jumped off the roof?”
“Maybe,” Bobby said.
“He was sick and guilty about that for years. But you can’t blame him .”
His eyes began to dampen, and he squeezed them shut to clear his vision. This was worse than retaliation from Romulus; he would gladly have taken another blow to the temple to avoid it. “I know.”
“Then what was it? Were you jealous of him?”
“No.”
“Was it because of me?”
His gut seemed to fold in upon itself, and he had to fight his hands’ instinct to slink up into his sleeves. Slowly, he grasped his wheels and rotated his chair, inching back toward the path. He had almost reached the walkway when she seized the grips behind him.
“Answer me, Bobby.”
Though he tried to hold them in, tears escaped his eyelids in tiny hot streams. “I’m sorry.”
“I see,” she said. “Let me get this straight. You’ve had a crush on me since we were twelve, and you thought you’d win me over by ruining my husband’s life.”
“It wasn’t just a crush,” Bobby said.
Abigail leaned over him, her face inches from his, as it had been in countless dreams. In the theater, months before, she’d looked at him with a sort of nostalgic affection. But now her blue eyes were pitiless. “The funny thing is,” she said, smiling bitterly, “when we were kids I actually thought you were cute. But you were a jealous, hateful little boy, and you haven’t changed at all.” She released him and walked away, dragging the folded lawn chair behind her. “Goodbye, Bobby.” As she headed up the footpath he turned back toward the rippling water, staring at a dead leaf in the current until her gravelly steps receded.
A week later Bobby’s father put him on a Self-Help van bound for the employment agency. He told Bobby not to return until he had found a job; he would have to start looking for his own place again; and until he found one he was to pay two hundred dollars a month for expenses. Bobby agreed with a little nod; he knew things would have to change soon. He rolled down to the driveway and waited for the van alone.
He asked if he could come back to the auto parts shop, but they could not rehire him with a criminal record. At the employment agency he haggled with the clerk about what kinds of jobs he could do, and tried to convince her that the shooting was a one-time event. She found him a job stuffing inserts for the newspaper—late-night hours, minimum wage, but better than nothing.
As he left the agency he heard long, shrill sirens down the street. Three fire engines passed, heading toward a thick line of black smoke rising above the center of town. Several blocks down, he could see the top of the Hillcrest Towers building, a ten-story apartment complex, smoke spewing from the broken windows. A crowd had gathered in the Hillcrest parking lot; he approached slowly to keep from being trampled.
“Christ, there’s kids in there,” someone said. Bobby leaned forward to watch, wishing he could stand to get a better view.
An office chair flew out of one of the top-floor windows in a hail of glass and crashed to the pavement below. A man in a long black leather coat emerged from the blue-gray haze, crouching on the window ledge, a large towel-wrapped bundle under each arm. Without hesitation he jumped, trailing dark smoke behind him like a specter. Bobby watched him all the way down, expecting him to land face-first and splatter on the sidewalk like a raw egg, shuddering as he relived his own fall from the school roof. But the man fell with purpose, even grace, and on impact he bent his knees, sprang effortlessly to his feet, and gently handed his two squirming bundles to the nearest fireman.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bobby said, creeping closer as firemen peeled the wet towels off two young children, who ran to their parents’ waiting arms. The gathered crowd cheered; the fire chief patted the man on the shoulder before going back to the hoses. “Get
“Maybe,” Bobby said.
“He was sick and guilty about that for years. But you can’t blame him .”
His eyes began to dampen, and he squeezed them shut to clear his vision. This was worse than retaliation from Romulus; he would gladly have taken another blow to the temple to avoid it. “I know.”
“Then what was it? Were you jealous of him?”
“No.”
“Was it because of me?”
His gut seemed to fold in upon itself, and he had to fight his hands’ instinct to slink up into his sleeves. Slowly, he grasped his wheels and rotated his chair, inching back toward the path. He had almost reached the walkway when she seized the grips behind him.
“Answer me, Bobby.”
Though he tried to hold them in, tears escaped his eyelids in tiny hot streams. “I’m sorry.”
“I see,” she said. “Let me get this straight. You’ve had a crush on me since we were twelve, and you thought you’d win me over by ruining my husband’s life.”
“It wasn’t just a crush,” Bobby said.
Abigail leaned over him, her face inches from his, as it had been in countless dreams. In the theater, months before, she’d looked at him with a sort of nostalgic affection. But now her blue eyes were pitiless. “The funny thing is,” she said, smiling bitterly, “when we were kids I actually thought you were cute. But you were a jealous, hateful little boy, and you haven’t changed at all.” She released him and walked away, dragging the folded lawn chair behind her. “Goodbye, Bobby.” As she headed up the footpath he turned back toward the rippling water, staring at a dead leaf in the current until her gravelly steps receded.
A week later Bobby’s father put him on a Self-Help van bound for the employment agency. He told Bobby not to return until he had found a job; he would have to start looking for his own place again; and until he found one he was to pay two hundred dollars a month for expenses. Bobby agreed with a little nod; he knew things would have to change soon. He rolled down to the driveway and waited for the van alone.
He asked if he could come back to the auto parts shop, but they could not rehire him with a criminal record. At the employment agency he haggled with the clerk about what kinds of jobs he could do, and tried to convince her that the shooting was a one-time event. She found him a job stuffing inserts for the newspaper—late-night hours, minimum wage, but better than nothing.
As he left the agency he heard long, shrill sirens down the street. Three fire engines passed, heading toward a thick line of black smoke rising above the center of town. Several blocks down, he could see the top of the Hillcrest Towers building, a ten-story apartment complex, smoke spewing from the broken windows. A crowd had gathered in the Hillcrest parking lot; he approached slowly to keep from being trampled.
“Christ, there’s kids in there,” someone said. Bobby leaned forward to watch, wishing he could stand to get a better view.
An office chair flew out of one of the top-floor windows in a hail of glass and crashed to the pavement below. A man in a long black leather coat emerged from the blue-gray haze, crouching on the window ledge, a large towel-wrapped bundle under each arm. Without hesitation he jumped, trailing dark smoke behind him like a specter. Bobby watched him all the way down, expecting him to land face-first and splatter on the sidewalk like a raw egg, shuddering as he relived his own fall from the school roof. But the man fell with purpose, even grace, and on impact he bent his knees, sprang effortlessly to his feet, and gently handed his two squirming bundles to the nearest fireman.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bobby said, creeping closer as firemen peeled the wet towels off two young children, who ran to their parents’ waiting arms. The gathered crowd cheered; the fire chief patted the man on the shoulder before going back to the hoses. “Get
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