Thomas Scott
IT WAS A little incredible, how persuasive Amato could be. He employed his way with words to convince an older gentleman heading to the grocery store to give them a lift in the direction of the Zhous.
Before getting in the car, Amato turned to Thomas and said, “Keep quiet.”
Thomas nodded and followed the order as Amato spun a tale about how they were driving and the car broke down and thank you so much for picking them up and they just had to get home because their mother was sick and they called a cab and it never showed up…
Thomas just looked out the window and stared at the island flashing by.
It didn’t seem like such a scary place anymore.
A lot of people like to knock Staten Island. But for Thomas, it was perfect: Not too busy, not too quiet. Just right.
And even when he was a stranger, he felt like he belonged. He hated the thought of losing that, of his life changing so drastically that it would suddenly become unrecognizable. Now he was innocent. For sure innocent.
He could stay, and without a cloud of suspicion hanging over his head. He could go into stores without being treated like scum.
The relief he felt at that—he didn’t even know how to describe it. It was the best thing he’d ever felt.
As they got close to the Zhous’ house, the car moved slower and slower. After two blocks they saw flashing lights and emergency vehicles. A police car drove past them, and Thomas thought he saw Billy’s mom’s face flash in the window before the car turned the corner. Amato had the driver duck down a side street to avoid the mess.
The rain tapered off and Thomas smiled. The air had never tasted so sweet.
“So, I guess we’ll just talk to the cops who are already there,” Amato said. “I don’t even know where to start with all of this.”
Thomas didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. He knew he should be angry. Those people had tried to kill him. All he ever tried to do was be nice to those children, to give them a nice and clean place to play. And his reward was being hunted like an animal, nearly driven from the place he’d called home his entire life.
And yet, he was so happy to be alive, so happy this was over, he couldn’t be upset.
Instead he thought about what that must be like—to lose a child. Thomas didn’t have children, but he saw the bond that existed between parents and children. The way a mother’s face would brighten when she picked up her baby from day care. The pride a father would take in learning his son had stood up or taken a step.
It’s a hurt he would never know, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was probably worse than whatever he’d been through.
It made him think about his own parents, and how much he missed them after they were gone. The hole it had left in the center of him, but even then, it fit within a natural order to things.
People died every day. Parents and loved ones and friends and strangers.
But parents shouldn’t have to bury their children.
They reached the Zhous’ house and saw the parents assembled around an ambulance.
“Time to get started,” Amato said. “I’m going to look for the officer in charge. Do you need me to get you a paramedic?”
“No cops,” Thomas said.
Amato put his hand on his shoulder and arched his eyebrow. “What? They tried to kill you. They tried to kill me.”
“Can you blame them?”
Amato’s eyes went wide. “Yes, I can blame them!”
“I’m not splitting up a family,” he said. “I don’t want to press charges.”
“Now wait a minute—”
“And you shouldn’t, either. We can live with this. Look at what they have to live with.”
Thomas held up his hand, gesturing across the street, at John Junior’s mom and dad. At Mei’s mom and dad. Jian was there now, holding tight to his mother, hiding his face, sobbing.
Thomas watched as John Junior’s dad and Mei’s dad hugged. Two men who could barely stand each other a short while ago, come together now.
And yet, despite the resolution they had reached, they all still looked so sad.
Everything that had happened here—it seemed to make them realize some things they needed to realize. And that was a good thing. But it would never take away the hurt and emptiness.
Amato shook his head and started to say something, but John Junior’s dad had noticed them. Thomas didn’t wait to hear what Amato had to say. He crossed the street, cutting between police officers and neighbors, until he reached the parents.
They looked up at him, their eyes filled with terror and regret.
John and Paul stopped a few feet away from Thomas.
“I know what we did was wrong,” John Junior’s dad said, putting his hands up. “I can never…I just…I don’t know what to say. But please, our wives—”
“Please say it was just us,” Mei’s dad said. “I’m begging you. We’re begging you. It has to be us.”
“We should pay the price,” John Junior’s dad said, tears forming in his eyes and rolling down his face. “They shouldn’t. We don’t deserve your mercy. We really don’t. But we have to ask for it.”
Thomas’s throat grew thick, his breath catching in his chest.
He looked at the two desperate men, and past them, at their wives, their faces drenched in terror. Realizing that this was the moment when everything would change.
These men were so broken, he wasn’t even afraid of them anymore.
Thomas raised his hand and John Junior’s dad winced, but Thomas just held his hand out, palm and fingers straight. After a moment John Junior’s dad reached out and took his hand, shaking it cautiously, completely unsure of what was happening.
“I am so sorry about what happened to your children,” Thomas said. “I can’t imagine what that must be like.”
John Junior’s dad’s face spread into a wide smile and he fell into Thomas, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close. The man was shaking, and Thomas couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying, but he held tight, and then Mei’s dad joined them, throwing his arms around them and saying “Thank you, thank you,” over and over.
The three of them stood there, in the middle of the street, their fractured existence slowly knitting back together, destined to remain heavily scarred but at least with the possibility of healing on the horizon.
And as they stood there, his face buried in John Junior’s dad’s shoulder, Thomas could feel the warmth of the sun on his back.