Redemption Of An Idiot

You may recognize some of the characters in this story from my previously published 'Hearth and Home', as this could loosely be called a sequel.

All characters engaging in sexual activity are over the age of 18.

*****

I couldn't breathe. It felt like this great weight was sitting on my chest, and I didn't know how to get it off. I felt helpless...suffocating...

"You okay?" the pretty blonde next to me murmured sleepily as she slid a hand over my bare bicep.

Fuck... Petra... I didn't want her here. Not now.

Somehow, I found my voice, "I -- I need..." Dragging in a breath, with my phone still clutched in a death grip, I muttered. "I need you to leave..."

Petra jerked back her hand as though she'd been burned. "What...?"

"Just go..." I growled, needing to be alone.

I tried to ignore my "sometimes" girlfriend as she stalked about the room muttering under her breath and gathering her clothing. I didn't say anything, just lay on my back, one forearm across my eyes as tears leaked out the corners. Shari...Shari...Shari...

When the front door finally slammed shut, I gave in. Gave in to the pressure, the pain, the fear, and allowed great racking sobs to shake my body. Oh God... what would life be like without Shari?

*****

At one time, I would have described my sister's life as a "train-wreck". She liked to party -- a lot -- and our relationship tended towards the volatile whenever I tried to keep her out of trouble. Boring, was what she called me back then, but in my mind that was better than being too wild. Still, we loved each other -- there was no denying that.

My heart broke when she told me she was pregnant. She had no idea who the father was -- some pretty crazy parties in recent months apparently, and I'd felt completely powerless as she cried in my arms. Stupid, reckless kid... I should have protected her better! Wasn't that the job of an older brother?

There was no question in my mind what she should do -- she wasn't prepared to have a child -- didn't even have her own life close to figured out yet. But she wasn't going to listen to me -- when had she ever? Luckily, this time she was right.

It had been six months since I had last seen my nephew, and I wished it was under better circumstances. Instead, it was at the hospital morgue in Kansas City, the day after Shari's death. When had this boy grown up? I wondered as the tall, gangly, sixteen-year-old allowed himself to be pulled into a bear hug.

"Good to see you Jamie," I mumbled, squeezing the boy tightly, trying to keep the tears at bay. As devastated as I was, I knew only too well what it was like to lose a parent at a young age, and above all else, Jamie needed to know that he wasn't alone in the world. He still had his Uncle John -- and I wasn't going anywhere!

*****

Shari and I had been raised in a suburb of Kansas City. Our mom had been a nurse before she had kids, but quit in order to raise us, as women often did in those days. Dad was a construction foreman -- a friendly, likeable guy who loved his family, baseball, and beer, but not always in that order. When I was thirteen, he had a massive coronary at work one day, leaving our family in shock.

Basketball saved me back then. Taller than average, I was recruited to play on the Junior High basketball team, and it became a much-needed outlet for unexpressed emotion. "Boys don't cry," my dad had once told me. "You work out those feelings on the field..." Or the court, in my case.

As I started to fill out in my teenage years, I discovered that not only did basketball help me deal with the shit in my life, but it also attracted girls. Never overly shy to begin with, I learned that being quick with a smile and a compliment meant I would rarely lack female companionship when I wanted it. And how many teenage boys wouldn't like that?

So maybe that's what Jamie needed now -- activity -- something to focus on other than the fact his mother was gone and I had forced him to move to a strange city. No one likes Dallas in the summer, so I could understand that part, but I really needed the kid to do something other than sit in his room, with his headphones on, playing on his phone. It had been eight weeks, after all. Time to start getting it together...

"I was thinking of heading to the rec center after dinner tonight," I began nonchalantly. "Maybe shoot some hoops or something... Want to come?"

Jamie tossed his over-long hair out of his eyes as he raised his head, "Mmmm... I'm not really any good at basketball..."

"We could work on some skills then," I tried to salvage the offer.

The response was less than enthusiastic, "Uh... It's not really my thing..."

Shame on me for assuming that every tall boy wanted to be a basketball player. I tried again, "So, what sports are you into?"

Jamie shook his head, "Yeah... not really any... but," the kid threw me a bone, "Maybe we could just lift some weights or something. I could stand to bulk up a bit..."

Now that was the understatement of the year, and I grinned, feeling like I'd claimed a major victory. We were going to do something together that wasn't the weekly trip to the therapist!

I'd pretty much been a shitty uncle -- shitty brother too, truth be known. Seeing my sister and her kid three or four times a year when I went home to visit mom? Less than that after she passed away ten years ago? Hardly enough to sustain a real relationship -- or ever really build one with Jamie. And when the reality sunk in that I was going to be the boy's guardian, I realized I barely knew him.

Bonding over free weights, I started the conversation about school. "So, I'm thinking next week we need to get you registered for classes. What courses will you be looking at?"

"You know... Math, English, Science - whatever I have to take here..."

"What about electives, or extra-curriculars? Any thoughts on those?"

Jamie shrugged coolly, but there was something in his voice that sounded a lot like hope, "Do you think we might find a school that has an orchestra?"

Orchestra? Damn -- of course orchestra! How could I have forgotten? "Sure, we can do that." Internally, I was scrambling, but somehow managed to sound casual, "What instrument do you play again?"

"Cello," he grunted as he attempted to curl the weight I had just set down. "I don't have my own instrument though -- I borrowed one from my last school..."

It was the first time I had heard my nephew sound even remotely interested in anything since his mother's death, and I was willing to do just about anything to give the kid some joy in his life right now. "Well, I'm sure we can work something out..."

*****

The Orchestra Director at Lakeview High School was very cordial over the phone. She described the school's orchestra program and explained that Jamie would need to audition for placement into the best orchestra for his skill level. She told me she'd email me the audition music and recommended a few different places to check on instrument rentals.

Over lunch with my two closest friends, I updated them on the latest. "Do you guys have any idea how expensive cellos are? I was thinking I'd just go buy him one instead of renting, but when I saw the prices I almost choked!"

Nick Stavros chuckled and clapped me on the shoulder, "Welcome to parenthood. Or so I hear..."

"Come on John," Nick's fiancée Martie teased, "You've got stacks of money! Buy the kid a fricking cello!"

"I already did," I replied defensively. "I'm just saying that instruments cost a ton..."

After a moment, Nick asked seriously, "How's it been going with you two?"

The sense of panic that periodically swept through me flashed across my face, "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, to be honest. Thank God he's a good kid..."

Martie placed a comforting hand on my forearm, "You're a smart guy, John. I know you'll figure this out..."

I smiled bravely, "Right...the good news is that Shari did all the hard work -- he's practically grown -- we just need to get through the last two years of high school without him flunking out, getting arrested or impregnating anyone. Then it's off to college..."

Nick laughed, "You're not setting the bar very high, are you?"

"See? This is exactly what I'm talking about!" I muttered, rolling my eyes. "What do I know about parenting?"

"John -- maybe you need to talk to Jamie's therapist. See what suggestions he has for you..." Martie offered sweetly. Then she winked, "Can't have you screwing the kid up permanently, now can we?"

"That's my worst fear," I confessed. "I haven't really been able to focus on anything else all summer..."

Smiling, Nick raised his glass towards me, "You're doing great. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Right...

Switching the subject, Martie announced, "Petra called me the other day, asking about you..."

A sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach, and I could not suppress a groan. "Ugh..."

Ever my conscience when it came to women, she continued, "Ugh is right. You didn't end that one very well..."

"Martie -- women are about the last thing on my mind right now," I replied honestly. "How can I even think about dating with everything that's going on?"

"That's probably wise," Nick chimed in supportively. "You can bring Jamie as your plus one to our wedding..."

It wasn't a terrible idea.

*****

I didn't exactly know what Jamie did all day while I was at work, but I began to suspect that there was a lot of cello involved. Evidently, the kid had gone on YouTube, watched videos of Lakeview's varsity orchestra and was determined to make it into that group. Even to my untutored ear, I could hear the improvement from day to day, and was thrilled to see him so engaged.

The morning of his audition, I was a little concerned when Jamie rejected the idea of breakfast. For a growing teenage boy, he didn't usually eat a lot, but today of all days he should eat something, right?

"Trust me Uncle John," he replied quite seriously when pressed, "I've had a lot of auditions over the years and it's better this way..."

He'd had a lot of auditions? The kid was only 16 -- how many auditions could he possibly have had? But I didn't ask that question, just nodded and trusted that Jamie probably knew what he was talking about. I guessed that skipping one breakfast wouldn't kill him anyway.

It was Monday, the week before school began, and the front office of Lakeview High was a hive of activity. A bouncy teenage girl escorted us to the orchestra room and tried to chat Jamie up a bit on the way. He wasn't exactly cooperative. She managed to extract that he was a junior from Kansas City who played the cello, and little else. I was sure I saw relief on her face when she left us at the director's office.

I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting, but it wasn't a stunning blonde in faded jeans and a t-shirt proudly claiming that she was an "Orch Dork for Life." Weren't teachers supposed to be older? Maybe just a little plainer?

Her eyes flitted over the two of us before she extended her hand towards her prospective student, "I'm Ms. Caldwell. You must be Jamie."

He nodded, "Yes. Hi."

She turned to me next and I shook her hand, "John Crawford. Nice to meet you. Thanks for taking the time to see us."

She smiled warmly, her gaze going back to Jamie. "No problem. I always feel for transfer students -- they don't get as much time with the audition music," she finished sympathetically. Then, all business, she gestured to a couch in one corner of the room, "Mr. Crawford, why don't you make yourself comfortable while Jamie and I get started?"

Effectively dismissed, I got settled and pulled out my phone to check email while Jamie uncased his instrument. I could hear the teacher asking questions about his previous experience, and it was obvious from Jamie's answers that he was no novice. When he finally started playing, I closed my eyes and listened. After hearing the music for 8 days now, I knew it almost by heart and I followed along in my head, hoping Jamie wasn't as nervous as I was.

"That was very nice Jamie. Excellent job!" Ms. Caldwell proclaimed when he was finished. "You are definitely at the level of our Symphonic Orchestra -- that's the varsity group -- but before I can put you in that class, we need to talk about what kind of commitment you would be making." She paused and looked over at me. "Mr. Crawford, could you join us please?"

The next ten minutes were spent discussing sectionals, extra rehearsals, UIL eligibility, private lessons and volunteer hours. The longer the conversation went on, the more convinced I became that Jamie needed a car. Not that I wouldn't do whatever it took to get him where he needed to be when he needed to be there, but it would be a lot more convenient if the kid had his own wheels.

After we left the orchestra room, we headed for the counseling office to officially register Jamie for classes, now that we knew which music section he'd be in. Upon seeing his transcript, the counselor immediately suggested AP classes, and I just sat back and let Jamie do the talking. In a way, I felt my presence was unnecessary -- but that was a good thing, right? That the boy was confident enough and smart enough to discuss his academic future intelligently? Where basketball had been my salvation, once upon a time, perhaps school would be Jamie's.

I broached the subject of a car over dinner that night, and Jamie's eyes lit up. "No -- seriously?"

"Sure," I shrugged. "I mean, you're going to need one with all these extra rehearsals and everything. You do have a license, right?"

"Yeah..." And as if he needed to prove it, Jamie pulled out his wallet and passed the card to me.

He looked about 12 in the photo, and a little too much like Shari around the eyes. I could hardly bear to look at it. "Okay, good," I handed the card back quickly. "Lots to do then -- we need to get you a Texas license, get you added to my insurance policy, then we can go car shopping. Sound good?"

A tiny part of me wondered if I was trying to buy Jamie's affection. First the cello, now a car? But it seemed to be working. I hadn't seen my nephew this animated since...well, since before everything happened...

*****

Rawlings Group had been undeniably accommodating over the past few months, but I'd expected nothing less. It was one of the reasons I was still there after eleven years. A relatively small real-estate development firm, it was a company that believed in investing in its employees. Seven years earlier, it was the CFO who suggested I pursue my MBA at the company's expense, and I had repaid them many times over since then. Now, as VP of Asset Management, I was fortunate enough to have the flexibility to be out of the office when I needed to be, since most of my time was spent on email or conference calls which could be done from anywhere.

I didn't see as much of Martie and Nick as I had in earlier years, when we were all coming up together, but I still managed to have lunch with one or both of them at least once a week. Things were different now that they were engaged, and it was hard to watch them sometimes. For a while, I thought it was because I'd always been half in love with Martie, but now I was pretty sure it was because the two of them had something together that I was not sure I'd ever have.

Martie had lectured me more than once about the type of woman I chose to date -- and yes, there was a definite type: slender, leggy, well-dressed blondes in their twenties -- women who liked to have a good time and weren't necessarily in the market for a long-term relationship. To be honest, it was no wonder that I was still single at 39, particularly when I placed less importance on general compatibility than sexual chemistry.

Since Jamie had come to live with me, however, it all seemed so pointless. How much time had I wasted just fucking around? What did I really have to show for all those years? Where was the substance in my life? Well, besides Jamie, and he hadn't exactly picked me.

But no matter that neither of us had chosen the situation -- that we both would have much rather had Shari back -- we were all each other had now. And with the start of school, we both had something to focus on, other than our loss.

*****

Jamie seemed to love the independence that his new (well, used actually) vehicle gave him. He hauled the cello to and from school each day in the back of the small SUV and, from what I could tell, was a dedicated student. He wasn't very forthcoming when I would ask him how his day went. "Fine," was the usual answer, although that wasn't surprising. What teenage boy ever gave any details about his school day? I know I never did.

Ultimately, I took him at his word, but kept my eyes open. And we kept seeing the therapist that I had found for Jamie shortly after relocating him to Dallas, although the visits were no longer weekly. Jamie seemed to like the guy, and I was glad he was talking to someone, even if it was someone other than me.

"Get involved," the therapist had advised me. "Volunteer at the school. Talk to his teachers. Make sure they know what's going on with him, so that they can let you know if they see anything you should be concerned about."

"Seems kind of like asking them to spy on him," I had replied, not feeling entirely right about it.

"It takes a village," was the response. "And you might miss some warning signs that they pick up on..."

And so it was, on the Monday after Labor Day, that I found myself attending the first orchestra booster club meeting of the year. My original plan had been to just write a decent-sized check to the organization so that I could opt-out of any fundraising obligations, but the therapist's words compelled me to do a little more. And I'd be lying if I said the prospect of seeing Ms. Caldwell again had nothing to do with my decision to attend.

It was an abysmal turn-out, in my mind. There were what? 150 kids in the orchestra program? And 11 parents show up to the meeting, including the board members? And then the president says something about how wonderful it was to have so many people show up? Sad...

The business of the meeting ranged from the membership drive and the planning for the Fall Picnic, to upcoming fundraising events. And then the meeting was turned over to Ms. Caldwell -- or Rachel, as she preferred to be called outside of school -- for the director's report.

She was undeniably pretty, I thought as she talked, even if she was a little outside my usual demographic. Maybe a bit serious, but it was hard to say given the circumstances. It was hardly a social gathering, after all.

I had planned to try and catch her after the meeting -- to ask how Jamie was doing in class -- but was waylaid by a few of the board members, anxious to know who the new guy was. I felt like an imposter -- what did I know about being a parent -- about supporting a student organization? Nothing, that's what.

But the president, Ann Harding, was a difficult woman to say no to. She convinced me that they could really use my help at the Fall Picnic, manning the grill, and since I didn't have any other concrete plans on September 18, I agreed. After all, it was an opportunity to observe Jamie interacting with other students, and who knew what I might learn.

*****

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Elena Russo asked, jolting me back to the reality that I was about to burn the burgers.

"Who?" I replied lamely, in denial as much to myself as to my grilling partner.

"The lovely and talented Ms. Caldwell," she replied, with a twinkle in her eye. "You are not the first to fall under her spell, believe me!"

I could feel warmth creeping into my cheeks, embarrassed at having been caught staring at the orchestra director. "Ha! I am hardly under her spell..."