Heath cursed under his breath and pulled over. Willa froze in her seat, her mouth dry. She couldn’t help thinking about the little roach she’d stashed in her pocket. She hadn’t wanted to take the joint when Monica had handed it to her, and she’d put it out and hidden it and everyone had forgotten about it. Worse, she noticed the neck of a gin bottle poking out from where he’d secured it between the seat and the gears column. Stealthily, he reached around for it and shoved it under the seat. Then he unrolled his shirtsleeves and buttoned them at the wrists. He swiftly retrieved a roll of Lifesavers from his pocket and put one in his mouth. By then the cop was there, his flashlight raised like a weapon.
“License and registration,” the cop said.
Opening the glove compartment, Mr. Heath touched her knee. “Was I going too fast?” With the cop watching, he flipped through the car’s documents in search of the registration, then handed it to him. Willa’s knee throbbed with heat where he’d rubbed it with his knuckles.
“I’ll say,” the cop said, reading over the license. “Try seventy-five in a thirty-mile limit.”
“I didn’t think this thing could go that fast.”
“Have you had any alcohol tonight, Mr. Heath?”
“Maybe a beer or two earlier with dinner,” Heath admitted. “But nothing since then.”
The cop studied Mr. Heath’s face, then looked over at Willa.
“This is my daughter’s friend,” Heath tried to explain. “I’m just taking her home up the road here.”
Willa nodded and tried to smile.
“A little late to be out on a school night, Mr. Heath,” the cop said, dissatisfied. “Why don’t you step out of the car?”
“Is that really necessary, Officer?” Heath tossed a glance in her direction and the cop frowned.
“Step out of the car, Mr. Heath.”
Heath’s face went peaked as he stepped onto the pavement. The cop led him away from the car, but Willa could still easily hear them. The cop made him walk along the thick white line bordering the road. Willa’s heart thumped as she watched him. Tears prickled her eyes. The poor man. She was embarrassed, sitting there. She wished she could just get out and walk home, but that wasn’t possible, not now with the cop there. Several minutes passed. Finally, Heath got back in the car, annoyed. “It’ll just be another minute,” he told her. “He’s writing a ticket.”
“Okay,” she said.
He rubbed his eyes. “I am so sorry about this.”
“It’s okay. Really.”
They sat there in the screaming silence of the car. Heath had broken a sweat. She could see it gleaming on his forehead in the moonlight. “I feel just awful about it.”
She didn’t know what to say to him. “Don’t worry. It’s fine.” She turned around and saw that the cop was talking on his radio.
“Adults make mistakes too,” he said stupidly.
She nodded.
“God knows I’ve made plenty.” He checked the rearview mirror to see what the cop was doing, then sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s not easy these days,” he said.
“What?”
“It’s hard to know.”
She didn’t really know what he meant, but she said, “It must be.”
“Too many choices, that’s the problem. Sometimes you get to a point, you know?”
She looked at his face. His eyes seemed distant. “What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “You wake up one day and nothing’s the same. It’s like you’re in the wrong life or something. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“You mean like you’re an imposter?” she asked.
“Something like that.” Again, he cracked a smile. “You’re like a mime in a glass box, you can’t get out, you’re trapped. And nobody but you can see the walls. I know it sounds weird.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I’m not making any sense tonight.”
“It’s not good to feel trapped,” she said.
“No, it’s not. And I don’t. Not really. Not any more than you probably do.”
Now that she thought about it, she did feel trapped.
“We probably shouldn’t be having this conversation,” he said.
“It’s all right.”
“Sometimes things happen,” he said. “Change comes into your life like a meteor.”
“Totally out of the blue,” she said.
“Exactly. And suddenly you don’t see things in the same way as you did before.”
“I get it.” She wanted to ask him what sort of change he was talking about, but by then the cop was walking back toward the car with the ticket. Heath sat up a little taller in his seat. The cop handed him back his license and the ticket. “You can go to traffic court to reduce that fee,” he told him.
Heath nodded; he looked annoyed.
The cop slapped the side of the car. “Good night, now.”
“Good night, Officer.”
Heath stuck the ticket in the visor and pulled back onto the road, slowly. The cop pulled out behind them, following from a distance. They went along in silence. She could tell Mr. Heath was nervous, his eyes darting up to the rearview mirror. Finally, with no shortage of relief, they came to her driveway and he turned into it. The cop roared past.
As they climbed up the hill, Heath said, “This is somewhat awkward for me, Willa, but if it’s all right with you, I’d like to keep this little incident a secret. Can we do that?”
She nodded that it was.
“Thank you.” He glanced at her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. Really.”
They didn’t talk the rest of the way. She sat there, at once rigid and exhilarated, her hands clasped in her lap. At the top of the hill, Heath turned into the circular driveway. The house was enormous, a fortress. All the lights were on, making it look warm and inviting, which it wasn’t. The grandeur of the house embarrassed her.
“Say hello to your parents for me.”
“I will.”
As she was getting out, he grabbed her hand, startling her. “We have our secret, now, remember?”
She nodded and he let her go and she started for the door, thinking: left, left, left my wife with forty-eight kids, and it occurred to her that she felt sorry for that poor wife, stranded on her kitchen floor; it wasn’t anything to be mocking or celebrating, and it seemed to her that so often they did things—people did—without really thinking. The door was locked. She rang the bell, anxious that her parents would insist on coming outside to thank Mr. Heath for his trouble. But unlike other adults who had brought her home, Mr. Heath did not wait until she was safely inside. Instead, he pulled out quickly, stirring up the gravel, and was gone within seconds, before the chimes on the doorbell had stopped ringing and her mother, in her feathery nightwear finery, had answered the door.
Several days later, Ms. Harding, her adviser, e-mailed her with the news that she’d won the Sunrise Internship. Willa had filled out the application the first week of school, but never expected to get it, assuming that Ada, who was ten times smarter than her and the Head’s daughter, or Bette Lawton, who had a perfect A average, would be chosen. Sunrise House was a women’s shelter in Pittsfield, and she would be working there Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, in whatever capacity they needed, whether it be watching the younger children whose mothers were still at work, or washing clothes, or addressing envelopes. She needn’t worry about transportation, it was provided by the school. “You should be very proud,” Ms. Harding told her.
On the first day of the internship, Mr. Heath drove up in the school’s community service van. “Congratulations, Willa,” Mr. Heath said to her in his usual jovial voice—part Barney, part Mister Rogers, the Mr. Heath she had known and loved since she was little.
“Thank you, sir. I totally didn’t expect it.” She climbed into the back of the van.
Heath turned around, his arm hooked over the top of the seat. “I was hoping they’d ch
oose you.”
She could feel her face turning colors. To her relief, a group of sophomores climbed into the van. They were doing community service at Solomon’s Table, a soup kitchen in Pittsfield. Willa had volunteered there last year as well. She moved all the way over, behind Mr. Heath, making room for the others. She could see his face in the oversized rearview mirror. If you didn’t know better, you could almost mistake him for one of the students. He had a boyish look, the way his hair swept over to the side, the way his eyes shone salty and bright. The other kids were noisy and Mr. Heath was talking to some of them and she remembered their conversation in the car, their secret. As if he were reading her thoughts, he met her eyes in the mirror and smiled and she smiled back. It was a brief exchange, but it seemed to suggest that there was something between them, something special that separated her from the others. It was a heavy, uncomfortable feeling, as if she’d eaten a big meal. She wasn’t sure what to do about it and hoped it would go away. Maybe she was just imagining it.
He pulled the van out of the school’s driveway and headed up the road. She studied the back of his neck. His hair was cut short and his collar was perfectly ironed. She would bet that Mrs. Heath had ironed it herself. Ada had told her that Mrs. Heath did everything for Mr. Heath. Willa couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her. She couldn’t help wondering what it was like for Ada, having him for a dad.
It began to rain. On the sidewalks of Pittsfield, people were rushing under umbrellas. She noticed a man jumping in a puddle, his face lit with glee—there must be something wrong with him, she thought. They were on North Street, near the ballet studio where Ada took dance, where she probably was right now, in fact, rehearsing for The Nutcracker, which she did every Christmas. Pittsfield was an odd little town, she thought, with its shadowy storefronts. Heath turned down a narrow street by the courthouse. The soup kitchen was on the corner. Last year, Willa had served homeless people at long tables with white paper cloths. This one time she had served a woman a bowl of soup and the woman had grabbed her hand and said, “Why don’t you smile once in a while?” For some reason it had upset Willa, and she’d run into the bathroom and cried and washed her hands. Mr. Heath pulled the van up in front. There were some people hanging out on the steps, smoking. “I’ll be back in two hours,” Heath said, letting the sophomores out. “Be waiting for me in that vestibule.”
He got back into the van and pulled out and it was just the two of them. He looked at her again in the rearview mirror. “How you doing back there?”
“I’m good.” She felt weird. She didn’t know what to say.
“Good for you for wanting to do this,” he said. “You should be very proud.”
She thanked him, but she didn’t feel proud. Not really. She hadn’t applied for the internship because she’d wanted to—it was just something you did for your application, so you’d look good to colleges— and all the girls in her class had applied. She hadn’t really thought about what Sunrise House was, or what she’d be doing there if she won the internship—and anyway, she’d never thought she’d win it in the first place. It was a women’s shelter, she knew that much, a safe place for women to go when they’d been beaten up by their boyfriends and husbands. The whole idea of it, truthfully, gave her the creeps. What she knew about it was from TV and movies. Women were always getting hurt in movies: raped, shoved, beaten, held down—and sometimes, in a certain context, if, for example, the woman was stupid or evil, it made sense, and others it didn’t and you felt sorry for the woman and your heart broke for her. Sometimes she would wonder: How did the woman get herself into that situation in the first place? It wouldn’t be anything that she would do, that was for sure—she’d never be that stupid. The minute she sensed danger, she would be out! She couldn’t imagine being shoved across a room, or bashed against a wall, or having her face punched in. But she had seen it so many times. She didn’t know what it would be like to be near someone who’d been hurt like that; she’d never met a battered woman before—just those two words battered woman made her queasy.
Heath took several turns down one-way streets, then turned into a dead-end street flanked with small houses. At the end of a narrow driveway, he pulled up alongside a small Colonial with a front porch. The only thing that distinguished it from any of the other houses was the muddy lot next to it, which had a few parked cars. A high fence enclosed the backyard where she could see the top of a swing set and could hear the voices of children playing. “I have to walk you in this first time,” Mr. Heath told her as she climbed out of the van. He took her hand to help her and she remembered the way he’d grabbed her hand that night. Maybe he hadn’t meant to be so rough. She tried not to look at him, but his eyes were very blue, almost green, and were impossible to ignore. He smiled and rubbed her shoulders in a fatherly way.
They went up onto the front porch and rang the doorbell. Willa’s mouth was dry. She had the same nervous feeling she’d get when she went to the doctor. After a few minutes, a woman answered and let them in. She was a big woman, with moon-white skin and a long black braid. Her dress was brightly colored, putting Willa in mind of a Japanese kite, and on her small feet were red Mary Janes, the sort Willa had worn as a child. The woman had a frowning girl on her hip, hiding her little face in the soft pillow of her neck.
“Now, now, Gracie, just a minute.”
Mr. Heath introduced Willa to the woman, whose name was Regina.
Regina stretched out her hand. “Well, now, I am so glad to see you. We feel real privileged to have you here with us, Miss Golding.”
“You can call me Willa.”
“And who is this beautiful girl?” Mr. Heath asked the child, who refused to show him her face.
“This is Gracie,” Regina said.
“Hello there, Gracie,” Mr. Heath said, and the little girl smiled.
“Well, now, could that possibly be a smile?” Heath asked the child.
The little girl nodded apologetically.
“Well, you’re the only one she smiled for the whole day,” Regina said. “Can you imagine that? I wonder what it is about you, Mr. Heath, that makes all the pretty girls smile?”
Mr. Heath blushed. Willa had the feeling that Regina flattered him often. The way they talked to each other seemed practiced and rehearsed.
“It’s good to see you, Regina,” he said.
“Don’t you worry about Miss Golding. We’ll take good care of her.”
“You always do,” Heath said. “I’ll be back at six, Willa, dear.”
They watched him go out. Regina put down the little girl and locked the door. “He’s such a lovely man.” She smiled at Willa. “Welcome to Sunrise House.”
“Thank you.”
They shook hands and the little girl called Gracie wanted to shake her hand too.
“Let’s go in here.” Regina led her into a small dining room. The round table in the middle was laid with a printed cloth and surrounded with all kinds of mismatched chairs. The surface of the table held stacks of papers and envelopes. She set down the child. “Go on and pick a chair, peanut, and do your coloring while I talk to this nice girl,” she told her, and the child tugged out a chair and sat down and started coloring with crayons. Willa watched her make a series of stick figures with red crayon. Regina said, “She didn’t want to play outside today.”
The little girl glanced up at her suspiciously.
Willa smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back. “I don’t feel like playing outside either,” Willa said.
The girl kept coloring, but Willa saw her lips curl up in a smile and she felt like she’d done something right.
“First of all,” Regina said, opening her eyes very wide, “thank you for being here. We all appreciate it a whole lot.”
Willa shrugged, feeling a little shy. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re wondering why we picked you. I can see it in your eyes, and your shoulders are all stiff. You can relax, girl. Everybody wanted it to be you.”
&n
bsp; “I’m not a very good student,” Willa admitted.
“Let me tell you something, honey. It’s not just about the grades here. We liked what you wrote on your application. Your essay had something we don’t see very often—it had heart, and that kind of thing goes a long way around here.”
Willa blushed with pride; it was the best feeling in the world.
“You’re one of us, aren’t you?”
Willa shrugged. She didn’t know what Regina meant, but it sent a quiver through her like a small arrow. “I guess.”
“I always get a hunch about a person. I had a hunch about you.” She looked at Willa with certainty. “Any-hoo, how about a cup of cocoa? Gracie and me were just about to have one, right Gracie?”
“Uh huh,” the child said. “With marshmallows?”
“Of course with marshmallows. We make a very impressive cup of cocoa here at Sunrise House.”
They went into the small kitchen. It was neat and smelled nice, like banana bread. Willa could see some kids out in the backyard on the swing set. A woman was standing off to the side, watching them. Regina glanced out as if to check on them, then put a teakettle onto the stove and turned it on. While they were waiting for the water to boil, Regina told Willa about the shelter and how it worked. “A woman can come here whenever she’s in trouble, and she can bring her kids and she can stay till she figures out what to do next.”
“What happens when you run out of space?”
“Usually, thank God, we don’t. We have some people we can call on if necessary.” Willa thought about her parents’ house, how it was four times the size of this place, and she felt a little sick. “During the day, we offer counseling to women,” Regina went on. “They can come in and talk. That’s a big step for some. Now, for the most part, your job is with the kids. We need someone out there getting the kids off the bus. We might ask you to watch them out on the swings, or do a little art project or something. It’s a big help for us. They’re nice kids too. Some of them are a little messed up, but for the most part they’re pretty good.”