Part 5
He felt an impulse to go after them.
Not to apologize.
To control the last version of the event before she left.
The impulse frightened him because it remained even after the video, the pin, and the president’s warning.
“What happens now?” he asked.
Charles put on his glasses.
“The board meets tonight.”
“This can be handled internally.”
“No.”
“Charles.”
“No.”
The friendship ended there, though neither man recognized it fully in the moment.
Lena drove Micah home with the air-conditioning low because he said the cold made his wrist hurt.
They lived in a second-floor apartment twelve minutes from the club. A blue bicycle lay chained beneath the stairs. Someone upstairs was practicing the same four piano notes repeatedly.
Micah went directly to his room.
Lena stood in the kitchen holding her keys.
She wanted to follow him. She also needed to call her sister, the pediatrician, the police, and perhaps a lawyer. She needed to preserve the video in three places. She needed to write down every sentence before memory softened the order.
Instead she filled a glass of water and drank half of it over the sink.
Her reflection in the dark window looked composed.
She hated it.
Micah’s room door remained open by two inches.
She approached slowly.
He sat on the floor beside his bed, still wearing his navy shorts and white sneakers. The pale-yellow polo had been removed and folded beside him.
The burned cuff was visible on top.
He was staring at it.
Lena sat in the doorway.
“Can I come in?”
He shrugged.
She entered and sat on the carpet across from him.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
The piano upstairs repeated the four notes.
Micah touched the edge of his bandage.
“Don’t take it off yet.”
“I know.”
“Okay.”
He looked at the shirt.
“I liked that one.”
“We can get another.”
“I don’t want another.”
Lena nodded.
The shirt had been purchased three weeks earlier for the scholarship picnic because the invitation said boys should wear “summer club attire.” Lena had searched the phrase online, then spent more than she intended on the yellow polo because it made Micah’s skin look warm and bright.
Now the sleeve held proof.
She wanted to seal it in a bag.
She wanted to wash it until the smell disappeared.
Both impulses felt like betrayal.
“We should keep it as it is for now,” she said.
“Because of evidence?”
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
“Then why do we need evidence?”
The question was too intelligent for the comfort she wanted to give.
“Because Mr. Alden is already trying to change what happened.”
Micah lowered his eyes.
“He said I put the pin there.”
“Daniel’s video shows you didn’t.”
“What if people believe him?”
“Some might.”
Micah absorbed that.
Lena wished she had lied.
“What happens if they do?”
“We keep telling the truth.”
“That’s all?”
“No. We use the video. We use the photo. We talk to the police. We make the club answer for what happened.”
Micah looked toward the window.
“I don’t want to row there anymore.”
The words hurt more than she expected.
For months, he had woken before sunrise on Saturdays to practice at the public launch with donated equipment. He watched rowing videos during breakfast. He knew the names of boats, seats, stroke rates, and Olympic crews. The scholarship had felt like entrance into a world built for his effort.
Now the place itself frightened him.
“You don’t have to decide today,” she said.
“I already decided.”
Lena looked at the burned cuff.
“All right.”
“You’re not going to make me go back?”
“No.”
He looked relieved, then guilty.
“What about the scholarship?”
“We’ll deal with that later.”
“Someone else could have it.”
“It is yours.”
“I don’t want it.”
“You do not have to give away something because another person made it painful.”
He looked at her.
The sentence was too close to a lesson. She could see him withdrawing from it.
Lena softened her voice.
“We can leave it alone today.”
He nodded.
Her phone rang.
The screen showed an unknown local number.
She answered in the hallway.
A police officer introduced herself and asked whether Lena and Micah could come to the station or speak at home.
“At home,” Lena said.
The officer agreed to arrive within an hour.
A second call came before the first ended.
Charles Benton.
Lena declined it.
He left a voicemail.
She did not listen.
Her sister Tasha arrived thirty minutes later with groceries no one had requested, including frozen waffles, two cartons of juice, and a bag of oranges.
Tasha was five years older than Lena and expressed fear by becoming practical at high speed.
“Where is he?”
“In his room.”
“Did the doctor see him?”
“Paramedics. We’ll call pediatrics.”
“Did you photograph it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you photograph the shirt?”
“Not yet.”
“Where is the shirt?”
“His room.”
“Don’t touch it.”
“I know.”
Tasha put the oranges on the counter too hard. Two rolled onto the floor.
“What man does that?”
Lena looked toward Micah’s doorway.
“Lower your voice.”
Tasha pressed both palms to the counter.
“I’m sorry.”
They picked up the oranges together.
The police officer arrived at four twelve.
Officer Meera Patel wore a dark uniform and carried no visible urgency into the apartment. She sat at the kitchen table, explained each step to Micah, and told him he could stop at any time.
Lena remained beside him.
Micah described reaching for ketchup. Mr. Alden asking about the pin. The wrist grip. The hot metal. The sentence about scholarship children.
His voice became quieter as he spoke.
Officer Patel did not fill the pauses.
When he finished, she asked, “What did you think would happen if you did not answer him?”
Micah stared at the table.
“That he would make us leave.”
“Who is us?”
May you like
“Me and my mom.”
Lena turned her face slightly so he would not see what moved through it.
