Darkness peering (14 page)

"You don't have to do this, you know," he said. "It's not like you owe
it to him or anything."

"Owe it to who?"

"Your father."

She bit her lower lip, feeling the hot flush of anger ride up her neck
and cheeks. "I'm not doing this for him."

He stroked her jawline with his thumb, his face oddly composed, as if
he had a fever and didn't know it. "All I'm saying is ... it's not
like there's a reason he killed himself, and if there is a reason, it's
not like you're necessarily going to find out."

"Why are you so against this?"

"I don't want to see you hurt."

"Maybe all I'm after is the truth?"

"Truth," he snorted. "I teach my kids to tell the truth. Be honest.
Remember, George Washington never told a lie. Around the age of eight,
they realize most people don't want the truth. Most people want nice,
polite lies."

She looked at him. "I think you should go now."

He held her eye. "I don't want to."

"You can't stay. Your wife's probably worried sick."

"I'm not in love with her, Rachel. I'm in love with you."

She sat up and, reaching for her T-shirt, pulled it down over her head.
They'd just made love and already her insides were aching from the loss
of him. "You know, Jim, whenever I resist the impulse to make love to
you ... whenever I bury this constant desire I have for you ... I know
I'm doing your kids a big favor. I'm doing something good."

He watched her put on her socks. "It's gotten to the point that
whenever I'm away from you, Rachel, I only want to be with you."

"All right, stop. Just shut up." The back of her throat burned. "I'm
not going to tear their father away from them the way my father was
torn away from me, okay?"

She waited for him to leave, but he brushed the hair off her face, and
she felt an uncontrollable urge to weep. Closing her eyes, she lowered
her head against his chest.

Soothingly, he stroked her backside. "You're right," he whispered.

"I am?"

"Yes."

"So what're we going to do?"

"I don't know." He rocked her for a while. "My kids are what I wake
up for in the morning. They're my whole life."

She wiped her wet face. "My heart feels heavy."

"Like my cock?"

"No, bad heavy. Like I've done something wrong. Like I'm never going
to get into heaven."

"I thought you didn't believe in heaven?"

"I don't. Not really. My father used to say you could only get into
heaven if you told the truth. So I guess I believe in the truth,"

He snorted. "The truth's subjective."

She thought for a moment. "If you pick up a ball, the truth is you
picked up the ball. It didn't leap into your hands. Nobody else
picked it up. It didn't grow from your fingertips. You picked it up,
and now you're responsible for the next action you take. Either you
toss it to somebody else or crush the air out of it. But whatever you
do next, that's the truth. You can lie all you want, but if I saw you
pick up the ball, then I know the truth."

"Okay, fine," he said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Then this .."
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "... is the truth. And this
..." He kissed her lips. "... is the truth. And this .." He guided
her hand to his groin. "Is the truth."

She knew she'd never be as whole as when she was with him. His mouth
tasted sweet. She pretended for an instant that he was free, no
obligations. He had stirred up the calm center of her, and now nothing
else mattered. Morality melted away. Flesh dissolved. The frosted
earth heaved. She slid with him to the floor, while outside the
treetops churned in the cold ringing night.

THE FOLLOWING FRIDAY, BILLY STOOD IN THE LOBBY OF PEL

letier Hall, waiting to say good-bye to his students. It was three
o'clock, October already, the lobby chaotic with noise and color. On
the countertop above the receptionist's desk was a ragged pile of stray
gloves and sweaters and jackets. Spotting a piece of paper on the
floor, he stooped to retrieve it. Somebody had written in bold block
letters AIR MAIL, GO FAST! He added it to the pile.

Now he could see Gabie heading toward him. At sixteen, she had the
best vision of any of his students but was cripplingly shy. She had
Crouzon's syndrome, a congenital defect that affects the skull and
facial bones. In Crouzon, parts of the skull's plates become fused,
restricting the brain's growth and deforming the mid face creating
vision and hearing problems. Gabie had a beaklike nose, shallow eye
sockets, and a dished-in face. Her forehead was flattened, and her
lower jaw jutted cartoonishly, her mouth never completely closing over
her overcrowded teeth. Billy used to have trouble understanding her,
but now he could make out her guttural utterings with ease.

"So, Gabie, how was cooking class?"

"Good." She took his hand and made him sit beside her on the lobby's
only sofa. All the sofas at Winfield were oatmeal-colored. They faced
the potted amaryllis, its bloodred blossoms opening like obscene
mouths.

"What did you make today?" he asked.

"Pizza."

"Cheese or pepperoni?"

She giggled, a thick-tongued clucking. She had a shy, furtive

manner and a boyish haircut, her voice emitting awkwardly from her
malformed mouth. Even though she could see fairly well, her eyes never
made direct contact.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"Pretty good."

"Save me a piece?"

"Nope."

"No?" He feigned disappointment.

Again, the giggle.

"Hey, that's a pretty sweater." She was wearing a navy blue cardigan
with a Ninja Turtle pin holding it closed. "It's really windy out,
though. Are you sure you're warm enough? Where's your jacket

"I dunno."

He was used to her monosyllabic responses. She squeezed his hand
again. "You don't know where your jacket is?"

"I don't need one."

"You don't?"

"Nope."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

"All right. Up to you."

Claire was standing a short distance away, observing them. Making
mental notes. Her lips, pressed together, reminded him of a scar.
Billy freed himself from Gabie's grip, and she reached into her clunky
pocketbook and pulled out her gray woolen cap. Her mother had knitted
her the cap last Christmas, and Gabie wore it year round, winter or
spring, rain or shine, come hell or high water. Now she drew it down
over her forehead so that it completely covered her eyes, and Billy
suspected that, subconsciously at least, she was trying to disguise
herself.

"Aw, Gabie, not the hat again," he groaned.

"Why not?"

"You look like a convict."

ill

"No, I don't." Giggle, giggle.

"You're too pretty to be wearing that thing. We need to get you a new
hat or something."

"You said it was cold out."

"Touche."

That giggle again.

Billy heard Brigette's keys rattling before she came into view7-small,
slender, white as a ghost. She scooted in between them on the sofa.
"Is your grandmother dead?" she asked Billy in her childish voice.

"Yes, Brigette," he said. "She died a few years ago."

"She did?"

"I really loved her. She used to take her teeth out."

Gabie giggled.

Brigette's eyebrows lifted with wonder. "She did?"

"Yeah, she had false teeth, and she'd put them in a glass of water at
night so she could sleep without swallowing them."

"That's weird." Brigette clutched Billy's hand, her gaze drifting
sideways across his face, and he wondered what she saw, how he might
look to her. "Wanna come visit me this weekend?" she asked. "We
could go swimming."

Claire frowned and tapped her pencil noisily against her clipboard.
Gabie shifted in her seat and pulled the gray wool cap down to her
nose.

"It's too cold to go swimming, Brigette," Billy said.

"Oh." She wrinkled her nose with disappointment.

"Maybe next summer, huh?"

"Okay."

Claire's complexion darkened. "Here's your cottage aide, Brigette.
Gabie, pull that hat back off your eyes. Got everything, Brigette?"

Gabie reached for the walls with outstretched arms, pretending to be
blind. During the wintertime, some of the blind students pulled their
hats down over their faces just like Gabie was

doing, and Billy would panic, fearing they might hurt themselves. Then
it would hit him.

"Gabie," Claire warned, and Gabie dropped the act. "Bye, Brigette, see
you Monday."

"Bye!" Brigette chirped, waving at them while her cottage aide, a
freckled pixie of a woman, escorted her down the front steps toward the
cottages.

Gabie's van pulled up out front, and Claire took her by the arm.
"Gabie, you're not blind, you're visually impaired."

Gabie grunted.

"Your van's here. Pull that hat back up."

Gabie reluctantly rolled the cap back above her eyebrows. She lived
with a foster family because her mother used to beat her, and several
of her front teeth were capped.

"Got your stuff? See you Monday," Claire said.

"Bye." Gabie moved gracefully out the front door.

"My man," Billy said, giving Luke a high five.

"Hey," Gus said on his way out, "what am I? Chopped liver?"

Claire and Billy exchanged a smile, and Billy high-fived Gus, then Eric
and Gabie and Tony were caught up in the stream of children pouring out
the door, and suddenly the lobby was empty, dust settling in the golden
silence, and Billy and Claire were alone.

"I wish you'd stop encouraging that," Claire said.

"Encouraging what?"

"Brigette. She thinks you're her boyfriend."

"No, she doesn't. She knows the difference."

Billy braced himself for an argument, but Claire merely shrugged him
off and went to check her mail. Billy followed her with his gaze. The
mailboxes were back behind the stairs, between the woodworking shop and
the bulletin board. Claire reached into her box and pulled out her
mail, along with the red envelope Billy had noticed earlier. Every so
often, she received a mysterious red envelope addressed to Ms. Claire
Castillo in

childish block letters with no return address. Once he'd even held it
to the light hut couldn't make anything out through the thick,
high-grade paper.

She read it quickly, then slipped it in with the other papers and books
she clutched to her chest. They'd never discussed the red envelopes.
Claire had never opened her love life up for dissection the way Billy
did. He knew she'd once had a serious boyfriend and that they'd broken
up a few years ago. He knew she hadn't dated in quite some time. "The
last man who touched me," she once joked, "was looking for tumors."

Now Claire touched Billy's arm, warmth passing from her fingertips.
"We need to talk."

"Okay." His heart skipped a beat.

They sat at one of the wobbly cafeteria tables, Claire sipping herbal
tea, Billy chugging a Yoo-Hoo. Claire's hand rested on a pile of
lesson plans. She had delicate wrists and fragrant skin.

"You're encouraging something you shouldn't be encouraging," she
said.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Brigette has a crush on you. Gabie does, too, but she can handle
it."

"Big deal. I used to have crushes on some of my teachers."

"What's the matter with you r" Her eyes narrowed as if he were a dense
fog. "She's sixteen years old ... almost a woman. Mentally retarded
or not, she has feelings.

"Claire, I think you're overreacting."

"Overreacting?" She looked about ready to strike him. "These kids
don't need a buddy, Billy. They need a teacher."

"You're really into this distance thing."

"That's an incredibly offensive thing to say."

"I'm sorry, I just don't happen to agree with you.

"Okay, so we disagree, fine. I can handle that. What I can't handle
is you sitting there, holding hands with her. You two shouldn't be
holding hands, Billy. The lines are growing fuzzy."

"Maybe for you. Not for Brigette."

"How can you be so goddamn sure?"

"Because she's just a kid."

"Exactly my point, she's not a kid. She's a young lady. And don't you
ever tell me I'm overreacting again."

"I'm sorry. I just don't see what the problem is. Brigette and I have
our little chats."

"It's not what you say, it's your body language. You held hands."

"I hold everybody's hand." The truth was, he welcomed the children's
hugs and handshakes. That didn't make him a pedophile--didn't make him
weird or anything--he simply appreciated their openness and innocence
and trust. Most of the women he met, as soon as he told them what he
did for a living, completely lost interest. He could feel their
withering contempt, but the blind kids thought Billy was cool. Their
love, their unconditional love, was like an opening for him into the
human world. These kids ... his kids ... made him feel alive.

"Look, Billy, this is a school. An institute of learning. We're
supposed to be preparing them for the real world. It's great that you
show affection and everything, but I've seen what happens to these kids
after they graduate. The real world eats them for breakfast. It
doesn't embrace them, it recoils from them. They've got to learn how
to deal with rejection."

"So you want me to be their drill sergeant, is that it?"

"You've missed my point completely."

"Shape up or ship out?"

"Discipline and unconditional love are two extremes. We should fall
somewhere in between, don't you think?"

"Okay, fine. You've thought about this a little longer than I have.
I'll try to set some limits."

"Fine." She stood abruptly, papers spilling to the floor. Billy bent
to retrieve the red envelope and she snatched it away.