Lisa Unger: Fragile

“What in the world was it doing there, Jones?”

“I have no idea. Maybe Travis took it? I lost a jacket in my senior year. Did my mom ever go ballistic, having to fork over another hundred and fifty dollars.” Lies came so easily to him; they always had.

He’d taken that jacket and shoved it in the bag still in Elizabeth’s attic, and then put the whole mess into the trunk of his car.

The rain was coming down harder, lightning strikes following one after the other, the thunder so constant it sounded like a freight train. It was gone, the bundle he’d been carrying around for a hundred years. It was down in the hole, covered with dirt, buried finally. He hadn’t thought ahead. He didn’t know how he’d explain to Maggie what he’d decided to do, didn’t know what her reaction would be to his cowardice. He figured she’d leave him. Not right away. She’d fight the good fight, try to reconcile his actions with her love for him. They’d go to counseling, fight and cry together. But, in the end, she’d leave him. It was just as well. He didn’t deserve her. He never had.

He turned to walk away from the hole and saw a slim, hooded form moving toward him. He looked around for another vehicle, but he didn’t see one, not that he could see much in the rain, with the lights from his truck casting everything beyond their beams into pitch-blackness. He rested his hand on his gun as the form drew nearer. It wasn’t until he was two feet away that Jones realized it was his son.

Ricky pulled back his hood. The rain had made his hair flat, washed some of the goop from it. It hung limp around his face. Jones thought Ricky looked just like he had when Jones used to lift him naked from the bath. Jones would dry his hair with a towel and kiss his face and belly and say, I love you so much, Ricky . And Ricky would throw his arms around Jones’s neck and say, I love you so much, too, Daddy . It was so easy to love each other then, when he was small. Jones could so easily manage all of Ricky’s needs then, help him with the simple things, like falling asleep alone and learning to pee standing up, comfort him through nightmares. He could chase his son around the house and play hide-and-seek for hours, things even Maggie didn’t always have the time or patience to do. He didn’t remember when that ease had left their relationship, when the stakes had suddenly seemed so high that he was afraid to appear soft, to let things slide.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

He didn’t know how to answer his son, so he just shook his head.

“I know everything,” Ricky said. He wiped some of the rain from his face and pulled his hood back up. A bolt of lightning lit the sky; the thunderclap that followed was weaker than the last. The rain was letting up.

“About what?” Jones couldn’t believe Maggie would tell him. She wouldn’t. Neither would Elizabeth. It wasn’t Ricky’s problem, his burden.

“Melody told Charlene about the accident,” Ricky said. “She told Charlene about how that girl Sarah died, and how you all kept quiet.”

Jones wanted to deny it, to push past his son and run away. But he couldn’t, not anymore. There was nowhere else to go, nowhere else to run. Instead he covered his eyes. How could he look into his own child’s face with such a stain on his heart?

“Dad, it wasn’t your fault.”

He felt his son’s hand on his arm, was surprised by how big and strong it felt. He remembered when he could hold Ricky in his open palms, a tiny bundle that barely weighed ten pounds.

“It was,” Jones said, looking at the boy now. He’d spent so much time trying to teach Ricky to take responsibility for himself and his actions. He had to do the same. “In so many ways it was more my fault than anyone’s. I was driving. I let Travis talk her into my car.” Jones had to stop for a second, his throat closing around the words. But then he went on.

“She didn’t want to go with us that night. But I let him push her into it. Later, I told her what Travis had said. It made her so angry. I was the lynchpin. If I had changed anything I’d done that night, she’d still be alive.”

“Dad.” Ricky lifted a hand to stop him, but Jones couldn’t keep the words from coming now.

“Then, after she fell, I drove us away from there. Melody and I, we left her in the park. I could have gone back for her. I tried to go back. But she was gone.”

Ricky put both his hands on Jones’s shoulders. “Dad, listen. Whatever you did, you didn’t kill that girl. It was an accident.”

“It’s not that simple. I…”

“Please listen, Dad,” Ricky said. “Later, after you’d gone, Charlene’s mom told her that Tommy Delano took Sarah’s body. He’d been following her. He was the one who did those things to her.”

Jones stared at his son, who was level and calm. Jones had never discussed this with anyone except Maggie; he could barely believe that somehow Ricky knew more than he did about the night that changed his life.

“No,” Jones said. “It was Travis and Chief Crosby who took her. They moved her body and they framed Tommy Delano. And still I kept quiet.”

“No, Dad. Charlene’s mom said that when the chief and Travis went back, they saw Tommy Delano putting her in his car. They let him take her.”

The rainfall had tapered to a drizzle. But they were both soaked to the skin. Jones could hear the thunder rumbling, moving farther away. He’d never allowed himself to dwell on what happened to Sarah, on whether Travis was capable of doing those things to her. He’d never wanted to know the ugly answers to the questions he had never dared to ask. He told his son as much.

“Dad, it was an awful thing, a terrible thing, that happened. But it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t kill her. You didn’t violate her dead body. You made mistakes. Okay. But you have to stop punishing yourself now. It’s time.”

Jones almost couldn’t stand to hear the words. Would he be so understanding, so forgiving, with his son? He knew that he wouldn’t.

“I should have said something,” Jones said. His voice sounded as faint and powerless as regret itself. “At least I should have done that.”

Ricky dropped his hands from Jones’s shoulders, dug them deep into his pockets. “Maybe you were scared,” Ricky said. “Maybe you didn’t have anyone to help you be strong, Dad. You were just a kid, younger than I am now.”

Jones looked at the wet ground. Was it so easy for Ricky to forgive him? He didn’t have any words for the son who was already twice the man Jones had ever been.

“Do you remember when I stole that CD from Sound Design?” Ricky asked. “I was like, twelve. It fell out of my jacket when I got into the car, and you knew I didn’t have any money. You made me take it back. Remember? You told me I’d never enjoy a moment of listening to it, knowing that I’d stolen it.”

Jones did remember. He remembered the shock of seeing the CD, the wave of disappointment he felt. But most of all he remembered the fear. He was so afraid that he’d failed his son somehow, that he’d passed along some defect of character that had allowed Ricky to steal something he wanted rather than ask for it or work for it. He didn’t remember the words he’d used with his son, but he knew they’d been hard, even cruel. He remembered the stricken look on Ricky’s face. He’d never forgotten it.

“So I had to go in alone, give the CD back and apologize. I hated you for that then. I thought it was stupid and mean because no one would have ever known better. And, you know what? I would have enjoyed that CD, every last track. But I understand now that you were right. Of course you were. But maybe you didn’t have anyone to help you stand up and own up. If you hadn’t forced me to take back that CD, I wouldn’t have. Not ever. And maybe I would have stolen again, and again, until I got caught. And maybe then I’d have paid a higher price than just a little embarrassment.”