I’ll Become the Sea (5 page)

“Wait, let’s listen to that CD.” She got up on her knees, reaching back for the bag. Again she felt his eyes on her, on her legs and backside as she leaned over the seat. She blushed.

“Great.” He swallowed, slipping the CD into the stereo. “Mind if I skip ahead?”

“No, the songs at the ends are the best ones.”

He put the truck into gear and reversed, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road back to Belmar. Jane looked out the window and listened to the music, the fingers on her left hand moving against her leg.

The rain was coming down hard again, but they were close to her house now, over the bridge to Belmar and nearing her street. David found her tranquil block and pulled into a parking spot in front of her house, turning off the engine. Outside, it was still pouring.

“Well,” she said. “I guess we’re already soaked. Still want to come in and get those songs? I could make you a cup of tea.”

This was not something she should be doing. But it was only for a few minutes. She told herself it was innocent, just a couple of friends having tea and listening to music. Like Ben and Ana. She would keep her distance, and it would be fine.

“Sounds great,” David said. “I won’t keep you up too long, though. It’s late.”

“Okay. Let’s run for it.”

They bolted out of the truck to her staircase, running up as fast as they could while the rain pelted down on them. She fumbled with her keys, laughing, and pushed the door open, pulling David in behind her.

The apartment was warm and sparsely furnished. A soft navy sofa with red pillows sat against one wall of the living room. Above it hung a blotted silkscreen of Patty Hearst. On a side table, a round yellow candle stood next to a vase filled with tulips. The full smell of April rain and saltwater drifted in from an open window.

Jane shut the door behind him and shook herself off, spraying more water into his face from her wet hair.

“Hey.” He pushed her lightly on the shoulder.

She started a little at the feel of his fingers on her bare skin and turned away. “I’ll get some more towels.” She stumbled toward the closet in the next room.

Jane came back to the room with two clean towels and handed one to him. She dried herself off quickly and, grabbing a rubber band off the top of a bookcase, tied her hair back in a low twist. Rainwater dripped around her neck and to her throat, over her collarbone and down into the top of her shirt. She followed David’s eyes as he watched the water travel over her body and looked down, taking a deep breath and again turning away.

“I’d better go change.” She blushed. “Do you want me to find a dry shirt for you?”

“Um, no, it’s all right. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’ll put on the kettle before I go.” She poured cold water into the teapot and placed it on the stove, looking down as she passed him again to go to her bedroom.

“Be right back.”

In the bedroom Jane pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to force some sense into her brain. She yanked off the wet tank top, rummaging for a dry replacement in her messy dresser drawers.

She padded back in bare feet, a pair of jeans and a faded green T-shirt. Walking over to the kitchen counter, she reached up to open the door of a cabinet above. The hem of her T-shirt rode up her lower back. Hastily she pulled it down.

“My computer’s over there next to the TV if you’d like to take a look,” she said over her shoulder. “And there are blank CDs next to it. Copy as many songs as you want.” She took down a series of small boxes. “What kind of tea would you like? I’ve got Earl Grey, chamomile, ginger plum, peach…”

“Plum. That sounds good.”

“That’s my favorite. Honey?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Ha ha. Would you like some honey in your tea, David?”

She watched him sit down on the floor in front of her computer, scrolling over the titles.

“No thanks. I like it plain. This is a great collection.”

“Thanks. I spend all my money on music and books. It’s ridiculous.”

“Not at all. I can’t think of a better way to go broke.”

He lowered his head to read, his shoulders bent forward. Great damp splotches spread out over his back. She felt a kind of magnetic pull toward him and held herself back, focusing on making the tea. She let it steep and brought a steaming mug over to him, sitting beside him on the floor.

They talked about the songs for a while, playing a few old ones and laughing about the memories they associated with them: embarrassing moments, mostly, from high school and college. It was two o’clock before she knew it and suddenly, she was exhausted. She yawned and David, realizing the time, stretched and stood up, grabbing the empty cups of tea. He walked them over to the kitchen sink while she gathered up the CDs, binding them up with a rubber band.

“Thank you for coming by and for driving me home. And thanks for inviting me to the show. It was good, really good.”

“I’m so glad you came. Thank you for the CDs. I can’t wait to hear them all.”

They stood at the open door. The rain had stopped and a fine mist floated out over the staircase and trees. Jane breathed in the fresh smell of early spring. “It’s beautiful out here.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Get home safe, okay? And thanks again.”

“Goodnight, Jane.” He looked at her for a long moment. “I had a great time.”

He made his way down the walkway to his truck, waving as he pulled away.

Raymond ripped the pencil out of Tyrell’s hand, scratching his palm with the sharp point.

“Ow, Raymond! What you did that for?”

“I said give it.” Raymond crammed the pencil into his notebook and shut it. He slammed his head down on the desk, burying his face in his arms.

“Geez, man.” Tyrell rubbed the lead mark on his hand. “You see that, Ms. Elliott?”

Jane motioned for a break with her reading group, rising to check out the trouble.

“Yes, I saw.” She knelt down beside Tyrell’s desk. “Are you okay?”

He held out his palm and she looked it over.

“Go on to the sink and wash your hands. It didn’t break the skin.”

She turned to Raymond. “What was that about?”

He shook his head again, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Okay.” She stood. “Next time you need help, you ask me. You could have hurt Tyrell.”

She checked her watch. “Well. Show’s over. It’s lunchtime. Let’s clear the desks and get ready.”

Once they were settled down, she lined her students up outside the classroom, sending them group by group to retrieve their jackets from the closet. They were silent, eager to get downstairs, knowing that if they made a sound Jane would hold them back. She called the last group.

“Ms. Elliott?” Lisa’s hand appeared from behind the closet door.

“Raising your hand is sufficient, Lisa.” She walked over to her. “You don’t have to call my name too. Oh. You’re stuck.”

Lisa stood with her jacket half-zipped over her head, one arm sticking out the side.

Jane smiled. “Zipper broken?”

Lisa giggled underneath the vinyl fabric. “Uh-huh.”

Jane wrestled with the zipper, freeing it from the lining. She helped Lisa wiggle her arm into the jacket and patted her on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

They were walking to the door when Daniel came barreling in.

“Ms. Elliott! They’re fighting!”

For less than a second Jane stopped moving altogether, waiting as an old familiar slowness and clarity slid down over her. She gave Lisa’s shoulder one last squeeze and stepped out to the hallway.

Two boys stood bolted together, arms gripped around each other. They looked like they were hugging, they were pressed so close together. A crowd gathered around them. She gestured to her students to back up out of the way. The others, from Ms. Gibson’s class across the hall, she told to step aside.

Raymond and Tyrell had each other by the neck. They turned in a slow circle the way boys did before they broke apart and starting throwing punches. It was a peculiar dance, ritually enacted at the start of every fight: each boy locked in the other’s embrace, praying for something or someone to come along and intervene, to stop from happening what was already underway.

They held each other like that for a moment before Raymond pushed himself off. He reared back to land the first punch. His fist hit Tyrell in the gut and Tyrell hit back, knocking Raymond backward with a hard blow to the chest.

Jane put out her right arm. “Stop.”

She felt their dusty coats, the heat and sweat of their bodies against her skin. They were breathing heavily already, one child huffing on either side of her. They struggled against her restraining arm, both boys reaching around her to get to the other.

“Come on!” Spit flew out of Raymond’s mouth. His face was trembling. “Come on!”

He grabbed Tyrell’s shirt, pulling him in and then pushing him back against the wall. Tyrell bounced off and charged back at Raymond full speed.

Jane stepped between them. She turned to face Tyrell. She laid her left hand against his chest, holding her right hand out behind her to keep Raymond back.

“Stop. Tyrell, stop. Listen to me. Enough.”

She held him, feeling his heartbeat race against her fingertips, his chest heaving underneath his damp shirt. Raymond panted behind her, shifting from foot to foot.

She eased Tyrell back against the wall where her students’ work hung. Several book reports and illustrations had been torn, partially pulled off the bulletin board. She decided to focus on that.

“Look what you’ve done.” She turned to Raymond, one hand still holding Tyrell against the wall. “All these projects ruined. You’ll have to fix them yourself, Raymond. And apologize to the students whose worked you’ve torn up.”

She turned back. “You too, Tyrell. Enough already. There is no fighting allowed in my classroom or in the hallway. No fighting. You two have a problem, you talk it out. You can’t talk it out yourselves, you come to me. You know what the rule is. You could have hurt somebody. Now stop. I want you both up here at recess today. You’ll get your lunches and you’ll come right back up here with me. Understood?”

Both boys looked at her stonily.

“Do you understand me?”

Tyrell blew out a breath. “Yes, Ms. Elliott.”

She looked to Raymond. He nodded. A tear streaked down his face and he hurried to brush it away.

“Go to the bathroom and wash your face, Ray. Meet us on the way down.”

She led her students in two lines down the stairs to the lunchroom. They whispered to one another, slowing in patches, stretching the class along the length of the hallway with empty spaces between them. She stopped them at the staircase, waited in silence for them to realize why they were standing still.

“Shh!” Lisa turned to hush the students behind her. Others followed suit, fingers to lips, turning to gesture at the kids behind them.

Jane stood, hands clasped behind her back, watching them snap and hiss in their serpentine lines. “You’re making more noise shushing each other than you would if you just remained silent.”

She waited until each child turned, faced forward and became still. Raymond shuffled down the hallway to meet them, joining the end of the boys’ line, keeping his eyes on the ground, the hood of his jacket up over his head.

“Remove your hood, Raymond.”

She waited while he pulled it off, then gestured for the class to move forward down the first flight of stairs.

At the lunchroom, the students lined up for their meals.

“I’ll be here,” Jane told Raymond and Tyrell. “Get your trays and meet me.”

They dipped their heads, passing her, lining up at the counter. She went to the stairs to sit down.

She’d stayed calm at least. She’d defused it; that was what mattered. No one had been hurt.

Her boys came through the lunchroom doors and walked with her up the stairs, carrying their lunch trays.

“Thank you for being quick.”

“It’s all right, Ms. Elliott.” Tyrell began climbing the second flight.

Raymond held his lunch in both hands. His knuckles were stiff and white around the cardboard tray.

“Me and Raymond’s okay now.”

“That soon?” She looked at Raymond. He kept his eyes on the staircase. “What happened?”

“Tell her, Ray.”

Raymond shook his head.

“Look,” Jane said. “I’m glad you guys made up. But that doesn’t change what you did. You know there is no fighting allowed. Never. For any reason. I’m going to have to call your parents and let them know—”

“But that’s just it, Ms. Elliott. You can’t call nobody for Raymond. Nobody to call.”

Jane stopped walking. “What?”

“His grandma, she’s in the hospital.”

Jane was leaning against the school wall when David pulled up in his truck. A light wind blew strands of hair across her face. She chewed a fingernail and tapped her foot against the pavement. Headphones blasted music into her ears. She tugged them out when he opened the passenger door.

“Hey.” She smiled at him and climbed in. “Thanks for picking me up. I was wondering how I was going to get there.”

“Where’s your bike? I mean, hi.”

“Hi. It’s up in the classroom. I’ll just take a taxi in tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Any more news?”

“No, just that she’s there. Raymond went home to his auntie’s house. He’s staying there for a couple of days. I think they might have brought him over to see her after school.”

“Okay. What do you think? Should we stop for some flowers or something?”

She took in the faint scent of his leather jacket, the dark red collar of his shirt, the gray jeans. The muscles moved in his thigh and hand as he shifted gears.

“That’s a nice idea. There’s a florist on the way.” She listened to her own heart beating as he drove.

*  *  *

Jane led the way down the corridor. The air was close and sweet, a mix of antiseptic and dry heat.

They turned the corner into Mrs. Johnson’s room. She was awake, watching talk shows, leaning back against the raised bed.

Jane stepped in, bearing a bouquet of tulips ahead of her. “Mrs. Johnson, hello.”

“Oh hi, Miss Elliott! Come on in. How nice of you to stop by. Aren’t those pretty?”

She smiled as Jane placed the vase by the window.

“And Mr. Casey. Hello.” She reached up to receive his hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

“How are you feeling?” He stood beside her. “What happened?”

Jane leaned back against the window ledge.

“Oh, it was terrible. I was sitting up watching TV. Raymond was in bed, thank God. I got up to go for a soda in the kitchen and before I knew it I was on the floor. Now, I know what a heart attack looks like because I saw Raymond’s grandpa have one, right in front of me. I got to the phone somehow. Called 911. Raymond was sleeping. When those medics came in, it scared him to death.”

She looked from David to Jane. “I know he had some trouble in school today.”

Jane stood. “I didn’t realize until later what had happened to you…”

“He told me about the fight. Tyrell of all people. They didn’t hurt each other?”

“Not really. He must have been terrified for you. I guess he didn’t know how to talk about it.”

“Well, he’d better learn. I’m not going to be here forever.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I have to say that. I’m not getting any younger in case you haven’t noticed. And this…” She trailed off, indicating with a wave of her hand the IV in her arm, the monitors beside the bed, the whole sterilized blandness of the room. She sighed, a long, deep sigh that had her wincing. The machine beside her beeped and whirred in the silence. “I don’t know how he’s going to make it if he can’t open up his mouth and tell someone he’s upset.”

“Mrs. Johnson. He’ll be okay. He’ll figure it out.”

A sound at the door made them all look up. Raymond stood, shoulders hunched, a can of soda in his hand.

“I thought I told you juice, young man.”

“They were out.” He shuffled in, head down. “Hey, Ms. Elliott. Hi, Mr. Casey.”

“Out of juice. Well isn’t that something. Why don’t you just leave that can of soda here by the bed, Raymond. Maybe Ms. Elliott would like to help you find something a little healthier for a growing boy.” She turned to Jane. “You wouldn’t mind, would you, dear?”

“No, of course not.”

“Mr. Casey will just sit here and keep me company. Pull up a chair, now, young man.” She beckoned him to her side. “Make yourself at home. Soda?”

“Yes, ma’am.” David inched the seat closer to her bed and sat down.

“Let’s see if she can talk some sense into the boy.” She winked at David.

“If anyone can do it…”

“I’m right here, you know,” Raymond said.

“Shoo.”

She waved them out of the room.

In the hallway, Jane rested a light arm across Raymond’s shoulders. He wore a dark sweatshirt over loose, baggy jeans and a pair of scuffed sneakers. He gazed down at them as they walked toward the elevators, hands shoved in his pockets.

“You okay?” Jane asked.

He shrugged. “Sorry about today.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad nobody got hurt.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Mad? Well, I guess a little. I wish you’d told me what happened. I could have tried to help you.”

He pushed the button beside the elevator door, watching the lights that lined the numbers above. She waited for him to speak again on the ride downstairs, but he was silent.

In the cafeteria they found a carton of apple juice and a bag of trail mix for Raymond, and settled down at a table under the harsh industrial light.

“What about you?” she said finally. “Are you mad?”

“At you? No.”

“At anything?”

He busied himself unwrapping a straw, wrestling open the juice carton and snack bag.

“Let me help you.” She reached for the plastic baggy and he snatched it back out of her hands, ripping it open and spilling half the contents onto the table.

“Shit,” he said, and his eyes snapped up at hers.

“Sorry. That was my fault. And you can say shit if you want to. We’re not at school.” She caught a small grin under the shadow of his face.

“Shit.”

“Don’t go crazy now.”

“Shit shit.”

“Raymond.”

He smiled, and she watched him sip his juice. After a while he began to look around.

“Have you been in a hospital before?”

“Yeah. Plenty of times.”

“What for?”

“When my ma would get sick.”

“That happen a lot?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she have an illness? You’ve never told me about her.”

“I don’t remember her much.”

“When did she die?”

“I don’t know. I was little.”

“But you remember the hospital.”

He dug in his snack bag for a fistful of raisins and peanuts. “Yeah.”

“It must be scary being here.”

He looked up at her but didn’t say anything.

“It must have been scary seeing your grandma like that last night.”

He nodded, chewing.

“You gonna talk about it at all, or do I have to drag it out of you?”

“I don’t really feel like talking.”

“It might help you.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Saying what?”

“I don’t need anybody’s help.”

His face, so different from hers, looked out at her like a mirror: hard, defended, the cracks showing, the softness leaking out and then ruthlessly shoved back in. Her own eyes filled, watching the struggle in that face.

“Honey.” Her voice was quiet. “Everybody needs help sometimes.”

He shook his head, hands worrying the shed paper skin of his straw. “I don’t.”

He stood up to throw away his trash, wiping the crumbs off his pants.

“Raymond.”

“Can we go back up now?”

She stayed in the chair, watching him. He looked back at her and then away. Angry, he wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

“Why you got to look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Everybody’s been looking at me like that, all day.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Everybody asking about my mom.”

“Who is?”

“You, Grandma, Auntie. Trying to tell me how it’s different. I know it’s not different. I know what hospitals mean.”

“What do they mean?”

“She’s gonna die too. Don’t tell me she’s not.”

She rose, reaching for his hand. Disgusted, he turned away, striding toward the elevator.

“She’s going to be all right.”

“You don’t know that. Nobody knows that.”

He was right, and they both knew it. She searched for the words to comfort him and found none. She caught up with him at the elevator doors, squeezing in just before they closed. She put her hand on his shoulder and he brushed it away, crossing his arms over himself, head down.

“You’re not alone, Ray.”

The bell rang for his grandmother’s floor.

“Yes I am.”

The doors opened, and he bolted out.

*  *  *

Back in the room Raymond sat on the ledge by the window, staring out into the waning light.

Glancing from him to Jane, Mrs. Johnson frowned. “What happened?”

Raymond shrugged. “Nothing.”

“We had a nice healthy snack.” Jane looked away while she spoke. “He should be fine until dinner.”

Mrs. Johnson attempted to sit up, to turn toward Raymond at the window, and caught her arm in a tangle of IV wires.

David rose from his bedside chair to help her. Taking her frail hand firmly in his own, he began to guide her out of the mass of cords. “It’s like a game of Twister.”

Mrs. Johnson smiled. “Don’t get fresh now.”

Jane bit the edge of her thumbnail, trying to will Raymond’s rigid back to relax. He took out a handheld game and sat on the window ledge to play.

“You two have a nice talk?” David wove Mrs. Johnson’s arm through the IV wires.

Jane stood staring for a moment at Raymond’s fingers racing across the game board.

“Jane?”

“What? Oh. Sure. How about you guys?”

“We did. Mrs. Johnson knows a thing or two about botany, did you know that?”

He gestured toward the game of Jeopardy on the television, chuckling.

In spite of herself, Jane smiled. “Is that so?”

David returned to his seat beside the bed. His hand rested on the white blanket draped over Mrs. Johnson’s thin frame. Jane’s eyes followed the sleek lines of his forearm, his biceps, his shoulder, his face. Forcing her gaze away, she met Mrs. Johnson’s eyes. The older woman was watching her with disturbing clarity.

“You two are very sweet,” she said, after a pause. “Why don’t you go out and get yourselves some hot tea and leave me here to rest a while? I’m so glad to see you both. But I’m tired.”

Jane came to her side. “I’m sorry. I hope we didn’t stay too long. You need rest.”

“I’ll get plenty of that tonight, I’m sure. My daughter will be by soon enough to bring Raymond home. Ray, come say goodbye.”

Raymond kicked himself down from the window ledge and came over reluctantly. Jane grabbed him into a bear hug, squeezing hard.

“You take care of yourself, kid. I’ll see you in school.” She leaned down to give Mrs. Johnson’s papery cheek a kiss. “Mind if I stop by again tomorrow afternoon, bring you some decent coffee and a donut or something?”

“Well now, that’ll be nice, dear. I’ll see you then. Good night now.”