O'Farrell's Law (7 page)

Ellen smiled at him again, gratefully this time. “Nothing, in a practical sense. Just knowing you're around always helps.”

“We're always around,” O'Farrell said sincerely.

Ellen said she still hadn't done any grocery shopping, but Billy protested he didn't want to do something as boring as that, so the two women went off in the rented car, with Jill driving, and O'Farrell used Ellen's car, another Toyota, to take Billy to the theme park nearer into town. He chose Lake Shore Drive because it was a more attractive route than remaining inland, and at the traffic light at its commencement he had to snatch up the emergency brake as well as pump the footbrake to get it to stop. He gasped, frightened, only inches from the car in front. When the lights changed, he set off carefully, taking the inside lane and testing the footbrake again when he was clear enough of following traffic. The only way to stop satisfactorily was to start pumping a long way from where he wanted to halt. He pulled over into a bus stop and got out, able without lifting the hood to hear the whine and shuddering unevenness of the engine.

Back in the car he said to the boy, “Things don't seem too good with the car.”

“Mom says she's going to get it fixed,” said Billy.

“When?”

“Soon.”

O'Farrell drove very slowly, ignoring the horn blasts of protest, and found a service station just at the beginning of the high-rise area. The manager insisted the work would be impossible to do at such short notice, and O'Farrell said it was an emergency and that he guessed it would involve overtime working on the weekend, and after thirty minutes of persuasion the man agreed to take it in. It took another thirty minutes for them to check through the work necessary, the manager clearly impressed with O'Farrell's knowledge of engines.

“Four hundred is only an estimate, you understand?” the mechanic warned.

“Whatever,” said O'Farrell. It gave them carte blanche to rip him off, but so what? The only consideration was getting the vehicle roadworthy over the weekend.

They took a cab to the theme park and O'Farrell indulged Billy on whatever ride he wanted and then let himself be tugged to a store practically next door to be shown the range of electric space vehicles. He bought one that changed from a vehicle to a warrior, like the one Billy already had.

On the way to the park, O'Farrell had seen a restaurant with an open deck stretching toward the lake, so he took Billy back there to eat. They sat outside, the silver-glinting lake to their left, the upthrust fingers of the Chicago skyscrapers to their right. Billy chose a cheeseburger and fries with a large Coke and insisted his new toy should remain on the table between them. O'Farrell ordered gin and tonic and tuna on rye; by the time the food came his glass was empty, so he ordered another.

“Hear there's some nasty things going on at school,” O'Farrell said.

“Huh?” The child's mouth was full of fries.

“Mommy had to come to talk to some people this week?”

“Oh that,” Billy said dismissively.

“What was it about?”

“Drugs,” the boy announced flatly. He moved the toy along the table, toward the Coke container, making a noise like explosions.

“You know what drugs are?”

“Sure,” Billy said, attention still on the spacecraft.

Not yet nine, thought O'Farrell: long-lashed, blue-eyed, red-cheeked with uncombed hair over his forehead and his shirttail poking curiously over his belt, like it always did, and he knew what drugs were. And not yet nine! He said, “What?”

“Stuff that makes you feel funny.”

“Who told you that?”

“Miss James.”

“Your teacher?”

“Uh-huh.” He was biting into his cheeseburger now, ketchup on either side of his mouth.

“What did she say?”

Billy had to swallow before he could reply. “That we were to tell her if anyone said we should try.”

“Would you tell her?”

“Boom, boom, boom,” went Billy, attacking the Coke container. “Guess so,” he said.

“Just guess so!
Has
anyone ever said you should do it?”

“Nope. Can I have a vanilla ice cream with chocolate topping now?”

O'Farrell summoned the waitress and added another gin and tonic to the order. “You know anyone who has tried it?”

“Couple of guys in the next grade, I think.”

Ellen had talked about Nancy Reagan seeking pledges from nine-year-olds, O'Farrell remembered. He said, “What happened?”

“They sniffed something. Made them go funny, like I said.” The toy ceased being a spacecraft and was turned into a warrior so that it could attack from the ground.

“What happened to them?”

“They had to go to the principal. Now they're in a program.”

“You know what a program is?”

“Sure,” Billy said, letting his warrior retreat. “It's when you go and they keep on about you not doing it.”

It was a good enough description from someone so young. O'Farrell said, “You love me?”

Billy looked directly at him for the first time. “Of course I love you.”

“Grandma too? And Mommy most of all?”

“Sure. Dad too.”

What about Patrick? O'Farrell thought for the first time. He'd have to ask Ellen. “I want you to make me a promise, a promise that you'll keep if you love us all like you say you do.”

“Okay,” the child said brightly. The warrior became a spacecraft again.

“If anyone ever comes up to you, at school or anywhere, and tries to get you to buy something that will make you go funny, you promise me you'll say no and go at once and tell Miss James or Mommy? You promise me that?”

“Can I have another Coke? Just a small one.”

O'Farrell caught the waitress's eye again and insisted, “You going to promise me that?”

“ 'Course I am. That's easy.”

“And mean it? Really mean it?”

“Sure.”

O'Farrell felt a sweep of helplessness but decided against pressing any further. Maybe he shouldn't have tried at all. He hadn't suggested to Ellen that he should discuss it with the child; perhaps there was some established way of talking it through—something evolved by a child psychiatrist—and he was being counterproductive by mentioning it at all. He felt another sweep of helplessness.

O'Farrell considered stopping at the service station on the way back to Ellen's apartment, but decided against it; there did not seem to be any point. The women were already home, hunched over more coffee cups at the kitchen table with the debris of a sandwich lunch between them.

“Steak for dinner, courtesy of Grandma!” Ellen announced as they entered.

“Great!” Billy said. “I got a new spaceship! Look!

“Gramps bought it for me. And a vanilla ice cream with a chocolate top!”

“Looks like our time for being spoiled, Billy boy,” Ellen said.

The child scurried into the living room to locate the previous toy and begin a galactic battle; almost at once there came lots of
boom, boom, booms
and a noise that sounded something like a throat clearing.

O'Farrell said, “Your car's in the garage.”

“You had an accident!”

His daughter's instant response caused a burn of annoyance. Never get mad, always stay cool, he thought. He said, “I could have. It's a miracle you haven't. That car's a wreck: at least five thousand miles over any service limit! Didn't you know that?”

“Been busy,” said Ellen. She spoke looking down, her bottom lip nipped between her teeth, and O'Farrell recognized the expression from when she'd been young and been caught doing something wrong.

“Darling!” he said, perfectly in control but trying to sound outraged despite that, wanting to get through to her. “On at least one wheel, possibly two, there are scarcely any brake shoes left at all. Which is hardly important anyway because there was no fluid in the drum to operate them anyway. Two plugs aren't operating at all, your engine is virtually dry of oil, and the carburetor is so corroded the cover has actually split. Both your left tires, front and back, are shiny bald, and your alignment is so far out on the front that any new tire would be that way inside a month.”

“Intended to get it fixed right away,” Ellen said, head still downcast. “The brakes are okay, providing you know how to work them.”

“That car's a deathtrap and you know it!” O'Farrell insisted. “So when was it last in the shop?”

“Can't remember,” Ellen said, stilted still.

“It hasn't been serviced, has it? Not for months!”

“No.”

There was a loud silence in the tiny kitchen. Remembering something else, O'Farrell said, “What about Patrick?”

“What about Patrick?” his daughter echoed.

“You told him about this scare at Billy's school?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that's all it is, a scare,” Ellen said. “Nothing's happened to Billy.”

Don't be sidetracked, thought O'Farrell. “Patrick's got visitation rights, hasn't he?”

“You know he has.”

“Tell me the custody arrangement.”

“You know the custody arrangement!” Ellen said angrily.

“Tell me!”

“Alternative weekends,” Ellen said. “Vacation by arrangement.”

“So Billy was with his father last weekend?”

“No,” Ellen admitted tightly.

“And the time before that?”

“No.” Tighter still.

“Why not?”

A shrug.

“Why not!”

“Patrick's got problems; he got laid off.”

“From the loan company?”

Ellen shook her head. “That was the job before last. He was working on commission, with a group of guys, trying to sell apartments in a renewal development downtown.”

“But he got laid off?”

Ellen nodded.

“When?”

She shrugged uncertainly. “I'm not sure. Three months ago, maybe four. I'm not sure.”

Jill had been listening, her head moving backward and forward like a spectator's at a tennis match. She said abruptly, “Honey, we've been up here twice in the last four months! Why didn't you tell us?”

“My business,” Ellen said, little girl again.

“No, honey,” Jill said gently. “
Our
business.”

“It was all right at first. He kept seeing Billy and …” she trailed away.

“And what!” demanded O'Farrell, guessing already.

“And the payments,” Ellen finished.

“How much is he behind?”

There was another uncertain shoulder move. “Two months.”

“Alimony
and
child support?” O'Farrell pressed.

Ellen nodded. “Actually it's three months.”

“And when did he last want to see Billy?”

“It's not that he doesn't want to see him! He and Jane have two kids of their own now; he's got a lot of priorities.”

“You and Billy are his prior commitments!” O'Farrell insisted. “He married you first. He had Billy first. He owes you first.”

“He asked me to give him a little time, just to sort himself out. Jane's still jealous of me, he says.”

“She's jealous of
you
, for Christ's sake!” Jill erupted. “She was his mistress for a year before she became pregnant to make him choose between the two of you. And you're doing her favors! Come on!”

“Leave it, Mom. Please leave it!”

“You could have died in that car,” O'Farrell said. “Been badly hurt at least.”

“I was saving, to get it done. But I didn't want to fall behind with the mortgage.”

“Have you?” O'Farrell asked. He'd put up the down payment for Ellen for the apartment, believing she could manage the monthly installments.

There was a jerking nod of her head. “Only this month.”

“You still make the same?” O'Farrell asked. Ellen worked as a medical receptionist; she'd cut short her training to be a physiotherapist like her mother in order to marry Patrick. Billy had been born nine calendar months later.

“It averages around a thousand a month; sometimes I work overtime and it comes to a little more.”

“You can't afford to live here on a thousand a month!” Jill said. “You can't afford to live anywhere on a thousand a month. You've got to get Patrick's payments going through the courts, like you should have done in the first place.”

“You can't get what's not there.”

“How do you know it's not there?” O'Farrell asked.

“I know.”

‘Tell me something,” Jill said. “You surely don't think there's a chance of you and Patrick getting back together again, do you? He's got two other children by her!”

The girl's shoulders went up and down listlessly. “I don't know.”

“Would you get back together if he asked you?”

Another shoulder movement. “I don't know.”

O'Farrell and Jill frowned at each other over their daughter's head, shocked by the lassitude. Each tried to think of something appropriate to say and failed.

It was Jill who spoke, with forced briskness, trying to break the mood. “Why don't I make supper?”

Without asking either woman O'Farrell fixed drinks for all three of them. Jill took hers without any critical reaction and didn't comment or even look when he made himself another before they sat down. Largely for the child's benefit, they made light conversation during the meal, and afterward O'Farrell played spacemen with Billy while the women cleared away. The boy was allowed to watch an hour of television, and while Ellen and Jill were bathing him before bed O'Farrell made a third drink, a large one, and kept it defiantly in his hand when Jill came back into the room. She didn't appear to notice it.

By unspoken agreement Ellen's problems weren't raised again during the evening, but the subject hung between them, like a room divider, all the time.