The Dwelling: A Novel (30 page)

“That Peter makes the right choices regarding action. In short, we don’t want him to develop a reputation for fighting, even if it is fighting back.”

“I see. And did you make this same speech to the other boys’ mothers?” Barbara frowned and held the telephone in a stiff grip.

“Peter is a new face in the school. My concern right now is for his educational experience as a whole. I want him—as I’m sure you do as well—to make his start at Middleton School a step in the right direction.” Then he added, like an afterthought, “Have you ever considered a fitness program for him?”

Barbara paused for a long time, her face red with embarrassment for, and of, Petey. She pictured, briefly, the whole school turned against her boy. She was flustered.

“Mr. Hadley, I would appreciate your calling the parents of the other boys involved. As for the other, that’s none of your business. But it seems to me that because Pe
ter
is new at your school, then you should give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s just a little boy,” she said, near tears. She took a deep breath and said, more softly, “Petey’s had a difficult year. A little compassion wouldn’t hurt.” Then she hung up, afraid that if she didn’t, she would start crying and make this whole thing something larger than it was. Creating memos and meetings at the school. She forgot to ask the names of the other boys, but wondered if they were the same boys from the other day, or if the whole school was populated with demons.

Barbara sat on the front step and waited for Petey to come home. It was just before four o’clock and the first really nice sunny day she could remember since moving in. Kids were just starting to come down the street, mostly teenagers. She saw few kids Petey’s age.

A fitness program.

Her blue Volvo station wagon was parked across the street and kids disappeared behind it as they walked, emerging from the other side. The midsize car looked smaller than it was compared to the minivans and SUVs that would be parked up and down the street after five o’clock. Right then it reigned supreme. She and Dennis had bought a Blazer several years earlier, but he’d gotten that, having claimed it pretty much as his own the day they’d brought it home. It had made sense at the time, of course, because he had done most of the driving, and also wanted the new vehicle for work. She only drove it to take Petey somewhere or to pick up groceries, or to go shopping. The cargo space in the station wagon was better than the Blazer’s. The station wagon became “hers,” the Blazer “his” (although both were in his name). She wished she had it now, so that at least her car would blend in the neighborhood.

The neighborhood appeared to be (rife; riddled) populated with families. Whether they were intact or blended she had no way of knowing, but she had painfully noted the absence of single moms waving good-bye to their children on the weekend, driving off in Daddy’s car. She had noticed moms and dads working on the yard up and down the street last Saturday, cleaning garbage, raking fall and winter off the lawns, taking a break sitting on the front steps and porches. She’d been waved at a couple of times and once got a “Welcome, neighbor,” from a woman walking across the street past her house, but the woman never stopped and Barbara did not see which house she had gone into, hadn’t actually seen her since. So far no one had come over with a coffee cake or a handful of flyers or coupons or offers of baby-sitting. She was not offended by this, really: she knew people worked and neighborhoods just weren’t set up that way anymore.

People were keeping their distance. Paranoid and self-serving as that thought was, it niggled at her like a sore tooth, something she couldn’t help putting her tongue into from time to time. Even the children seemed to avoid walking past the house; they couldn’t all live on the other side of the street, could they?

There’s no daddy living there, Mommy.

Don’t go there, that woman is
divorced.

From the red front door, to her aging car, to the daddyless front yard last weekend, everything about the Parkins house might appear different (although she was fairly sure that her five-year-old Volvo was worth more now than some of the cheap sports vehicles nosing their way up the street).

When these things went through her mind she couldn’t help but think an equally unkind
they’ll get theirs,
a suburban Cassandra in the middle of the calm. It surprised her, but she thought it just the same.

She was angry. The reason was less distinct than the emotion, and seemed to stem from all kinds of places inside her.

Fitness program.
She was really angry at that bastard principal, telling her her business. She had an image of him in her head, that wasn’t far from right, a mealy little man, strutting around Middleton School. Maybe he would put Petey on probation until he lost a few pounds. Demote him or something. Bastard.

She was so angry. She needed to find a target for the anger before Petey got home. She was angry with Dennis for putting her there, for not being there to help her figure out what was wrong. To say something to Petey; to show a united front, not just to help him, but to show him that school wasn’t the only place in the world. That he was special and loved. She couldn’t do that all by herself. Dennis hadn’t called in a week. What, exactly, was Petey supposed to make of that?

And me, I’m very angry with me. Shame shame; pull it together, girl.

Barbara was surprised at her feelings about Petey. They were a mix: of course, she was horrified that there had been another fight (of which she was sure he took the brunt) but that was enough. He couldn’t go through school fighting. In that regard, as much as she hated to admit it, Mr. Bastard Hadley was right. It was a new school and the things he did now would stick to him.

Last night she had promised he could call Jeremy back home. She was going to revoke that privilege (not for long, he could call tomorrow, but she wouldn’t bring that up right away) as a means of showing him she meant business.

A Suburban passed the house, and the woman driving looked over at Barbara sitting on the steps. It pulled into a driveway about four houses up, on the other side. The first of the after-work arrivals. The two on either side of her didn’t get home until six, sometimes later. Neither neighbor had children. She had caught a glimpse of the man on the west side. He was about fifty. Balding. She hadn’t seen his wife, not really, just their other car driving away. Following the Suburban was a little Mazda. It belonged to the same house as the Suburban. She pictured the two of them kissing hello, surprised at being home so
early
together. They would cook supper together, maybe. And talk about their day.
What did they know about a day? She would tell them about a day.

She tried to still some of the anger, the pointless, unnavigable anger inside her. Watching the neighbors wasn’t helping.

She spotted Petey before he saw her.

He walked with his eyes peering at the sidewalk, looking up only occasionally, eyes swinging nervously from side to side and then down again. Her face, which had been stern, softened. Her heart went out to him and she got up off the bottom step and walked to the sidewalk to greet him.

“Hey,” she said. He looked up then, startled. He was so young. Dwarfed on the sidewalk, barren except for him and her. He was late.

“Hi,” he said. She opened her arm to catch him as he passed and she slipped it around his shoulders as the two of them walked up to the house.

She debated over what to say. She settled on, “Got into a fight, huh?”

He shrugged. That coalesced all the unnavigable anger in her, for better or worse. Worse.

“Well, this is it, Peter Parkins.” She marched him into the living room. “Sit,” she said, pointing to the sofa.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, shocked.

“Mad at you? Mad? Yes, I’m mad. This is unacceptable. This is two fights in only a few days!” She stood above him, hands on hips, bending at the waist to emphasize her points. “Do you think it’s easy for me to start over? I have no one here helping me out! It’s me and you. That’s it, Petey. There’s no one going to come and give us a hand here, we’re on our own!” The anger spewed out of her, only partly directed at him.

Her voice got louder. “We’re supposed to be on the same side!” she shouted. “You can’t just go around fighting, the school calling me up in the middle of the damn day! I can’t fix everything!” Petey stared at her incomprehension. Briefly she noted his wide eyes, his slack mouth.

“I can’t have this. We have to work together, that means you and me, both of us staying out of trouble, both of us trying to get along, both of us trying to make a go of things here, in our new life—”

“Mom—” he started, his voice quavering.

“Don’t interrupt! You’re grounded from calling Jeremy for two days, and I would like you to stay in your room until supper, got it?” Petey started to cry, and she softened some, but at the same time felt an irrational satisfaction. Her insides were shaking. She wanted to scream at him, wail at him until everything in the universe straightened out.

“Mom! Just let me tell you—” His face was red and he’d wrapped his arms around his middle as though for protection. He couldn’t get the sentence out, but started bawling like a little kid (like a little kid falsely accused, the thought crossed her mind). Her heart went out to him and she was on the verge of crying again, too, and that brought up that
They’ll get theirs
feeling of something giving. As though this situation was somehow going to be cathartic for both of them. Everyone needed a heads-up once in a while. This was his.

He’s only eight. My god.

“I don’t want to hear it. There is no excuse for all this fighting. You have to learn to get along. To fit in. Like I do. We both have to.” Shaking, worried that it was going to get worse, she strode away from him into the kitchen and whipped open the cupboard next to the fridge. She grabbed two puddings, and pulled a spoon out of the dish drainer beside the sink.

She went back into the living room, the break making her feel worse, somehow, her legs shaking with anger. Not at him. At this. Whatever “this” was, it had less and less to do with Petey.

She shoved the cans at him, and the spoon, her face twisted into an angry shell. “Go to your room till supper,” she said.

He stared at her, still crying. He opened his mouth to say something, but the look on her face made him stop. He took the puddings and the spoon and went upstairs.

Barbara collapsed on the sofa and cried.

He spooned pudding into his mouth, hardly tasting it over the salty tear taste.

When the pudding filled the front of his mouth, he pressed his tongue into it until it spread out, over roof, over tongue, over teeth. He curled his tongue through it and then swallowed. It took about three seconds, and he did it every time. He was still crying a little, and every now and then he paused in his ritual to sniff. When his nose started to run he stopped completely (pleased because the break in the ritual meant that it would go on longer) and blew his nose. Then he started again.

Goddamn her.

He couldn’t hear her crying. He was wrapped in his own misery so tightly that he was almost completely unaware of anything except the feel of the pudding in his mouth. It was chocolate.

He sat on his bed with his back to his closed door and contemplated his misery. His mom was so mad. She didn’t even listen to him tell his side.

Goddamn her.
Swearing was bad. So was she.

Petey was preternaturally aware of the second can of pudding on his dresser. Even as he emptied the tin he was eating, scraping the last bits from between the sides and the score on the bottom, he was aware of the other can. He licked the spoon clean and then traded the two, leaving the empty one on the dresser. The new tin opened with a satisfying
snick.
He licked the lid, dropping it on the bed when he was done.

He ate the second tin of pudding slower.

The window in his room overlooked the front yard. It was cracked open halfway, and he could hear the noise of the street. Traffic could be heard far away, on Macallum, the busy road where the grocery store was. Trees blocked his vision, but he could hear kids, not far, up the block. They would be playing road hockey. He knew that. They were older kids. He’d seen them. He squinted and tried to see them through the branches of the pine tree that dominated the front of the yard next to theirs. He thought he saw a stick in midair. The sun had dimmed behind a cloud and it looked more spring than summer. Probably it would rain. Wash out the field behind the school and no one would have to play soccer for a while. That would be good.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement in his own yard. He looked into the corner, where the hedge turned. It was just budding, but even without the leaves it was thick.

Two children stood in the corner, looking up at him. He paused, spoon midway between tin and mouth, surprised.

His first thought was to duck out of sight. Not let them see him. But they were in the yard. His yard.

Instead, he shifted onto his knees and got closer to the window.

It was a little girl and a boy, the boy about his age. The girl was really little, like maybe four or five, coming up only to the boy’s chest. He didn’t recognize them from school or the block. He’d never seen them before. They were barefoot, their feet pale against the new sprouting grass. The little girl wore a dress that was too long for her and he couldn’t make out the color: it was like it was colorless, or gray even. The little girl raised her hand in a tentative wave. She was smiling.

Petey smiled back and raised his hand to wave back, the spoon coming up, vestiges of the last mouthful of pudding in ridges along its length.

The boy smiled back. He brought up his hand in what Petey thought was going to be a wave, but instead the boy gestured.
Over there.
He pointed to the other side of the yard. Petey looked. A grocery bag had blown up against the hedge and was held by sharp twigs, its edges fluttering. Garbage wrapped around the underside of the bushes. There was nothing there.