Staying Fat for Sarah Byrnes (16 page)

“Did you hear me say I wanted no more of your nonsense?”

“Yes sir. This isn't nonsense.”

His low laugh chilled my spine. “I can smell your fear clear across town,” he said. “I'll give you one more
chance, then I'm hanging up. If that happens, you better be on the watch for me every minute. Next time you and me talk, it'll be up close. I'll hurt you, boy. Believe that.”

“I'm not denying I'm scared,” I said. “But I don't know where Sarah Byrnes is. If you're threatening me, I'll call the cops.”

The same laugh. “Be my guest.”

The line went dead.

So don't think
that
doesn't give me a reason to forget my homework and my newfound girlfriend and my five-hundred-yard freestyle times. Someday, when we're all looking back on this and laughing—a time I hope comes
very
soon—the quick minds will say I should have called Lemry and told my mother and notified the police and sent up a bat signal. But there's a method behind the madness of keeping my mouth shut. If Lemry and Sarah Byrnes get lucky in Reno, they could come back with Sarah Byrnes's mother, and if she puts the finger on old Virgil, that'll end it.

See, in court, as she has reminded me a number of times, Sarah Byrnes would be trying to recall an incident that happened when she was three years old,
in the courtroom with her father,
knowing if he got off, her
life wouldn't be worth a plugged nickel. The defense attorney would ask scores of questions about other things that happened when she was three, things she couldn't remember or would surely get mixed up about; things her father could remember and wouldn't be a bit mixed up about. He has had no run-ins with the law on record, not even a parking ticket. He is a mean man—a smart, wicked man—who has kept totally to himself. Reasonable doubt would be on his side. If he got off, so long Sarah Byrnes. Only Sarah Byrnes's mom can set the record straight.

So why should that stop me from telling about his threat to me? Because if it's brought out that I know her dad burned her, then he's got more reason to want to do me harm. Plus Sarah Byrnes would never tolerate someone else being threatened by him. She'd do something stupid like go back home, or run away and be left with those horrible scars and no one who loved her. I might be missing something, but it doesn't seem so. What I intend to do, at least until the Maverick sisters are back from Reno, is lay the hell low and never be out alone. For some reason, Mr. Byrnes doesn't come to school or he would have already, so I feel safe there. This might be a good time to see whether or not terror creates a faster distance swimmer.
Ellerby and I stopped by Lemry's house on my way to school today to be sure there wasn't a mass murder overnight. Lemry and Sarah Byrnes were loading the car.

“We'll drive straight through,” Sarah Byrnes said, and I noticed how alive she looked. Her scars were the same and I still couldn't imagine anyone laying eyes on her for the first time without flinching, but something seemed different.

I dragged her off to one side. “Tell me how this happened.”

“What?”

“You and Lemry. A few days ago you couldn't say her name without spitting it into the dirt.”

“Jealous?”

“I don't think so. I'm just thinking that a few days ago I risked teeth to get you over here, and now you guys are Butch and Sundance.”

“She didn't bullshit me.”

“Huh?”

“She didn't say everything was going to be all right, or that my face wasn't really ugly, or that there were other kinds of beauty than physical.”

“What
did
she say?”

“She said it looked like my life had been pretty hard.”

Lemry called from the car, and Sarah Byrnes put her hand on my elbow, for the first time ever that I remember. “Thanks, Eric. You really are a good friend.”

 

During study hall, which should have been CAT class, a call comes over the intercom for me and Ellerby to report to the office immediately.

“This
has
to be about Brittain,” Ellerby says quietly as we walk side by side down the empty hall.

I agree. “What do you think we should do?”

“I don't know,” he says, and he sets his jaw, “but I'm getting pretty tired of this crap.”

“Have a seat, gentlemen,” Mautz says as we appear in his open doorway. A man in a dark business suit sits erect in a chair across from Mautz's desk. He's bald save for the short-cropped semicircle of brown hair stretching from ear to ear like a fat equator, and he looks
very
solemn. “Boys, this is Cal Brittain. Mark Brittain's father.”

Ellerby says, “Pleased to meet you.”

When we're seated, Mautz says, “Mr. Brittain has something to say to the two of you.”

We're silent.

Mr. Brittain clears his throat, staring sternly at us. “I came to tell you boys I don't hold you responsible for
my son's unfortunate actions.”

I don't know about Ellerby, but I could sit three or four hours and not know how to respond. The silence is quite uncomfortable.

Finally Mautz says, “What do you boys have to say to that?”

Ellerby pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Will you be calling the rest of the students in, two by two, to tell them the same thing?”

Mr. Brittain looks confused. “Of course not. I…”

“Then why are you talking to us?”

Mautz breaks in. “Mr. Ellerby. I'll caution you
one time
to show respect.”

Ellerby looks right at him. “I don't have any to show.”

“You're getting yourself into deep water, young man. Let me recommend…”

“No deal,” Ellerby interrupts. “I don't need forgiveness for something I had nothing to do with.” He turns to Mr. Brittain. “I'm really sorry Mark tried to kill himself,” he says. “I really am. But you guys calling us in here to let us off the hook is just a way to tell us we're on the hook.”

Mautz's neck is swelling, his eyes blazing, and I learn something from Ellerby right this minute that I'll use against bullies for the rest of my life: Call in the
goddamn cavalry as quick as you can.

Mautz says, “As much as it may have been lost on you boys, Mark Brittain is an exemplary…”

Ellerby says, “Could I use the phone?”

“What?”

“The phone. Could I use it?”

“For what?”

“To make a phone call.” Without Mautz's response, Ellerby reaches across his desk and punches out seven quick digits. “Dad? Hi, this is Steve. Look, could you come over to the school? I'm in a bunch of trouble and if I were these people I'd want you in on it. No, right now if you can…Thanks.” He drops the receiver into its cradle, looks up at Mautz, and says, “He'll be right over. Until he gets here, my friend Eric and I are standing on the Fifth.”

Ah, the Fifth.
There's
a piece of legal artistry I'll bet Mautz wishes had never been penned.

 

Reverend Ellerby is an impressive guy. He's big and handsome, and he looks more like a movie star than he does an Episcopal minister, except he wears one of those stiff white collars you normally associate with a Catholic priest. I see him moving through the outer office, smiling at the secretary, before he raps lightly on the open door.

Mautz says, “Please come in.”

Mr. Ellerby introduces himself, gives Steve a playful punch on the arm, and sits between us. He gives Mr. Brittain a nod of recognition and says he's sorry about the unfortunate experience he's been through with his son. Mr. Brittain nods back.

“So,” he says, “Steve tells me he's in a bit of trouble. Somebody want to tell me about it?”

Mautz appears uneasy. He's bigger than Mr. Ellerby, but definitely outmatched in
presence
. “Actually,” he says, “I'm not sure it was necessary that you come. That was your son's idea. We're trying to sort out what we feel is the problem with Mr. Brittain's son, and we believe your son and Mr. Calhoune could shed some light on it.”

Mr. Ellerby turns to Steve. “That doesn't sound like ‘a bunch of trouble' to me, Steve.”

“I guess I should have said I was
about
to get into a bunch of trouble,” Ellerby says. “Mr. Mautz thinks Mark's problems started in CAT class—you know, the one Ms. Lemry teaches—and that Mobe and I tried to push Mark over the edge. In other words, I get the distinct feeling, though I admit no one has actually said it, that we're being blamed for Mark gobbling downers.”

Mr. Ellerby looks perplexed and turns immediately to
Mautz. “Is that true?” You can tell he knows more than he's letting on, that he and Steve discussed this earlier.

“Of course not,” Mautz says, a bit defensively, I thought. “No one is being blamed, actually…”

Mr. Brittain breaks in. “Reverend, I've worked hard to bring Mark up as a God-fearing citizen. I know there are some major theological differences between your beliefs and mine, but I'm sure you can appreciate what I've tried to do with my son. I talked with Mark extensively after his suicide attempt, and he's been quite repentant. But he's also been adamant that he felt driven to it by your son and Eric Calhoune. They have constantly taunted him in public and generally treated him with disrespect. My son is quite a serious boy, with high expectations of himself. He's in a vulnerable part of his life, as I'm sure you must know. Frankly, I'm asking that you get control of your boy. I'm already making some moves to get limits put on this so-called CAT class.”

Mr. Ellerby nods. He looks Mr. Brittain square in the eye and says, “I'm truly sorry about your son's misfortune, and I think it's probably been helpful for my son to hear how you feel. He and I will talk about that.” He stands and offers Mr. Brittain his hand. “Now if it's all right with you, I'd like to have a word with Mr. Mautz alone.”

I don't think Mr. Brittain is ready to leave, but the power of Mr. Ellerby's dismissal leaves him with nothing to do but get up and go anyway. At the door, he turns to Mautz. “I'll talk with you later by phone.”

Mautz nods. “That will be fine.”

Steve and I rise to leave, but Mr. Ellerby motions us to stay. “You two hang in for a minute,” he says, and turns again to Mautz. “Tell me the real purpose of all this.”

Mautz says, “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“I mean my son doesn't call me in on anything unless he thinks it's out of hand. So far a lot hasn't been said. I want it all said.”

Mautz seems knocked off center. “Well, Reverend, your son may have jumped the gun a bit. Mr. Brittain came with some concerns about Steve and Eric, and I thought we could get to the bottom of them if we just brought it all into the open.”

“I'm assuming you agree with Mr. Brittain about Steve's and Eric's responsibility.”

“Actually, to some degree I do.”

“To what degree?”

“To the degree that Mark Brittain is trying to do some very difficult things—exemplary things—with his life….”

“
Christian
things?”

“Yes,” Mautz says. “I'm sure you can appreciate that. At any rate, he is running into some very stiff resistance, even attempts at humiliation, from these boys. I believe the pressure on him was just too much. I'm sure you'll agree suicide is very grave business.”

“No pun intended, I'll bet,” Mr. Ellerby says. He really said that. “And you believe that Eric and Steve, combined with this Contemporary American Thought class, drove him over the edge?”

Mautz nods. “I'm sure there are other factors, but I do believe that is the major part.”

“Other factors,” Mr. Ellerby says quietly. “Could some of those other factors include the kind of pressure this boy feels to perform? The kind of thinking that allows no mistakes? Pressure from home and church to
never
let his guard drop?” He leans forward. “Mr. Mautz, do you know why our constitution advocates a division between church and state?”

Mautz is smart enough to wait.

“Because the two don't belong together.”

“In my mind,” Mautz says, “maybe they belong more together than we've allowed them to be in the past couple of decades.”

Mr. Ellerby shakes his head vigorously. “In your mind, that's fine. But you work for a school district that
I support financially, and you have a responsibility to the law. Sir, I'm a
preacher
and I don't believe the church should get into the state's business. They have different functions. I have an educated guess about you and Mr. Brittain getting your heads together to decide this suicide thing was the result of some kind of religious persecution. But we aren't talking about religion here, Mr. Mautz, we're talking about rigid thinking. The kind of thinking that doesn't allow anyone else's ideas, and which also doesn't allow a person any room for error. What's wrong with Mark Brittain is that he can't allow himself to make mistakes. That makes humiliation his worst and constant enemy. Somebody needs to back off that kid.”

Mr. Ellerby must have hit a soft spot, because Mautz comes out firing. “With all due respect,” he says through tightly constricted vocal chords, “I don't think a man who advocates for women on the pulpit, or equal rights for homosexuals, or sexual information to children too young to handle it, should be in this office telling me what's best for one of my students….”

“That's
what I wanted to hear,” Mr. Ellerby says, smiling. “Now, for your own good, hear this: The one of your students I'm interested in is my son. I'm pretty sure, after what he's heard today, he won't be bothering
Mark Brittain anymore. But you've crossed a line, my friend”—and he points to Steve and me—“in front of witnesses. I'm guessing this all came to a head today because Mr. Patterson is out of town. When Mr. Patterson is
in
town, we're going to have this conversation again. Until then, I'll be watching to see that neither my son nor his friend is harassed.” With that, he stands.

Steve and I get up with him, but Mautz says, “I need to see you about a different matter, Eric.”

Mr. Ellerby squeezes my shoulder, and he and Steve walk out together. Wow. There are some all-right adults around. Unfortunately, the one I'm stuck in this office with isn't among them.

I stand silently while Mautz puts himself together. He's been wounded, and there's no sense in me collecting the fallout for Mr. Ellerby's direct hit.