The Jealous Kind (Holland Family Saga 2)

“How come you’re here?”

“My mother feels bad. But she shouldn’t feel that way, and neither should you.”

“I’m late, Aaron.”

“Come by if you feel like it. We can go to a show or out to Buffalo Stadium for a ball game. How about that?”

“Sure, Aaron. Thanks. I’ll see you.”

He put his right foot on the pedal and was almost gone when I saw a smooth white cylindrical object protruding from a pocket on the haversack. I grabbed the handlebars. “Hold on.”

“Let go,” he said.

“No, what’s that sticking out of your bag?”

“Nothing,” he said, pulling the flap down.

But I had already seen the two gold SS lightning bolts inlaid in the handle of the knife that had been on Krauser’s desk.

“How did you get this?” I asked.

“Mr. Krauser gave it to me.”

“A guy like Krauser doesn’t give away his war souvenirs.”

“He did. I swear he did.”

“You and Saber broke into his house and tore up his things. Tell me the truth. Come on, buddy.”

He tried to twist the handlebars from my grasp, then bounced the front tire up and down, rattling the basket. “I’ve got to go. I’ll get fired.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, Jimmy. But you have to level with me. Saber has been taking me over the hurdles. Now he’s running with some really bad guys. In the meantime, I got arrested for what you guys did.”

“I’ll go to Gatesville. You ever hear what it’s like in there? Why are you doing this to me? You know what they’ll do to me?”

He was right. The law was enforced on the people it could be enforced on. In this case it was a retarded boy who hadn’t had a chance from the day he was born. I let go of the handlebars. “You were just getting back at Mr. Krauser for what he did to you, Jimmy. Come with me to the rodeo. I’m riding bulls this year in the adult competition.”

I tried to smile. But Jimmy was terrified. He pushed off with one foot, careening out of the shade, fighting to gain control of his bike, his pale skin and wispy hair almost translucent in the raw light of the sun.

THAT EVENING I TOOK Valerie to a movie. I don’t remember the name of the movie or what it was about. I discovered that my memory had taken on an odd aspect. When I was with Valerie, I remembered only having been with Valerie. Everything else was an adverb. Wherever we went, I was conscious of her touch, the smell of her hair, the light in her eyes.

She wore pleated skirts and oxfords and pink tennis shoes and white blouses with frills, and was easily recognizable as a member of her generation, but she was somehow always above it. She chewed gum constantly. I never knew anyone who chewed so much gum, boxcar loads of it. She was a member of the National Honor Society, the drama club, 4-H, the chess club, and the debate team. I felt proud any place I went with her. I always wondered if her dead mother or her widowed father had the greater influence on her. Perhaps neither of them did. The Nazis had killed her mother during the war, and Mr. Epstein’s work caused him to be out of town more than he was at home. As far as I knew, she had raised herself. That night I asked her what kind of rules her dad had taught her.

“None,” she replied, as though surprised by the question. “He took me dancing when I had my first period. He said I was a young woman now, and that meant he would always honor my choices as a woman and he would not impose his way upon me. He said he would never judge me but would always be there in my defense, regardless of the circumstances. He said if a man ever violated or tried to molest me, he would kill him and the people with him.”

The gospel according to Mr. Epstein.

She kissed me on the cheek.

“What’s that for?”

“For being the good boy you are,” she replied.

“I’ll be eighteen this fall.”

She kissed me again.

You wonder why I always wanted to be with Valerie?