didnât like it. He thought it dangerous and foolhardy for her to act so carefree. Of course, she didnât care a thing what Jukes or anybody else thought. She just went along her way doing exactly what she pleased.
While Jukes did medical school, Cathy did the town.
Every time he tried to talk to her about it, she turned the tables on him and pointed out his lack of social grace and the fact that, at the age of twenty-three, heâd never actually been on a date.
Those memories were not pleasant, but Jukes didnât fight them. He let them come, searching for answers, looking for connections he hadnât made before. He believed somewhere deep in the fabric of his memory the explanation for Cathyâs behavior lay hidden.
He visualized the small boat dock and the canoe Cathy had loved. The summer afternoon buzzed with insects. Heâd just returned from fishing with Dad. While his father took the fish up to the cleaning table, Jukes doubled back to the dock to get the gear.
As he came over the hill he saw them.
The boy was older than she, maybe eighteen or nineteen, one of the tough-looking locals, with black boots and a white T-shirt. He smoked a red-tipped cigarette that glowed angrily even in the bright sunshine. Jukes had warned Cathy about the boy more than once, but Cathy just laughed.
Jukes hated the way the boy rolled the sleeves of his T-shirt up over his muscles. His jeans were way too tight. He reeked of delinquency.
And here he had Cathy by the arm.
She was shouting at him. Jukes couldnât make out what they were saying, but he could see her face, distorted by anger. The boy pulled her roughly off the dock. She jerked her arm away defiantly.
Then something happened that Jukes would not forget for the rest of his life. The boy hit Cathy. He hit her hard with a closed fist, knocking her down. She tried to get up and run away, but he grabbed her and hit her again. She fought back, kicking and scratching at the boy, but he just swatted her blows aside, laughing.
The sight of it galvanized Jukes. He clenched his fists, heart pounding, not sure what to do. His first impulse was to run down the hill and defend his sister. But the boy looked so tough, so mean. Jukes, even though older and taller, felt afraid.
He stood there for a few seconds, indecisive, burning up inside. When, at last, his rage overcame his fear, he sprang into action. He ran down the field toward them, but it was too late; his few moments of indecision had cost him valuable time.
Cathy had broken away now.
She walked back up the hill with her head down, angry tears streaming, and brushed past Jukes. When he reached out and put his hand on her shoulder she knocked it away so hard it made him yelp.
âGet away from me!â she shouted, the venom in her voice as sharp as broken glass.
He looked down the hill at the boy, who stood there glaring up at him, daring him to come down.
âWhat are you lookinâ at?â the boy sneered. âYou want some, too? Come on, tough guy.â
Jukes turned and followed his sister.
âIâm waitinâ, you pussy!â the boy shouted.
But Jukes kept walking, flushed and frustrated.
That had been so long ago, but it still stung.
What if he had gone down and helped his sister that day? Would she have turned out differently? What if heâd stood up to the boy, win or lose? What if she could have seen that, seen him defend her against the bully? Would she have grown up the same?
Jukes often thought about that scene. It was a painful memory, one that never failed to embarrass and humiliate him. That afternoon by the lake had affected both his and his sisterâs lives in ways that the boy at the dock could never have known.
Jukes changed the channel on the TV to the evening news, hoping to see some sports highlights. The picture tube faintly illuminated the room, and Jukes watched a series of commercials, each one more bizarre than the last. He walked
While Jukes did medical school, Cathy did the town.
Every time he tried to talk to her about it, she turned the tables on him and pointed out his lack of social grace and the fact that, at the age of twenty-three, heâd never actually been on a date.
Those memories were not pleasant, but Jukes didnât fight them. He let them come, searching for answers, looking for connections he hadnât made before. He believed somewhere deep in the fabric of his memory the explanation for Cathyâs behavior lay hidden.
He visualized the small boat dock and the canoe Cathy had loved. The summer afternoon buzzed with insects. Heâd just returned from fishing with Dad. While his father took the fish up to the cleaning table, Jukes doubled back to the dock to get the gear.
As he came over the hill he saw them.
The boy was older than she, maybe eighteen or nineteen, one of the tough-looking locals, with black boots and a white T-shirt. He smoked a red-tipped cigarette that glowed angrily even in the bright sunshine. Jukes had warned Cathy about the boy more than once, but Cathy just laughed.
Jukes hated the way the boy rolled the sleeves of his T-shirt up over his muscles. His jeans were way too tight. He reeked of delinquency.
And here he had Cathy by the arm.
She was shouting at him. Jukes couldnât make out what they were saying, but he could see her face, distorted by anger. The boy pulled her roughly off the dock. She jerked her arm away defiantly.
Then something happened that Jukes would not forget for the rest of his life. The boy hit Cathy. He hit her hard with a closed fist, knocking her down. She tried to get up and run away, but he grabbed her and hit her again. She fought back, kicking and scratching at the boy, but he just swatted her blows aside, laughing.
The sight of it galvanized Jukes. He clenched his fists, heart pounding, not sure what to do. His first impulse was to run down the hill and defend his sister. But the boy looked so tough, so mean. Jukes, even though older and taller, felt afraid.
He stood there for a few seconds, indecisive, burning up inside. When, at last, his rage overcame his fear, he sprang into action. He ran down the field toward them, but it was too late; his few moments of indecision had cost him valuable time.
Cathy had broken away now.
She walked back up the hill with her head down, angry tears streaming, and brushed past Jukes. When he reached out and put his hand on her shoulder she knocked it away so hard it made him yelp.
âGet away from me!â she shouted, the venom in her voice as sharp as broken glass.
He looked down the hill at the boy, who stood there glaring up at him, daring him to come down.
âWhat are you lookinâ at?â the boy sneered. âYou want some, too? Come on, tough guy.â
Jukes turned and followed his sister.
âIâm waitinâ, you pussy!â the boy shouted.
But Jukes kept walking, flushed and frustrated.
That had been so long ago, but it still stung.
What if he had gone down and helped his sister that day? Would she have turned out differently? What if heâd stood up to the boy, win or lose? What if she could have seen that, seen him defend her against the bully? Would she have grown up the same?
Jukes often thought about that scene. It was a painful memory, one that never failed to embarrass and humiliate him. That afternoon by the lake had affected both his and his sisterâs lives in ways that the boy at the dock could never have known.
Jukes changed the channel on the TV to the evening news, hoping to see some sports highlights. The picture tube faintly illuminated the room, and Jukes watched a series of commercials, each one more bizarre than the last. He walked
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