Page 35 of Stone’s Cage

"Two years ago, I was walking on 79th. I'd gone to a talk at Hunter College on kinesics and hopped a taxi back." He rolls his eyes slightly, "Because someone here wanted to know more about it all. Anyway, I come around the corner and there's all this shouting and someone yells, 'You're going to die now you mother-whatever,' and then this pop goes off. Twice."

I know I should be touched he doesn’t want to swear around me, but I'm holding my breath because I think I know where this is going.

Coach stands there by the stove and sets the kettle on a hot pad. "It was your brother, Lily. I'm so sorry. I saw Shreves come out from a trash bin he'd ducked behind and when the other kids took off, he fired another round into the sky. He still didn’t see that he'd hit anyone. For some reason," he wiped his head, "for some reason, he set the gun on the edge of the dumpster and stepped out into the street. I shouted something and he looked over at me. I told him to back away and he did. By then sirens were wailing and a cop car was heading straight for him. I turned and ran, grabbing the gun with a bag from the street. Prints," he offered by way of explanation. "I've had it ever since. With instructions to send it to the police with a note if anything happens to me or," he points to Stone, "this guy."

I feel numb. Coach knew all along who did it, but didn’t come forward.

"I know it was wrong Lily, not to go to the police. But showing up with a murder weapon? My word against Shreves? He's Mister I-work-with-youth down at the Youth Club. And the basketball league he started. I couldn't even picture how that would go down. All I could see was a way out for Stone."

I glance at Stone who had set down his ice pack.

Coach keeps talking. "Stone didn't know. He had no idea. He just knew I made a deal with Shreves. He didn’t know until tonight."

"Where is it?" My voice sounds loud and strong.

Both men look at me. I'm surprised my voice carries at all. "Where's the gun?"

"In a safe in the basement."

"I want to see it."

Coach looks at Stone. "I warned you this would happen," he says and hefts himself out of his chair. I realize how old he is now, he's got to be in his late sixties and he's a little stiff from the day.

He opens a door in the back part of the kitchen and I hear him trudge down some stairs. I unfold myself from Stone's lap, and move to the sofa, but I can feel him staring at me.

"It's fine," I say. "I'm fine." But my voice shakes.

Coach had wrapped it in a plastic bag which was then wrapped in a gym towel and the whole thing was stuffed into a red zippered plastic portfolio like I use in college.

Coach sets it on the table and takes out a slip of paper. "This is my eyewitness account of what happened," he says and glances at me. His eyes are filmy and wet.

I unfold the towel and gaze at the pistol through the plastic. It’s small, unassuming and looks almost like a toy. "Burn the letter," I say. "If we need it later, you can rewrite it."

Later that night, as Tig finally stopped sneezing from the smell of rubbing alcohol and topical antihistamine, I realized this was the first time I'd actually been in a bed with Stone. He'd refused painkillers but had swallowed shots of bourbon and because he usually doesn't drink they hit him hard. Now he is very relaxed and sloppy with exhaustion. Coach had dressed the skin tears on his head and shoulder blade well and now he lies on his right side, asleep, while I make plans. His eyes are closed and his body, completely and utterly limp. Rising on one elbow I kiss him on the temple, so glad he is here with me, so glad to have him safe, so glad finally to know my next step in a world I am familiar with.

My world.

Chapter Eighteen

Stone

I heal fast. Probably all the Omega-3s I gulp. It's the one supplement I take besides protein powder. I got a call from the police that my apartment had been ransacked, everything destroyed, which was funny because there's not much there to destroy. I called in sick the last few days and we've been staying with Coach. And Lily has been my light, my angel.

Two days later, we're on the train heading to Yonkers. I'm sore, nervous, and Lily's right there. We get off and I make a phone call on my new phone, and my sister's husband answers. Paul's a nice looking man, reserved, brown curling hair and a quick smile and he picks us up and takes us to the center of town to a large beautiful home. "Tudor," Lily tells me climbing elegantly from the black SUV. And then I see her, Cassie, through the window. She answers the door in a wheelchair but stands when I hug her and we both cry. I swear I cry harder. I just hold her—and keep holding her.

My sister.

Finally.

Cassie looks like our mother but even with MS, she's a stronger, healthier version. With shoulder-length brown way hair, wide green eyes, and a sweet smile, I catch myself just staring at her. I can’t believe I am here, in her kitchen, her front room, sitting on the sofa, eating dip. The last time I saw her I was in juvie and so scared I acted like the fourteen-year-old punk I was and flipped her off.

Now, it's like we've always done this: hung out, laughed, hugged.

Like this was any other day.

I want this all to be the new normal. The day is a blur of lunch and talking, of looking at old photos of the two of us, then wedding photos of her and Paul, various vacations. I watch Lily laugh easily with Cassie at a picture of me with nothing on except a cowboy hat and little red boots with white stitching. I must have been two—before our mom really got lost in her addiction. When we leave that evening, Cassie stands again and hugs me, wipes a tear and I promise to visit again in the next couple of weeks.

"You have to. We have to do a bunch of things before the baby's born." This is how I find out she's pregnant and that since she and Paul married five years ago, she's been taking the money I've been sending and started a trust for their child.