I'm Not A Jersey Kind Of Guy

Chapter 23

I had a hard time swallowing, but I didn’t make a signal sound. I must have given something away in my eyes because she took my hand, looked at one of the other moms and said that she’d be right back. Carter’s mom took me to the front gate of the pool away from the other guests. “Beckham, if there is something wrong we need to tell people.”

I shook my head, “Nothing is wrong.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “Beckham, did your father make those marks on your back?”

I averted my eyes away from hers. “I still love him.”

“Sweetie, you have to tell me what’s going on. It’s not right for a father to treat his son this way.”

“He loves me.”

“I understand, but it’s still not right. I promise you that the only way it gets better if you tell me what’s going on.”

I whispered my answer, “No.” Before I knew it I had taken off running. I ran as fast as I could without looking back, no matter how much Carter’s mom called out to me.

I was out of breath when I stopped to hide behind a backyard fence. Hot tears ran down my face. I hadn’t notice I was crying until I stopped running. My breaths got short and heavy as the tears poured down faster. I was scared and unsure of what my father would do to me now that people found out.

Back then I didn’t realize that what he was doing was wrong. I loved him, and I prayed everyday he wouldn’t be so sad. I had avoided all the questions when I would show up to school with a black eye or bruised arms, which was rare. My father was smarter than that most of the time. He mostly burned my back so people wouldn’t notice, broke a few ribs, things he could hide from every one else.

I could hear sirens and people calling my name in the distance. I didn’t move an inch. A pair of feet approached me. “Hey there, Buddy. Are you Beckham?” I slowly nodded, not bothering to look up at him. He crouched down to my level. “Do you want to come with me?” I looked up at him. His face was kind and trusting. I noticed the police badge.

I woke up sweating. I rubbed my eyes, trying to get the memory out of my head, but it was all I could see. I looked over at the clock. It was four in the morning. I waited a few minutes, making sure I couldn’t hear Jane or Paul. I didn’t want to wake them up again. I couldn’t hear any thing and got up. My throat was dry and in need of a glass of water.

I slowly walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, trying my best to not wake up Paul and Jane. I heard the faucet being turned on and off. I turned the corner to see Jane in her nightgown. The only light on in the house was the small lamp beside the table. “Beck, what are you doing up so late?”

I shrugged, “I couldn’t sleep.”

She took a swig of water, “Me neither.”

I took a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with water from the sink. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

She looked off into the distance, “I had a bad dream.”

I took a drink of water, “Same.” I sat down at the kitchen table and she followed.

“What was your dream about?”

I stared off at the table. “It was more of a memory.” I paused. “It was when people found out about my father.” I paused again, building the strength to divulge further information. “I was a birthday part at the pool and one of the mom’s insisted that I take my shirt off, and one thing led to another.”
I felt something squeeze my hand, I looked up to notice Jane had been holding it the whole time.

“I’m sorry about your father.”

“Me too.” I sighed, “What was your dream about?”

She squeezed my hand again, and I squeezed back for support. “Mine was a memory too.” She was no longer looking at me, but through me, as if she too was living through the memory again. “Paul and I had a son.” She took a deep quivering breath. “His name was Henry. He was nine when he, when he passed away.” I squeezed Jane’s hand. I saw a tear roll down her cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Jane.”

She smiled softly. “Thank you, Beck.” She wiped the tear from her eye. “It’s been a few years, but some days the care wreck creeps up on me, and I can’t help but break down.” She sniffled a little, “You know, you’re the first foster kid that we’ve had.”

I smiled, “You’re my fifteenth foster mom. Unless you count Sharona, but I don’t.” She gave me a confused look as if asking who Sharona was. “It’s a long story for another night.”

She smiled, “You know, Beck, we could have chosen anybody to take in.”

”Really?”

She nodded, “Yes.”

“Why did you choose me then?”

She shrugged, “Carroll told us about you. She said that you were just a troubled boy looking for a place to stay for a year. At first Paul said he didn’t want another boy, but I convinced him that every child deserves a chance to start over and that you were poster child for kids who need second chances.” She smiled, “Of course he caved.”

I smiled. “Thank you Jane.”

She smiled, “No, Beck. Thank you.”

“For what?”

I saw a twinkle in her eye, “You have given Paul and me so much joy. He is so happy to have a son that he can bond with again.” She leaned in, “Even though I know you don’t really like football all that much.” She gave a short laugh, “You have brought love back to us.”

I smiled. “Thank you for giving me a second chance. I never really got that until now.”

She patted my hand, “You are more than welcome, Beckie.” I gave her a look and she smiled, “What you don’t like that?”

I shook my head, “No, not really.” She laughed as she got up.

“Well, I think I’m going back to sleep.” She put her glass up on the counter before she started down the hallway.

“Hey, Jane.”

She turned, “Yeah?”

“Thanks for the homecoming bio. It was” I paused, trying to find the right word, “sweet.”

She laughed, “I knew it would embarrass you.”

“Good night, Jane.”

“Sweet dreams, Beckie.”

* Just in case you don't remember, Sharona was the 'mom' he ran away from in the memory a few chapters back.