In Reach by Pamela Carter Joern

put her hand on his chest and said, “Breathe.”
    He raised his arm to brush her off, but the pain doubled him in half. Her hand moved to his back. “Breathe, Tom.”
    “Is he dead?” he managed to croak before coughing.
    “No, no. God help us. He’s in the OR .”
    He lifted his head, and through the window into the school office he saw Trent sitting on a couch. Margaret was perched beside him, alert and wary, watching him the way you might aforeigner or a poisonous insect. Trent’s head was down, but he wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t even crying.
    Tom lifted his finger and pointed. “He’s right there.”
    “Not Trent. The other boy. He’s in the OR .”
    “What other boy?” Tom said.
    “Didn’t they tell you what happened?”
    He shook his head, still fighting for breath. “All I heard was Trent in trouble, and I took off.”
    Margaret stepped to the door and motioned for them to come in. She’d moved Trent into the secretary’s office. Jeffrey Klotsch, wearing his police uniform, stood with arms folded, working hard to look stern and professional. Tom had gone to school with Jeffrey and knew that he’d flunked math two years in a row.
    “Jeffrey,” Tom said. Jeffrey nodded, but his eyes fished around the room.
    “What the hell’s going on here?” Tom said. “I want to see my son.”
    “Why don’t we all sit down,” Margaret said.
    The women coaxed him with murmurs and tugs on his arm. Jeffrey loomed there, not budging until Tom lowered himself to the couch beside Ellen. Margaret sat across from them. Jeffrey plopped his overweight frame on a chair set at a right angle. Tom watched Jeffrey out of the corner of his eye while Margaret explained the situation.
    Trent’s class had gone to the river on a science expedition. On the way back, Manson walked ahead. The second graders were at recess, and Alex had bent down to pick up a leaf when his jacket caught on the fence. Manson bent over to help him, and that’s when Trent entered the school yard. Trent yelled at Manson to leave his brother alone, and when Manson didn’t move away, Trent hit him with a rock.
    “A rock?” Tom’s voice rose with relief. “That’s what all this is about? A kid throwing a rock? Jeffrey, how many times did Iheave a rock at you? It was a freak thing, right? He couldn’t have known.”
    “He didn’t throw it,” Margaret said. “He’d collected it from the walk. It was big. And he brought it down on Manson’s head.”
    “Oh, my God,” Ellen said.
    “Trent hasn’t said a word.” Margaret talking again. Tom forced himself to concentrate. “There was a lot of confusion, panic. Manson fell over. He just lay there in a pool of blood.”
    “Head wounds bleed.” Ellen sounded desperate. “Even when they aren’t serious.”
    Without speaking, Tom tried to send his wife a message. Shut up, Ellen. Don’t say anything incriminating. Don’t apologize. Don’t admit.
    “Can I see my boys?” Ellen asked.
    My boys. Already, he was a ghost.
    He followed her, of course. He went with his wife to see their children. The minute Ellen stepped through the door Alex threw his arms around her legs, sobbed into her thighs. She patted him on the back and murmured mother things. Tom stood watching, his hands twitchy and heavy on the ends of his arms. “Hey, Buddy,” he managed to say, when Alex glanced up at him.
    “You go with Daddy,” Ellen said to Alex. He didn’t want to, but in the end he relented. Tom walked with him out the door and home. Alex wouldn’t hold his hand. It took them half an hour. When they got there they made hot chocolate, neither speaking, and then the chocolate got cold sitting on the table, and Tom asked Alex if he’d like to take a nap. Alex said he would. He lay down on the bottom bunk, and when Tom looked in on him fifteen minutes later, he was asleep with his thumb in his mouth. Tom watched him for a while from the doorway, then edged the door closed and stood with his forehead leaning