The Sweet Hereafter (20 page)

And music videos. And Oprah and Dona hue and Geraldo. After a month of that stuff you feel like it’s all one show, ads and everything, and you’ve been watching it for years. But I had mister Stephens’s computer to play with, and plenty of schoolwork to do, and books that missis Twichell, the school librarian, brought over for me, mostly sappy young adult novels about race relations and divorce, which I don’t like but will read anyhow because the writers seem so intent on having you read them that you feel it’s impolite not to.

Things with Daddy were different now too. I had become a wheelchair girl, and I think that scared him, like it does most people. You see them on the street staring at you and then looking away, as if you were a freak. To Daddy, it was like I was made of spun glass and he was afraid he would break me if he touched me. Probably I wasn’t pretty to him anymore, either, and he couldn’t pretend that I was like some beautiful movie star, the way he used to. Miss America, he always called me. How’s my Miss America today? But not anymore. Which was fine by me. If he did touch me, by accident or because he couldn’t avoid it, like the time he had to carry me up the stairs at the courthouse in Marlowe when I had to make my deposition for mister Stephens and the other lawyers, he backed away from me right away and wouldn’t look at me.

I looked at him, though. I looked right into him. I had changed since the accident, and not just in my body, and he knew it. His secret was mine now; I owned it. It used to be like I shared it with him, but no more. Before, everything had been fluid and changing and confused, with me not knowing for sure what had happened or who was to blame.

But now I saw him as a thief, just a sneaky little thief in the night who had robbed his own daughter of what was supposed to be permanently hers like he had robbed me of my soul or something, whatever it was that Jennie still had and I didn’t. And then the accident robbed me of my body.

So I didn’t own much anymore. My new room, maybe, and mister Stephens’s computer, which weren’t really mine and weren’t worth much anyhow. No, the only truly valuable thing that I owned now happened to be Daddy’s worst secret, and I meant to hold on to it. It was like I carried it in a locked box on my lap, with the key held tightly in my hand, and it made him afraid of me. Every time he saw me looking at him hard, he trembled.

I remember the first time mister Stephens came over to the house, how strained and nervous Daddy was when he wheeled me out into the living room and introduced me. It was like mister Stephens was a police officer or something, probably because he’s such a big shot lawyer and all, and Daddy was afraid I’d say something to make him suspicious.

Of course, he was also afraid that I would refuse to go along with their lawsuit. I still hadn’t agreed to do it, not in so many words, but in my mind I had decided to go ahead and say what they wanted me to say, which they insisted was only to answer mister Stephens’s and the other lawyers’ questions truthfully. That couldn’t hurt anything, I figured, because the truth was, I didn’t really remember anything about the actual accident, so nothing I said could be used to blame anybody for it. It was an accident, that’s all. Accidents happen.

mister Stephens was this tall skinny guy with a big puffy head of gray hair that made him look like a dandelion gone to seed and a gust of wind would blow all his hair away and leave him bald. I liked him, though. He had a small pointy face and red lips and a nice smile, and he looked right into my eyes when he talked to me, which is something that most people can’t do with me. Also, he reached down and shook my hand when Daddy introduced us, which I liked.

Adults almost never do that, especially with girls. And with wheelchair girls, I’ve noticed, they actually take a step backward and put their hands on their hips or in their pockets, like you’ve got something they don’t want to catch. mister Stephens, though, after he shook my hand and Daddy went to stand edgily by the porch door, pulled a kitchen chair up next to my wheelchair and sat right down and got his head the same level as mine, and I felt like he could see that I was re ally a normal person.

He talked funny, fast and like he had already thought out ahead of time what he wanted to say, the way city people or maybe just lawyers do, but I liked it, because once you trust a person like that, you can have a real good conversation with him. You can concentrate on what the words mean and not have to worry all the time about what the other person is thinking.

‘Well, Nichole, he began, I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time now, and not just because I’ve heard so many good things about you all over town, but because, as you know, I’m the guy representing you and your mom and dad and some other folks here in town, he said, diving right in. We’re trying to generate some compensation, however meager, for what you all have suffered and at the same time see that an accident like this one never happens again. And you, Nichole Burnell, you’re pretty near central to the case I’m trying to build, he said.

But you would probably just as soon let the whole thing lie, I’ll bet, so you can get on with your life as quickly and smoothly as possible, right?

I said yes, as a matter of fact I would. He waited for me to go on, so I did. I said that I didn’t like thinking about the accident, which I couldn’t remember anyhow, and-I really hated talking with people about it, because I didn’t even know what the accident meant, and since it was obvious to me that anyone who wasn’t there couldn’t possibly know what it meant, why bother at all? Besides, I said, it just made people feel sorry for me, and I hated that.

From his perch by the door, Daddy said, What she means, Mitch and mister Stephens shushed him with a wave of his hand.

‘Why do you hate it when people feel sorry for you?

he asked me. Do you mind if I smoke?

Mom jumped up from the couch and said, I’ll get an ashtray, mister Stephens. I’m sorry, we don’t smoke, and I just didn’t think Actually, I mind, I said. If I wasn’t allowed to smoke in this Christian house, why should he? And it was me he had asked, not her.

No problem, mister Stephens said, and he smiled broadly at me, like he was a teacher and I’d just aced a test, and said to Mom, Please, Mary, that’s fine. No ashtray. I can wait. Then to me, Go ahead, Nichole, the ll me why you hate it when people feel sorry for you.

Because they can’t help it, you know. They really can’t. When they see you in this wheelchair, especially if they know what your life was like just six months ago, people are going to feel sorry for you. No way around it. I’ll be honest: we just met, and already I admire you who wouldn’t? You’re a brave tough smart kid, and that’s obvious right away. And I didn’t know you or know how exciting and promising your life was before the accident. But listen, even I feel sorry for you.

Do you hate that?

Yes, I said, certainly I did, because all it did was remind me that I wasn’t normal anymore. You can feel lucky that you didn’t die for only so long, I said. And then you start to feel unlucky.

That you didn’t die, you mean. Like the other children and all the other kids on the bus who died out there that morning!

Nichole! Mom said.

It’s the truth! I said.

It is the truth, mister Stephens said in a calm sure voice, like he was correcting her on what time it was, and I knew that he understood what I was feeling and Mom didn’t have the foggiest. I think Daddy understood, but he couldn’t say it, not to me. I wouldn’t let him.

It would be strange, mister Stephens said to me, if I you didn’t feel that way about the other kids.

Then he got me talking about last year at school, how I had tried out for cheerleading in the seventh grade and had made the team easily, which is unusual for a seventh grader, and how last fall I was captain, and that’s a big deal in Sam Dent, because the boys’ football and basketball teams are so important to the town. I was Queen of the Harvest Ball too, and I went with Bucky Waters, the captain of the football team, even though he wasn’t my boyfriend.

I never actually had a boyfriend, no one steady, I told mister Stephens, but Bucky was okay to go to the dance with, because he was sort of famous at school as a playboy who wouldn’t go steady with anybody, and I was famous for being churchy and stuck up, or so some kids thought.

Bucky was chosen King of the Harvest Ball, naturally, and for a while everybody thought we were a couple, but we knew we weren’t. I didn’t say this to mister Stephens, but after the dance, Bucky tried really hard to make out with me at drink beer in Gilbert Jacques’s older brother’s car, I heard later.

We stayed friends, though, Bucky and I, and let people think what they wanted. It suited him that kids thought I was his girlfriend, at least during football and basketball season, and it suited me too, because then no one else bothered me, since he was such a big shot and all.

Boys are so immature, I said to mister Stephens. At least the boys in Sam Dent are.

Have you seen Bucky since the accident? mister Stephens asked. Mom was in the kitchen making tea, and Daddy had left the room to go to the bathroom, I think.

No.

Not once?

Nope.

‘What about the other kids, your girlfriends?

I saw them some at the hospital. But not lately, I said.

No one?

I knew I was going to cry and sound stupid if we didn’t change the subject, so I said, Tell me what I have to do for the lawsuit.

That got him talking about depositions and lawyers for the state and the town, and by the time Daddy came back from the bathroom and Mom came in with her tea and cookies, which I knew she’d already eaten a bunch of in the kitchen, mister Stephens was going on about how tough it would be for me to answer some of the questions those other lawyers would ask. They work for the people we’re Russell Banks trying to sue, you understand, and their job is to try to minimize the damages. Our job, Nichole, is to try to maxi mire the damages, he explained. If you think of it that way, as people doing their jobs, no good guys and no bad guys, just our side and the other side, then it’ll go easier for you.

No one was interested in the truth, was what he was saying. Because the truth was that it was an accident, that’s all, and no one was to blame. I won’t lie, I told him.

Some of the questions will seem pretty personal to you, Nichole. I just want to warn you up front.

No matter what they ask me, I said, I’ll tell the truth, and I looked straight at Daddy, who had taken a seat next to Mom on the sofa. He studied his tea when I said that, as if he had seen a fly in it. I knew what he was thinking, and he knew what I was thinking too.

Fine, fine, I don’t want you to lie, mister Stephens said.

I want you to be absolutely truthful. Absolutely. No matter what I or the other lawyers ask you. They’ll have a laundry list of questions, but I’ll be right there to advise and help you. And there’ll be a court stenographer there to make a record of it, and that’s what’ll go to the judge, before the trial is set. It’ll be the same for everybody. They’ll be deposing the Ottos and the Walkers, the bus driver, and even your mom and dad, but I’ll make sure you go last, Nichole, so you can keep on getting well before you have to go in and do this. It’ll all take place over the summer, he said to Mom and Daddy. And the trial will be set for sometime this fall, probably.

‘When do they award the damages? Daddy asked, and he and Mom leaned forward for the answer.

Depends, mister Stephens said. If they appeal, and they probably will, this could drag on for quite a while. But we’ll be there at the end, Sam, don’t you worry, he said.

He put his cup on the coffee table and stood up, thinking about a cigarette, I bet. He said his goodbyes, and Daddy saw him out to his car, where they talked together for a while.

I went back to my room and closed the door and locked it. Let them discuss their lawsuit without me, if they wanted; I had done my part for now, and I didn’t want to speak about it again until I had to.

The whole thing, even though I liked mister Stephens and trusted him, made me feel greedy and dishonest. I looked at my picture of Einstein.

What would he have done, if he’d been in an accident and been lucky like me?

I hitched myself out of the wheelchair and when I swung onto the bed, my skirt got hitched up, and I sat there for a minute, looking at my dumb worthless legs reflected in the window glass. They looked like they belonged to someone else. How much had they been worth a year ago, I wondered, or last fall, at the Keene Valley game and the Harvest Ball afterwards, when Bucky Waters and I, with crowns on our heads, danced in the gym in front of the whole school? And to whom? That was the real question. To me, my legs were worth everything then and nothing now.

But to Mom and Daddy, nothing then and a couple of million dollars now.

After that night, I remember, a long time passed when it seemed no one talked about the lawsuit, at least not to me, and I didn’t hear anything more about mister Stephens, either. Which was fine. I sure didn’t want to bring it up, and I guess Mom and Daddy, for different reasons didn’t want to, so it was as if it had never happened. Like I had dreamed it, the way I used to about me and Daddy; and just as before, I felt guilty for having so much emotion about the subject.

When you live with people like my mother, who thinks Jesus takes care of everything except your weight, and my father, who goes around whistling and hammering and sawing all the time, you tend to feel guilty for your emotions. At least I did.

Then one night we were having supper together; it was in June, I re member, because Mom and Daddy were trying to get me to attend my graduation ceremonies with the other kids. I had come out second in my class, and mister Dillinger had told Mom and Daddy that everyone thought it would be great if I would give the salutatorian’s speech from my wheelchair in front of the whole town.

I thought it was a terrible idea, and I said so. I had written a re search paper for English on Sam Dent, the the town was named after, and had received an A + for it, and mister Dillinger and missis Crosby, the English teacher, said that with a little revising it would make a salutatorian’s speech. The way they wanted me to revise it I knew without their even saying, was to turn Sam r into an example for the kids who were graduating, meant that I’d have to cut out all the bad things he’d like cheating the Indians out of their land and buying way out of the Civil War things that lots of people did’ those days but that were just as bad then as they would be now.