Everybody's Son Read online

  The seventh time Anton tried, he managed to ski downhill a few paces before his right ski somehow got under the left one and he flipped over and landed on his side. A boy with long brown hair streaked past, and David heard him jeer, but by the time he reached Anton, the young skier was long gone. “Your weight distribution was wrong,” David started to say, and then he noticed the tears streaming down Anton’s face. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said as he bent down. “What’s wrong, you hurt?”

  Anton shook his head no but made no effort to lift himself off the snow. Delores skied down to where they were. “What happened? Anton, sweetheart, are you all right?” The boy shook his head. “Well, come on, then,” Delores said. “We gotta get you out of the way of other skiers.”

  David watched as his wife helped the boy to his feet and dusted the snow off his parka. “Come on, honey,” she whispered, holding him to her side.

  “He called me a loser,” Anton whimpered.

  “Who? Who called you a loser?”

  “That boy with the long hair. On his way down.”

  “Oh, honey. He’s just being mean. Don’t let him get you down, okay?” She turned Anton toward her, one hand on each shoulder. “How about we go get more of that hot chocolate?”

  Anton wiped his nose with the back of his gloved hand and nodded. “Sure.”

  “What the heck? We’ve barely been out on the slopes,” David said. “How’s he going to learn if—”

  They both scowled at him and spoke at the same time.

  “I don’t want to learn this stupid game.”

  “David. I can’t believe how insensitive you can be at times.” Delores grabbed Anton’s hand. “We’re headed back to the lodge. You can join us later if you like.”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  “Believe it.”

  After they left, David went to the advanced slope and skied alone for two hours. Skiing had always centered him, calmed him down, but today he felt a slow burn as he played over what had just transpired, how easily Anton had called it quits, how effortlessly Delores had enabled him. He had always been proud of Anton, of his strength and equanimity, but today, for the first time, he was embarrassed. The boy was a quitter. No wonder he was failing at school.

  When he returned to the ski lodge, he found the two of them in the lobby by a roaring fire, hunched over a Scrabble board. Normally, the sight would’ve filled him with a deep contentment, but now it simply irritated him. He had brought them here so Anton could learn to ski, not so they could sit by the fire like a couple of dowagers. His plan had been to give Anton a sense of accomplishment that could then expand into his schoolwork. Self-esteem was all the rage these days, and David agreed, of course, that in order to accomplish something, one had to have self-esteem. But unlike contemporary educational beliefs, his was an old-fashioned one—that self-esteem had to be earned, not bestowed.

  They both looked up as he stood glowering before them, but if Delores noticed his bad mood, she didn’t comment on it. Instead she said, “Hi, honey. I’m teaching Anton to play Scrabble. You wanna join?”

  He shook his head. “You guys go ahead.”

  He sat watching them play a few turns, and his irritation grew. Anton was forming words like “cat” and “yes,” small, juvenile words that scored him minor points. The worst part, David fumed to himself, was that Anton didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by his low score. David intervened a few times, helping the boy form a larger word, but Delores made warning eyes at him, as if afraid he would embarrass the boy. The true embarrassment, he wanted to say to her, was the mediocrity of Anton’s ambition. But he kept his mouth shut and, after another fifteen minutes, mumbled that he was going upstairs to take a hot shower.

  Predictably, he and Delores got into a fight that afternoon while Anton was taking a nap. “You’re too hard on him,” she cried.

  “And you’re too soft,” he replied. “You think you’re protecting him, but you’re not.”

  She gave him a scathing look. “You can be such a ripe old bastard at times,” she said, turning her back on him.

  He was still stinging from that insult when he offered to take Anton into town to see The Mighty Ducks that evening. Delores begged off, pleading a headache, and he was glad. They exited the gates of the resort and made the left turn onto the rural two-lane road that led into the center of town, Anton chattering away about the movie, which many of his classmates had already seen. This is going to be the highlight of his weekend, David thought, this is what he’ll brag about when he returns to school on Monday. Without knowing it, he hit the brakes, bringing their car to a halt. Ahead of them, the sun was setting, inflaming the sky with color. Trees glowed scarlet and gold all around them. For a moment, they had the road entirely to themselves, and then another car appeared in the opposite lane, slowing down as it passed them. Still David sat, his foot on the brake. “Hey,” Anton said softly. “What’s wrong, David?”

  What was wrong was he was taking the boy to the movies. With his shitty academic performance and his entire life at stake, David was taking the boy to the movies. As if nothing were the matter. As if something awful hadn’t happened on the slopes earlier today. As if failure were an option.

  He put the car in drive and in one fluid motion made a U-turn, careful to avoid landing in the ditch on either side. Anton let out a yelp. “Hey. What you doing, David? Where’re we going? You said we was going to the movies.”

  “We were,” he corrected absently. “We were going to the movies.” He glanced at the boy, who was looking at him in confusion. “But we’re not. I’m sorry. We’re headed back up to that ski slope.”

  “I don’t wanna,” Anton screamed. “You promised. I don’t want to be in that old snow. It’s cold. And it’s dark. It’s too scary.”

  “Yup.” David nodded. “You’re right, buddy. It is scary. Any time you learn something new, it’s scary. Getting hurt is scary. Falling is scary. Being up there in the cold and dark is scary. Yup. I get that.”

  “Then why—?”

  “You know what’s scariest of all? Failure. That’s the real scary thing. The real monster is failing. Being a quitter. Proving that boy right. You know? The one who called you a loser? That’s the true scary.” David took his eyes off the road and glanced at Anton. “And that’s something I cannot allow.”

  “David, I can’t—”

  “You can. You will. Even if it means we stay on those slopes all night long. But Anton, I promise you this: By the time you come down that hill tonight or tomorrow, I don’t care when, you will do it on your own two skis.”

  DELORES HAD GONE to bed by the time they entered the room at eleven P.M. But the sound of their celebratory laughter woke her up. “How was the movie?” she asked sleepily, and then looked confused when Anton yelled triumphantly, “We didn’t go.”

  “What?” She looked at David. “You took him to dinner or something?”

  David grinned broadly. “Yup. If you consider popcorn and hot chocolate dinner.” He sat at the edge of her bed. “We went back. To the slopes.” He saw her mouth begin to form a protest and laid his hand on her cheek to stop her. “It’s okay. Anton learned to ski tonight.” He reached out with his other hand to pull the boy toward him. “Isn’t that right, buddy?”

  Anton’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes shiny. “I did it. David taught me. And we’re gonna go again tomorrow morning, FM. You should come.” He flung his arms open theatrically. “I loooove skiing.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Delores said wonderingly.

  “Believe it.”

  “And tomorrow I’m gonna kick that boy’s ass,” Anton shouted. He threw them a furtive look. “Oops.”

  “Anton. Language,” Delores corrected, but David squeezed the boy even tighter. “That’s the spirit,” he said.

  He waited until Anton fell asleep and then got into bed to talk to Delores about what had transpired. “Have you heard of something called the broken windows theory?” he asked, and when she
shook her head, he explained. “It’s all the rage now. It basically says that if you nip crime in the bud—you know, zero tolerance for minor crimes like vandalism and such—you prevent bigger problems.” He stopped for a moment, feeling a little sheepish. “What I’m thinking is we try something like that at home. Except instead of punishing crime, you reward success.” He saw that Delores was puzzled. “See, I think that success begets success. I’m hoping that the more accomplished Anton feels in one area, the more confident he’ll feel in school.”

  Delores looked at him wistfully. “I wish it were that simple, hon. But the fact is, he’s over his head. He’s gone from one of the worst schools in the state to one of the best and—”

  “So we should expect the worst from him?” he said curtly, cutting her off. “You’re saying that his past should dog him his entire life?”

  “You’re twisting my words.”

  He turned his head to look at the sleeping boy. In the dark, all he could see was the rise and fall of Anton’s chest. For a second, he wondered if Delores was right. What he was trying to do with Anton was to implement Pappy’s theory of success—a theory formulated by a white wealthy aristocrat to experiment on his only son. It had worked with him. And it most certainly had worked with James. But was there any guarantee it would work with a boy from the inner city? Stop, he chided himself. You’re overthinking it. All you’ve done is teach the boy to go down the hill a few times, for Christ’s sake. For all you know, Anton will unravel on the slopes tomorrow.

  He held Delores’s hand. “Sorry,” he said. “That was unfair. Well, we’re not going to solve this tonight.” Still holding her hand, David kissed his wife good night and turned off the light.

  But even in the dark, he was aware of Delores looking at him with her big, wary eyes.

  HE NEEDN’T HAVE worried. Anton had retained everything that he’d learned the night before—how to shift his weight between the skis, how to handle the poles, how to turn, how to stop, even how to fall and get up after a fall. What was most impressive was Anton’s desire to get to the top of the slope and ski his way down again and again; he stood impatiently in the line for the rope tow, grumbling about how long it took to get his turn. And after his fifth time down, he was pestering them to take him on a harder course.

  “I can’t believe it,” Delores kept saying. “How could . . . ? I can’t believe this is the same kid.”

  David’s voice was husky with pride. “But it is.” He took his eyes off Anton for a second to look at his wife. “This kid . . . he’s special. And the worst thing we can do is lower our expectations for him.” He raised his hand, following Anton’s descent with one pointed finger. “I know how bright Anton is. All we’ve got to do is push him.”

  Delores squeezed David’s arm. “You win this round, Judge Coleman.” Then, with her eyes searching his face, her voice pleading, she said, “But David. He’s just a boy. Remember that. Please.”

  “Come on, Dee. I know that.” He paused and then decided to take the plunge. “I was wondering. Do you think I should pitch in with the homework? I could work with him for an hour after dinner each night, if you like.” He saw the aggrieved look on her face and added hastily, “Only if you think it’ll help, of course.”

  She was quiet for a long time, and he braced himself for an argument. Instead she said, “That’s fine. If you wish.”

  His jubilation was tempered by the realization that the old Dee would not have let him win this easily. James’s death had changed her, perhaps irrevocably. “Well, we can try,” he said. “Just for, you know, a few weeks.”

  She nodded. After a few seconds she pulled away from him wordlessly and skied down to meet Anton at the bottom of the hill. And David was left alone on his perch at the top of the hill, overlooking the vast whiteness all around him, a solitary emperor of snow, unable to hold on to the feeling of jubilant satisfaction that he’d experienced just a few minutes earlier.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The squeals and shouts from the pool where eight preteen boys and girls were splashing and playing drifted back to the deck where the two men sat in their Adirondack chairs.

  “I hope Jan’s not regretting offering to host Anton’s birthday party,” David said dryly.

  Connor waved his hand dismissively. “We’ll soon be closing up the pool for the season. May as well use it before then.”

  September 18, 1993. Hard to believe, but Anton was twelve years old today. David peered from the screened-in porch to see the boy jump feet-first into the pool, his scrawny body exploding the water like a bomb. It was unimaginable that a little over two years ago, the kid had been afraid of the water.

  David turned to glance at Connor, who was stretched out on his chair, his arms folded behind his head. “I think Brad has helped Anton acclimatize to his new life more than Delores and I have. Without Brad, I’m not sure . . .”

  Connor acknowledged the compliment with a quick nod. “He’s a good kid. But Anton’s been good for him, too. You know, Brad will always be Gerard’s kid brother. This has given him a chance to shine a bit.”

  David smiled. “Guess befriending helpless waifs is a Stevens family tradition. One for which we Coleman boys are most grateful.”

  He caught himself immediately: Anton was not a Coleman. In fact, in a few more months, he would be reunited with his mom, and all David could do was hope that some trace of what they’d taught him would see him through the rest of his life.

  As if he’d read David’s mind, Connor said, “I need to prepare Brad for the fact that Anton will be—leaving. He’s going to be pretty heartbroken, I imagine.”

  David sighed. “Brad and me both. And Delores, of course.”

  Connor shot him a sympathetic look. “I know, buddy. And I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You, of all people . . . you’ve made the last two years possible. And they’ve been great years.”

  “So do you think you will do this again? Foster another kid?”

  Would he? He didn’t know. Perhaps he’d feel the same connection with another child, though he thought that was unlikely. From the moment David had met Anton, he had felt a bond. In his reticence, his self-control, Anton had reminded David of himself. And Anton was smart, his intelligence unsullied by his past circumstances. He had come to them covered with the dust of ignorance. All they’d had to do was blow off that dust. The boy’s natural aptitude for math should’ve hinted at his raw intelligence, but his appalling lack of general knowledge and his lousy grammar had hidden the truth from them for months. They had hit the jackpot with this kid.

  “Well?” Connor asked again. “Will you?”

  David scratched his nose. “I have no idea. I’m sure we’re going to need some time to recover from . . . from losing Anton.”

  Connor nodded. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that David had to strain to hear him over the hooting and yelling from the pool. “You know, in all these years, I’ve never said this. But thank you. Thank you for never resenting the fact that Gerard survived the crash and James did not.” He turned his head toward David, and his eyes were wet. “I can’t tell you how guilty I’ve felt about it over the years, David. It tears at me even now, the randomness of it. And yet . . .”

  “Hey, hey.” A shocked David reached for Connor’s hand. “What do you mean, resent it? My God, I’d have to be a monster to do so. On the contrary, we’ve always been so grateful that Gerard survived. It was the only silver lining to that horrible night.”

  David watched in wonder as Connor struggled to control his emotions. He had thought that he knew Connor as well as he knew anybody. And yet he hadn’t suspected the burden that Connor had carried all these years. He and Delores had been so devastated by their own loss that they’d never considered how horrible it must’ve been for the Stevenses, feeling as though they were not entitled to the pure, unmitigated joy and relief that comes from a child’s escape from tragedy.

  “Connor,” he said urgently. “I can’t believe you�
��ve been carrying this around. It’s nobody’s fault. It was just dumb luck, pure physics. The oncoming car hit James’s side, that’s all.” He lightened his tone. “Are you listening to me, you crazy Irishman? This is just Catholic guilt, that’s all.”

  Connor sighed and nodded. “Thanks.” He reached into the cooler beside him and pulled out two bottles of Coors. He opened them and handed one to David, who fisted a few peanuts into his mouth before he took a swig. A light breeze blew into the porch, carrying with it the scent of the Heritage roses that Jan had planted along the side of the house. “Nothing like a cold beer on a late summer’s day,” David said. He glanced at his friend. “Are we okay? You need to talk more about this?”

  “We’re okay.” Connor looked straight ahead. After a moment he asked, “So how’s work?”

  David exhaled heavily and rubbed his eyes. “The pace is just relentless.”

  “That’s the life of an appellate judge,” Connor said teasingly but with unmistakable pride.

  “Yeah. Most days I feel like killing Smithie and the governor for making this happen. Not necessarily in that order, either.”

  “You know what they say about paying your dues. Besides, it’s a good stepping stone,” Connor said.

  “For what?”

  Connor shot him a look. “Don’t play dumb. You know you’re gonna run for public office one of these days.”

  David gave a short laugh. “Everybody seems to know this but me. What am I running for? Dog catcher? The school board?”

  “One of these days there’s going to be an open senate seat. Or the governorship. They’d be yours for the taking.”