Chapter 2A: Attempting amends

A/N: thanks to Jim for editing!
Another A/N: special thanks to Mary, too.

"Minor consumption, disturbing the peace, resisting arrest--assault! Those are only some of the charges I should be racking you and your friends up with right now! Nelson Larmont, what the hell were you thinking?"

I held my head in my hands as I sat in a very uncomfortable blue, plastic chair, the kind they made us use in junior high. I felt like I couldn't move at all. Everything was spinning. Everything hurt. I was also pretty sure that I was going to puke soon, and I had nothing to say for myself.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Ray."

I cleared my sore throat and forced myself to look upwards at the tall man standing over me in a western-style black hat that matched his beige-and-black uniform that included a nice, shiny badge and a gun on his belt. With his left hand, the one where he wore simple gold wedding band, he tugged at his thick, scruffy beard, as red in color as my mother's hair. His dark blue eyes, which usually appeared half-closed and tired were narrowed sharply on me as he regarded me with a worried but definitely furious expression over his sharp, masculine features.

Before now, I'd never actually known that the only perk I got as the sheriff's nephew was while everyone else had to wait in holding cells, I got to sit in his office--the small, windowless room with a standard metal desk, gloomy gray carpeting, and a door that faced the main office of the Heywell City Police Department. But that wasn't saying much. I'd never actually been in my uncle's office before, and I decided that it was just as gloomy as the holding cells. The only thing he'd done to brighten it up was pin an unframed photograph of my Aunt Patty and six-month-old cousin, Jay on an otherwise bare, white wall, right next to one of the three black filing cabinets. The picture had been taken at our house. I recognized the apple tree they were standing under, it was the closest to the back deck, where the goat liked to hang out. Also, I wasn't handcuffed anymore. But I had a feeling that the only reason for that was that my uncle hadn't felt like holding the metal waste basket when I was puking into it thirty minutes ago.

It was now three in the morning, and my Uncle Ray was just beginning to sort things out. He'd been able to call Haily's mom, because all she'd been caught doing wrong was being drunk, and he could release her with a ticket; but the rest of us were a little more complicated because of our various charges. All I knew was that parents had been called, but no one knew if we were going to be allowed to go home or not. This was probably the most unsettling experience that I'd ever gone through.

"You're sorry?" Ray responded, exasperated. "Nelson, were you even thinking?"

"No," I said honestly, and he sighed. "Did you call my parents?" I asked.

"And tell them you're in jail on your birthday? She'd have my head!" he ranted, sitting back on his gray desk, and I looked at him, surprised. "She'll get a call in the morning," he said quickly. "But for now, you're spending the night here. Now, tell me what happened. I need to know everything and your friends aren't being helpful."

I looked at him, a little uncertainly.

"Nelson..." he started, sounding stern, and I let out a breath.

"We had too much to drink," I admitted. "We were at my party."

"All six of you?"

I felt confused for a moment as I did the math in my head, and then shook it.

"Just me, Haily, Joe and Caleb... the other guys..."

"Haven't been drinking," Ray said as he looked down at some of the paperwork on his desk. "Do you know their names? I've only got ID off one of them and the other says he won't talk without a lawyer." Ray looked somewhat amused by that, and a little annoyed as he shook his head. "James Graham?" he said, lifting one of the five licenses spread out over his desk. "Do you know him?"

"He goes by Jame--and he's a jerk," I added dutifully.

Ray sighed again.

"Okay, Nels. I need you to tell me happened, from beginning to end."

I groaned to myself, and then clutched my stomach when it churned beneath my hand.

"Can I throw up again first?"

I trusted my Uncle Ray. But, it still felt pretty damn wrong to tell him what had happened that night. I felt like I was getting my friends into even more trouble, but I tried to be as honest as possible, and hoped that being honest was the right thing to do. Or at least, mostly honest.

I told him about the lake first, and buying the painting there. He quickly tied it to the art scattered on the street in Stratfort, but let me get to that part on my own. I explained that we were there because Joe wanted to show us... something. It seemed unnecessary to mention Andre Louer's naked aunt, but I confessed about the security car and running from it, apologizing because it had been a stupid thing to do. I also reminded my uncle that most of us had had too much to drink, and he pointed out that that included Joe, too, who'd failed a breathalyzer. This little fact pissed me off because Joe was supposed to be our designated. Pot was one thing, but to me, drinking for him was quite another. It did explain a lot, though. It also made it easier for me to tell my uncle how Joe had decided to play chicken with those crates. I explained that everyone else in the car told him to stop. But in the end I also told Ray that Joe was just trying to scare Jame, and that I truly believed that he didn't mean anything by it.

When it came to Jame and Milo--I told Ray I thought that's what his name was--it would have been easy to hang them out to dry, to just say that we were attacked. But instead, I found myself explaining that they were provoked. Except Jame and that car jack. That was just uncalled for. But when it came to Ray asking me why one of the deputies had to pull Milo off of me, I insisted that it was a misunderstanding, and even if I was scratched up from head to toe--torn clothing, scrapes on my knees and elbows, and plenty of bruises that stuck out easily on my fair skin--Milo wasn't at fault.

I just couldn't blame him. I wanted to think that he attacked me because I'd fallen into him, and it really had been a misunderstanding. But, I had no idea if that would be true. All I knew was that I'd seen the look on his face as he stood over all of those beautiful, detailed paintings of a place that I loved, that I'd had a part in destroying. I didn't want to blame him for anything. And I wasn't about to admit that part of that was because I was drunk and severely attracted to him.

Holding cells sucked. Just saying, is all. Uncomfortable, small spaces with cement benches that weren't even long enough to lie down on. And it really sucked to know that my friends were right there next to me, separated by thick, gray, stone walls, and I wasn't even allowed to talk to them. So, eventually I passed out, sitting on the cold floor. The room spun less when I was on the floor.

The next time I woke up, my uncle was opening the barred door and telling me that it was morning. But with the only light being the fluorescent bulbs hanging from the ceiling, I couldn't tell the difference. I was nauseous, everything was sore, and I hurt more than I had before I passed out. I was so uncomfortable, that the fact that I was in a shitpot full of trouble, was the last thing on my mind when Uncle Ray took me back to his office and told me to drink some orange juice and eat a plain, dry bagel. It was when he sat down on the other side of his desk and started on more paperwork that I finally realized how quiet things had gotten.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, attempting to swallow the last bite of my bagel. It was helping my stomach feel better, but it hurt to swallow just about everything at the moment.

"Home," he said simply.

I stared at him in confused silence. "Caleb and..."

"Home," he repeated. "Their parents got here a few hours ago."

"Oh... so, am I going to jail?"

Ray lifted his blue eyes from his work, seeming annoyed as he silently looked me over.

"I called your mom this morning and told her I'd bring you home when I'm done here."

"Okay... so how much trouble am I in?" I asked. My head hurt and I was confused. I wanted to tell him to just get to the point, but it seemed that I was on thin ice as it was. If Ray wanted to keep me in suspense, he was going to keep me in suspense. I frowned and sipped the rest of my orange juice as he continued to scratch at the papers in front of him with a ballpoint pen.

"Thompson Trust," he finally said, and when I looked up I found his eyes on mine.

"Huh?"

"The kid you call Milo, is Thompson Trust Junior."

"I'm not following you," I admitted. Thompson? I preferred Milo, I think.

"Thompson Trust," Ray continued. "As in Trust Homes, and Trust Financial... Thompson Trust, who donated a large portion of that park the city built on your dad's land... Nelson, he's the man responsible for putting up all those houses in the neighborhood you and your friends decided to terrorize last night."

I had to think about it for a minute. Thompson Trust. Trust in Thompson Trust to bring you home. Trust homes. Okay, the name was starting to ring a bell. I definitely remembered TV ads in there somewhere. Thompson Trust...

And as I finally put the face to the name I thought of green eyes and dark hair on a man in his forties, always wearing a tie. His poster was up in the bank that I kept my money in and my mother had once said, and I quote: "He's so dreamy." Thompson Trust. Thompson Trust. The closest thing we had to a local celebrity in Haywell was Thompson Trust.

"That's Milo's dad?" I asked in disbelief. Honestly, despite the fact that they were both gorgeous, I didn't see it. Thompson Trust was all business. All money. He was the kind of guy you assumed had diamonds on his pillow case; and as I thought about it, it was a well-known fact that he was a bachelor, if you didn't count his recent engagement announcement in the paper. I didn't see him having a son, especially one who drove around in a dented old Honda and sold paintings for twenty-five bucks a piece at Hangman Cove just like any other vendor.

"Tommy."

"What?"

"Mr. Trust was calling him Tommy. I assume that's his name," Ray explained.

"Oh." I really did like Milo better. Tommy sounded like a little boy who'd wreck your sand castle. Just didn't fit. Lick-me-Milo sounded much better. "Um... so does Mr. Trust have get-out-of-jail-free cards?" I asked tentatively, and Uncle Ray rolled his eyes at me as he removed his hat, revealing a head full of thick red hair which was sticking up all over the place, before he stood up and walked around his desk so that he was directly in front of me. I shifted in the uncomfortable plastic seat as he sat back on his desk and crossed his arms.

"Let's just say Mr. Trust knows the kind of people that you'd want to know, being in your situation. He'd like to keep the matter quiet, and so would everyone else, I think," Ray explained, and I nodded in agreement. "So, here's what we're going to do for you, Nelson. You're going to be ticketed for minor consumption. You have to pay the fine, or you'll end up in court." He waited for confirmation from me, so I nodded. "And starting tomorrow, you will be reporting here at six a.m. every single day for the next three weeks until school starts."

"Six?" I incredulously repeated, but immediately shut up when Uncle Ray narrowed his eyes on me. He was right. I was in no position to argue. "Okay... six a.m.," I agreed quickly.

"You'll be here, or somewhere else, every day until three p.m. volunteering your time for community service. You don't get sick days, so if you're late, you'll make up the time at the end of the day, and for each day you miss, you spend two locked up during spring break when that comes around. I don't think I need to tell you how disappointed I am, Nelson."

I let out a breath. I already felt guilty. And horrible. And sick. The sick part was my hangover, I decided; but still, I understood what Ray was saying, and I really was sorry. I had a feeling that I'd be saying that a lot in the near future.

"I am sorry," I insisted. "And nothing like this will ever, ever happen again. I swear."

"It better not," he said sternly. "You're very lucky right now."

I nodded, and then lifted my eyes, regarding him curiously.

"What about everyone else?" I asked.

"I'm sure you can ask them that the next time you see them," Ray responded, and then shook his head at me once more. "Go wash up as much as you can in the bathroom. I'm going to call your mom and tell her we're on our way."

My mom wasn't a disciplinarian. Neither was my dad. I'd never been grounded. In fact, the worst I'd ever been punished was when I was twelve and they made me sit in the corner after Caleb and I had decided it would be fun to cut Haily's hair to make her look more like one of us. In our defense, she'd asked us to do it. It was her mom that hadn't liked the outcome, and for that reason, Caleb and I were held accountable. He had to do odd chores around his house for an entire week; I got sent to stand in the corner for ten minutes.

So now my parents were at a loss when it came to what they should do with me. They seemed more worried than anything, though. I got hugs from both my mom and my dad before they told me to shower and go to bed. They still planned on having the barbeque, and they wanted to make sure that I was rested enough for it. They told me that they'd want to know everything when I was feeling better, and I'd never been more grateful for their patience. Once I was clean, and I'd erased a very vile taste from my mouth, I was in bed, my white comforter pulled over my head, and passed out in moments.

Waking up wasn't very easy to do an hour before I was supposed to make an appearance at my own party. My headache was going away, and some of the aches in my muscles, but as last night caught up to me, I felt worse than ever. The fact that my friends and I had gotten ourselves into a situation like that angered me. But thinking clearly now, I also knew that it served us right, the way we'd been acting. Like a bunch of fucking idiots. And Joe... I was trying really hard not to be angry at Joe, but that fact that he'd lied to us about having had something to drink, and the way he'd made a sport out of destroying something like Milo's--or Tommy's--paintings were both strikes against him. It was just a situation where his good looks weren't going to bring him any leniency.

Leniency. I doubted that everyone else's parents had been as patient and understanding as mine. It occurred to me as I got dressed, making sure to wear long sleeves to hide any unseemly bruises, that I had no idea what was happening to any of my friends, and that just made me feel worse. I called Caleb first, but didn't get an answer. I would have called Joe, but I was afraid I'd start yelling at him on the phone. I tried Haily. Her mom answered, but wouldn't let me talk to her. Then, Mrs. Geld told me she was disappointed in all of us, but they'd see me at six for the barbeque. Haily was going to be there. I hoped that Caleb and Joe would be, too.

Chad showed up with Leanna around five-thirty, just in time to hear me tell my parents what had happened. We chose to sit in the living room for this. It was a lot like the family room, but without all of the animals. And, it was just as comfortable as the kitchen with soothing colors of blue and green mixed into the soft sofa that wrapped around two of the walls, all covered with family portraits and photographs of various family members from my mom's side, and my dad's. The furry white rug covering the hardwood floor tickled my bare feet as I sat on the armchair that matched the sofa and told my family my story. It didn't get easier, either, knowing that they already knew the outcome.

Every time I mentioned that we'd been drinking, Chad would raise a pierced eyebrow at me, likely suspecting that we'd had more than alcohol. Later, I'd likely tell him that he was right, but any drug use I did partake in, was not something that I discussed with my parents. It ranked right up there with sex. Unless they were giving me the safe-sex or don't-do-drugs talks, I didn't even bring it up. Drinking was something I could 'fess up to, though. They were aware that I'd been drunk at parties before, but they also knew that in the past I'd called them for rides when I knew I couldn't make it home on my own.

Next to Chad, Leanna was being a supportive ear, giving me sympathetic looks every time I apologized. She'd always been really good at that. She was one of those approachable people that you felt like you could talk to. Chad had managed to find a girlfriend who was shorter than he was and just above five feet; Leanna's short blonde hair, thick glasses and petite features gave her an innocent, nonjudgmental appearance that made her the easiest to face.

My dad just sat in his favorite leather recliner, the only piece of furniture we had that my mom actually hated, looking concerned, and as if he were concentrating hard on every word I was saying as he adjusted his boxed-shaped glasses every once in a while. He was also the one who kept the conversation on track when my mom became more concerned with what I'd actually done for fun on my birthday, than what I'd done to get in trouble on it.

I guess as far as conversation went, it wasn't as terrible as it could have been. My parents ultimately decided that I'd made a mistake, and since I felt like I'd definitely learned from it, they told me that community service, and having to work nights on the weekends at the bakeries for my dad was going to be punishment enough. Except, working in the bakeries really didn't count because I was getting paid for it, and I worked in the bakeries all the time, anyway. I think my dad just threw that in there because I kept telling them they could ground me if they wanted to.

I agreed that I'd be paying the fine for my minor-consumption ticket.

The deck on the back of our house could fit over twenty people on it, the way it wrapped all the way around the back of the house. It was all wood, and my dad would re-stain the entire thing maple every two years. The deck had been the last addition that his grandmother made to the house before she passed away. Now, it was home to my dad's gas grill, one of his favorite toys, and two years ago in October when my mom had inherited the goat from a neighbor who passed away, my dad and I had built a small, insulated, gated shed on the east end of it the day after my mom announced that she'd be bringing the goat into the house if it started snowing.

The back of our house was a good place for parties, especially in the summer when everything was green and the apple trees were in bloom; and because we were on the hill, and the terrain was anything but flat, all we could see looking out was fields. It was peaceful, and quiet. Since I'd lived there, we'd had two weddings in the back. One was for my Uncle Ray when he married my Aunt Patty, and one was for one of my mom's girlfriends. My mom had planned both weddings, and they'd both been so perfect that my dad always teased her about changing professions. Chad insisted that she shouldn't be encouraged, but I'd bet that was because my mom had been planning his and Leanna's wedding ever since Chad brought her home for dinner.