Drive

Sandy closed the door on Martha Baker’s kid. He hadn’t realized Keven had gotten so big, though he was the same age as Sandy’s own son.

“What’d you do that for?” Muddy’s voice had to shoulder its way up from beneath the carriage of an ’84 Corolla. By the time it crossed the ventilation fan to Sandy, it was a weak noise easy enough to ignore. Sandy stretched his neck to get a kink out before returning to the transmission of the ’82 Dakota, perched on the garage’s only lift. Muddy slid his creeper to get his head clear of the car and spoke with exaggerated enunciation. “Why did you shut the door in the kid’s face?”

Sandy sprayed some WD-40 on the u-bolts he had to loosen to slide the drive shaft back. When the mist settled, he looked up. “A kid his age don’t need to be fencing for Joey O.”

Muddy reached for a socket wrench. “The kid’s working hard. He’s trying to make something of hisself.”

“Better ways to do it.”

Muddy shoved himself back under the Corolla. Sandy tried the bolts again. One was still stuck, so he let out a habitual curse. Muddy wheeled himself back out.

“Exactly how is he supposed to make something of hisself right now? In this economy?”

Sandy shrugged. “This ain’t the only case of times being hard.”

“You’re awful holy of a sudden. It’s not like you don’t buy hot parts.”

“Not from kids I don’t.” Sandy wiped his hands on the nearest rag before picking up his wrench again.

Muddy rolled back under the carriage. The men worked in silence for a few minutes, save for the occasional muttering at the intransience of bolts or other parts. Before long, Muddy reemerged.

“Hey Sandy, you hear that the pope is making a new saint?”

“Nope.” Sandy wiped his hands again without looking at Muddy.

“Ya, Saint Arthur Sands. Saint Sandy. The only kicker is you have to die first.”

“That so?”

“That’s so. But since you ain’t dead yet, you may as well give the kid a break. Just buy a few damn parts from him. Keven’s a good kid in spite of his mother.”

“I never said he wasn’t. Matter of fact, I got no problem with Martha.” He soaked the bolt again and turned his attention to inspecting the bell housing cover.

“A lot of men don’t,” Muddy snorted. “You one of the mystery fathers?”

“Nope.”

“Six kids and not one man to stick around. Three of the kids don’t even know who their dad is. I expect Martha don’t know neither.”

“Sounds like a situation I want to stay clear of.”

“What do you do for sex anyway?”

“I don’t tell you, that’s what.”

“That’s true. You never have. Don’t know what I’d do in your situation.”

“I do all right.” Sandy went back to the shelf and found a flathead screwdriver.

Muddy watched him. “Keven ain’t getting the parts hisself. He’s just working for Joey O. It’s like an apprenticeship.”

Sandy laughed. “Becoming a carpenter is like an apprenticeship. Working for Joey O. is like going to jail.” The side door opened, bringing the cold fresh air and a carbon copy of Sandy, minus the wrinkles and knotted neck. “Who’s going to jail?”

“Nobody’s going to jail Sandbox, we’re just talking about kids these days.” Muddy got up to daub some debris out of his eye.

“Kids these days,” the boy intoned solemnly. “Why when I was younger, we knew how to work.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” laughed Muddy, blinking “Sandy, there ain’t nothing wrong with this exhaust. Esther swears it’s running loud, but I looked it up and down, and you heard it run. What you want me to do?”

Sandy watched his son cross the garage to the third bay, reserved for the 1968 Mustang restoration project that was supposed to be a father-son experience. When they finished it, they would sell the car to pay for the portion of college not covered by scholarships. By the time Sandy had worked on cars all day, his body could hardly stand another minute with wrench in hand. But Artie kept on track to have it finished before he left for university in the fall. The boy was so focused. He came home from practice—currently basketball—then grabbed a sandwich and worked on the car for a couple hours, did his homework, called his girlfriend, and went to bed.

Weekends he worked at the corner store, went out with Shelly or friends and came home on time.

“I could replace the header pipe, it’ll probably go in another year or so,” Muddy suggested. “If we tell her nothing’s wrong, she’ll just take it someplace else.” Sandy loaded himself on the creeper and slid under the corolla with a trouble light. He looked up and down the exhaust and rolled back out. “If Esther is this fussy about her car, I can only imagine what her doctor bills are like. Don’t replace the pipe, just put on a new heat shield and charge her 20 minutes labor.”

Muddy rooted around in the store room for a minute.

“Damnitall, we don’t have the right OEM.”

“That’s all right, I’ll get them tomorrow. It’s time for you to hit it anyway.”

Muddy reemerged from the store room and glanced at the clock. It was only quarter till. “Right-o. Don’t forget about the package that came for Sandbox.”

“My clutch kit?” Artie practically squeaked with excitement. Sandy wanted to take that pure childish joy and flash freeze it. His son was mostly a young man now, but in moments like this still a child in the best sense of the word.

“Don’t know. Open it.” Sandy pointed with his wrench toward the box on the bench along the side of the garage. Muddy lathered with Lava soap up to his elbows. He rinsed down, then rubbed his arms with brown paper towel. “Hey Sandbox, you know Keven Baker?”

Artie cut open the sealing tape with his pocket knife.

“Sure. Why?”

“He a good guy?”

“Ya, real good guy. His mom, now, is another story. She actually wants him to drop out of school so he can get a second job. You believe that?”

Muddy tsked. “That’s a shame. You’d think she has enough time to get pregnant every year, she ought to be able to find the time to get a steady job herself.”

Artie pulled back the top flaps. “Oh she works, but she’s like he’s not going to college or anything, so he may as well get a jump on the job market. She doesn’t get it that things have changed. You can’t get a decent job without a high school diploma anymore.”

“So true.” Muddy pulled off his garage shoes. “I sure hope someone gives that kid a break sometime.” He slipped his clean shoes on. “Good night. See you tomorrow Saint Sandy.”

Artie sliced open the interior packaging and pulled out the 9” three-puck ceramic racing clutch. “Yes!” He sounded like he had just won the lottery.

“You know how that goes in?”

“I bet the two of us can figure it out,” Artie grinned.

Keven Baker strode from Sandy’s Auto Repair, shame burning in his cheeks. If Sandy’s creepy sidekick hadn’t been there, maybe he could have gotten a break. But Muddy had it in for his whole family ever since he came sniffing around his mother’s door and got turned away like a cur. Men always thought his mom would be eager and willing, but she hadn’t been that way for years. He could only imagine all the things Muddy had said against him.

Keven had washed dishes for the last couple years for minimum wage. When one of his co-workers started stealing parts for Joey O., Keven said he’d like to try fencing as a way to make money for college. He hadn’t given up on the possibility of college, though his mother had already told him she wouldn’t sign any loans for him. She couldn’t see the point in education, but he couldn’t see any other point. It was one of the few areas of contention between them.

Joey O. had wanted him steal the cars or their parts, but Keven wasn’t stupid. He knew Joey O. liked to have the younger kids do that because they didn’t do hard time, but he wasn’t about get grand theft auto on his record even as a juvenile. Selling hot parts was colorful, but stealing cars branded yourself as hard core. He stood his ground, and Joey O. got a kick out of that. Said he’d rather have a smart kid like Keven keep his hands clean anyway and he gave him a circuit.

Sandy’s Auto Repair wasn’t on the circuit. His shop had different suppliers, but Joey O. told Keven that if he could open up a few new markets he would get a big bonus.

Enough to cover the first semester’s textbooks. It stood to reason that Sandy would be willing to doing business with Keven. His son was the same age as him and he had heard Sandy stick up for his mom once or twice. But that was before Muddy had come nosing around their house and undoubtedly poisoning Sandy’s mind.

Of course, Muddy might not have been the only problem. Maybe Sandy’s son Artie was in the mix too. Keven had plenty of reason to resent Artie, but up until now he had made up his mind to be a bigger person than to harbor petty resentments. His mother taught him that.

Two years ago Keven’s girlfriend Shelly had dumped him and before long she was going steady with Artie—she called him Arthur. Artie was the golden child of the dingy little suburb. He was homecoming king, an all-around athlete, straight-A student, and bound to the University of Pennsylvania in the fall. On top of this, he was mechanically gifted, making all the girls swoon when he went on and on about his Mustang. But in spite of his status as the Anointed One, he had always been friendly to Keven. Other popular kids ignored Keven or put him down because he didn’t have nice clothes or because he was so close to his mother. But Artie wasn’t like that. He was a good guy. So it had seemed.

Sandy must have his reasons for turning Keven away.

Maybe Artie had been making fun of him all along.

Working on that beautiful car with his dad and talking about how Shelly used to date a loser named Keven Baker. Artie and Muddy probably sat around making lewd jokes about his mom and Sandy was right there with him.

Keven knew more than one way to get the money he needed. He had to meet Joey O. tonight to settle accounts. He may not have earned the bonus, but he could earn bigger commissions by selling higher quality parts.

Joey O. usually conducted business in the backroom of his cousin’s tavern, but the underage crowd met him in the ice cream shop next door.

“Want a shake?”

“Naw, just a coffee,” Keven replied.

“Two coffees, please.” Joey O. handed four dollars to the girl at the counter and dumped the change in the tip jar. He and Keven slid into an isolated booth in the back. Keven gave Joey O. the inventory sheet and the revenue from the sales. Joey O. counted out Keven’s commission.

“This working out okay for you Keven?”

“Sure.”

“No new markets though?”

“Not yet.” He sipped the coffee. “What kind of market do you think there is for vintage parts?”

“Vintage car parts? You kidding? That’s a great market. Complicated, but great. Why?”

“I was trying to make a sale at Arthur Sand’s shop. He wasn’t buying, but as we were talking I got a good look at his security system.” He set the mug down and looked right at Joey O. “It’s a joke.”

Joey O. looked at him. “And?”

“You don’t know about his 1968 Mustang? It’s in the third bay of the garage.”

Joey O. sat back with narrowed eyes. “Is that so?”

“That’s so.”

“You change your mind about getting your hands dirty then?”

“No I haven’t. Tell the truth, I’d appreciate you let me know when you send someone to do it because I want to have a rock solid alibi that night.”

Joey O. stirred his coffee, then pointed the plastic stirrer at him. “You are a smart kid. We’ll get you to college yet.”

“I get to fence the parts?”

“It’s more complicated than what you’ve done, but you can learn.”

Keven and Artie ended up at the same party Saturday night. That was just like Artie. The most popular kid in school, but he’d go to a party full of burnouts and nobodies just because he was invited. Artie drank, but not a lot. “I’m driving,” he said and the kid who offered him the second beer nodded as if he himself would not be driving. Keven didn’t touch drink. His mother had taught him that it corrupted men and he never found any evidence to contradict her.

Shelly was overly nice to him like she always was, but Artie was just normal. Keven meant to be in a crowd, to be seen away from the scene of the crime, but he hadn’t meant to actually be speaking to Artie as Joey O.’s henchmen broke into Sandy’s shop and hauled away the Mustang. He kept trying to catch the eye of someone— anyone—who would call him across the room. Instead, he had to answer all Artie’s attentive questions about school, work, family. “What about you, Artie. You excited to get out to Philly this fall?” If Keven couldn’t avoid conversation, he may as well plunge headlong.

“Sure, I mean if it all works out.”

“What’s not to work out? They let you in, you accepted. It’s all go, right?”

“I still have to finish the car and sell it.”

“Sell it? I thought you loved that car.”

Artie’s face took on a glow. “You know I love that car. 1968 was such a great year for the Mustang, and it’s actually really cool to work on it with my dad. But the whole plan was to restore it, then sell it for my tuition. At least my first year, after that I need to find more scholarships.”

Keven gaped. He couldn’t formulate his thoughts. He had to say something, so he stammered, “What?”

Artie laughed, “Which part?”

Keven forced his mouth into a smile, “Sorry, it’s loud in here. You said you are finding more scholarships?”

“Yeah, or maybe we’ll restore another car next summer. I don’t know. It’ll all work out.”

“Well, hey, good luck with that man.” Keven punched him lightly in the shoulder and made his way through the crowd. He had to leave, get some air. Except that he had to stay here, in the crowd. In the alibi.

The days were getting longer, but the sun still wasn’t up when Sandy opened the shop on Monday. He switched on the small fluorescent lamp above the desk. He didn’t like to flood the place with light until he was ready for business. But even in the dim glow, he noticed something not right. When he threw the full lights on, he stared at an empty spot where the Mustang had been. He crossed the garage, crouched down, touched the air where the tires should have been, and sank to the oily cement.

By the time Muddy arrived, the cops were already there.

“Sandy?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Who?”

“That Baker kid. Keven. I swear to God I will kill him.” Muddy looked past Sandy’s tight face to the place the convertible used to be.

“Sandy.”

“I’m serious, Muddy.”

Muddy leaned in close and whispered, “Could you be just a little less serious about it until the cops leave?” Sandy stalked out. Muddy hailed the older cop.

“Jimbo.”

Jimbo shook his head. “I never seen Sandy like that. He was going apeshit when we got here. If you’re his friend I’d keep close to him, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Any idea who did this?”

“Sandy says Martha Baker’s kid, but wouldn’t say why he thought that. I tried to tell him that there are a million people who could have wanted that car. We’re taking prints now and we’ll see. I’d keep Sandy away from this kid if I were you.”

“Yeah, cuz he always listens to what I have to say.” He shook his head. “When do you think they broke in?”

Jimbo shrugged. “Don’t know yet. Could have been any time between when you closed up on Saturday afternoon and when Sandy got here this morning. Hard to say.

Listen, I got to finish this up here.”

“Sure, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Muddy stepped outside next to Sandy. He lit a cigarette.

“You talk to insurance yet?”

“Ya.”

“What’d they say?”

“They’ll get back to me.”

“What’s the problem?”

“My business was insured. The Mustang was not part of my business.”

“Bullshit. You were planning to sell it weren’t you?”

“It’s in Artie’s name. He was gonna sell it.”

“That’s some bureaucratic bullshit.” Muddy exhaled a stream of smoke.

“The money ain’t the point. Not the whole point.”

“I know. You tell him yet?”

“Nope.”

The younger cop poked his head out. “Mr. Sands? We’re about to finish up here. Here’s my card, give me a call any time. We’ll talk to Keven Baker and let you know how it goes.”

“Okay, thanks.”

As the cruiser headed down the street, Muddy changed his shoes. “Well, I guess I’ll call in the order for Eshter’s heat shield. They didn’t take anything off her car did they?”

“Nope. Nothing but the Mustang.”

“You need me to call in anything else?”

“I don’t think I’m going to work today. Close up shop at the end of the day, will ya?”

“Sandy, wait a minute. Where are you going?”

“And don’t touch that transmission I was working on.” Sandy grabbed his jacket as he stormed out the door. Before Muddy even crossed the garage to follow him, Sandy peeled out of the lot.

Muddy stared at the place where the Mustang had been. He crossed to the desk and thumbed through the phone book. He picked up the receiver and dialed. “Hello Martha? It’s Mark Reynolds…I’m doing all right. I’m calling about your son Keven…He’s fine, but I think he may have gotten mixed up in something. At least Sandy thinks so…Sandy, Arthur Sands, from Sandy’s Auto Repair…Ya, his son had a Mustang he was restoring, and this weekend someone broke in and …I’m not saying it was Keven, I’m just trying to tell you that’s what Sandy thinks and for all I know he’s headed over there now…Whatever you think best, I just wanted to let you know is all…Okay bye.”

Sandy watched the kids head into school. When he saw Keven Baker, he swung out of his truck. “Keven!” He hollered. The boy pretended he hadn’t heard him, so Sandy bellowed “Keven Baker!” That brought him over.

“Keven,” he said. “I’ve been thinking over your offer to sell me a few things. I guess I was wrong. Why don’t you come with me and we’ll settle up.”

Keven’s face betrayed everything. “I can’t right now, I’ve got school.”

“This shouldn’t take long. Don’t you want to earn you commission?”

“I really can’t be late for my first hour class. How about I come by after I get off my job tonight?”

“I’ll be closed up by then.”

“Okay, tomorrow then.” Keven was sweating.

Sandy grabbed him by the collar. “I don’t think so.” He tried to shove him into the cab, but some kids shouted for a teacher and a crowd gathered. Artie came running.

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“Keven, you want to tell Artie what’s going on?” He shoved the kid against the car. “Huh? You want to tell him why I’m here?”

Keven was shaking. “Artie, your dad wants to buy some parts from me. I told him I had school and he—“ “What kind of parts, Keven? Do you want to tell Artie what kind of parts you happen to have for sale right now?”

“What kind?” Keven gulped.

“Dad, it’s all right. Keven, are you okay?”

“You must have a lot of parts right now for a 19-fucking- 68 Mustang! Don’t you?” He banged Keven repeatedly against the door.

The gym teacher trotted up and spoke in a quiver. “Mr. Sands, we’ve called the police. Let Keven go.”

Sandy turned Keven and acted like he was going to release him, but as he spun the boy away, he landed a blow to his face. Keven half ducked and half fell to the ground but jumped back up, blood streaming from his nose. He tried to get a jab to Sandy’s gut, but the older man caught his arm and twisted it around till he heard a popping sound. Keven was now completely incapacitated, but Sandy hauled his foot back to deliver a parting kick anyway. “Tell Joey O. he shouldn’t hire stupid little shits like you.”

Only then did he look at his son, whose innocent face seemed ready to crumple. “Come on, we have to go to the shop.” Artie moved towards the truck, but the gym teacher put a hand on his arm.

“Artie, you need to stay here until the police arrive.” When the boy allowed himself to be held in place by the teacher, Sandy shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him, slid into the truck, and pulled away. In the rearview mirror he saw his son kneel over Keven.

Sandy hadn’t been to his river spot for years. When his wife had left him and Artie, he used to go there all the time. He’d let Muddy run the shop while he sat on the bank for hours on end. There were plenty of places to sit along the river bank, but this was his spot. He never fished from it and never showed it to another soul. He’d just sit there and let the river wash all his anger away. The anger built up again when he would return home and see all the reminders of her. He would cook for Artie, and wash the dishes, and give him a bath. All the things his wife was supposed to do. Early the next day, he would have to go to the river again.

Now he knew he should have come here first. He should have never gone to the school. Should have never beat up Keven Baker in front of his son. But how else can you respond when someone comes into your shop to steal your son’s dreams? When he thought about Keven stealing from his son, only the pull of the river kept him from getting up to kill the kid. Artie was the nicest smartest person he had ever known. He could never figure out how this child belonged to a lousy grease monkey like himself. Why would anyone ever want to hurt someone like that? For a few measly bucks? Sandy pictured himself beating Keven’s head with a pipe, but threw the image out of his head to let the river carry it downstream. He guessed the police were at his shop again by now. Muddy would probably mess the situation further by making some crazy lie to protect Sandy. Nothing he could do about any of it now except to watch the river flow. Artie didn’t come home that night. He left a message saying he would sleep on the couch at Shelly’s house. Sandy called Shelly’s parents and asked if Artie could continue to stay there until he found out what his bail would be. They said of course and he thanked them. Then he thanked the officers for letting him work that out before they took him away.

Muddy fixed everything with a bondsman so that Sandy was back home by sunup the next morning. He was catching a nap in the recliner when the phone rang.

“Arthur?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“It’s Martha Baker.”

“Martha.” He knew he knew her, but he had just been dreaming about the shop and was trying to connect her name to a customer. Then he remembered. “Oh. Martha.”

“That all you can say?”

“I don’t know. I think I might not supposed to be in contact with you.”

“Lawyer tell you that?”

“Lawyer? No.” Talking to a lawyer was on his to do list today.

“Cops?”

“Cops what?”

“Cops tell you not to talk to me?”

“I honestly don’t even know.”

There was a pause on the line.

“They arrested Keven.”

“Oh.”

“Why do they—why do you think he took that car? He never done nothing like that before.”

“I maybe shouldn’t say why.”

“Lawyer again?”

“Not exactly. That why you’re calling? To find out whether I’m lawyered up?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, not yet. I’m working on it.”

“Arthur, we’ve known each other a long time. I know we’ve never been close, but we go back to the old neighborhood in the city. Our folks go back longer than that.”

“I know.” He was trying to figure out if that mattered in this situation. It hadn’t occurred to him that it might.

“Not that you’re asking, but Keven’s going to be okay.” Sandy clenched his teeth, forming various replies and then picturing them floating away in the river. When she didn’t say anything further, he forced out an innocuous, “Is that so?”

“Ya,” she said softly, “I think that’s so. I don’t know about that shoulder, but the doctor says he’s young enough that it can heal.”

“Well, I guess I’m probably not supposed to be talking with you.”

“Arthur, you are in this a lot deeper than he is. All the same, I don’t want to see my boy going down the wrong road.”

He took a breath. “Okay. So?”

“What if you pay for his doctor bills and neither of us press charges?”

“He going to pay for the Mustang?”

“He didn’t have nothing to do with that.”

“That what he says?”

She didn’t reply.

“Martha, does Keven deny it?”

“He’s protecting somebody! I know he is!”

“Of course he is. Joey O. don’t pick out squealers to run his jobs for him. You know that.”

“I don’t know nothing about that. He’s a good kid.”

“Artie’s a good kid.”

“I never said he wasn’t.”

“That car was Artie’s, not mine.”

“If Keven’s responsible, he’ll pay.”

“Let me think about it Martha.”

“Okay, but not too long.”

“I know. Thanks for calling Martha.” He put the phone down and sunk back into something resembling sleep.

When he woke he called Shelly’s parents and they said Artie would like to stay with them for a bit. He apologized but they said it was no trouble, that he was almost like a son to them.

Keven tried to believe his mother when she enthusiastically assured him that his shoulder would heal and that his nose looked better than ever with that slightly disjointed look. The doctor had used words like “probably” and “likelihood” instead of his mother’s “definitely” and “absolutely.” Still, no point in believing he wouldn’t heal. He had to look forward.

Though he loved his mother dearly, he had the sense to make the most of the hand now dealt to him. When he pointed out he couldn’t work if he wanted the shoulder to heal properly, he played up the amount of pain he was in. She agreed to cosign his student loans. He tried to feel glad about it, but something more oppressive than lack of education had begun to take hold of him. He couldn’t look in most people’s eyes anymore. He noticed it first when his mother asked him if he had been responsible. He looked away when he denied it. Then later he looked away when he said he was the one to break in. After that he realized he was avoiding his younger brothers and sisters, even though he had always been close with them. He thought the one person he could look in the eyes was Joey O., but he knew better than to attempt any contact with him and no longer wanted to anyway.

His mother had worked things out. Sandy would put money into an escrow account that could only be used for Keven’s medical bills. Meanwhile, Keven would set up another account to pay for the Mustang. The deal had to be signed and notarized and lawyers had to get their cut. He had wanted to just affix his signature to the necessary forms and mail them wherever they needed to go, but his mother insisted that he meet Artie face to face and apologize before signing. She would make sure Sandy wasn’t there if he wanted, but he said it was all right. He tried to dress up, but he couldn’t afford to slice up his nice clothes to accommodate his shoulder. So he put on dress pants, cut a t-shirt to fit around the brace, then draped a sports coat over that. The effect was of an unimpressive Don Johnson in a lot of pain. When he entered the lawyer’s office, he thought he saw Artie fight down a smile at the getup. Keven looked away.

The lawyer ushered them all into a small conference room where she had the papers arranged. When they were settled, Keven looked directly at his classmate. “Artie,” he said, “I just want you to know that I am really sorry. I knew how much that car meant to you, but I didn’t know it was paying for your college education.” Suddenly , the exhaustion, fear, and pain he’d been through took charge and he was appalled to find he was choking up. This was hardly the manful apology he had envisioned. He tried to plunge ahead, “I would have never done what I did if I had known.” It was no good. Out of nowhere, his mouth started twitching. Keven couldn’t think of the last time he cried. He wrapped up as fast as he could. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

Everyone in the room stared at the two boys. Artie stretched his hand across the table. “Apology accepted Keven. My grandparents are helping me out with tuition for this year until you can pay me back. It’s going to work out.” Martha nudged her son who didn’t realize Artie was trying to shake his hand. He extended his good left arm in an awkward motion that was a close approximation of a handshake. The room sighed in relief. All eyes turned expectantly to Sandy.

“Keven,” Sandy started flatly, “I apologize for what I did. I hope you understand I was only reacting that way because I love my son so much.” Now it was Sandy’s turn to lose control of his voice. “I just wanted everything to be perfect for him.” A long pause ensued in which Sandy started to work his mouth several times. He finally got his vocal chords under his command again, and though he was ostensibly addressing Keven, he was turning now to Artie. “My son is the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me, and I couldn’t believe you would want to hurt him. That’s why I did what I did. But I know I was wrong and I will never ever forgive myself. I was wrong and I know it. I will always be sorry for what I did.” During the speech, Artie’s features lost the softness they held when he forgave Keven and now were locked in a stony motionless gaze fixed on nothing.

Keven supposedly spoke to Sandy, but he too faced Artie.

“I accept your apology Mr. Sands. I can understand how you lost your temper. Artie is lucky to have a father who thinks so much of him.” Artie still stared fixedly at the wall. Silence saturated the room until the lawyer pulled packets of paper from her file folders and showed Keven and Sandy each where to sign.

When they put down their pens, they all stood. “I’ll see you around school,” Artie said.

“Ya, I guess so,” replied Keven. He followed the father and son from the room, Artie outpacing his dad. When Artie reached the door, he stepped into Shelly’s waiting car without even a glance at Sandy, who suddenly seemed impossibly delicate.

Keven arranged himself uncomfortably in his mother’s car and stared morosely out the window at the few patches of green emerging uncertainly from the clutches of winter. “Mom?”

“Ya?”

“I just want you to know that whatever you do, I will always love you.”

She covered his hand with her own. “I know honey. And I will always love you too. No matter what.” She engaged the transmission and each pretended not to look as they drove by Sandy’s car. It was still in park, with the man inside hunched sobbing over the steering wheel.