Reflection (20 page)

“It's changed a bit, huh?” he asked.

“Mmm. Makes me sad.”

He felt a bit sad himself. Being there made him miss Jason more than he already did. He loved seeing the park through his son's eyes.

They paid the entrance fee and walked through the gate.

“This part is new,” Rachel eyed the little buildings of the Tudor village that made up the front portion of the park. “This used to be the picnic area, didn't it?”

“Uh-huh.”

They walked slowly around the park, Michael pointing out the changes, trying to make a game out of remembering what ride used to be where, but Rachel didn't seem to care.

“You're quiet tonight,” he said finally, as they strolled around the carousel.

“Sorry. Yes,” she said. “It was a hard day.”

“Do you want to sit down for a while? Talk?”

She nodded, and he led her to a bench near the Mill Chute, far enough from the ride that they wouldn't get splashed by the cars spilling into the pool of water.

She slouched down on the bench, her legs straight out in front of her on the ground. “I went to the little park in the center of town today, where the memorial is,” she said. “I'd seen a guy—a young man—in the grocery store with a scarred face, and I knew he must have been in my classroom.”

“Ken Biers.”

“Yes. I think it hit me graphically for the first time why so many people hate me.”

“Hate's a strong word, Rachel,” he said, although he knew the word accurately described the feelings of some of the town's citizens. He'd been pleased when Lily and a few others had treated Rachel kindly at yesterday's service.

“I ruined so many lives. If I hadn't been the teacher in that classroom, nothing would have happened.” She looked up at the Mill Chute as if noticing it for the first time. “Mill Chute's different,” she said.

“Yes.” He touched the back of her hand. “Go on, Rache. Tell me about the park.”

She drew in a breath. “Well, I forced myself to remember everything. I haven't really thought about it for so long. It's too overwhelming. It depressed me terribly, Michael. I feel like I'll never be able to lift myself up from these thoughts and feelings again.” She looked at him. “It seems like people hold me personally responsible, as if
I'd
thrown the grenade instead of Luke.”

Michael nodded as he listened. This was a conversation he'd been dreading but one he knew they needed to have. “You left town so quickly after it happened that you missed the aftermath,” he said. “I don't blame you a bit for getting out as fast as you could, though. It was probably the only thing you could do. But it makes it hard for you to understand.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “See, everyone had their own idea of how you should have handled things differently. People didn't like the course of action you took. They said you left the kids like sitting ducks in that little cloakroom.”

There was a deep line across Rachel's forehead, and she twisted her hands together in her lap. “I didn't really know what to do,” she said. “I had all of about two seconds to figure it out—”

“I know.” He pried her hands apart and held one of them on his thigh.

“I thought I was keeping them safe and out of sight back there.”

“And I'm not saying that wasn't a smart thing to do. I'm just saying that when something like this happens, people step back and think to themselves, well, if only she would have done thus and such, the kids would be all right.”

“Done
what
?” Rachel asked. “What could I have done differently?”

He hesitated before speaking again. “Well, some people said you should have sent one of your students to Holt's office to let him know what was happening while you stayed behind with the rest of the class. Others thought you should have gotten all the kids out of there. Taken them to another classroom. People were most upset that you left the children alone.”

Rachel let go of his hand to knot hers together again. “I thought I could intercept him,” she said.

“And if you had locked the classroom door when you left, that probably would have worked.”

“I
did
lock it,” Rachel said, “Only the key jammed and I guess the lock didn't catch. I thought it did. At least I tried to lock it.”

“Trying doesn't count in the eyes of a bereaved parent,” Michael said. He knew he was speaking harshly, but he wanted her to know, to truly understand. “And they don't believe you anyhow. No matter what you did, it wouldn't have been right or enough. They needed a scapegoat, and you were it. Your leaving so abruptly made you look particularly guilty. And when Holt told everyone that you'd promised to have Luke committed the week before but didn't follow through with it, that was the final straw.”

The line in her forehead deepened. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she said. “I never told him I'd have Luke committed.”

“Holt told everyone that he'd met with you and told you that Luke was a danger to the community and he was going to have him committed. He said you agreed that he was dangerous, but that you would take care of it yourself that weekend.”

Rachel looked confused. “I never said I thought he was dangerous. I didn't think he was. I told Jacob Holt I'd keep Luke from coming on school grounds again, and I said I'd get him help, which I was planning to do. He said something about the police—” She shook her head, pressing her palms to her temples. “God, maybe I did say that. I don't remember it at all, but…” Her voice trailed off.

Michael watched a car full of screaming teenagers plunge into the water. Then he took her hand again, because he knew what he was about to say was going to hurt her. “I understand how people feel,” he started, “because I loved you and I would have trusted you with my children completely, and yet even I wondered if you could have done something different that day.”

She turned her head away from him.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“Well.” She let out a long sigh of resignation. “Who are the others? Who else is still in town who was hurt by what happened? You said your friend's son was one of them?”

“Yes, Drew's son, Will.” He shifted on the bench. “There's Arlena and Otto in the bakery, and Russell Martin over at the post office was one of the kids. So was Sarah Holland—she works in the bookstore, and she's also badly scarred. She and Ken look like victims of the same syndrome.”

“Oh, God.” Rachel shook her head.

“Lily Jackson, who you've already met and who lost her sister. There's a woman who teaches the sixth grade at Spring Willow who was also one of the kids. Her family moved away right after it happened, but she came back a year or so ago because she felt that she never got to deal with it. She thinks that being here is the best way to confront her fears. Very courageous lady.” Michael went on to talk about the parents of the children whose names were on the memorial. They were farmers, teachers, shop owners, and the groundskeeper for the park. A couple of them worked in the bank, another in the dry cleaners.

Rachel shook her head. “There are so many,” she said.

“Yeah. And Reflection can't let go of it. The second Monday of each September is called Reflection Day,” Michael continued. “It's set aside to remember what happened.”

“You mean, it's an annual thing?” Rachel asked. “Still? After twenty-one years?”

He nodded. “Yes. Schools and shops are closed, and the youth groups in the different churches alternate taking responsibility for presenting some sort of memorial program for the community. They hold it in the high school auditorium.”

“What kind of program?”

“Mostly readings. The kids read personal essays or poetry. On three themes, basically.” He let go of her hand to count them off on his fingers. “How precious children are to a community; how they need to be treasured and protected. How insane war is. How it can turn the healthiest, most popular kid in a high school into a”—he picked his words carefully—”deeply disturbed individual.”

“What's the third theme?” Rachel asked.

He pursed his lips. He should have told her there were only two. “The third theme is the responsibility of an individual to put the greater needs of the community above his or her own needs. “

“I don't get it,” she said.

Michael sighed. “There are people who think you left your classroom to save your own skin, Rachel.”

She pressed her fist to her mouth and looked toward the Mill Chute. For a second she didn't speak, then she folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself as if she were chilled. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I've never thought that,” he said.

“What can I do? How do I begin to make it up to everyone?”

He shook his head. There was no way.

“If people would only talk to me,” she said. “I'm not a monster.”

“I know that, Rache.”

She let out a short laugh. “And I thought I could pay everyone back with a little free tutoring.
Wake up, Huber
. Well.” She pulled herself together, sat up straight. “I appreciate you telling me all of this. Everything makes a little more sense now.”

“I'm in charge of the Reflection Day program this year,” Michael said. He sounded confessional.

“You are?” There was a tone of surprised betrayal in her voice.

“Yes, and I'm glad it's my turn, because it's been too long, and I want it to end. I want the theme this year to be that this is the last…damned Reflection Day, and I'm going to try to make that a reality. “

She took his hand, her touch gentle yet electrifying.

“You want a lot for Reflection, don't you?” she asked quietly. “You want to heal all its wounds. You want to save it from physical destruction.”

She was right. He adored his hometown. “I hope I have more success with ending Reflection Day than I'm having with stopping the developers,” he said.

“It's not going well?”

“David against Goliath. We'll have to see.”

Rachel made a derisive sound. “You know, I still don't understand how Marielle Hostetter came to have so much clout,” she said. “She's the last person I would have expected to be able to wield power over Reflection.”

“I know. Life's strange sometimes.”

“Why doesn't someone talk to her directly?” she asked. “Doesn't she have a sense of loyalty to the town?”

“I've tried talking to her, believe me. She'll only communicate through her lawyer.”

“I think it's worth another try. Maybe
I
could get through to her.”

He laughed. “You?”

“Yes. I'm sort of an outsider. Maybe I won't put her on the defensive the way you or someone else who's intimately involved in the situation would. And her father and my grandfather were friends, Gram said. Maybe that would give me an in with her.”

He squeezed her hand. “I know you'd like to find a way to help, Rache, but that won't work. She won't talk to you. It's hopeless.” There might be some way to save Reflection from the bulldozers, but he was 100 percent certain that talking to Marielle Hostetter was not it.

They sat quietly for a moment. Rachel gently rested her head on his shoulder, and he cursed the pleasure her nearness gave him. He remembered seeing her in church the day before. What a rush of joy he'd felt, discovering she'd come to the place that meant so much to him. A second emotion, following close on the heels of the first, was fear for her. She seemed so vulnerable and brave when she stood to introduce herself. He'd felt love for her then. Love that went way beyond the love he was entitled to feel.

“Well, we're a fine duo.” Rachel broke the silence. “Here we are at Hershey Park, practically crying on a bench. “

“You ready to have some fun?” he asked.

She nodded and stood up.

“Speaking of fun,” Michael said as they began walking, “the Fun House is gone.” He pointed to the spot where it had been. A new ride, the Falcon, stood in its place.

“Oh, the Fun House was the best,” Rachel said.

He could see the three of them on that crazy floor, screaming, freeze-framed at different ages. Seven. Ten. Twelve. Fifteen. Eighteen. Their voices changing, needs changing, relationships changing, but always the three of them moving like a unit. The images made him sad.

“What about Laugh Land? Is it still here?”

He shook his head. “Liability. They can't have those walk-through things anymore.”

“That place terrified me when I was a kid.”

It had terrified him, too, with the dark narrow hallways that hid the jumping things, the hands that grabbed you when you least expected it, the cobwebs that hung over your cheeks, the floor that slipped out from under your feet. When they got older, though, the darkness had been an escape from the light outside. Luke had had a friend who worked at Laugh Land, and he'd told them about a door in one of the dark hallways. On the other side of that door had been a small black room where they could stay unnoticed for hours, making out, Luke and Rachel at it hot and heavy on the floor, Michael with whomever he had managed to talk into going out with him that night.

“Remember the dark room?” Rachel laughed, reading his thoughts.

“Very well.” He smiled.

They went on only a few of the rides; their inner ears were not what they had once been, but it was fun. They were anonymous here, Michael thought. In two hours he had seen no one he knew; Rachel could be a woman without a past.

She stopped at one of the concessions to buy a T-shirt for her son. Michael waited on a bench, watching her. In his mind's eye, he still saw her as twenty-three, and it gave him a jolt to see her objectively, from a distance. She was a forty-four-year-old woman. He wasn't certain whether a passerby would consider her pretty. He only knew that when she turned her head, when she smiled at the cashier, he felt the same twist of longing he'd felt two decades earlier, watching her teach a class full of Rwandan students.