The Sitter Page 12

  *****

  “What about Mama Cutler?” Bertie asks.

  “What about her?”

  “Well, have you ever talked with her about...well, anything, I guess. I mean by getting to know her a little you might get a clue about Larry. What's her name?”

  “Catherine.”

  “Have you met her?”

  “Never. After the accident Steven told me she called... a condolence type thing. I didn't return her call. Bertie, I don't know what's going on with Steven these days. Sometimes he acts like he's Larry's godfather or something.”

  “Something in Steven's past, I imagine,” Bertie said, and I realize I know what that 'something' probably is. “It may help him to hang in with Larry a bit,” Bertie went on, her tone earnest, persuasive. She clamped a hand onto my wrist. “It's a way he can cope with his feelings of hate, or grief or whatever. Hell, Jeannie, it's just a method he's using to neutralize his emotions. I'm sure Steven is feeling what you are; he's just handling it differently.”

  “Better. He handles it better.” Bertie squeezes my wrist and opens her mouth to reply, but I go on. “I have to tell you, Bertie; I get some pleasure...relief, I guess, when I allow myself to hate that...miserable--”

  “I know, Luv; I know.” She pats my arm. “You're not the only one who hates him, you know?” She has a small smile on her face. “Louie. Our wicked, vicious watchdog, that's who! Louie hates his guts.”

  “Really?” I'm pleased that Louie shares my feelings toward Larry.

  “I have to tie him up when Larry does any yard work. Louie snarls at him. Tries to bite him.”

  “Is he playing? Louie's usually such a lamb.”

  “Not around Larry!” She gives a short laugh. “My point is you can hate Larry, why not? But I think you also have to find a way of...well, constructively coping so to speak. Something that will eventually help you to develop a reasonable sense of closure, you know?”

  “Closure, that's the word Joel Gant used.”

  “Who's Joel Gant?”

  I explain how I met Joel and that he had suggested learning all I can about the accident and thereby, perhaps, bring about the relief of closure. I told Bertie he had mentioned the autopsy report as a source of detail.

  “I don't know, Jeannie. Reading your son's autopsy report might be pretty rough.”

  “I think I can do it though, Bertie. And Joel offered to help me with it. Explain the terms, that sort of thing. He gave me his card. I need to get on with my life, Bertie. The report may be the place to start.”

  Silence then as Bertie gazes at me nodding thoughtfully. “So...he could interpret it for you, right?”

  I nod.

  “You have his card with you?”

  I laugh. “What, in my tennis tote? Of course not!”

  “But you know where he works...right?”

  “The LAPD, he said.” I get up, ready to leave. I am exhausted. “I'll call him later.”

  “This might be a good idea, Jeannie. Do it now, you know how you put stuff off. You can use my cell.”

  “I...don't really know” I am suddenly weak, unsure. “Maybe it will be too tough to read such a thing about my Stevie.” My eyes ache with unshed tears.

  “I can be with you, Jeannie, when you read it. I can hold your hand.” She slides her cell phone across the table to me. “Call the LAPD. Call him now.”

  “Joel Gant?”

  “Yeah,” he says, his voice brisk. He sounds busy.

  “This is Jeannie Connor...Steven Connor's wife. Do you remember me?”

  “Oh yes--sure I do.” Joel says, his tone lightening. “How are you doing?”

  “Pretty good,” I answer brightly. Then, “Not so good, actually. I've been thinking about what you said. About learning more about the accident.”

  “I assume you've talked to the boy who was with him at the river?”

  “Some, yes. But he gets very emotional.”

  “Of course. Well...there's always the autopsy report. Rough reading but it will give you the straight story.”

  “Rough because I wouldn't understand the terms or because I'm the boy's mother?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  “How do I get a copy of the report?”

  “Go to the morgue--the county medical office--and ask them for a copy.” He pauses a moment, then continues in a softer voice. “I'll call for you. I'll ask them to mail you a copy...how's that?”

  “You don't need any sort of permission or ID from me?”

  “No, they know me there.” I can picture his eyes, that blazing blue and that crooked smile... I am silent listening to him breathe--a soothing sound. I clutch Bertie's hand. “The report is free to members of the immediate family” Joel says.

  So cold, that phrase. But that's exactly what I am--a member of Stevie's immediate family. I know the autopsy report will be full of dispassionate phrases like that--not to mention others far less benign.

  “Yes. Thanks, Joel. Just have them mail me a copy. And if there's something in it I don't understand may I call you?”

  “Of course. Please do.”

  I feel a rush of relief. I have started the process of 'closure' and Joel will help me if needed.

  “You like him, don't you?” Bertie remarks as I hang up.

  “He's all right, I guess.”

  *****

  Principal Perez held up a hand. “So, Jordan, there was fondling--forcible so to speak--but no actual...nothing more?”

  Looking down at her folded hands, Jordan shook her head.

  Was that a blush on those fat cheeks of hers?

  “This boy should be thrown out of school, Principal Perez”, Mrs. Kennedy said. Her voice was loud in the small room. “I want him expelled.”

  Perez-sir nodded like he was in agreement with that, and Larry began to get pissed. He had gone a couple rounds with the principal in the past, Larry remembered. Was Perez going to hold that against him now?

  “Please, Mrs. Kennedy, we're trying to work this out,” Perez said, looking at Larry. His gaze was not friendly. “Now it's your turn, Larry,” he said, drumming those fingers again. “Please tell us what happened.”

  “Yeah, well...here's the thing.” Larry sat up straight; his feet planted firmly in front of him, his hands resting on his knees. He saw Jordan turn to her mother and whisper something into the woman's ear. Mrs. Kennedy looked at him with a shit-eating smile and they both snickered.

  “I feel jerked around here,” Larry stated, “It wasn't at all like she says. I saw her in the hall but I was just trying to get to the restroom--that's all I wanted to do.” Larry spread his hands out in front of him, palms up--the gesture of an innocent man. “So I come up to the door and she does too. Except she gets there ahead of me. So Jordan's standing there--”

  “Wait a minute,” the principal interrupted. “You're saying she's standing at the door of the boy's room?”

  Larry nodded. “Yeah. It was almost like she was waiting for me.”

  “You're a liar, Larry Cutler,” Jordan shouted.

  “Oh, sure--waiting for you,” her mother snarled. She pulled her chair closer to Jordan's. Both mother and daughter had spots of red in their cheeks.

  Perez shook his head. His face glowed and Larry realized the man was sweating.

  “Just a minute please,” Steven said then, and everyone turned to him. “Jordan was allowed to tell her story without interruption. Or exclamations. Larry should be allowed that same courtesy. Isn't that right, Principal Perez?”

  Yeah! Yeah, Steven! Way to go! I love this man.

  “Yes, of course,” the principal said. “Go ahead, Larry.”

  “So I go past her into the bathroom and damned if she doesn't follow me.” Larry smacked his forehead. “I could not believe it! I was amazed. And upset, you know? I'm wondering what the hell is going on. She comes over to me and takes my hand and tries to pull it onto her...her bosom, you know?”

  Twin cries of outrage from Mrs. Kennedy and Jordan then, a
nd Larry realized he was having a very good time.

  “Please, ladies,” Steven said. The man was just what Larry wanted him to be--calm and dignified, but taking no shit from anyone. A true defender.

  “She wasn't dressed like she is today,” Larry confided. “Her shirt was low and it showed the top part of her, you know...boobs.”

  In a blur of sudden motion, Larry saw Jordan's hand snake out and grab the can of pens from the desk. She threw it at him.

  “Bastard!” she yelled as the canister hit his forehead with a sharp stinging pain. The pens fell, clattering as they hit the floor.

  Larry put a hand to his head and felt a gash from the edge of the canister above his left eye. He felt warm blood coming down into his eyebrow.

  Fuck, I'm cut!

  He jumped to his feet, moving toward Jordan, his left hand reaching for her while he pulled his right back into a fist. He could almost feel the satisfying impact of his fist against her fat--

  “Larry! No!” Steven's arm came around Larry's chest from behind him like a steel band. Then he felt Steven's body behind him, Steven's other arm tight around his waist, holding him back. Larry's heart was throbbing, pounding in his ears.

  Perez-sir appeared in front of him then, daubing at his forehead with a paper towel. Steven still held him. The Kennedy's were holding hands and staring at him. Larry could feel their hate as they glowered at him as if he were a dangerous animal.

  “Inexcusable,” the principal muttered. He shook his head as he walked back behind his desk and sat down. “Absolutely inexcusable.” There was a sheen of sweat on Perez's face, and Larry realized Jordan's impulsive move could work to his advantage.

  Steven released him, keeping a hand on his shoulder as he turned Larry to face him. “You okay?” he asked, his face full of concern. Larry nodded. He felt a shudder of pleasure at Steven's obvious concern for him.

  “We are all going to behave like adults now,” the principal said as if he were talking to first-graders. “That is a must.” He stared hard at everyone, especially--it seemed to Larry-- him.

  “What did I do?” Larry asked. Why is this asshole coming down on me? “I was just telling you--“

  “When we're through here, Larry,” Perez interrupted sharply, “I want you to go to the nurse's office and have her look at that cut. Now,” he slapped his hands together. “Go on with your story.”

  What a pompous prick, Larry thought as he took a deep breath. “Jordan was coming on to me,” he stated. “She pulled my hand up to where the tops of her boobs--”

  “I insist on respect here, Mr. Perez,” Mrs. Kennedy interrupted. Her face was bright red. “I don't want to hear any more of the disgusting common terms this boy uses.”

  “He means breasts, of course,” Steven said easily. “Use the proper terms here, Larry”, he went on and Larry nodded, understanding that Steven was telling him to back off a little.

  “I'm sorry,” Larry said, his tone as respectfully sincere as he could make it. “Breasts. The tops of her breasts were showing. I pulled my hand out of hers and she shoves me, like...with her body.” Everyone looked confused, especially Jordan. “I mean...she's big, you know? She kind of butts me up against the wall there, next to the urinals. I'm surprised; I'm off balance--”

  A choking sound then and Larry saw that Jordan had begun to cry. She sat with her head pitched forward into her hands. Her thick hair had fallen forward hiding her face.

  Larry was amazed. Not so much that she was crying but that he had caused it. He had that power. She raised her head and he was fascinated to see huge tears oozing out of her eyes onto her cheeks and then trickling on down to her chin.

  He felt a hotness in his groin. His dick was swelling.

  Jesus, not now!

  Shifting in his seat, he crossed his legs quickly, hoping to God no one could notice. The problem increased as he tried to hide it. He folded his arms across his chest. Everyone was looking at him. Including Steven. Was it his imagination or was Steven's expression a little...what...disappointed?

  “God, Jordan, I am so sorry,” Larry said, deciding on some sort of damage control. “I didn't mean to upset...” He waved an apologetic hand toward the girl. That seemed to drive Jordan even deeper into suffering and her cries became wails. Her mother rose then and pulled Jordan to her, hugging her awkwardly. Larry heard the woman do that cooing stuff again.

  “Please...I guess I really upset Jordan. I'm real sorry.” Larry's voice had a pleading note that sounded just right to him and he saw he had everyone's attention. Jordan calmed right down and looked at him with tear-filled eyes. “I don't want to make any trouble.” Larry made his voice soft and low and full of sincerity. “I truly meant no harm. Can't we all just forget about this now?”

  *****

  I am in the bath area brushing my hair and listening to Steven. “All this and Larry wants to know if we can all just forget about it.” He's in his walk-in closet taking his clothes off. “Jordan goes ballistic then because she insists he was after her, not the other way around. Then Larry says he's sorry for anything he did to give her that impression, and Jordan starts calling him names again, along with that mother of hers. Perez has to yell at them both. It was bizarre.”

  “So, how did it end?”

  “Larry just kept saying he was sorry for upsetting her and Perez gives him a little lecture about respecting women. Perez goes on to say that as far as he's concerned, that is the end of it. I don't think he likes Larry much.” He goes to a basin and begins to brush his teeth. He is wearing the bright red silk boxers I gave him on Valentine's Day. “The Kennedy women are not exactly happy with the outcome.”

  “Do you believe him?” I ask. “Larry? I mean, what do you think actually happened between those two?”

  Steven is thoughtful, takes his time answering. “I don't know, really,” he says finally, rinsing his mouth. “Even though she heaved that can of pens at him, cut his forehead and all that, I think he feels genuinely sorry for the girl. Larry told me afterwards that Jordan has quite a reputation at school. To clean it up for you, she's considered 'easy'.”

  “You don't have to clean it up for me,” I say, mildly pissed. “I am a grown woman, last time I checked.”

  Steven shrugs.

  I walk to our bed and slip out of my gown draping it over a chair. I crawl naked into bed, grateful for the end of the day and the cooling relief of clean sheets.

  “I think he felt bad that she was so upset,” Steven went on earnestly. He drops his boxers to the floor and crawls into bed beside me. “You know Larry is a hell of a good looking guy,” he says.

  “Yes he is,” I say. I can allow Larry that...barely. “But what do his looks have to do with anything?”

  “I think it's understandable how a girl like Jordan would make a play for Larry. And then I think the situation... and her feelings just got away from her.”

  “You like Larry, don't you?” My stomach begins to tighten. “Are you pleased that he called you to help him?” Steven has no moral right to like Larry Cutler! None. How dare he! I know it's crazy, but it's like he's cheating on Stevie and that makes me furious! And then--as quickly as it had arrived--my anger leaves me. It slides into the void of depression.

  I am empty, so lost in this new world. The one without Stevie.

  Steven props himself up with pillows against the headboard and puts his hands behind his head. He is gazing out our window that so dramatically brings the huge tree in our back yard practically into the room.

  “Can you remember how it was in high school?” he asks. “How feelings, how anything having to do with ego or sex or all that kind of thing is so heightened, so magnified?”

  But I don't listen to him. As if from a distance I see the two of us lying here in our lovely bedroom. A picture perfect couple to be sure, with still so much to live for, to be grateful for. We should be pulling together, each helping the other to bear this heartache, and to regain the caring, productive life we have known.
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br />   But I don't feel helpful. Toward Steven, toward anyone for that matter. I am distanced from my husband. I know I can reach out right now and stroke his arm and feel the comfort of his warm flesh. But I don't. It's too great an effort.

  I thought my attitude toward Larry had improved since the revealing scene at the river, though I still blame him for Stevie's death. But it's so easy to hate Larry. It feels good. Familiar.

  Am I adding Steven to the select group of people I hate? Of course not!! I turn angrily onto my side, my back to him.

  “And sometimes I do feel sorry for the kid,” Steven continues. “He told me that he's known around school as Poor-Larry-Cutler, all one word. Everybody pities him--the poor asshole who let Stevie...well, you get the picture. I get just as riled up about him as you do, Jeannie.”

  No. I don't think so. I feel his hand on my bare shoulder, so warm.

  “Larry doesn't have much going for him,” Steven says. “I mean, where was his mother? He's got to call me to come to the school on his behalf? He said she was sick but...even so... ”

  A favorite memory of mine is of a night at college before we were married when I was supposed to meet Steven in the stacks at the university library. He smoked a pipe in those days and as I walk slowly past the narrow book-lined rows along the study cubicles, I could smell his pipe tobacco. It was sweet, like warm caramel and I loved it. That delicious aroma was guiding me to Steven. I remember thinking if I died right then--if God chose to take me--right there in the stacks of the University of Oregon library...that was okay. Because I knew I could never again be as profoundly happy as I was right then, on my way to Steven, my love.

  Wednesday, October 4th

  Bertie and I stand together in front of the simple stone marker. The too-bright sun shines mercilessly down on the inscription: Steven James Connor, Jr. May 29, 1991—June 12, 2000. I see the obscenity of my little boy's death carved in stone. Irreversible and unbearable.

  “A mistake,” I murmur, “coming here.” My eyes fill and I feel Bertie's arm come around me, hard and strong. I lean into it.

  “Just hang with it a minute, Luv,” Bertie says. “Just let it happen.” We stand together a while. I'm crying, and Bertie is holding me.