The First Stone (18 page)

Leeza suddenly felt like someone had sucked all the air out of the room. She lowered her eyes. “That's not funny.”

“Who's tryin' to be funny? He's cute. Got kind of a moody bad-boy thing goin' on but I think that's all show. Seemed nice enough.”

Leeza turned her head toward the wall. Or tried to turn it. Made the pretense of doing so.

“And the best thing is he's coming back.”

No response.

“I think you'll like him. Really.”

Nothing.

“Look, he beats the hell outta naptime.”

Still nothing.

“Okay. Jeez. Sorry I brought it up.” Brett returned to her side of the room, and Leeza could hear her rummaging in her locker for a chocolate bar. Moments later she left, and Leeza knew where she was headed: first to the pop machine for a Pepsi and then to the third-floor big-screen TV and her favorite soap. Brett was so predictable.

She was also a good friend to everyone on the floor, even the screamer, whose room she dropped into a couple times each day. Although Stephen could not respond to her, he seemed to know she was there, seemed to enjoy listening to her chatter about nothing and everything, keeping him up-to-date on all that happened in the building. Including the Big Proposal.

Brett was being a friend to Leeza. too. She knewthat. What Brett didn't know, though, was that guys were the
last
thing she wanted in her life right now. Leeza had never been really comfortable with guys. Sure, she'd dated, but there'd never been anyone who'd asked her out more than two or three times. Which was probably
her
fault: the overachiever thing. Ellen had often told her she was far too serious. “You need to loosen up,” her sister would say. “Let yourself have
fun.”
But there was always schoolwork to do, committees to serve on, plenty to keep her busy. And then Ellen's illness.

So, even under different circumstances, Leeza would have felt uncomfortable about meeting some guy. Throw in the bandages, the fixators, the wheelchair and all the rest of it and you had some fairly solid reasons for not getting excited over meeting a male.

Besides, any teenager who'd spend his free time volunteering at a rehab center had to have
something
wrong with him.

Reef was nervous. More nervous, in fact, than when he'd gone to the rehab that morning. He had no reason to be. Hell, he'd known Bigger and Jink since eighth grade and Scar for two years. And except for Scar, who often had those errands to run for her old man, there wasn't a day when they hadn't got together for at least an hour or so. And it had only been three weeks since he'd seen them.

But three weeks was a long time when you were used to seeing someone every day.

And, of course, there was the bit about not returning Scar's calls. He didn't know himself why he hadn't, so it was probably gonna be weird trying to explain that to her.

Bigger and Jink hadn't called, but that was no surprise. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken on the phone to either of them. Maybe ten seconds to find out where they were getting together, but not just to talk. Girls talked on phones, not guys.

Probably, though, his unease had a lot to do withgiving up smoking. Colville didn't allow it, and the man practically had a dog's sense of smell when it came to sniffing out anyone who was stupid enough to try it. Reef had earned himself two “extra jobs” earlier that week before he'd finally given up and tossed what was left of his last pack. It had been rough, though. He'd chewed gum till his jaws ached, and the last couple nights he'd even dreamt about smoking, woke up with the phantom taste of a cigarette in his mouth. He'd caved only once and bought one from Keith, but that acne-faced asshole charged four bucks a pop and Reef didn't have cash like that to burn. He'd spent a pretty good chunk of his Social Services check paying off the glass panel he'd broken that first day.

He walked to the end of the veranda and stood looking at the traffic, then pulled up a wicker chair and sat down. Longed for a cigarette.

“Not here yet?”

Reef glanced around at Alex, who was standing just inside the screen door. Despite the heat, he was wearing one of his many long-sleeved shirts, this one a glaring color somewhere between orange and olive green.

“Nothin' gets by
you,”
Reef said.

“You
know
it, honey,” said Alex as he turned and headed toward the family room.

There was that, too, of course: Alex's “honey.” He could just imagine Jink and Bigger's reaction to the resident fairy. In the last three weeks, he'd almostgrown used to all the posing and prancing and prattling. That last word was Alex's. Reef had never heard it before, hadn't even known what it meant when Alex had said one night, “Oh, just listen to me prattle on.” Reef and Owen had been finishing the supper dishes when Alex waltzed in with news of a new Cher CD, yet another Greatest Hits compilation. He already owned everything the singer had recorded, but he'd just seen this latest one—some godawful remix, Reef imagined—advertised on MuchMusic and he absolutely
had
to have it. “She's the
quintessential
performer,” he'd gushed, then launched into his own breathy version of “A Different Kind of Love Song” that cracked up both Reef and Owen. No one could accuse Alex of not being different.

Funny, Reef thought, about what you could get used to. It wasn't too long ago that, under different circumstances, he'd have “cleaned Alex's clock,” something his grandfather used to say. Alex's being a fag still disgusted him, but it didn't get to him like it did before. Still, he was glad his friends were coming during back-to-back episodes of “I Dream of Jeannie.” Alex loved watching reruns of the old show on the comedy network, squealing each time the genie left the bottle in a puff of smoke. “Every good queer knows that sequence is a visual metaphor for coming out,” he'd crowed. Grinning, Reef and the others had shaken their heads, glad they had no personal knowledge of fag metaphors or fairy filmmaking.

He heard the car a good minute or two before it rounded the corner. Clearly, Greg Matheson had yet to get the Escort repaired. If anything, the knocking was louder than ever, and the blue smoke that trailed the car now seemed like an accessory, a third bumper or a fifth wheel. Reef sucked in a deep breath and stood up to greet them.

Scar, sitting in front beside Matheson, was out of the Escort even before it stopped, darting up the steps and flinging her arms around Reef's neck. “Good to see you, baby,” she said, planting her lips squarely on Reef's and grinding her body against his.

It took Jink and Bigger considerably longer to get out. Pulling away from Scar, Reef grinned as he watched them unfold their long legs and climb out. They bent and rubbed their knees, reminding Reef of the old man he'd seen in the physio gym that morning, and his mind did a sudden flash-forward: they, too, would be old one day. It was the first time he'd ever been conscious of his friends'—and, therefore, his own—mortality. It was suddenly sobering.

“Hey, asshole, how're ya doin'?” This from Bigger, whose face split in a huge grin.

Reef came down the steps and Bigger punched him in the arm.

Jink slapped him on the back. “You look good, man! Place must be agreein' with you.”

“He's right,” Matheson said, coming around the car and shaking Reef's hand. Although he called everycouple days, he'd seen Reef only twice since bringing him here, and that had been during the first week. “You've put on a little weight. And that's quite the tan you got goin' there.”

Reef was embarrassed by the attention but pleased by the comments. He, too, had noticed the changes in his body. He'd always been wiry and strong without an ounce of fat on him, but the combination of Colville's rigid meal requirements—the guys assigned to do the grocery shopping on any given week knew
Canada's Food Guide
by heart—and the lifting and lugging Reef had been doing on the greenhouse had bulked up his arms and chest. As a result, he'd had to buy some new T-shirts, and the black one he wore now accentuated the extra muscle he carried.

“I'm gonna go see Frank for a bit and give you guys a chance to visit,” Matheson said.

“He's out back on the deck,” Reef told him.

Matheson nodded and disappeared around the side of the house.

“So, whadda you guys been up to?” Reef asked, leading his friends up the steps to the chairs on the veranda.

“Up to or
in
to?” Bigger chuckled, settling himself on a wicker loveseat that seemed just wide enough but far too flimsy for him. It creaked ominously.

“We missed you, man,” said Jink. “Things ain't been the same without you.”

“Where've you been?” Scar asked. “I called. Lots of times. Didn't you get my messages?”

Reef nodded. “Yeah, I got ‘em. Thanks. I just been real busy.”

“Doin' what?” Bigger asked.

Reef was grateful for the question, glad for there not to be a silence after his answer.

“Workin' on a greenhouse out back. Replacin' broken glass panels and wood that's rotted. Turned out to be a bigger job than I thought.”

“Part of your sentence?” Bigger asked.

Scar kicked his foot.

“What?” Bigger demanded. “What'd I say? He ain't here on vacation, ya know.”

“No,” Reef said. “Just somethin' the guy who runs this place wants me to do.”

“Free labor, right?” Jink muttered scornfully.

Reef nodded, simply because that was the easiest explanation. Lately, though, he'd been wondering how accurate that explanation was. Sure, he was saving Colville a pile of money by fixing the greenhouse, and there were still times when he'd be pulling out another splinter or bandaging another cut that he'd curse Colville long and loud in his head, the words piling up like cars bottlenecking a merge lane. But then there were other times. Times when he finally figured out how to do something he'd been puzzling over, determined not to ask Colville for his goddamn help. And times when he did something just right, like whena bracket fit perfectly or a panel slipped exactly into place, and he'd step back and admire for a moment what he was doing. It was times like those that the reason behind why he was doing it just didn't seem to matter as much. But he doubted that would make sense to his friends. Especially when it didn't even really make sense to him.

“What about the other … you know, the other thing …” Bigger stumbled.

“Started that today. Volunteering at the Halifax Rehab.”

“What's that?” Jink asked.

Reef ran a hand through his dark hair. The muscles in his upper arm and shoulder bunched and relaxed, and he noticed Scar staring at him, checking him out. He felt a rush of heat and wondered again why he hadn't returned her calls. He suddenly wished she had come alone.

“What's that?” Jink repeated. “The rab.”

“Rehab. Kinda like a hospital,” he began, “except people stay a long time. Months.”

“Christ
. Months in a hospital, man,” Bigger murmured. “Fuckin' depressing.”

“What d'you do there?” Scar asked.

Reef looked at her again. It was a warm evening, and he noticed a sheen of perspiration at the base of her neck that extended down between her breasts. The white halter top she wore contrasted dramatically with her deep tan. and her long red hair lay in soft waves on her bare shoulders. He had difficulty concentrating on her question, putting words together to answer it. “I only been there once,” he said.

“Do you wash floors and stuff?” Bigger asked. “Like a janitor?”

Reef shook his head. “I help out the nurses. Today I spent time with some patients.”

“Like who?” asked Jink.

“Most of the morning I was with a woman, and the afternoon I was with a man. Visitin'. Keepin' ‘em company.”

“A woman?”

Reef and the others could hear the irritation in Scar's voice, and the three guys grinned at each other.

“She's engaged,” Reef said. Brett had told him all about the Big Proposal on the ride back up to the sixth floor. Cafeteria, bended knee, ring. Sounded ridiculous, but he didn't tell her that.

“Why's she there?” Bigger asked.

Reef told them about the skydiving accident, and all three were suitably impressed.

“Wonder if she bounced,” growled Jink, and Bigger guffawed. Longer and louder, Reef thought, than the joke warranted.

Then he told them about the man he'd spent the afternoon with. “Guy named Stephen. In his early twenties. Got banged up pretty bad ridin' a four-wheeler. Hit by a car when he was crossin' a highway.”

Jink whistled.
“That's
gotta hurt.”

Reef nodded. “Lotta brain damage, too. He screams a lot, especially when he gets upset, so they get people to read to ‘im. Helps calm ‘im down.”

“Fuck,” breathed Bigger. “He'd give me the creeps.”