“Anton. Language,” Delores corrected, but David squeezed the boy even tighter. “That’s the spirit,” he said.
He waited until Anton fell asleep and then got into bed to talk to Delores about what had transpired. “Have you heard of something called the broken windows theory?” he asked, and when she shook her head, he explained. “It’s all the rage now. It basically says that if you nip crime in the bud—you know, zero tolerance for minor crimes like vandalism and such—you prevent bigger problems.” He stopped for a moment, feeling a little sheepish. “What I’m thinking is we try something like that at home. Except instead of punishing crime, you reward success.” He saw that Delores was puzzled. “See, I think that success begets success. I’m hoping that the more accomplished Anton feels in one area, the more confident he’ll feel in school.”
Delores looked at him wistfully. “I wish it were that simple, hon. But the fact is, he’s over his head. He’s gone from one of the worst schools in the state to one of the best and—”
“So we should expect the worst from him?” he said curtly, cutting her off. “You’re saying that his past should dog him his entire life?”
“You’re twisting my words.”
He turned his head to look at the sleeping boy. In the dark, all he could see was the rise and fall of Anton’s chest. For a second, he wondered if Delores was right. What he was trying to do with Anton was to implement Pappy’s theory of success—a theory formulated by a white wealthy aristocrat to experiment on his only son. It had worked with him. And it most certainly had worked with James. But was there any guarantee it would work with a boy from the inner city? Stop, he chided himself. You’re overthinking it. All you’ve done is teach the boy to go down the hill a few times, for Christ’s sake. For all you know, Anton will unravel on the slopes tomorrow.
He held Delores’s hand. “Sorry,” he said. “That was unfair. Well, we’re not going to solve this tonight.” Still holding her hand, David kissed his wife good night and turned off the light.
But even in the dark, he was aware of Delores looking at him with her big, wary eyes.
HE NEEDN’T HAVE worried. Anton had retained everything that he’d learned the night before—how to shift his weight between the skis, how to handle the poles, how to turn, how to stop, even how to fall and get up after a fall. What was most impressive was Anton’s desire to get to the top of the slope and ski his way down again and again; he stood impatiently in the line for the rope tow, grumbling about how long it took to get his turn. And after his fifth time down, he was pestering them to take him on a harder course.
“I can’t believe it,” Delores kept saying. “How could . . . ? I can’t believe this is the same kid.”
David’s voice was husky with pride. “But it is.” He took his eyes off Anton for a second to look at his wife. “This kid . . . he’s special. And the worst thing we can do is lower our expectations for him.” He raised his hand, following Anton’s descent with one pointed finger. “I know how bright Anton is. All we’ve got to do is push him.”
Delores squeezed David’s arm. “You win this round, Judge Coleman.” Then, with her eyes searching his face, her voice pleading, she said, “But David. He’s just a boy. Remember that. Please.”
“Come on, Dee. I know that.” He paused and then decided to take the plunge. “I was wondering. Do you think I should pitch in with the homework? I could work with him for an hour after dinner each night, if you like.” He saw the aggrieved look on her face and added hastily, “Only if you think it’ll help, of course.”
She was quiet for a long time, and he braced himself for an argument. Instead she said, “That’s fine. If you wish.”
His jubilation was tempered by the realization that the old Dee would not have let him win this easily. James’s death had changed her, perhaps irrevocably. “Well, we can try,” he said. “Just for, you know, a few weeks.”
She nodded. After a few seconds she pulled away from him wordlessly and skied down to meet Anton at the bottom of the hill. And David was left alone on his perch at the top of the hill, overlooking the vast whiteness all around him, a solitary emperor of snow, unable to hold on to the feeling of jubilant satisfaction that he’d experienced just a few minutes earlier.
CHAPTER NINE
The squeals and shouts from the pool where eight preteen boys and girls were splashing and playing drifted back to the deck where the two men sat in their Adirondack chairs.
“I hope Jan’s not regretting offering to host Anton’s birthday party,” David said dryly.
Connor waved his hand dismissively. “We’ll soon be closing up the pool for the season. May as well use it before then.”
September 18, 1993. Hard to believe, but Anton was twelve years old today. David peered from the screened-in porch to see the boy jump feet-first into the pool, his scrawny body exploding the water like a bomb. It was unimaginable that a little over two years ago, the kid had been afraid of the water.
David turned to glance at Connor, who was stretched out on his chair, his arms folded behind his head. “I think Brad has helped Anton acclimatize to his new life more than Delores and I have. Without Brad, I’m not sure . . .”
Connor acknowledged the compliment with a quick nod. “He’s a good kid. But Anton’s been good for him, too. You know, Brad will always be Gerard’s kid brother. This has given him a chance to shine a bit.”
David smiled. “Guess befriending helpless waifs is a Stevens family tradition. One for which we Coleman boys are most grateful.”
He caught himself immediately: Anton was not a Coleman. In fact, in a few more months, he would be reunited with his mom, and all David could do was hope that some trace of what they’d taught him would see him through the rest of his life.
As if he’d read David’s mind, Connor said, “I need to prepare Brad for the fact that Anton will be—leaving. He’s going to be pretty heartbroken, I imagine.”
David sighed. “Brad and me both. And Delores, of course.”
Connor shot him a sympathetic look. “I know, buddy. And I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You, of all people . . . you’ve made the last two years possible. And they’ve been great years.”
“So do you think you will do this again? Foster another kid?”
Would he? He didn’t know. Perhaps he’d feel the same connection with another child, though he thought that was unlikely. From the moment David had met Anton, he had felt a bond. In his reticence, his self-control, Anton had reminded David of himself. And Anton was smart, his intelligence unsullied by his past circumstances. He had come to them covered with the dust of ignorance. All they’d had to do was blow off that dust. The boy’s natural aptitude for math should’ve hinted at his raw intelligence, but his appalling lack of general knowledge and his lousy grammar had hidden the truth from them for months. They had hit the jackpot with this kid.