When Jeff Comes Home (3 page)

By then I could get away

Or go with him

But I pushed that thought aside.

I should warn them.

Instead I stayed where I was, resting my head on my knees, covering my ears so I would not hear Ray as he made his way inside.

He would have to look in every room
.

That meant Charlie's room. Ray would leave her alone, probably. But he would look in Brian's room too.

I sat up. Ray wouldn't. Brian was too young—I calculated desperately. He was only eleven: no way. But even as I told myself that, I was grabbing my rain-soaked clothes off the floor.

I dressed quickly, then opened the door to my room. Stepping outside, I caught a glimpse of someone moving toward me down the hallway. Trembling, oddly accepting, I closed my eyes, waiting for him to arrive.

"Jeff!" Dad said. "What is it?"

I opened my eyes slowly. Dad was standing in front of me.

"I thought someone was in the house," I said after a moment.

"Who?" Dad said urgently. "You mean ... whoever brought you here?"

"Yeah. I... I saw someone outside. By the porch." My voice shook.

"By the porch? Just now?" I nodded. Dad let out his breath in a long sigh. "That was me."

I stared at him.

"I just walked the perimeter of our house and every corner of the yard. There's no one out there. You don't need to feel scared."

I nodded again, not trusting my voice.

"Jeff, who brought you here?"

I shook my head. "Can I go back to my room now?"

"This man, this ... person, is he the same one who kidnapped you?"

If I wasn't so tired, if I'd had more time to think, I might have come up with a believable story that would calm Dad and earn me a few days of peace. I briefly considered telling him I had hitchhiked to Wayne. But that would bring with it its own round of questions.

"Yes," I said. "He's the same guy."

"Who is he?" I didn't answer. "Are you scared of him?"

"No," I said, looking down. "No, not at all."

"Then why are you shaking?" Dad asked. "Why are you so pale? Why ..."

I closed my eyes. "Please leave me alone," I whispered.

"Tell me this, just this, I need to know. ..." I waited, knowing what he was going to ask. "Did he hurt you? Did this man hurt you?"

"No." I shook my head, attempting a smile. "No way. He just wanted a kid to stay with him, I guess. To be like his son or something ..." Dad stared at me. "Or more like a friend, maybe. A traveling companion. He never did anything to hurt me."

"Jeff." Dad hesitated. "If he did ... hurt you, it's all right, you know. It's not your fault. We would all know that."

Bullshit.

"Nothing happened," I said, meeting his eyes for an instant, then looking away.

"Sure," Dad said quickly. "Listen, why don't you come downstairs with me and have a snack? We can talk. ..."

"Sorry," I said. "I really am tired."

Dad nodded. "All right. Indulge me for a second though."

I looked up at him slowly. "What?"

"I want to hug you again. I guess I can't quite believe you're really here." I didn't tell him no, and Dad came forward, enfolding me into his arms. This time I could not stop myself from shuddering.

"Are you cold?" he said, stepping back from me.

"Yeah, a little, I guess." I knew my face was red.

"I don't usually turn the heat on upstairs," Dad said, trying to sound casual. "You remember that. I'll turn it on tonight, for you."

"No, it's okay. I'm used to the cold. Can I go back to my room now?"

"Sure," he said. "But one more favor." I tensed. "Leave your door open. I want to be able to look in on you occasionally."

Squirming, I said, "I don't have any other clothes. And these"—I gestured to myself—"are wet, so ... "

"I'll bring some things of mine for you to wear. My clothes should just about fit you now." He watched me for a moment, looking as if he wanted to say more. "Get some sleep, all right?"

I waited until he had gone into his own room to retreat into mine. I pulled my clothes off quickly and jumped back under the covers. The bedroom door was wide open, and I did feel safer. But I knew that feeling was illusory.

Dad could talk a good game, about whether Ray "hurt" me or not, and that it was "okay" if he had. "Hurt"! He couldn't even say the words, though we both knew damn well what he meant. Nothing was "okay," or ever would be again.

The room was light when
I
woke, and the
nightstand clock read four o'clock. For one frightening moment I had no idea where I was. Then I remembered everything. I glanced outside the open door to my room, seeing nothing but the wall opposite, and sat up, rubbing my neck, which ached fiercely. One eye on the hallway, I leaned over the bed to grab my clothes. Feeling nothing but a damp spot on the floor, I looked over and saw that the clothes were gone. At some point, while I slept, Dad must have come in and taken them. The thought made me cringe.

Remembering what he had said about lending me some clothes, I looked around the room. A sweatshirt and a pair of jeans were draped over my desk chair, and he had left a pile of underwear and T-shirts on top of the dresser.

As Dad had said, my room was just the way I left it. Taking in the details I had been too tired to notice the night before, I saw my schoolbooks from eighth grade still on the desk, homework papers in progress tucked inside them. My knickknack shelf held the same collection of paperback books, model cars, quartz rocks, and shells. Fliers from San Francisco area sports teams festooned the walls, along with a poster that embarrassed me now, of a blond supermodel in a bikini. That particular poster was thumbtacked on the ceiling over my bed, and I wondered how anyone could have let me get away with that.

Looking away from the poster, I caught a flash of bright color through the half-open closet door. I got out of bed, pulling the sheet with me, and tapped the door lightly with my bare foot, just enough to push it open another inch or two.

My old clothes still hung neatly inside. But my shoes had been pushed to one side to make way for piles of brightly wrapped packages, some obviously from Christmases past, others from prior birthdays. Open-mouthed, I stared at the presents, feeling sick.

"Oh, Jeff, I'm sorry." It was Dad. I whirled around to face him, clutching the sheet tight around my shoulders. "Did you see the clothes I left for you?"

"Yeah," I said, giving him a tight smile. "Thanks. I'll get dressed now, okay?"

"Sure," he said, but didn't leave the room.

"Could you close the door? While I get dressed, I mean? Please."

"Sure," Dad said after a pause. "I'll be right outside." Fie pulled the door shut, but I didn't hear him move away from it.

I grabbed the sweatshirt off the desk chair, tugging it frantically over my head, then pulled on the jeans.

"Okay?" he asked from just outside the door.

"Yeah," I said breathlessly. He opened the door and came back into the room, smiling uncertainly, looking as embarrassed as I felt.

"My clothes almost fit you. I can't believe how you've grown. I don't know what I expected." Dad laughed awkwardly. "Connie was always after me to throw your old clothes out." I tried to smile. "I bet you're hungry."

"Kind of, yeah. I'd like to take a shower, too, if that's okay."

"You're so thin," Dad said, coming closer to me. "Why are you so thin?"

There was no safe answer. "Is it okay if I take a shower?"

"Of course. This is your house too, I told you that."

I nodded, looking away from him.

"Jeff, are you all right?" Dad said suddenly. "I know what you told me last night, and I accept that, but. . . just to be safe, maybe you should see a doctor. Just. . . just in case."

Just in case of what?

"No," I said, more forcefully than I had intended. He frowned, and I tried to paste on a reassuring smile. "I don't need to see a doctor. I'm fine. Really. Can I take my shower now?"

"Yeah," he said abruptly. "But one more thing." I could not prevent the sigh that escaped my lips. "Take that thing off, will you?"

I looked at him, confused.

"The earring. Take it off. I'll dispose of it."

My stomach turned over and I felt the hot rush of blood to my face.

This whole time he's been looking at me and getting sick.

I reached up to my left ear and detached Ray's gift with more force than necessary. I popped the pin back in place and handed him the earring.

Don't say anything else, Dad. Just don't.

He took it in obvious distaste, leaving me alone to take my shower.

I turned the water up as hot and hard as I could stand it, letting the hard jets pound away at my shame. Then, remembering, I stepped out of the shower and locked the bathroom door. The realization that I had privacy, that Ray was not in this house and could not impose himself wherever I was, hit me with an almost physical shock.

I stayed in the shower as long as I dared. But I knew at some point I would have to face them. As a point of pride, I decided to go downstairs on my own rather than have Dad come looking for me.

Charlotte and Brian met me at the foot of the stairs. Two strangers. Brian really hadn't changed much. He was small for eleven, slim and compact. Charlotte was the real surprise. At fourteen, she looked like a shorter, curvier version of our mother, Melia. She looked so much like Melia, whom I had last seen when I was five, I couldn't help but stare. Charlotte blushed, but she did not look away from me.

"Um, Jeff," she said, trying to signal me with her eyes that something was up in the living room. I shrugged, not bothering to guess at her meaning.

"Jeff, is that you?" Connie called. "Come in here for a moment."

I stood in the archway, taking in the room at a glance. Connie was perched on the edge of the loveseat, while Dad stood next to her, a hand on her shoulder. I looked past them to the big man with the chestnut pompadour who sat on the couch across from Connie. He acknowledged my presence with a nod, watching me keenly.

"Jeff," Connie said, "this is Chief Roysten. He's with the Wayne Police Department."

"How are you, Jeff?" Roysten said.

I glanced at Dad. "I'm pretty hungry. Can this wait?"

"Yes, he needs to eat," Dad said.

"Just a few questions, then," the chief said.

Connie stood. "I'm taking Charlie and Brian out to get something for dinner. Chinese okay with everyone?"

In the general agreement that followed I entered the room, taking the seat Connie had left.

"All right," Roysten said, leaning forward, staring at me. "How did you get here?"

I looked to Dad again, but his expression was unreadable. "How did I get to Wayne, you mean?"

"Yep." Roysten nodded. "How'd you get to Wayne?"

"Um . . . the guy I was with, he just... he decided to bring me home, I guess."

Roysten said nothing, watching me for an uncomfortably long time.

"I don't know where he is now," I added.

"How long were you with him?"

"I don't know. However long I was gone, I guess."

"Were you boyfriends with him, Jeff?" the chief asked earnestly. I could hear the smile behind his words and I sat very still.

"What kind of a question is that to ask him?" Dad raged, walking over to Roysten, who stood to meet him.

"Hey," Roysten said. "I know it's tough, but let's get the cards on the table here."

Dad paced a little, then sat down abruptly on the easy chair between the two couches. He rubbed his thumb back and forth against his mouth in a gesture of anger that I remembered.

The chief sat down again, then leaned over the arm of the couch. He pulled a green lawn bag off the floor, setting it down with a thud on the table between us.

"What is that?" I asked tensely.

"Well, it's a lawn bag," Roysten said. "I was hoping you could tell me if this bag means anything to you."

"No," I said quickly, looking at Dad. I was telling the truth—I didn't know what Roysten was talking about. All I knew was that looking at the bag made me feel ashamed.

"You don't know what's in here?" Roysten asked. I shook my head.

Taking his time, he shook the bag open, reaching deep inside. His eyes on me, Roysten pulled out a sleeveless San Francisco 49'ers jersey, tossing it onto the coffee table. He reached in again and pulled out a battered running shoe with a sock stuffed inside it.

I had thought there was nothing Ray could do to shock me anymore. I was wrong.

"Okay," I said. "I get it, you don't have to ... "

Roysten turned the bag upside down, shaking it out. Another shoe, a loose sock, and a pair of cutoff denim shorts spilled out onto the coffee table.