid brother in the nose. But other than that, he's a pretty good guy.”

“Yeah, sounds like he's perfect for you,” I said.

“Mm,” she only murmured as she shifted closer to me and rested her cheek against my shoulder.

I rubbed my hand lightly up her back, then pressed the flat of my hand between her shoulder blades, consciously avoiding the small of her back or the rise of her hip. I didn't say anything, just took a moment to savor her smell, the warmth of her hand on my shoulder.

“I'm glad you're here,” she said as she lifted her head. “I've missed you. We're okay, right? It's not weird between us?”

“No, not weird,” I said quietly.

The song ended then but I held her for another minute and she didn't move away. “I'd better go,” I said finally. “Ken will be looking for you.”

“Thanks for keeping me company,” she said, and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. I put my hand under her chin and kissed her softly on the lips—just once, to see what it felt like.

The apples of her cheeks flushed prettily as she stepped out of my arms and I turned to leave without a glance back.

I was almost to the parking lot when I ran into Pete, on his way into the dance with a group of people who before six weeks ago would never have noticed that he was alive. He was walking on crutches, still recovering from his surgery, but all things considered, he looked pretty good.

“Well, look who it is,” Pete said, putting on a show for his audience. “I didn't think I'd see you here tonight, Jesse.”

“I'm not staying,” I said.

“I'll catch up with you guys,” Pete said to his entourage, and they moved on and left us alone. “Man, you look like hell,” he said once the others were out of earshot. “Who did that to you?”

“Skinhead Rob and his buddy,” I said. “It was just a matter of time before I got on Rob's bad side.”

“Yeah, I guess that's kind of your thing,” he said with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Eventually you end up on everyone's bad side.”

“Yeah, well, enjoy yourself tonight,” I said, and started to walk away.

“Alderman!” I glanced over my shoulder to see Ken moving toward me like a freight train, his plastic crown still in place on his perfectly coiffed hair.

“Uh-oh,” Pete said gleefully. “He sounds pissed.”

“I saw you,” Ken said. “I saw you with Bridget. Man, I'm going to make you sorry you were ever born.”

“I'm not looking for a fight, Ken,” I said. “I was just saying good-bye. I'm not going to bother you or Bridget again.”

“You're god-damn right you won't.” Ken grabbed me by the front of my jacket and lifted me off my feet to give me a good shake, then threw me to the ground. I stood as he swung a fist but he timed it wrong and I felt only a puff of air across my face. He swung with his left and connected with my cheek. It wasn't his power arm, so I just staggered back a couple of steps but kept my feet.

“Ken?” Bridget called from behind him, and we all turned at the sound of her voice. She sounded confused, uncertain, but her voice hardened as she said, “Ken, what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Ken said quickly as he took a step away from me.

“Nothing?” she asked, her tone conveying a warning. “Did you just hit Jesse?”

“Don't worry about it,” I told her. “We're just having a conversation.”

“Pete, what's going on?” Bridget asked.

Pete eyed me carefully, watching for my reaction. From the gleam in his eye, I knew he wanted to punish me and this was the best opportunity he would ever get. I kept my face even, without expression.

“Ken's afraid Jesse will tell you the truth,” Pete said.

“The truth about what?” Bridget asked.

“Do you want to tell her?” Pete asked as he turned back and forth between Ken and me, waiting for one of us to say something. “No?” he asked as we both stayed silent.

“Ken, what is he talking about?” Bridget asked.

“Baby, it's really nothing,” Ken said. “You shouldn't worry about it. Pete just overheard a conversation, but he misunderstood and got the wrong idea.”

“Ken paid Jesse to learn all about you so he could trick you into dating him,” Pete blurted.

“What?” Bridget asked, looking more confused than ever. And really, when Pete said it out loud, it did sound ridiculous.

“Ken paid Jesse, for Jesse to fix it, so that you would go out with Ken,” Pete said slowly.

“That doesn't even make sense,” Bridget said. “Jesse had nothing to do with it. Ken and I ran into each other at the impressionist exhibit at the campus gallery.…” Her voice trailed off as she studied Ken's face closely. “He just happened to be there at the same time,” she said, and as she said it she seemed to suddenly realize how unlikely it was that Ken had actually given up a Wednesday afternoon to tour the gallery on his own.

She turned to look at me, her expression still just confused, not angry yet. “Did you—?” She started to ask a question, then changed it to a statement. “You told him he could run into me there. Is that it?”

I just nodded but said nothing.

“What else did you tell him?” she asked, her eyes wide with shock, cheeks flushed red with anger.

“It's not important,” Ken said. “What matters is how I feel about you, Bridge. I love you.”

“Please,” Bridget said as she closed her eyes and held up her hand to silence Ken. “What else did you tell him?” she asked me.

“I told him the things you like, your interests,” I said, my voice trailing off as I stalled for time. Then I figured, what the hell, the jig was up. If she was going to hate me anyway, I might as well tell her everything. Be completely honest and bare my soul. “I told him he should tell you that if he could have one superpower for a day, he would want to heal people with a touch.”

Bridget lifted a hand to cover her mouth as she realized the depth of our deception.

“That's what he does,” Pete said with a nod at me. “He lies, manipulates people, for money. Jesse doesn't care about anybody but himself.”

“Is it true?” Bridget asked me, a tremor in her voice.

“Which part?” I asked.

“Is it true that Ken paid you?”

“Two hundred bucks,” I said with a nod.

Bridget took a step toward me and slapped me, hard, across the face. She was the third person in as many days to hit me in the face, but this blow hurt more than any of the others.

She turned to Ken and said, “Tell me you really have a cousin named Jamie with Down syndrome.”

Silence. Ken hesitated just long enough that you knew the next words coming out of his mouth would all be bullshit.

“Tell me!” Bridget shouted while Ken stared mutely at his feet. “You
made up
a cousin with Down syndrome? Jesus, what is wrong with you? Both of you? You're … you're…,” she sputtered, gasping for breath as she started to lose it for real.

“Assholes,” Pete finished for her.

With that, Bridget burst into tears and ran from all of us, back toward school. Ken hurried after her, calling her name. I wanted to go after her, but didn't. There was no way to recover from this. She would hate both of us forever.

“Feel better?” I asked Pete when they were gone.

“Much.”

“You hurt your sister's feelings.”

“I didn't do anything,” he said emphatically. “You and Ken hurt her feelings. Don't try to make this my fault.”

“I mean you didn't have to break it to her like that, the night of homecoming and all. You could have told her in private, spared her the embarrassment,” I said.

“Spared her? Or spared you?” he asked in that tone he got when he was playing the betrayed-by-life role. “You really think you should be lecturing me about how to treat other people? She'll get over it. Better for her to know that you're both a couple of douches so she can move on.”

“You're probably right,” I said, and turned to go.

“Hey,” Pete called after me. “That's it? You're just going to walk away?”

“That's it, Pete.” I spoke without turning back to look at him, though I saw from the corner of my eye he was still standing in the middle of the parking lot as I pulled the car into traffic.

 

THIRTY-EIGHT

The Siegel Center's very own Special Olympics was held on a crisp Saturday afternoon in mid-November on the campus at Wakefield High School. Half the town turned out to watch the event. Though there were plenty of people who just wanted to watch the spectacle of the community's less coordinated throwing a Frisbee or runing around the track, there were even more who wanted to support the kids and make them feel loved.

As I walked along the sidelines to find a seat in the bleachers, a few of the kids from the Siegel Center recognized me and attacked with their slobbery hugs and goofy smiles. An anonymous donor had provided the funds to buy all the kids uniforms and a medal on a ribbon for each participant, plus the money needed to install a new therapy garden in the courtyard at the Siegel Center.

The generous cash donation was made with the restrictions that the funds could only be used to help Bridget's kids and not to support the work of anti-Semitic terrorist cells, or programs endorsed by Oprah Winfrey. Clearly the Siegel Center had been baffled by the letter that came with the check, but had, at the very least, honored the donor's request that the kids get the money for their programs. Though still not on speaking terms with Pete or Bridget, I attended the event so I could give a full and detailed report to the donor that evening. Naïvely optimistic people irritated Mr. D, so he opted to stay home and watch old
Cagney & Lacey
episodes now that he owned the complete series on DVD. His attraction to Tyne Daly is one of the great mysteries of the universe.

Principal Burke was there, taking credit for Wakefield High School's support of the Special Olympics, even gave the opening address to kick off the games. To hear him talk, you'd think he was a regular Nelson Mandela.

Coverage of the Special Olympics event had even made the front page of the local newspaper with a quote from Burke in the article about how thrilled he was to support the work of the Siegel Center. Buried on page eighteen of the same edition of the paper was a story about the bust of local drug dealer Robert Elliott. Before reading it in the paper, I had never known Skinhead Rob's last name. In addition to possession of several hundred hits of Ecstasy, he had been brought up on federal charges for trafficking in forged identification.

The police had secured a warrant for Rob's basement lair with information from a reliable source. For his sister's sake, it was probably a good thing that he was being held in a federal prison without bail to await trial.

The Booster Club was selling drinks and snacks for the Siegel Center's event, the money they raised designated to support the second annual Special Olympics event the following year. I went for a hot dog and a Coke in the break between track-and-field events and came face-to-face with Pete, who was taking orders at the Booster Club booth.

Pete's eyes narrowed and the half of his face that worked correctly twisted into a scowl. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Just a dog and a Coke,” I said. “That is, assuming the dogs are kosher.”

“Why are you even here?” he asked.

“For someone who's not talking to me, you sure have a lot to say,” I observed. “I just want something to eat and I'll be on my way.”

“You hurt Bridget. A lot. But she's such a saint, she doesn't even hate you,” Pete said with disgust. “So you know what? I hate you enough for both of us.”

“Look,” I said, “there's nothing I can do to make it right. If there was, I'd do it, but there's not.”

“You're a liar,” he said quickly. “You don't care about anyone's feelings but your own.”