Please read When We Were Young Ch. 20 and this will make a lot more sense.
Special thanks to kenjisato for the editing, whom I cannot recommend enough.
Comments would be appreciated.
**
We were up early the next morning, Nat and Carol heading home to check on their boys and get one of the other islands ready for a three-day, two-night corporate retreat. We walked with them to the dock, exchanged hugs, promised to be careful, to follow Roger's instructions, and to call and let them know how things had gone.
Then we headed toward the cottage to get ready, and I stopped to peel off the Speedos, which were on my bed when I stepped out of the shower, my sigh making Linda laugh. "Too tight, and hot."
"They did the trick, though," she grinned, and we re-lived our evening with Carol and Nat as we walked.
Della, our air taxi pilot, was due in thirty minutes, so we didn't waste any time getting ready. I put on some chinos and my long-sleeved, white linen shirt; sleeves rolled up to my elbows. Lin wore a flower print, loose-fitting, knee-length skirt, and a pink silk blouse.
"Ready?" she asked.
I looked at her and sighed. "As I'll ever be."
She smiled, softly, and linked her arm through mine. "I've got a good feeling about today."
"Yeah?"
"Yep."
"From your lips..." and we headed toward the dock.
Roger was waiting for us at the airport, and we drove to the bank and transferred his fee to his account. Then I withdrew five thousand dollars and shoved it in my pocket, just in case.
Walking outside, two big, black, four-wheel drive, four-door jeeps with tinted windows, sat waiting, glistening in the sun. They were impressive, and Roger smiled.
"Borrowed these from our counterterrorism folks. The gangs see these and get the message: heavily armed, elite guards inside. Fuck off."
Three Black men in their thirties stood nearby, dressed like Roger in dark blue camouflage uniforms, machine guns strapped to their chests. It was all intimidating as hell, and I was glad they were on our side.
Roger led us over and introduced us to Sam, Mac, and Jason.
"Jason grew up in 'Over the Hill', so he'll be in charge today. He has contacts in the rival gangs and will communicate with them as to the reason for our visit when we're on-site. We anticipate no issues, but all the same, if Jason tells you to do something, do it, no questions, right?"
We nodded.
Jason smiled. "I've met Lena Jefferson a couple of times, and she's not affiliated with either gang, which is good. It lessens the chance of a confrontation, but these guys aren't exactly what you'd call stable, so we'll be ready if they want to try something. Plus, the boys at the station know where we're going, so, if the shit hits the fan, they'll be there in a minute. Like Sarge said, do what I tell you and everything will be fine. Ready?"
We nodded and climbed into the back of the lead jeep, Mac at the wheel and Jason riding shotgun. Sam and Roger were right behind us in the other jeep.
Linda squeezed my hand and whispered, "Breathe, honey, just breathe." I nodded and took a few deep breaths, my neck stiff with tension.
Jason and Linda made small talk as we drove across the city, and the neighborhoods got more depressing the further we went, until Jason sat up straight.
"Here we go," he said, passing two teenagers lounging on scooters by the side of the road, one raising a cell phone to his ear as we passed.
'Who would fight over this?' I wondered to myself. The homes were small, less than six hundred square feet, made of concrete or cinder blocks, with concrete or corrugated-tin roofs, most in serious disrepair. Bars covered every intact window and door. Graffiti was everywhere, covering nearly every available surface, and little kids stood barefoot and dirty, watching us pass.
KJ had made it out of here, only to encounter something worse far from home. It was so depressing.
"Thirty seconds, Tony. Tony?" Jason turned around to look at me.
I nodded, vaguely.
"You two stay in the jeep while I see if Mrs. Jefferson is home, then I'll come out and escort you inside, okay?"
I was staring at the houses and kids, and Linda squeezed my hand until I winced.
"Ow."
"You with me, Mr. Webster?" Jason asked, watching me intently.
"Wait for you to come get us?"
"That's right," his eyes slid to Linda, who scooted over and rubbed my leg.
We stopped at a house like those around it, small and tired, weeds and grass two feet tall, and I sighed.
Jason put sunglasses on and stepped into the street, looked around for several seconds, then went up to the door; a child answered his knock. He bent down and the two talked for a minute before the child disappeared and Jason stood up, looking around.
Then the child was back, opening the door. Jason spoke into a mic on his shoulder, and inside the jeep, Mac put his finger to his earpiece.
"We're good to go, she's inside. I'll open the door, you get out and walk right in, no looking around, okay?"
Linda nodded and smacked my leg. I jumped. "We're ready," she said, and Mac hopped out and opened our door, then Lin dragged me out of the jeep and pulled me along the broken concrete walk and inside.
**
The home was one big room, with a tiny kitchen and bath hidden behind a curtain. A twin bed was in one corner, a small cot in another. A small, weathered woman who looked way beyond fifty sat in a rocking chair across the room, a small TV playing on mute nearby. A couple of mismatched lamps were the only light, a dark screen covering the one small window.
And in the corner nearest the door, the child, a boy, sat on a stool, colored chalk on the concrete floor, a picture in progress on the concrete wall.
Jason and Lena, Mrs. Jefferson, said a few words to each other and then he crossed the room to us.
"She's sick, cancer, and tires easily, so say what you have to say. We'll be outside," Jason said, then stepped out the door.
Cancer. Jesus.
We dragged a couple of plastic chairs over and sat down. Her hair was gray, had been recently styled, and she wore a clean, threadbare housecoat. A large, beautiful flower arrangement sat on a nearby coffee table. The place was tired and worn out, but it was clean. I liked that.
"The church been helping out some. Ain't them flowers beautiful?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.
"Very beautiful. Thank you for agreeing to see us," Linda said, then nudged me after a few seconds.
"Uh, yes, thank you, Mrs. Jefferson. We won't take up much of your time."
"Lena, everybody call me Lena."
"Lena. We came to talk to you about KJ," and her eyes locked in on me. She nodded.
"I knew KJ at university in Missouri; we were on the basketball team together when he was there."
She nodded, and put her hand in the pocket of her housecoat, I assumed for a tissue. Wrong. She pulled out a gun and pointed it right at me. It was small, a twenty-two, I thought, and she held it steady.
I raised my hands and nearly fell off my chair. I must've come up with fifty scenarios on how today might go, and this most definitely was NOT one of them.
"You one a them what raped my baby?" her voice calm, her hand steady, her eyes mean.
I shook my head rapidly, but couldn't speak.
"Tony was raped, too, Lena," Linda soothed, and Lena's eyes slid to Linda's for a few seconds, then back to mine.
"What's your name?"
"Tony. Tony Webster, ma'am," I squeaked, my eyes on the gun, her finger on the trigger.
"Tony Webster," she whispered, then lowered the gun, looked down, and put it in her pocket.
"Tony Webster," she said again, then looked at me with a sad smile.
"You can put them hands down, baby."
I lowered my hands and watched her carefully, Linda reaching over to squeeze my hand, which was shaking.
"I been waitin' near on five years for one a them bastards to get close enough for me ta kill. Sorry 'bout that."
"I understand," I nodded.
"So why you here, Tony Webster? Why now?"
"Well, you see, the thing is," I fumbled. Now that I was actually here, none of the things I had planned to say would come out of my mouth.
"I was very sorry to hear he had died," I finally managed. "He was a really good guy, funny, we had fun together before, well, you know."
"The rapes," she said.
I didn't like to use that word, I usually said hazing. Rape was just so, jarring, I guess. It upset me, but she wasn't wrong.
"Yes, ma'am. You see, after it happened, I just sort of pretended it hadn't, I guess. And then all those memories I had buried for years came out one night about eighteen months ago, when I was with Linda. I'm sorry. Ma'am, this is Linda, my wife."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lena," Linda smiled, and Lena nodded, then turned back to me.
"I thought I had moved past it, that I had dealt with the, uh, rapes, and with KJ's death, but I hadn't, not at all. With Linda's help, and a wonderful therapist, I was able to deal with what happened and the guilt I had carried for so long."
"What guilt?"
"I should've done more, tried harder, to keep him safe. I should've told him to leave, not, not, I'm so sorry..." and I lowered my head, tears flowing freely.
Linda got up, stood behind me, and wrapped me in a hug while I struggled not to lose it completely. Then a little black hand was patting me on the arm.
"Don't cry."
I turned my head, and the little boy was watching me. I gave him a weak smile, and he smiled brightly in return. That's when I saw the resemblance. I jerked my head up and looked at Lena, who smiled softly.
"This is Kevin Jefferson, my Kevin's boy. We call him KJ," she said, pride and love in her voice.
I looked at him, and it was obvious, I just hadn't been paying attention.
Linda squatted down next to me.
"Hi, KJ. My name's Linda, and it's very nice to meet you."
KJ smiled, and it was like I was looking at his dad.
"KJ, go show Linda what you is drawing for me," Lena said.
"Okay, Nana," he replied, took Lin's hand, and led her over to the corner.
"I didn't know," I said, wiping my eyes.
"When Kevin come home, he wouldn't talk to nobody, just laid in the corner over there and slept, day and night, for almost a month. Then he started going out, and I was happy, at first. Then he stopped coming home, and when he did, I could tell the drugs had got him.
"I tried everything I knowed to help, but he weren't strong enough. See, I worried about him before when he went to the States, because he weren't tough in here," she said, touching her head.
