Black Beans & Vice (5 page)

"You're very different now," James had told her one night.

She'd nodded in response and covered his hand with her own.
"When we were married I cared about silly things, like what car I
drove and whether or not I could fit into a size six dress. I had a
great guy and couldn't see you for what you were. I thought our
life didn't measure up somehow. I was a fool, James. A fool who
didn't understand what defines true happiness. With you and Eliot
in my life, I understand the meaning of that word now."

Looking around at his enlarged family, James recalled Jane's
words. He too was amazingly content and the feeling scared him
a little. Suddenly, after years of being unsure of his future, his life
was full of love and hope. What could he do to ensure that nothing
changed?

Luigi's arrival interrupted his trepidations. "AH HA!" He
boomed as his stout form filled the doorway. "I THINK YOU NO
HAVE ENOUGH FOOD FOR ALL THESE PEOPLE, EH?"

James handed him some cash and received the pizzas and Caesar salad in return. "I've got dessert if we're still hungry. Thank
you, Luigi. Have a pleasant evening."

"BUT YOU NO ORDER CHEESECAKE FROM ME! I'VE
GOT SIX KIDS TO FEED!"

"Goodnight!" James called out and shut the door. The adults
were all trying to stifle laughs.

"What's so funny?" Eliot inquired. "Does Mr. Luigi think cheesecake is yucky?"

Jane put an arm around her son's shoulders and pivoted him
toward the bathroom. "We're laughing because Luigi is what we
call a loud talker. Now march down the hall and wash your hands,
please."

While Eliot complied, James poured cold bottles of beer into
chilled pint glasses. Jane placed slices of pizza on the plastic red
and white-checkered plates she'd found at Target and were held in
reserve for the Henry Family Pizza Night. Milla distributed napkins and forks for the salad. These tasks were completed over an
endless stream of female chatter and by the time Eliot joined his
family at the table, his plate had been filled and a glass of cold milk
rested on top of his napkin.

After clinking pint glasses together in a toast, everyone tucked
into their food. The pizza had a thin, crisp crust, mounds of
melted cheese, and tender pieces of pepperoni and sausage. It was
perfection.

"I love pizza night," James declared after swallowing a bite of
crust. At that moment, he looked across the table at Eliot in order
to illicit his son's agreement, but Eliot hadn't eaten a bite. Instead,
he was performing surgery on his pizza, removing the round,
greasy discs of pepperoni and the lumps of brown sausage while
trying to keep the cheese intact.

"What are you doing, buddy?" James questioned. "Is there
something wrong with your meal?"

Eliot shrugged, but didn't say a word.

Jane frowned and laid down her own slice. "Your father asked
you a question, mister."

Tears sprang to Eliot's eyes and though he fought against them,
his effort failed and two little rivulets slipped down his cheeks.
With trembling lips, he cried, "May I be excused?" and without
waiting for permission, scrambled off his chair and ran down the
hall. The stunned adults heard the door to his room slam.

"What in Heaven's Name ... ?" Milla started to rise.

"I'll go," James assured his family. "Please, eat. The pizza will
get cold."

Though he was as flummoxed as the rest of them by Eliot's
outburst, James was secretly glad to have the opportunity to listen to his son's troubles and provide comfort if possible. Knocking
respectfully on the door, James did not wait to be invited in. After
all, his son was four years old and too young to merit privacy.

"What's going on, Eliot?"

The boy, who had been lying facedown on his bed, rolled over
and sniffed. "I don't want to eat meat anymore, Daddy. Are you
gonna make me?"

James had not expected this statement. He was so surprised by
Eliot's confession that he had no idea how to reply. "Um, I don't
know. Why don't you want to eat meat? You've always eaten it before."

Clearly relieved that his father planned to calmly listen to his
reasons, Eliot sat up completely. "Fay Sunray never eats it. She says
it's mean to kill animals for food." His eyes threatened to spill over
again. "I don't want cows to die so I can have a Happy Meal."

Oh boy, James thought. He was absolutely unprepared to
handle the current scenario. Maybe I should have ordered Idiot's
Guide's to Parenting for the library, he mourned. To stall for time,
he said, "Can you tell me about Fay Sunray? I don't know her."

"She's on TV," Eliot replied, his expression quickly morphing
from despair to adulation. "She sings, and shows us yoga, and explains how to take care of the earth and stuff."

"And she's the one you saw perform when you were in Nashville, right?"

Eliot bounced a little bit on the bed. "Yeah! We went last night.
It was awesome!"

"I'm sure it was, son." James looked around the room. "Do you
have a Fay Sunray book or movie or something I could look at? I'd
like to get to know her better."

"Mom bought me the movie, but it hasn't come in the mail
yet." Eliot had been greatly cheered by discussing the entertainer.
"So I'm not in trouble?"

"No, you're not in trouble," James reassured the boy. "Come
back to the table and I'll make you a grilled cheese, okay? We're
going to talk about this some more, but I'd like to tell your mother
what you told me first."

Shifting nervously, Eliot gave James his most plaintive look.
"But she might not like it. Do you have to?"

James nodded solemnly. "Yes I do. Your mother and I are a
team, remember? Different houses, same rules."

Eliot stuck his bottom lip out, mustering up the kind of drama
favored by the very young. "I wish we had just one house. I wish we
could be together all the time!"

Surprised by his son's yearning, James put his hand on Eliot's
back and gently pushed him toward the door. "You can never tell
what the future will bring, kiddo. You can never tell."

COME MONDAY MORNING, JAMES was
still reeling over his son's decision to become a vegetarian. At a quarter to nine,
he unlocked the library's front doors,
rolled the cart of sale books gathered
by the Friends of the Library out of the
supply closet and into the lobby, flipped
on the main light switch, and booted up
all twenty computers. While the machines hummed and blipped
into life, James made a beeline for the parenting books and began
to scan the shelves. He was foolishly hoping to find a quick and
easy answer on how to handle Eliot's request.

James selected several books with chapters on children and
eating, but after reading several paragraphs on how parents should give their progeny a choice about what they'd like to eat before
each meal, he began to grow frustrated. James planned dinners
ahead of time. He didn't wait to ask Eliot what he was in the mood
to eat. He just cooked the boy the same food he was eating and
served him a plateful.

He wondered if he'd been handling dinnertime incorrectly. After all, he was fairly new to parenting and had decided to follow
the same rules and guidelines established by his parents. But the
book in his hands discouraged such old-fashioned child rearing
methods.

"You should encourage a child's natural curiosity about foods
by providing a colorful plate. Shape their food until it looks fun
to eat! For example, you could create a vegetable pizza with a
face made of broccoli and mushrooms or use a cookie cutter to
encourage your kids to eat a heart-shaped tuna and sprout sandwich. Sometimes children don't like different foods to touch on
the plate. Try serving them meals in a Japanese-style divided box
or three, colorful bowls," one psychiatrist advised. "If a child still
resists sampling something on his plate, you should respect his
wishes and take the unappealing food away. Respect and dignity
are an integral part of the parent-child relationship."

James chuckled ruefully. "I'd like to read that paragraph to Pop.
He'd uncap his pen and write this PhD a scathing letter about how
parents are meant to be benevolent dictators and kids are meant
to be polite and obedient, not the other way around. I can't even
imagine what he'd think about the recommendation to serve Eliot's dinner in a Japanese box!"

In fact, Jackson had given James his own parenting advice a few
weeks ago. "You be sure to do the right thing by Eliot," his father had told him. "Don't be too soft. He won't grow into a man if you're a
lily-livered father. Draw the line and give him hell when he crosses
it. That's what makes a man. Not these long-winded reasons why
he can't do this or shouldn't do that. You say, `because I said so,' and
leave it at that. Worked for you and millions of kids before you."

It had taken all Jackson's willpower to remain silent on his
grandson's decision to become a vegetarian. He merely shook his
head with wonder and gave James a look that said, "You'd better
nip this one in the bud."

Jane had also been nonplussed by her son's determination to
change his diet. Once Eliot was asleep in James' house and she
had driven back to Harrisonburg, she and James had spoken on
the phone until late in the night and had decided not to act until
they'd each done some research on the nutritional effects of vegetarianism on such a young child.

Tired as he was, James had been unable to fall asleep afterward
and so he perused the hypnotherapy brochure until he could practically recite the content verbatim.

"At least I'm prepared for my afternoon session with Harmony," James murmured as he examined another parenting book.
"Because I'm not finding an ounce of practical advice on how to
handle this situation with Eliot."

At the sound of someone clearing his throat, James pivoted to
his left and looked up. Scott Fitzgerald, one half of the well-liked
twin brother team working at the library, wore a solemn expression.

"Good morning, Professor." Scott spoke in his "business hours"
whisper, though no patrons had entered the building yet.

Francis Fitzgerald stepped around the corner of the stacks and
stood shoulder-to-shoulder next to his long and lanky brother. Running a hand through waves of untamed brown curls, he nodded a sedate hello. Silently, the twins exchanged worried glances
and then, as though they had rehearsed the movement in a mirror, each young man reached up to push his tortoise shell glasses
farther up the bridge of his nose. If their expressions hadn't been
so lugubrious, James would have found the synchronized gesture
amusing, but he recognized the signs of impending trouble in the
fidgety postures of his two employees.

"Gentlemen. There appears to be a problem." He smiled at
the brothers, letting his fondness for them show through his eyes.
"We've tackled some tough challenges before, so let me know what
we're dealing with and we'll come up with a plan."

Shoulders slumping slightly in relief, Scott held out a sealed
envelope. "This is for you. It's from Mrs. Waxman."

James raised his brows in surprise. He certainly hadn't expected
an issue to arise around his former middle school teacher. Mrs.
Waxman was his only part-time employee. She worked weekday
evenings and every Saturday, managing the library as efficiently as
she'd once run her classroom. A few months ago, James had become aware that Mrs. Waxman was moving slower and looking
more fatigued than she had in the past. She was nearly his father's
age and because he was worried that she might be overdoing it by
working so many hours, he'd asked her if she'd like to cut back.

"This is my home," she'd responded with heat, waving her arm
around the library. "I love this job. No, I do not want fewer hours!"

That was the end of the matter as far as James was concerned.
Mrs. Waxman knew her limits and since he felt exactly as she did
about their work, he'd accepted her answer without argument. But
now, as he tore open the letter and digested the first few lines, he saw that even though Mrs. Waxman would never retire by choice,
circumstance was now forcing her to do just that.