Chapter 7
On Monday, Jonah began the process of settling into the routine that would come to dominate much of his life over the next few months. When the bell rang, officially ending the school day, Jonah walked out with his friends but left his backpack in the classroom. Sarah, like all the other teachers, went outside to make sure kids got in the proper cars and onto the right buses. Once everyone was on the buses and the cars were pulling out, Sarah wandered over to where Jonah was standing. He stared wistfully at his departing friends.
“I bet you wish you didn’t have to stay, huh?”
Jonah nodded.
“It won’t be so bad. I brought some cookies from home to make it a little easier.”
He thought about that. “What kind of cookies?” he asked skeptically.
“Oreos. When I was going to school, my mom always used to let me have a couple when I got home. She said it was my reward for doing such a good job.”
“Mrs. Knowlson likes to give me apple slices.”
“Would you rather have those tomorrow?”
“No way,” he said seriously. “Oreos are way better.”
She motioned in the direction of the school. “C’mon. You ready to get started?”
“I guess so,” he mumbled. Sarah reached out, offering her hand.
Jonah looked up at her. “Wait—do you have any milk?”
“I can get some from the cafeteria, if you want.”
With that, Jonah took her hand and smiled up at her for a moment before they headed back inside.
While Sarah and Jonah were holding hands, heading toward the classroom, Miles Ryan was ducking behind his car and reaching for his gun, even before the echo from the last shot had died. And he intended to stay there until he figured out what was going on.
There was nothing like gunfire to get the old ticker pumping—the instinct for self-preservation always surprised Miles with both its intensity and its rapidity. The adrenaline seemed to enter his system as if he were hooked to a giant, invisible IV. He could feel his heart hammering, and his palms were slick with sweat.
If he needed to, he could put out a call saying he was in trouble, and in less than a few minutes the place would be surrounded by every law enforcement officer in the county. But for the time being, he held off. For one thing, he didn’t think the gunfire was directed at him. That he’d heard it wasn’t in question, but it had sounded muffled, as if it had originated from somewhere deep in the house.
Had he been standing outside someone’s home, he would have made the call, figuring that some sort of domestic issue had gotten out of hand. But he was at the Gregory place, a teetering wood structure blanketed in kudzu on the outskirts of New Bern. It had decayed over the years and was completely abandoned, as it had been since Miles was a kid. Most of the time, no one bothered with the place. The floors were so old and rotten that they could give way any second, and rain poured in through the gaping holes in the roof. The structure also tilted slightly, as if a strong gust of wind would topple it someday. Though New Bern didn’t have a big problem with vagrants, even the ones who were around knew enough to avoid the place for the danger it presented.
But now, in broad daylight no less, he heard the gunfire start up again—not a large-caliber gun, most likely a twenty-two—and he suspected there was a simple explanation, one that didn’t pose much of a threat to him.
Still, he wasn’t stupid enough to take any chances. Opening his door, he slid forward on the seat and flicked a switch on the radio, so that his voice would be amplified, loud enough for the people inside the house to hear him.
“This is the sheriff,” he said calmly, slowly. “If you boys are about finished, I’d like y’all to come out so I can talk to you. And I’d appreciate it if you set your guns off to the side.”
With that, the gunfire stopped completely. After a few minutes, Miles saw a head poke out from one of the front windows. The boy was no older than twelve.
“You ain’t gonna shoot us, are you?” he called out, obviously frightened.
“No, I’m not gonna shoot. Just set your guns by the door and come on down so I can talk to you.”
For a minute Miles heard nothing, as if the kids inside were wondering whether or not to make a run for it. They weren’t bad kids, Miles knew, just a little too rural for today’s world. He was sure they’d rather run than have Miles bring them home to meet with their parents.
“Now come on out,” Miles said into the microphone. “I just want to talk.”
Finally, after another minute, two boys—the second a few years younger than the first—peeked out from either side of the opening where the front door used to be. Moving with exaggerated slowness, they set their guns off to the side and, hands thrust high in the air, stepped out. Miles suppressed a grin. Shaky and pale, they looked as if they believed they were going to be a source of target practice any second. Once they’d descended the broken steps, he stood from behind the car and holstered his gun. When they saw him, they stutter-stepped for a moment, then slowly continued forward. Both were dressed in faded blue jeans and torn-up sneakers, their faces and arms dirty. Country kids. As they inched forward, they kept their arms thrust above their heads, elbows locked. They’d obviously seen too many movies.
When they got close, Miles could see that both of them were practically crying.
Miles leaned against his car and crossed his arms. “You boys doin’ some hunting?”
The younger one—ten, Miles guessed—looked to the older one, who met his gaze. They were clearly brothers.
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
“What’s in the house there?”
Again they looked at each other.
“Sparrows,” they finally said, and Miles nodded.
“You can put your hands down.”
Again they exchanged glances. Then they lowered their arms.
“You sure you weren’t going after any owls?”
“No, sir,” the older boy said quickly. “Just sparrows. There’s a whole bunch of ’em in there.”
Miles nodded again. “Sparrows, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
He pointed in the direction of the rifles. “Those twenty-twos?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s a little much for sparrows, isn’t it?”
Their looks were guilty this time. Miles eyed them sternly.
“Now look... if you were owl hunting, I’m not gonna be too happy. I like owls. They eat the rats and the mice and even snakes, and I’d rather have an owl around than any of those creatures, especially in my yard. But I’m pretty sure from all that shooting you were doing that you didn’t get him yet, now, did you?”
After a long moment, the young one shook his head.
“Then let’s not try again, okay?” he said in a voice that brooked no disagreement. “It isn’t safe to be shooting out here, not with the highway so close. It’s also against the law. And that place isn’t for kids. It’s just about to fall down and you could get hurt in there. Now, you don’t want me to talk to your parents, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you won’t go after that owl again, will you? If I let you go, I mean?”
“No, sir.”
Miles stared at them wordlessly, making sure he believed them, then nodded in the direction of the nearest homes. “You live out that way?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you walk or ride your bikes?”
“We walked.”
“Then I’ll tell you what—I’ll get your rifles and you two get in the backseat. I’ll give you a ride back home and drop you off down the street. And I’ll let it go this time, but if I ever catch you out here again, I’m gonna tell your parents that I caught you before and warned you and that I’m gonna have to bring you both in, okay?”
Though their eyes widened at the threat, they both nodded gratefully.
After dropping them off, Miles made his way back to the school, looking forward to seeing Jonah. No doubt the boy would want to hear all about what just happened, though Miles first wanted to find out how things had gone that day.
And despite himself, he couldn’t suppress a pleasant thrill at the thought of seeing Sarah Andrews again.
“Daddy!” Jonah screamed, running toward Miles. Miles lowered himself into position to catch his son just as he jumped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Sarah had followed him out in a more sedate fashion. Jonah pulled back to look at him.
“Did you arrest anyone today?”
Miles grinned and shook his head. “Not so far, but I’m not finished yet. How’d it go in school today?”
“Good. Miss Andrews gave me some cookies.”
“She did?” he asked, trying to watch her approach without being too obvious.
“Oreos. The good ones—Double Stuf.”
“Oh, well, you can’t ask for more than that,” he said. “But how’d the tutoring go?”
Jonah furrowed his brow. “The what?”
“Miss Andrews helping you with your schoolwork.”
“It was fun—we played games.”
“Games?”
“I’ll explain later,” Sarah said, stepping up, “but we got off to a good start.”
At the sound of her voice, Miles turned to face her and again felt pleasant surprise. She was wearing a long skirt and a blouse again, nothing fancy, but when she smiled, Miles felt the same strange fluttering he’d experienced when he’d first met her. It struck him that he hadn’t fully appreciated how pretty she was the last time. Yes, he’d recognized the fact that she was attractive, and the same features immediately jumped out at him—the corn-silk hair, the delicately boned face, eyes the color of turquoise— but today she looked softer somehow, her expression warm and almost familiar.
Miles lowered Jonah to the ground.
“Jonah, would you go wait by the car while I talk to Miss Andrews for a couple minutes?”
“Okay,” he said easily. Then, surprising Miles, Jonah stepped over and hugged Sarah—who returned the squeeze with a hug of her own—before he scrambled off.
Once Jonah was gone, Miles looked at her curiously. “You two seemed to have hit it off.”
“We had a good time today.”
“Sounds like it. If I’d known you were eating cookies and playing games, I wouldn’t have been so worried about him.”
“Hey... whatever works,” she said. “But before you worry too much, I want you to know the game involved reading. Flash cards.”
“I figured there was more to the story. How’d he do?”
“Good. He has a long way to go, but good.” She paused. “He’s a great kid—he really is. I know I’ve said that before, but I don’t want you to forget that because of what’s going on here. And it’s obvious that he worships you.”
“Thank you,” he said simply, meaning it.
“You’re welcome.” When she smiled again, Miles turned away, hoping she didn’t realize what he’d been thinking earlier and at the same time hoping she did.
“Hey, thanks for the fan, by the way,” she went on after a pause, referring to the industrial-size fan he’d dropped off at her classroom earlier that morning.
“No problem,” he murmured, torn between wanting to stay and talk to her and wanting to escape the sudden wave of nervousness that seemed to come from nowhere.
For a moment neither of them said anything. The awkward silence stretched out until Miles finally shuffled his feet and muttered, “Well... I guess I’d better get Jonah home.”
“Okay.”
“We’ve got some stuff to do.”
“Okay,” she said again.
“Is there anything else that I should know?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“Okay, then.” He paused, pushing his hands into his pocket. “I guess I’d better get Jonah home.”
She nodded seriously. “You said that already.”
“I did?”
“Yeah.”
Sarah tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. For a reason she couldn’t quite explain, she found his good-bye adorable, almost charming. He was different from the men she had known in Baltimore, the ones who shopped at Brooks Brothers and never seemed to find themselves at a loss for words. In the months following her divorce, they’d begun to seem almost interchangeable, like cardboard cutouts of the perfect man.
“Well, okay, then,” Miles said, oblivious to everything except his need to depart. “Thanks again.” And with that, he backed away in the direction of his car, calling for Jonah as he went.
His last image was of Sarah standing out in the school yard, waving at the retreating car with a faintly bemused smile on her face.
In the coming weeks, Miles began to look forward to seeing Sarah after school with an unchecked enthusiasm he hadn’t experienced since adolescence. He thought of her frequently and sometimes in the strangest of situations—standing in a grocery store while selecting a packet of pork chops, stopped at a traffic light, mowing the lawn. Once or twice, he thought of her as he was taking a shower in the morning, and he found himself wondering about her morning routines. Ridiculous things. Did she eat cereal or toast and jelly? Did she drink coffee or was she more of an herbal tea fan? After a shower, did she wrap her head in a towel as she put her makeup on or did she style it right away?
Sometimes he would try to imagine her in the classroom, standing in front of the students with a piece of chalk in her hand; other times he wondered how she spent her time after school. Though they exchanged small talk every time they met, it wasn’t enough to satisfy his growing curiosity. He didn’t know much about her past at all, and though there were moments when he wanted to ask, he held himself back from doing so for the simple reason that he had no idea how to go about it. “Mainly I had Jonah work on spelling today and he did great,” she might say, and what was Miles supposed to say next? That’s good. And speaking of spelling, tell me—do you wrap your head in a towel after you shower?
Other men knew how to do these things, but damned if he could figure it out. Once, in a moment of courage supplied by a couple of beers, he’d come close to calling her on the phone. He’d had no reason to call, and though he hadn’t known what he would say, he’d hoped that something would strike him, a bolt from the sky that would imbue him with wit and charisma. He’d imagined her laughing at the things he was saying, being positively overwhelmed by his charm. He’d gone so far as to look up her name in the phone book and dial the first three numbers before his nerves got the better of him and he’d hung up.
What if she wasn’t home? He couldn’t dazzle her if she wasn’t even there to answer the phone, and he certainly wasn’t going to have his ramblings recorded on her answering machine for posterity. He supposed he could hang up if the answering machine picked up, but that was a little too adolescent, now, wasn’t it? And what would happen, God forbid, if she was home but was on a date with someone else? It was, he realized, a distinct possibility. He’d heard a few things around the department from some of the other single men who’d finally caught on to the fact that she wasn’t married, and if they knew, then others certainly knew it as well. Word was getting out, and soon, single men would start descending on her, using their wit and charisma, if they already hadn’t.
Good Lord, he was running out of time.
The next time he picked up the phone, he actually got to the sixth number before chickening out.
That night, lying in bed, he wondered what the hell was wrong with him.
On an early Saturday morning in late September, about a month after he’d first met Sarah Andrews, Miles stood in the fields of H. J. Macdonald Junior High School, watching Jonah play soccer. With the possible exception of fishing, Jonah loved to play soccer more than anything, and he was good at it. Missy had always been athletic, even more so than Miles, and from her Jonah had inherited both agility and coordination. From Miles, as Miles would mention casually to anyone who asked, he’d inherited speed. As a result, Jonah was a terror on the field. At that age, Jonah played no more than half a game, since everyone on the team was required to play the same amount of time. Yet Jonah usually scored most, if not all, of the team’s goals. In the first four games, he’d scored twenty-seven times. Granted, there were only three people to a team, goalkeepers weren’t allowed, and half the kids didn’t know in which direction they were supposed to kick the ball, but twenty-seven goals was exceptional. Almost every time Jonah touched the ball, he took it the length of the field and kicked it in the net.
Truly ridiculous, however, was the burst of pride Miles experienced when watching Jonah perform. He loved it, secretly jumped for joy when Jonah scored, even though he knew it was nothing but a temporary phenomenon and didn’t mean diddly squat. Kids matured at different rates, and some kids practiced with more diligence. Jonah was physically mature and didn’t like to practice; it was only a matter of time before the others caught up with him.
But in this game, by the end of the first quarter, Jonah had already scored four goals. In the second quarter, with Jonah on the sidelines, the opposing team kicked four goals to take the lead. In the third quarter, Jonah kicked two more, giving him thirty-three for the year, not that anyone was counting, and a teammate added one. By the beginning of the fourth quarter, Jonah’s team was behind 8–7, and Miles crossed his arms and scanned the crowd, doing his best to appear as if he didn’t even realize that without Jonah his team would be getting destroyed.
Damn, this was fun.
Miles was so lost in his reverie, it took a moment for the voice coming from off to the side to register.
“You got a bet riding on this game, Deputy Ryan?” Sarah asked as she walked up to him, grinning broadly. “You look a little nervous.”
“No—no bet. Just enjoying the game,” he answered.
“Well, be careful. Your fingernails are almost gone. I’d hate to see you accidentally nip yourself.”
“I wasn’t biting my nails.”
“Not now,” she said. “But you were.”
“I think you were imagining things,” he countered, wondering if she was flirting with him again. “So . . .” He pushed up the brim of his baseball hat. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”
Wearing shorts and sunglasses, she looked younger than usual.
“Jonah told me he had a game this weekend and asked if I’d come.”
“He did?” Miles asked curiously.
“On Thursday. He said that I would enjoy it, but I kind of got the impression he wanted me to see him doing something he was good at.”
Bless you, Jonah.
“It’s almost over now. You’ve missed most of it.”
“I couldn’t find the right field. I didn’t realize there would be so many games out here. From a distance, all these kids look the same.”
“I know. Sometimes even we have trouble finding what field we’re playing on.”
The whistle sounded and Jonah kicked the ball to a teammate. The ball shot past him, though, and promptly rolled out of bounds. Someone on the other team chased after it, and Jonah glanced toward his father. When he saw Sarah, he waved and she returned the wave enthusiastically. Then, settling into position with a determined look on his face, Jonah waited for the throw to put the ball back in play. A moment later, he and everyone else on the field were chasing after the ball.
“So how’s he doing?” Sarah asked.
“He’s having a good game.”
“Mark says he’s the best player out here.”
“Well...,” Miles demurred, doing his best to look modest.
Sarah laughed. “Mark wasn’t talking about you. Jonah’s the one out there playing.”
“I know that,” Miles said.
“But you think he’s a chip off the old block, huh?”
“Well...,” Miles repeated, for lack of a clever response. Sarah lifted an eyebrow, clearly amused. Where was that wit and charisma he was counting on?
“Tell me—did you play soccer as a kid?” she asked.
“They didn’t even have soccer when I was a kid. I played the traditional sports—football, basketball, baseball. But even if they’d offered soccer, I don’t think I would have played it. I’ve got a bias against sports that require me to bounce a ball off my head.”
“But it’s fine for Jonah, right?”
“Sure, as long as he likes it. Did you ever play?”
“No. I wasn’t much of an athlete, but once I was in college, I took up walking. My roommate got me into it.”
He squinted at her. “Walking?”
“It’s harder than it looks if you keep a fast pace.”
“Do you still do it?”
“Every day. I have a three-mile loop that I follow. It’s a good workout and it gives me a chance to unwind. You should try it.”
“With all that spare time I have?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“If I went three miles, I’d probably be so sore I couldn’t get out of bed the next day. That’s if I could even make it.”
She ran her gaze over him appraisingly. “You could make it,” she said. “You might have to give up smoking, but you could make it.”
“I don’t smoke,” he protested.
“I know. Brenda told me.” She grinned, and after a moment, Miles couldn’t help but smile as well. Before he could say anything else, however, a loud roar went up and both of them turned to see Jonah break away from the pack, charge down the field, and kick yet another goal, this one to tie the score. As Jonah’s teammates surged around him, Miles and Sarah stood together on the sidelines, both of them clapping and cheering for the same young boy.
“Did you enjoy it?” Miles asked. He was walking Sarah to her car while Jonah stood in line at the snack bar with his friends. The game had been won by Jonah’s team, and after the game, Jonah had run up to Sarah to ask her if she’d seen his goal. When she’d answered that she had, Jonah had beamed and given her a hug before scrambling off to join his friends. Miles, surprisingly, had been all but ignored, though the fact that Jonah was fond of Sarah—and vice versa—left him feeling strangely satisfied.
“It was fun,” she admitted. “I wish I could have been here for the whole thing, though.”
In the early afternoon sunlight, her skin glowed beneath the tan she still carried from the summer.
“It’s fine. Jonah was simply glad you showed up.” He glanced at her sideways. “So what’s on your agenda the rest of the day?”
“I’m meeting my mom for lunch downtown.”
“Where?”
“Fred & Clara’s? It’s a little place just around the corner from where I live.”
“I know the place. It’s great.”
They reached her car, a red Nissan Sentra, and Sarah started rummaging through her handbag for her keys. As she searched for them, Miles found himself staring at her. With the sunglasses perched neatly on her nose, she looked more like the city girl she was than someone from the country. Add to that the faded jeans shorts and long legs, and she sure didn’t look like any teacher Miles had ever had growing up.
Behind them, a white pickup truck began backing out. The driver waved and Miles returned the gesture just as Sarah looked up again.
“You know him?”
“It’s a small town. It seems like I know everyone.”
“That must be comforting.”
“Sometimes it is, other times it isn’t. If you’ve got secrets, this isn’t the place for you, that’s for sure.”
For a moment, Sarah wondered if he was talking about himself. Before she could dwell on it, Miles went on.
“Hey, I want to thank you again for everything you’re doing for Jonah.”
“You don’t have to thank me every time you see me.”
“I know. It’s just that I’ve noticed a big change in him these last few weeks.”
“So have I. He’s catching up pretty quickly, even faster than I thought he would. He actually started reading aloud in class this week.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s got a good teacher.”
To Miles’s surprise, Sarah actually blushed. “He’s got a good father, too.”
He liked that.
And he liked the look she’d given him when she’d said it.
As if uncertain what to do next, Sarah fiddled with her keys. She selected one and unlocked her front door. As she swung the door open, Miles stepped back slightly.
“So, how much longer do you think he’ll need to keep staying after school?” he asked.
Keep talking. Don’t let her leave yet.
“I’m not sure yet. A while, for sure. Why? Do you want to start cutting back a little?”
“No,” he continued. “I was just curious.”
She nodded, waiting to see if he’d add anything else, but he didn’t. “Okay,” she finally said. “We’ll keep going like we are and see how he’s doing in another month. Is that all right?”
Another month. He’d continue to see her for at least that long. Good.
“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed.
For a long moment neither of them said anything, and in the silence Sarah glanced at her watch. “Listen, I’m running a little late,” she said apologetically, and Miles nodded.
“I know—you’ve got to go,” he said, not wanting her to leave just yet. He wanted to keep talking. He wanted to learn everything he could about her.
What you really mean is that it’s time to ask her out.
And no chickening out this time. No hanging up the phone, no putzing around.
Bite the bullet!
Be a man!
Go for it!
He steeled himself, knowing he was ready... but... but... how should he do it? Good Lord, it had been a long time since he had been in a situation like this. Should he suggest dinner or lunch? Or maybe a movie? Or...? As Sarah started to climb in her car, his mind was sorting and searching frantically, trying to come up with ways to prolong her time with him long enough to figure it out. “Wait—before you go—can I ask you something?” he blurted out.
“Sure.” She looked at him quizzically.
Miles put his hands in his pockets, feeling those little butterflies, feeling seventeen again. He swallowed.
“So...,” he began. His mind was racing, those little wheels spinning for everything they were worth.
“Yes?”
Sarah knew instinctively what was coming.
Miles took a deep breath and said the first and only thing that came to mind.
“How’s the fan working out?”
She stared at him, a perplexed expression on her face. “The fan?” she repeated.
Miles felt as if he’d just swallowed a ton of lead. The fan? What the hell was he thinking? The fan? That was all he could come up with?
It was as if his brain had suddenly taken a vacation, but for the life of him, he couldn’t stop....
“Yeah. You know ... the fan that I got you for your class.”
“It’s fine,” she said uncertainly.
“Because I can get you a new one if you don’t like it.”
She reached out to touch his arm, a look of concern on her face. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said seriously. “I just wanted to make sure you’re happy with it.”
“You picked a good one, okay?”
“Good,” he said, hoping and praying that a bolt of lightning would suddenly shoot from the heavens and kill him on the spot.
The fan?
After she pulled out of the parking lot, Miles stood without moving, wishing that he could turn back the clock and undo everything that had just happened. He wanted to find the nearest rock to crawl under, a nice dark spot where he could hide from the world forever. Thank God no one was around to hear it!
Except for Sarah.
For the rest of the day, the end of their conversation kept repeating in his head, like a song he’d heard on early morning radio.
How’s the fan working out? ... Because I can get you a new one ... I just want to make sure you’re happy with it. . . .
It was painful, physically painful, to recall it. And no matter what else he did that afternoon, the memory would lurk there under the surface, waiting to emerge and humiliate him. And on the following day, it was the same thing. He woke up with the feeling that something was wrong... something... and boom! There was the memory again, taunting him. He winced and felt the lead in his gut. And then he pulled the pillow over his head.