Authors: Joyce Maynard
I hate them both, I said. Frank and my mother. She doesn’t even think about what I might want. Frank pretends to be concerned, but really he just wants to get in good with her.
The sex drug. I told you, Eleanor said.
They think they’re in charge of me.
You just figured that out? Parents are always that way. They like us when we’re babies, but as soon as we have our own ideas that might be different from what they want, they have to shut us up. Like yesterday, this woman called from the school I want to go to, to talk to my dad about whether there might be a way to set him up on a payment plan. I was listening in.
You want to know what he told her?
Actually, my ex-wife and I have decided the best thing for Eleanor at this point is to have her living with a family member. She’s been having issues with an eating disorder, which made us conclude we could monitor her best from home
.
Like he was only thinking about me. Like it had nothing to do with the twelve thousand dollars he didn’t want to come up with, she said.
My mother never even talked to my father about taking me away, I said. She never discussed it with me.
The truth was, one part about the Maritime Province plan that sounded good to me was not having to go out anymore for those Saturday nights at Friendly’s with my father and Marjorie. But my mother shouldn’t have assumed it. She should have consulted me.
Parents have to be the boss of everything, Eleanor said. Once you report this guy and they take him away, that’s really going to stick it to her. You having the power for a change.
Up until then, all I knew was how mad I felt—mad, and a whole lot of other feelings, none of them good. First I was scared that my mother and Frank might be leaving me. Then I felt sort of left out, that I wasn’t the most important person in my mother’s world anymore, and scared, that I didn’t know what would happen. But however I was feeling—even upset as I was—I knew I didn’t want to stick it to my mother. I wanted her to be happy, actually. I just wished she’d be happy with me.
The other part of what Eleanor had said—the part about seeing to it that Frank got taken away—almost made me shiver. I didn’t want to, but I was thinking about playing catch with him. I was thinking about the two of us in the kitchen, the blueberry pancake he made for my mother in the shape of a heart, the way he’d lifted Barry out of the tub that time, and sat him down on the bed after, to cut his fingernails. How he had whistled while he washed the dishes. Saying,
The richest man in America isn’t eating a pie as good as we are, tonight.
Saying,
See the ball, Henry?
I’ve been thinking some more about that idea you had, I said. Even though they did all this stuff, I don’t think I can do something that would send him back to prison. He’d probably have to stay there a long time, if they captured him now. They’d punish him even worse for escaping.
That’s the point, Henry. Remove him, remember? Get him out of your life, Eleanor said.
But he might not deserve to rot in jail forever either, I said. He’s sort of a nice guy, except for wanting to take my mom away. And if he went back to prison, my mother would be really sad. She might not get over it.
For a while she’d be sad, Eleanor said. Eventually she’d thank you for it. And don’t forget the money.
I’m just a kid, I told her. I don’t really need that much money.
Are you joking? she said. You know all the things you could do with that reward? You could buy a car and have it ready for when you get your license. You could buy all this great stereo equipment. You could go to New York City and stay in a hotel. You could even apply to the Weathervane School like I did. I bet you’d love it there.
It just doesn’t seem fair. It’s like being a tattletale. They shouldn’t reward people for doing that kind of thing.
Eleanor tossed her head to get her bangs out of her face and looked at me with her unnaturally large eyes—the only eyes I’d ever seen on a person where you could see the whites all around the iris part, which gave her charisma, but also had the effect of making her look a little like a cartoon character. She reached out a hand and touched my cheek. Stroked my neck. She moved her hand down the front of my shirt, like something she might have seen someone do in a movie. I hadn’t noticed this before, but her fingernails were bitten so low, you could actually see blood on the tips.
She said, One thing I love about you, Henry, is how kind you are. Even to people who may not deserve it. You’re actually tons more sensitive than most girls I know.
I just don’t want anyone to get hurt, I said. I had gotten up off the swing now and walked over to a patch of grass and sat down. She followed me. She grabbed my shoulders and whirled me around so our faces were close enough that I could feel her breath on me.
She kissed me then. Only this time, as it had been in the scene I had dreamed up, I was lying down, not standing up. She was on top of me, with her tongue in my mouth again, but deeper this time, and her other hand moving down my chest, and lower.
Look what happened, she said. I made you get an erection.
This was the way she talked. She could say anything.
We could have sex, she said. I never actually did it before but we have this interesting chemical attraction going on.
She was pulling off her underpants. Purple, with red hearts.
All this time that I’d been thinking about doing it, with no real prospect, and now here it was, but I couldn’t. Nobody was around. But it didn’t feel safe.
I think we should know each other better first, I said. I hated it that when I spoke, instead of my new low voice coming out, it was my old one from sixth grade, the higher one.
If you’re worried about me getting pregnant you don’t need to, she said. I haven’t had my period in months. That means there aren’t any prime eggs hanging around inside me at the moment.
She had her hand on my penis now. She was holding on, as if she was some movie star who had just won an Oscar. Or some local broadcaster on the scene at a car wreck and this was the microphone. That, more so.
You know what will happen if you don’t report him to the police? she said. They’ll take you away and we won’t ever get to see each other anymore. And I’ll be stuck back at Holton Mills Junior High with no friends. I might stop eating entirely, in which case they’d probably send me back to the eating disorder clinic.
I can’t, I told her. I’m too young. I couldn’t believe I said that.
I think my mother and Frank are trying to do the best they can, I told her. It’s not their fault.
You are unreal, she said, standing up and stepping back into her underwear, with those skinny legs of hers that made me think of a chicken wing.
I always knew you were a dork, she said, but I was thinking you had potential. Now it turns out you’re just an idiot.
She had put her dress on. She was standing over me now, brushing the dust off her chest and braiding her hair, from where it had gotten messed up.
I can’t believe I used to think you were cool, she said. You were right all the time. You told me you were a total loser.
T
HAT NIGHT, MY MOTHER SERVED US
Cap’n Andy’s. There were so many fish dinners left, it seemed like a good idea to use up a few.
We sat around the table without talking. My mother had poured herself a glass of wine, and then another, but Frank wasn’t drinking anything. Partway through the meal, I got up and went into the living room. A bunch of actors dressed as raisins were dancing around a giant cereal bowl.
Frank and my mother had mostly packed the car up. The plan was to take off in the morning, after a stop at the bank. One question was how much cash my mother could withdraw, without attracting suspicion. They could use every dollar, but taking that much might be risky, though once they left, it might be impossible to get any more money out of her account. Trying to get it from Canada would tip the authorities off.
I wasn’t tired, but I went upstairs early. My room was mostly bare now. Nothing but an old
Star Wars
poster on the wall and
a certificate from two years ago that said I participated in Little League. Even the clothes we weren’t taking with us, which was most of them, had been boxed up and left next to the Goodwill collection bin. My mother said she didn’t want strangers pawing through our stuff after we were gone. Better to give it away where nobody would know where it came from.
I tried to read but I couldn’t. I was thinking about Eleanor, the sight of her thin brown legs, kneeling over me, and her sharp ribs, her bony elbows pressing down on my chest. I tried putting some different pictures in my head instead—of Olivia Newton-John or the girl from
The Dukes of Hazzard,
or Jill from
Charlie’s Angels,
the sister from
Happy Days,
even. Friendlier types of girls, but I couldn’t stop seeing her face, hearing the sound of her voice.
I made you get an erection.
Dork. Idiot. Loser.
Sometime later, I heard the sound of my mother and Frank coming up the stairs. The other nights, I’d heard them whispering, and sometimes muffled laughter. She would brush her hair, or he’d brush it for her. Then the shower. Water. I couldn’t hear this, but I imagined hands on skin, and one time I had heard a slapping sound, followed by more laughter.
Stop that.
You know you like it.
Yes.
That night, no sounds came from her bedroom. I could hear them climbing into bed, the creak of the springs as they lowered their bodies on the mattress, then nothing. No headboard. No moaning. No bird cries.
I lay there waiting for murmurs of love to come through the wall, but there was nothing. I held my breath, but all I heard
was the sound of my own heart beating. I missed the sound of their voices.
Adele. Adele. Adele.
Frank. Frank.
Adele.
The window was open, but the last of the weekend barbecues and neighborhood parties were over. No ball game; the Red Sox must be off. Up and down the street, the lights in every house were out. No light but the fluorescent blue of the Edwardses’ bug zapper and the faint sizzling sound when a mosquito hit the grid.
W
EDNESDAY
. T
HERE WAS NO COFFEE
that morning. My mother had packed the pot. No eggs on the stove either. We’ll stop on the road, she said. Once we got out on the highway.
It was one of those moments again where for just a second you forget what’s going on, when you first open your eyes. Waking up in my room with everything gone, it took me a second to know where I was, even. Then I did.
We’re leaving, I said. I wasn’t talking to anyone. I just wanted to hear the words. The sound of my voice was different, in an empty room, with the rug rolled up and my stuff gone. On my desk was the envelope with the note for my father, that I stuck in my pocket. Otherwise, nothing.
It was raining, the sky a dull inky gray. I thought about the boxes of books and clothes we’d left outside next to the Good
will shed last night. They’d be no good now. But it was a relief that the heat had finally broken.
Someone was in the shower. Frank, from the sound of it, because I heard whistling. I went downstairs. It was still very early, six o’clock maybe, but I could hear my mother moving around.
She was standing in the door to the mudroom. She had on a pair of checkered pants she’d had for as long as I could remember. I realized how thin she’d gotten lately.
I have some bad news.
I looked at her. I tried to imagine what my mother would consider bad news. Not the same things as normal people.
It’s Joe, she said. When I went to carry his cage out to the car, he wasn’t moving. He was just lying there.
I ran to the mudroom.
He’s just tired, I told her. He doesn’t like to run around a lot when it’s hot. He was nibbling around in my hand last night when I picked him up to say good night.
He was lying on the newspaper. His eyes were open, but they were staring, and his paws were stretched out in front of him like a superhero in the flying position. His tail was curled under him, and his mouth was slightly open, as if he’d wanted to say something.
You killed him, I said. The two of you. You never wanted Joe to come with us, so you figured you’d get rid of him.
You don’t believe that, she said. You know I’d never do anything like that. Neither would Frank.
Oh yeah? If I recall correctly, he let his own kid die.
Out in the yard it was still mostly dark. The rain made it hard to get my shovel in the earth. The ground was heavy with mud.
While I was digging the grave for Joe, I reconsidered my decision not to call the police. I didn’t care about getting the stuff in
the SkyMall catalog anymore. I just wanted to punish the two of them. Reporting Frank to the police would do that all right.
I swear to you, my mother said. She had followed me out to the yard. I would never hurt anything you loved.
I started digging. I thought about the story she’d told me that time, when I was young, and she explained why I was an only child. I pictured her out in the yard at our old house, my father’s house, digging a hole with a trowel, laying in the ground the blood clot, wrapped in a cloth handkerchief, that was going to be my brother or sister. And the other time: the cigar box with Fern’s ashes inside.
Frank was there too now, only when he started to come closer, my mother pushed him back.
Henry might just want to be alone, she said.
At first, when I set out down the street, I didn’t know where I was going, but I kept walking a long time. Partway there, I realized I was headed to my father’s house.
Standing outside in the yard, I could see a light in one of the upstairs windows. My father would be up already, sitting in the kitchen alone with his coffee, reading the sports page. Marjorie would come down in a minute to heat the water for Chloe’s bottle, that she still liked first thing when she got up.