“Did you see the announcement in the newsletter at today’s service? Confirmation classes begin in March. I think it’s time someone attended.”

      From the car’s rear seat, he watched with alarm as his father shifted gears, then nodded in agreement. 

      “But what about hockey?” 

      His mother turned her head and stared at him. “The classes are every Wednesday. You don’t play hockey then.” 

      As an infant, he’d had no say in his baptism sixteen years earlier, and by now, Paul Mathews knew enough not to argue with his parents.
‍

      On the first day of classes, a hand-made sign pointed downstairs towards the church basement. Three boys and four girls looked up as he traipsed across the room and slumped down on one of the folding chairs arranged in a circle. He checked his watch and thought about where he’d rather be. 

      Reverend Barnes appeared, wearing a dark suit and white collar. “We’ll start in a moment,” he announced. “A group has just arrived from the girls’ training school and will be with us shortly.” 

      As Paul surveyed the mint-coloured walls and grey concrete floor, a dozen teenage girls suddenly trooped into the room and filled the remaining chairs. He had never seen any of them before. They were residents of a juvenile detention centre and not allowed to attend the local high school. This was one of their rare outings. 

      At the minister’s urging, everyone introduced themselves. Paul’s attention was drawn to a girl named Eva. She wore a pale blue short-sleeved sweater highlighting her black hair and olive skin. He noticed a crude star tattooed on her inner arm just above the wrist. She surveyed her new surroundings with an air of bored detachment. 

      He tried not to stare but soon succumbed. It was so easy to be smitten in seconds, and he often was. But acting on those feelings was another matter, thanks to an awkward shyness.

      The girls were carefully chaperoned, arriving just before class and departing shortly after. Every week, they sat next to each other in the circle. Eva was always somewhere in the middle. One day, after showing up later than usual, he wandered over to the only empty chair and sank down beside her. 

      An attendance sheet was circulated at the beginning of each class. As Eva passed it on, he tumbled into hazel eyes and emerged below a slim nose and slightly flared nostrils on lips that were tantalizingly ripe in the middle before tapering off and turning up at the corners of her mouth, giving the impression she was either pouting or about to crack a smile. His musing dissolved when she pushed the tip of a sharpened pencil into his other hand. He caught the trace of a smirk as it snaked across her lips.

      The following week, the girls didn’t leave right after class but remained in the church basement. The vehicle that picked them up had broken down, and they were waiting for alternative transportation to arrive. 

      Paul was to meet Reverend Barnes about leading off next week’s class, but the minister was speaking to another student, so he went to the washroom.

      As he came out, Eva was headed to the girls’ restroom next door. They passed each other, and his left arm brushed against her shoulder.

      “Sorry.”

      Their faces were inches apart. 

      “Your name’s Paul, isn’t it?”

      “Uh-huh.” 

       “I’ve seen you looking my way. Is there something wrong with me?” 

       “No…no, you’re fine.”

      She eyed him for a moment and wound a strand of black hair around her finger. 

       “Is there anyone in the boys’ washroom?” 

      A muscle spasmed in his lower back. 

       “No, why?” 

      Her pout turned into a smile. 

      “Do you want to go in there?”

      A bead of sweat ran down his arm. 

      “You and me?”

      She nodded.

      “Okay.” 

      With no one in sight, he followed her in. She headed to the end cubicle opposite the urinals. 

      After he entered the stall with her, she pushed the door shut and locked it, then wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips were soft, her breath minty.

      “Be quiet. We don’t want anyone to know I’m in here.”

      He just wanted to kiss her again. 

      Eva turned around, lowered the toilet seat cover, and guided him onto it. She straddled him, her feet dangling off the floor, then bent forward, and her breath warmed his face. This time, the kiss lasted longer. 

      The outer door to the washroom swung open. 

      “Mr. Mathews, are you in here?” 

      He struggled to find his voice. “Yes, Reverend Barnes. I’ll be with you in a minute.” 

      The door slammed shut.

      Eva’s eyes widened. She put a finger to her lips, then whispered in his ear, telling him to head off with the minister. She would follow when the coast was clear. 

      Before dismounting, she leaned forward and gently pressed her lips against his.
‍

      The next day, the local newspaper reported that a girl from the training school had escaped while attending religious instruction at a downtown church. Eva Addington was the name under the photo. 

      Paul’s father showed him the article and asked if she was in his class. 

      He was staring at the black-and-white picture when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

      “Well, yes or no?” 

      A sigh escaped. “Yes.” 

      “She’s a good-looking girl,” his dad said, “but you can’t always judge an apple by its shine.”  

      After his parents settled down to watch the evening news, he retrieved the paper from the garbage, cut out the article and retreated to his room.

      In late May, having completed the classes, he took his First Communion. To celebrate the occasion, his parents gave him a Bible. He stuffed it in a dresser drawer. 

      A week later, his mother asked if he was making good use of his gift. 

      “I pick it up every night at bedtime.”

      She beamed. 

      He didn’t mention the photo underneath.
‍

      Five decades and a failed marriage later, he was flicking channels in the front room of his tiny apartment and noticed a documentary about an investigation into allegations of sexual abuse by staff members at several girls’ and boys’ training schools in the 1960s and 70s. Curious, he taped the program.

      The next day, after eight hours spent pounding sidewalks and climbing stairs to deliver packages, he lacked the energy to prepare a meal and shoved a block of frozen lasagna in the microwave. 

      Later, seated in his beige recliner, a cup of tea on the side table, he settled in to watch the program. There were testimonies from two women who had been residents of the training school in his hometown about the abuse they had suffered. He paused the program, dumbfounded by what he had just seen.

      Suddenly, his memories of a youthful innocence seemed tainted. The Saturday mornings in September spent with his buddies playing touch football on the field adjacent to the high school. The pure joy of it all. Laughing and joking. Cheering that unexpected catch or the quick deke to the right to avoid being caught. While less than a mile away, this other world existed, one he knew nothing about. 

      He pushed the play button on the remote. The second woman interviewed had shoulder-length grey hair and was wearing a black sweater. Fleshy pouches nestled below her eyes. Sagging skin surrounded her chin. The voice was gravelly, like that of a long-time smoker. Her fingers were entwined, one thumb moving up and down the other as she spoke. There was a nervousness about her.

      “I ran away once, shortly after my arrival and was free for a week before they tracked me down. That’s when it got bad for me.

       “You’re a teenager, locked in there, and the guards come by regularly at night to check on you. Some took advantage of that. You’re told to keep quiet, and it will all be over soon. 

      “If you resisted, they could write you up for some phoney infraction. So, you learned to do what was asked and tried to move on.

      “After a while, I wanted to end it all.” 

      She pulled up a sleeve, turned over her wrist, and pointed to a jagged white line. 

      Paul noticed something else as well. He leaned forward in his chair. There was a faded star beside the scar. He couldn’t believe what he’d seen, stopped the program and rewound it, then watched the sequence again.

      It had to be Eva!

      He froze her image and studied it, then returned to the start of the interview and checked the name at the bottom of the screen. Evangeline Drabowski. That must be her married name.

      Moisture slid down his cheeks. He didn’t know if it was relief to see she’d survived and could tell her story or if it was sorrow and shame at what had happened to her. But now the tears were flowing. He wiped his eyes and stared at the screen. At Eva.

      God, how she’d changed. He rose, walked to the bathroom, grabbed a tissue, and blew his nose. Looking into the mirror above the sink, he no longer saw a sixteen-year-old boy. The changes were not flattering.  

      He returned to his chair and watched the remainder of the program. It explained that a collective case had been brought against the government seeking compensation for the abuse suffered by girls and boys held in the training schools. 

      If only he had known about this, maybe he could have helped her. Then it dawned on him. Without intending to, perhaps he had. At least for the one week of freedom during that hellish period of her life. 

      He wished Eva and the others well. No compensation could wash away what they had suffered. But if the acknowledgement that what had happened to them was wrong brought a sense of relief, all the better. 

      He’d like to reach out and tell her that. Provide some kind of support. Maybe he could find out where the hearing was taking place and show up. Would she be there? Would she recognize him? He was sure she would remember their meeting, though maybe not with the same nostalgia.

      According to the program, the hearing was to begin within the next year. He’d follow the newspaper and check online each week, then decide what to do when the time came.

      He turned off the television, walked into the bathroom and washed his face with warm water, then studied himself again in the mirror. After brushing his teeth, he lumbered down the hallway to his bedroom, a weight that wasn’t there before heavy on his shoulders.