Heart on a Chain (32 page)

“
A lot of guilt, I guess.”

I’m surprised at her honest answer.

“
I mean, I can’t stop thinking about everything…especially earlier this year, when I…in the bathroom at school…” my mind flashes back to her cornering me and slamming my head against the floor. I could have told her that her beating was amateurish at best compared to what I’d been reared on, but it suddenly seems unimportant.

She shudders at the memory. “I can’t help it; all this time you were suffering so much, and I added to it.”

“
Jessica,” I touch her arm, and she wilts miserably under the contact. “It’s over now. It can’t be undone. I forgive you.”

“
How can you?” she wails wretchedly. “How can
I
?”

“
You can because I can,” I tell her. Suddenly I have a thought. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

She looks at me curiously.

“
I might need a favor someday soon, and I will need a…friend…I can ask it of.”

“
Anything
,” the word is a rush of breath. “I’ll do anything so that you can know how sorry I am.”

I nod. “Thanks for coming.”

She shrugs.

“
I wanted to. Besides, everyone at school is waiting to hear. I told them I would be coming so I’m sort of the designated spokesman.”

I feel that old rush of sickness flow through me; the wolves again waiting to hear of the lamb’s humiliation. My feelings must have shown on my face, because she rushes to correct me.

“
Because they
care
. They will be happy for you.”

“
Happy.” The word is bitter on my tongue.
Happy
that I have gotten off for something I
had
done?

Henry comes up behind me then, sliding his arms around my waist from behind.

“
Everything okay?” he asks, and I can hear in his tone that he knows at least a little something of Jessica’s history concerning me.

“
Yes,” I say, smiling up at him.

“
I guess I should go now,” she says. I look back at her, sliding my hands along his arms without conscious thought, but with absolute awareness.

“
Thanks, Jessica.”

She smiles at me, turning to go. Henry turns me in his arms, and my hands slide up around his neck.

“
What was that all about?” he asks.

“
It doesn’t matter,” I say, leaning into him as the day’s events catch up to me and I feel the enormity of what has happened wash over me. “I need to get out of here.”

We walk out into the hallway where his parents stand talking with Rufus and something about it strikes me as odd, though I can’t quite put my finger on just what it is. Henry waves to them, and they come my way, followed by Rufus.

“
Thanks,” I tell him, “for everything.”

“
I hope I never have to see you again, at least professionally,” he says. “See you later, Paul, Emma.”

“
Thanks, Rufus,” Dr. Jamison says, patting him on the shoulder as one might a friend.

“
Why don’t you come by the house later for dinner?” Emma asks, turning to me. “Bring your father, too.”

“
Thanks, Emma. I’ll have to check with him, see if he’s available,” the response is automatic, distracted as I watch my lawyer leave the room, then turn back to the Jamison’s.

“
Do you know him?” I ask Dr. Jamison.

“
Yes, he brings his dogs to me.” But even as he says it, he’s shifting nervously.

“
Coincidence, huh?” I ask suspiciously.

Dr. Jamison shrugs. “He’s an old friend. He owed me a favor, Kate. It didn’t cost anything.”

I look at Emma, her face betraying her knowledge, then at Henry.

“
Did you know?”

He nods warily, watching for the explosion he seems to fear will come, then qualifies, holding his hands up towards me. “Not at first. Only after he’d come to your house that day, and I went home to tell my parents about it.”

“
Why didn’t you tell me?”

“
Because you have a problem accepting help, and I knew you’d be mad.”

I want to argue, but know he’s right. So I look at Dr. Jamison instead.

“
It really didn’t cost anything?”

“
No.” His look is open and honest. “Lawyers have to do a certain amount of pro bono work each year. So I called him.” He looks at Henry. “Henry told me about your first lawyer. Kate, we just wanted to help.”

I sigh. I guess I can live with their help, as long as it hadn’t cost them anything.

“
Okay, thank you then. I really appreciate it.” I hug the Jamison’s, then wrap my arms around Henry, conveying the message that I’m not angry with him. He hugs me back, tension draining from his body.

“
Where do you want to go?” Henry asks me, after he’s taken me home to change into jeans and a t-shirt—nice ones that belonged to Claire. It’s a beautiful day, sky blue and sun shining.

“
Let’s swing,” I tell him, a fantasy I’ve been nurturing for some time now.

He follows me out back, and for the first time in my life, I sit on my beloved swing-set—not alone. Henry sits next to me, holding my hand between the chains as we swing softly back and forth.

“
Bet I can go higher than you,” I challenge teasingly, releasing his hand and pushing back with my feet, laughing as I pump higher and higher, Henry by my side, inexperience slowing him down in spite of his longer legs.

I push myself, watching the familiar pattern of grass, fence, neighbor’s backyard, treetops, then finally sky, deep blue and bright white with fluffy round clouds like mounds of whipped cream placed there; then the whole pattern in reverse, and then forward again, Henry passing through my peripheral vision as he swings beside me. I’m laughing, and then suddenly I’m crying, gradually at first with tears running slowly down my cheeks as the laughter tapers off. Memories inundate my mind and soul beginning with the first day I had set eyes on this swing, traveling through the unraveling of my childhood and the loss of a normal life by my parents’ hands; through the forced servitude and starvation and torture; through the beatings at the hands of the woman who should have loved me more than anyone else, and whose death was my fault.

My tears have become great gulping sobs and Henry has stopped swinging, calling my name as he tries to slow my swing, to catch me between my flying arcs. He steps behind me, timing it as I swing forward and wraps his arms tightly about my waist, stopping my progress, jerking us both forward with the momentum. He leans backward and I let myself be pulled off the swing.

I drop to the ground in a rounded mass, and he goes with me, curling his body around me from behind, knees against my sides, arms bound tightly about me as he holds my shuddering, heaving form, rocking me as we huddle there together in the dirt and I keen and wail, pouring out my grief in a way I haven’t allowed myself since I first woke up in the hospital.

When my cries soften into moans, he turns me sideways and pulls my face against his shoulder. I wrap my arms around his ribs, grateful for the solid strength there. I’m shivering now, a belated reaction, and his heat surrounds me.

“
I killed her,” I moan.

“
Sweetheart, it was an accident,” his voice is full of emotion, persuasive.

I shake my head.

“
It doesn’t matter. It’s my
fault
.”

“
Katy, you were trying to get away. She would have killed—” his voice catches and he stops.

I press tighter against him.

“
Maybe,” I concede. “But maybe not. I didn’t give her the chance to find out.” I take a breath, then tell him the one thing I’ve never told anyone else, ever. “I
wished
for it, Henry. More times than I can count. I even prayed for it. What kind of person prays for her mother’s death? What if it wasn’t an accident…what if I subconsciously knew what I was doing?”

“
Kate, look at me.” He turns my face up to his with one hand, his other still clasping me tightly. “Don’t do this to yourself. I
saw
you. You almost died! One more swing at you and she would have…” his face is terrible with memory, ravaged with the thought of it. His desolate eyes hold mine, dark with feeling.

“
Kate, sweetie, you only pushed her away. It was a freak accident. Do you hear me? An
accident!
She could just as easily have only been knocked out. Or even not been hurt at all, and then come after you again. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that she hit her head the way she did, especially
not yours
. It was her fault she put you in the position to have to defend yourself in the first place.” His tone is urgent, pleading with me to understand.

“
I didn’t even get to go to her funeral,” I whisper.

“
She was a monster,” he says.

“
She was my mother.”

He nods, trying to understand, unable to in his own bright world full of love. He hugs me close again.

“
I know, Kate.” We rock silently for a few minutes, tears still running silently down my face, throat aching with residual strain.

“
I loved her,” I whisper.

“
You have to let it go,” he says softly. I know he’s right, but I have no idea how I’m ever going to do that.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Graduation day comes,
and since I have passed all of the tests—and I’m not in jail—I’m being allowed to graduate with everyone else. I’m apprehensive about showing up, as the local newspapers have gotten hold of my story and have run it in not-completely-accurate-but-pretty-close sensationalism. I’m not sure of the reaction to expect of my schoolmates, most of whom I have spent the last twelve years attending school with.

My father actually manages to stay sober once again and we ride to the school together in his car, which I have to admit I’m amazed still runs. I suppose that has much to do with the fact that he has always worked as a mechanic—though for many different companies over the years—and manages to keep it running. The inside of the car is dirty, as if it hasn’t been cleaned in years, and littered with empty bottles. I wonder how he has lived all these years without wrapping himself around a tree in a drunken haze, or kept from hurting anyone else.

We meet Henry and his family at the auditorium where the graduation is to be held. My father goes to sit with them, while Henry and I line up in our places. I try to pretend that I don’t notice the looks and stares I’m receiving, the whispers behind hands.

Henry’s friends come over to say hello to me, as do their girlfriends who look more uncomfortable than usual around me. Then Jessica comes up beside me, placing herself into the line right next to me, with a smile. I have to admit it still makes me nervous to have her so close, but she is still the most welcome presence of all the girls here.

We file out, sitting in the seats and listening to the long, boring speeches that accompany graduation. Then row by row we stand and walk up toward the podium to receive our diplomas. We were instructed beforehand to walk up from opposite sides, take our diploma, shake the administrators hands as we walk to the center of the stage, then exit from the center.

When it comes my turn, and my name is announced, there comes a smattering of applause from behind me. This very quickly rolls into a thunderous applause and I glance around to see what is causing the commotion.