Bayview Heights Trilogy (74 page)

Hoffman told him, “Now grab the other swing,
bring it close to you and hold both ropes with one hand.”

Following Hoffman’s orders, Kurt made it to
the next swing. Zoe felt her breathing pick up.

She was about to turn away so she didn’t have
to watch him finish when a bird flew out from the trees; it was a
huge crow, followed by two others. The flapping of their large
wings seemed as loud as a small plane.

Zoe cupped her hands to warn Kurt, only to
hear a collective gasp come from the kids.

It all happened quickly.

Kurt jerked as the birds flew near him and
lost his balance.

His foot slipped off the last swing.

His hands slid down the ropes.

And he fell.

Luckily the harness held. But he was
suspended a good thirty feet from the ground.

“Everybody quiet!” the director yelled.

The kids went completely still. Hoffman
rushed to a ladder lying on the ground and threw it against the
tree. “You’re not going to fall, Kurt,” Hoffman assured as he
climbed up.

“If you say so.”

“Just stay still.” In seconds the director
was at the top of the ladder on the platform. He unwound another
coiled rope fastened to the tree. His voice was calm. “I’m going to
toss this to you, and I want you to grab it.”

“Sure.”

Kurt missed the first toss. Several kids
gasped. He also missed the second. Zoe felt her eyes sting. He
caught hold of the rope the third time. Her hands covering her
mouth, Zoe watched as he followed the rest of Hoffman’s
instructions to swing over on the rope and pull himself up to the
platform.

His face etched with concentration, Kurt
swung toward the platform. When he came up to it, Hoffman, kneeling
and secured by his own harness, grabbed Kurt under the armpits.
Kurt, in turn, grabbed onto the base of the platform and held
tight; he managed some footing against the tree. With Herculean
strength and the help of Hoffman, Kurt dragged himself up to
safety.

The students let out a raucous cheer. Zoe
turned away. There was yelling behind her, comments, shouts of
praise.

She stumbled into the trees. Shaking, she
made her way to a log and sank onto it. She buried her face in her
hands and ordered herself to calm down. It had all worked out. Kurt
was safe.

But her hands wouldn’t stop trembling, and
her throat worked convulsively. Never had she felt the kind of
stark terror she had when she’d watched Kurt dangle thirty feet off
the ground.

She didn’t know how long she’d sat there when
she felt someone drop down beside her. Without even looking, she
recognized his scent, the feel of him.

“I’m all right, sweetheart.”

They’d been too close for too long to
pretend. “I know. It’s just that watching you...I’ve never been so
scared in my life.”

“I’m glad it didn’t happen to one of the
kids.” His arm came around her. She leaned into him “Hoffman’s
canceling the last obstacle. They’re too shaken to try it.”

Still Zoe said nothing, just turned her face
into his shoulder. They stayed close for several seconds. His
embrace felt good. He was so solid. So alive, smelling like clean
honest sweat and the outdoors.

Finally he kissed the top of her head, drew
away and stood. “Zoe?”

She looked up. Backdropped by the sun, he
seemed tall and invincible. “I’m sorry you were worried.” He
smiled. “But then again I’m not that sorry.” He turned and
left.

For a minute, anger replaced fear. “Well,
hell,” she said aloud. She hadn’t expected him to
use
this. Frowning, she stared after him.

o0o

KURT AWAKENED Sunday morning in a bad mood,
the source of which he decided not to ponder, though he knew the
situation with Zoe was a large part of it. As the boys slept around
him, he dressed in sneakers, sweatpants and a shirt, then headed
out to the basketball court to work off some of his
frustrations.

It was a glorious Indian-summer morning. The
birds chipped happily in the sunlight, and the grass and trees had
a dew-kissed sheen that made them sparkle like polished jewels.

The paved basketball court—a twenty-foot
circle of blacktop and a hoop—was nestled in a copse of maple trees
some distance away from the lodge. When he reached it, he heard the
familiar thud of the ball against the ground.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know anybody’d be here.”
Even to Kurt’s own ears his voice was petulant.

Alex Ransom turned toward him, looking
healthy and young and supremely confident. “No problem.” He bounced
the ball, then took a shot. “Wanna play some one-on-one?”

Last night the man had danced with Zoe at the
kids’ impromptu party, and he’d held her way too close. This
morning, male challenge and a trace of primal competitiveness shone
in Ransom’s dark eyes.

“Yeah, sure.”

Ransom turned, smiled and whipped off his
T-shirt, revealing world-class muscles. So the guy visited a gym.
Big deal.

“You take it out.” Ransom shot the ball hard
at him.

Kurt caught it without flinching, dribbled in
from the perimeter and headed straight for the basket. Ransom kept
in front of him, edging backward. Five feet from the basket, Kurt
went up for a shot. Ransom’s hand came down on the ball...and
slapped Kurt’s arm in the follow-through. It stung like a son of a
bitch.

Kurt’s answer was to dive for the ball and
make a quick and dirty layup. Ransom took the ball out-of- bounds
and drilled it down center court. Kurt planted himself in the
pathway to the basket. Ransom rammed right into him, knocking him
flat.

Surprised, Kurt’s eyes narrowed on the other
man from the pavement. “I’d call that charging.”

“Yeah? Sorry.” Ransom jammed the ball to a
still-seated Kurt. “Your ball, then.”

In minutes Kurt was ahead, three to one.

Ransom grabbed the ball out-of-bounds and
went straight for a layup. Kurt charged him from the opposite
side—in an effort to block him of course. It had nothing to do with
a flash of memory—seeing the young vice principal and Zoe leave for
a little moonlit stroll after campfire songs. Barreling forward,
Kurt leaped up and missed the block. His elbow caught Ransom’s rib
cage.

Ransom grunted, but said, “My point. Down by
one.”

Ten minutes later, Ransom leaped up and came
down to block the last shot of the game—they were tied—and missing
the ball, managed to smack Kurt hard across the mouth. Stunned,
Kurt dropped the ball and raised his hand to his face. He felt
stickiness on his lip.

Ransom stared at him. “Oh. Sorry.” He watched
the ball roll to the side. “I’d say we’re done.” Walking to the
edge of the court, he picked up his shirt and wiped his face with
it. Then he turned to Kurt, who was moping the blood from his mouth
with the end of his T-shirt.

“I’m not going to leave her alone,” Ransom
said simply.

Kurt’s eyebrows raised. “I didn’t ask you
to.”

Ransom rubbed his rib cage, where he’d
probably have a king-size bruise. His gaze flicked to Kurt’s mouth.
“The hell you didn’t.”

o0o

SUNDAY’S ACTIVITIES were to end at three,
when they’d all be bussed back to the high school. Barb Sherman
began the day with a “trust fall.” Kurt watched Madison Kendrick, a
quiet unassuming girl struggle with the natural fear she was
feeling.

“It’s okay, Maddie,” Barb said, standing on
the ground while Madison perched on a platform about eight feet
above. “Stay stiff and fall back.”

Six people lined up beneath her gauntlet
style, three on either side, forming a human net with their
outstretched arms to catch her.

“I don’t wanna do this,” the girl said.

“If you really don’t, you can pass.” Barb
smiled. “But I think you can do it. These people are your team.
They’ll catch you.”

Cheers of encouragement abounded.

Kurt studied the kids in his group, wondering
if they could handle his weight. He rubbed his shoulder. All he
needed was to be slam-dunked into the ground again. He was already
feeling all kinds of aches and pains from his contest with Ransom.
Man, had that been stupid.

Taking in a deep breath and an even deeper
gulp of courage, Madison went stiff and fell backward. The gang
caught her easily.

Kurt groaned as his name was called. What the
hell was he doing out here in the wilderness with all these young
bunnies? he thought as he climbed the platform.

The emotional exercises were no easier for
him. The last half of the day was devoted to a “twenty-four hours
to live” series of responses.

Kurt stared down at his paper. They’d been
told to be honest, but they could keep private anything they put
down. Unfortunately Zoe was in Kurt’s group—the first time all
weekend. Dressed in clingy black leggings and an oversize teal-blue
sweatshirt, she looked young and healthy. The sun had kissed her
face all weekend and her skin glowed.

As group leader, Dan Caruso said, “All right,
everybody done?” When they nodded, he zeroed in on Zoe. “Ms. C, if
you had only twenty-four hours to live, what are some of the
activities you’d do, and what wouldn’t you do?”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “I
wouldn’t
do
administrative paperwork,” she said, smiling. She glanced down. “I
would
go for a walk at midnight. I
would
spend
some of the day on the water.” She smiled at them. “And I’d take a
nap.”

“What?” Erica’s voice was stunned. Her color
high, she was full of restless energy today. “You’d sleep part of
your last day on earth. Why?”

“Because I couldn’t enjoy the hours I had on
no sleep.”

For some reason Erica and Shondra exchanged a
long look.

The kids argued vehemently about that with
her, then Dan asked, “Dr. Lansing, what about you?”

I’d spend every second with Zoe.

He named the things on his list he could
share. “I’d want to see my daughter. I’d go out on my boat. I’d
spend a few hours making sure things were intact at the
clinic.”

Barb Sherman interrupted. “I want you all to
compare the list of what you’d like to do with how you actually
spend your days and nights.”

There was stark silence. Adults, like him,
knew and accepted that most people did what they should do, not
what they wanted to. Kids always found it a surprise.

“All right,” Caruso said. “Who would you miss
most and least if you died? Share one of the five on each list.” He
glanced at his own paper. “I’ll start. I’d miss my little brother
most. My mother least.”

“I’d miss my mother the least, too,” Shondra
said.

“My father the least,” Erica put in.

Kurt battled back a groan. What would Lauren
put here? Which list of his daughter’s would
he
be on?

When Barb admonished them to think about who
they spent most of their time with now in comparison with the list,
the kids were again astonished to see how much time they spent with
people not on the “miss most” list but those on the “miss least”
one.

The counselor said, “This is the last
activity of the weekend. Write a letter to one person in your life
telling them how you feel about them and what they mean to you. You
might want to clear up some old baggage between you, if there is
any. I’d pick a person from list number one,” she said,
smiling.

The kids nodded wisely.

“These will be private. You won’t be sharing
them with the group. But we’re going to collect them and return
them at the end of the course. At that point, if the person you
wrote to is still as important to you, we’ll urge you to give the
letter to him or her.”

They stayed in their groups to write.

Hunkering over his paper, Kurt forced himself
not to look at Zoe. Every bone in his body yearned to know who she
was writing to. Cassie? Ransom? Him?

He began his own letter, which he had no
intention of turning in:
Dear Zoe
…

JERRY BOSCO had squeezed himself into a
student desk in the back of Zoe’s room and was watching her like
Big Brother. He’d shown up Monday afternoon unannounced, no doubt
to catch her either unprepared or perhaps doing something
unacceptable; he’d completely ignored her suggestion that today
might not be the best day to observe the curriculum.

Typical of the Monday after their Down to
Earth weekend, the kids were buzzing excitedly. They ignored
Bosco’s presence, which might not be good, as they retold stories
and highlighted memorable events.

On the blackboard, Zoe had written, “Down to
Earth,” with “Most Valuable” and “Least Valuable” columns
underneath. She smiled at the class. “Hi, guys. Long time no
see.”

They laughed and settled into the semicircle
of desks or into the beanbag chairs. Some kids even sprawled on the
carpeted floor. The casual seating arrangement would clearly be
strike one in Bosco’s playbook.

“Who’d like to write?” she asked.

“I will.” Madison Kendrick surprised Zoe. It
was the first time the shy girl had volunteered for anything in
class.

Score one for the good guys
, Zoe
thought. Here was tangible proof that her course was helping
kids.

Dressed in clingy black slacks and a black
tank top, her hair pulled severely off her face, Maddie picked up
the chalk and faced the class. The kids knew the drill. Zoe would
elicit responses, and the volunteer would record them.

“Let’s start with the positive. What was the
most valuable thing to you about the weekend?”

“Seeing you take five tries to do the log
mount,” Rob teased her from his desk, where he lazed in typical
teenage-boy fashion, half in, half out.

“Five?” She feigned indignation. “It was only
three. Four at the most.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Bosco
frown and write furiously on his yellow pad. When he’d taught at
Bayview High, his classes were a series of formal lectures during
which the kids claimed they often fell asleep. She didn’t think
he’d know anything about establishing a positive atmosphere with
students.