by Platt, Sean
Liz shrugged. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?” He couldn’t help it.
“Okay, I guess you won’t get to watch Thomas, then.” Liz thought that show was shit, so the potential consequence worked out for her. Not that it would ever come to that, of course, but he would still make her work for it like always.
“You promised I could watch Thomas & Friends!”
“I promised you could watch it after school. But, if you don’t want to go, then …” Liz wanted to let the threat dangle, but she always had better results with Junior when she was explicit. “You have to go to school if you want to watch Thomas.”
She expected NO FAIR! or one of its brothers. But instead, he started to cry. Not a slow build like usual. Tears and bellowing in unison, both heavier than usual.
“Shhh …” she soothed, pulling him against her chest, losing the ground she promised herself to hold no matter what next time. But there wasn’t much of a choice. Anderson was right in the other room, and Liz couldn’t stand the thought of him coming in before she had everything under control. “Remember when you were really scared of taking naps?”
Junior needed a moment like he always did after being asked to admit something he didn’t want to face. “Yes.”
“And now you love them, right?”
Junior nodded, no longer crying.
“Everyone has a first day of school, and for a lot of kids, that can be really scary. It’s okay that you’re one of those kids. I was, too.” A lie: even at five, Liz couldn’t wait to get out of the house. “But that first day of school ended up being one of the best days of my life. I bet yours will be great, too.”
He didn’t respond, but at least Junior was considering her words. A smile teased his lips. They shared a moment, looking deeply into one another’s eyes.
For a moment, it was all okay.
For a moment …
Then Anderson appeared in the doorway on his regular, terrible cue. Ready for work in his sheriff’s deputy uniform. His charm on standby as the authoritarian claimed control of the room.
“Why is he crying this time?”
“He’s fine.” Liz took Junior’s hands and squeezed them, hoping he wouldn’t shrink back like he usually did when Anderson got in his face.
“He’s not fine. He’s in here losing his shit while I am trying to get ready.”
“He’s fine now.” She squeezed his hands tighter. “He was just having a bit of first-day jitters.” Liz gave Anderson a look. “I’m sure you remember what that’s like.”
“No, I don’t.” He looked from Liz to their son. “What are you worried about, Junior?”
“He’s not—”
“I didn’t ask you.” Out of the doorway and in Junior’s face. “What are you so worried about, huh?”
A long moment that felt like an elevator falling before Junior finally answered. “I’ve never been to school before. It isn’t home. What if … what if they don’t like me?”
There were any number of ways Anderson could have answered his son, from New places are scary to It’s good to go new places and have new experiences; home will be here waiting for you when school is over to some people will like you and some people won’t, but you’ll definitely start making friends.
He laughed instead.
Coarse rumbles, maybe forced. “You gotta be kidding me with this.” Anderson shot Liz a look — her fault, like always — then turned his setting sun of a temper back on their boy. “You’re a big kid now. Time to tie your own shoes and stop expecting Mommy to solve all your problems.”
Junior looked up at him, his little lip quivering.
Liz held her breath, hoping it wouldn’t happen but seeing the way Junior’s face had frozen, along with all the seconds passed without their boy blinking. She knew exactly what was coming.
Sure enough, Anderson broke him again and sent the kid into tears.
“Jesus, Junior. You’re five years old! It’s time to stop being a little fucking baby.” He practically spat, shaking his head in disgust at their son. Then to Liz, “Where’s the paper?”
“On the kitchen table. Next to the coffee.”
Anderson stomped off without closing the door.
Liz didn’t even try to reprimand him on his language. No matter how she phrased her concern, he would somehow flip it back into an admonishment on her.
Junior cried softly against her, trying to keep it in. Goddamn Anderson; she had everything handled until he stormed in and started waving his asshole flag.
She shouldn’t have to swallow it. Not today, of all days.
Anderson had promised to be more supportive in general, but specifically this morning. It wasn’t just Junior’s first day of school. It was her first day back at work in five years, back to accounts receivable after her stint as a stay-at-home mom. She was eager to feel productive outside of the house but would have appreciated a few months off to transition and acclimate. But Anderson wanted her to, “Start adding to the household budget again, instead of being a constant subtraction.”
Their argument had been especially brutal the night he’d said that. Liz was furious and Anderson overly dismissive, each of them filling their usual roles. The battle ended predictably, with her giving him the cold shoulder, then him heating things back up with his typical trio of branded apologies: thawing her ice, always aggressive and often from behind, followed by a long and silent embrace that made Liz feel like her husband really did love her; next came flowers or jewelry or chocolates, sometimes lingerie, once a long weekend in St. Louis; then finally, and most important to Liz, a promise.
In the aftermath of this particular argument, Anderson gave her three consecutive orgasms, two-dozen roses, and a solemn vow that he would either help her with Junior on his first day of school or stay out of her way. Specifically, he promised to do “whatever he possibly could to make that first day easier for her.”
Goddammit, Anderson.
“How would you like to watch some Thomas while I finish getting ready?” Junior gave her the old bobble head, and she added, “I’ll give you a five-minute warning before it’s time to go, okay?”
Junior nodded again, and she kissed his cheek.
They left together, then he split off into the living room, and she headed to the dining room. Anderson was there as expected, sipping his coffee with the sports section spread out in front of him. The rest of the paper lay scattered across the counter “for her to read later,” even though Liz had been getting all her news online for a couple of years now.
“You promised.”
He didn’t look up from his article, something about the Red Sox and the World Series. “Promised what?”
“You promised that you wouldn’t get involved. And can you please talk a little lower? He’s right in the other room.”
Anderson finally pushed his paper away as if deeply inconvenienced, then graced his wife with eye contact. “Is that why I hear the TV on? In the morning? On his first day of school.” He was talking louder, if anything.
“He wouldn’t be watching anything if you hadn’t interfered,” Liz replied, still quiet and calm. “I had the situation taken care of.”
“Ha.” He scoffed. “That’s what you think, and that’s why we’re in this mess. The only thing you’ve taken care of is making sure that our son acts like a little bitch.”
“Pardon me?”
“Was I talking Ebonics?” Anderson laughed at himself. “You coddle our boy like you wish he was a girl.”
“Can you please keep your voice down?”
“Can you please stop worrying about Junior getting her period?”
“Thank you for lowering your voice. Now, can you please not refer to our son as a ‘bitch’?”
“I solemnly promise on my pride and joy plus the two balls beneath it that I’ll never call our boy a bitch again, if he can keep from crying about shit that ain’t worth crying about.”
“Does that really sound like trying to you?”
“I don’t know, Liz. Are you trying not to coddle him? Can’t you see that this is your fault? You know what I think? I think you kinda get off on being needed all the goddamned time.” He smiled as his eyes lit up. “I’m right, aren’t I? You need to be needed. It’s why you waited so long to get back to work, ain’t it?”
“Are you kidding me right now?” She took a moment to breathe.
Liz had given this issue a disproportionate amount of her recent thought but still felt like it needed to steep before her thoughts were organized enough to carry her side of this particular conversation, at least without enduring his ridicule.
And yet … maybe this was the right time. There would be a debate, almost for sure — but wasn’t that better than yet another argument?
Anderson was leaning back in his seat, staring up at her.
Something in him had softened. Maybe he really would listen to her this time.
She sat on the other side of the table and looked into his eyes. “I need you to hear me right now.”
“I’m listening.” And by the look in his eyes, he actually was.
Liz was already talking in a low voice, but she leaned across the table and dropped it even lower. “I think it’s possible that Junior might be autistic.”
Anderson didn’t reply, so she finished her thought.
“I want to take him to a specialist and get him tested.”
“A specialist? You mean a shrink.”
“An occupational therapist. To help us diagnose—”
“Uh-uh. No way.” He shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”
“Why not, Anderson? Why aren’t you interested in helping our—”
“That’s not helping him. It’s handing a crutch to someone that ain’t crippled. It’s providing him a reason to fail.” His voice was kind and patient, not argumentative. “But you know how I feel about all of this. The system is crooked, and the shrinks are—”
“I still have no idea where you’re getting any of that from.”
“I’m getting it from reality, Liz. We agree that there’s a problem, we’re just not seeing eye-to-eye on how idiot-proof the solution actually is.”
“Right. I’m an idiot.”
“I didn’t say that. I said we’re ignoring the simple solution that I keep insisting is right in front of us, that we haven’t even tried.”
“And what solution is that?”
Back to loud, almost yelling, “To stop coddling him!”
She glared at him, carefully choosing her next words.
But before she could say anything, Anderson reached across the table and grabbed her gently by the hands. In a softer voice, he said, “Let’s just try it my way, okay? A little less, just a little, coddling, and we’ll see how that goes. I swear the last thing we want is a label on that kid. Shrinks are not on our side.”
“There aren’t sides here, Anderson.” Liz let go of his hands.
“I’m an officer of the law. You think I don’t know a thing or two about sides?”
“I don’t know what your job has to do with figuring out our son’s emotional needs.”
“That’s just the thing,” Anderson said. “Our son needs to be less emotional.”
She got up from the table.
Anderson stopped holding her hands and grabbed her roughly by the wrist. “You do not walk away when I’m talking to you.”
“Let me go,” she said, glaring at him.
He did. “You know this is a big morning. We shouldn’t be talking about this right now.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
There was a beat of total silence as Thomas & Friends rolled from one episode to the next.
“I need to get going,” she said.
“I’m sorry about this.”
“Me too.”
“You going back to work will be good for him. Not just for us,” Anderson reminded her. “If it wasn’t for that affirmative action bullshit, maybe you wouldn’t have to go at all, right?”
“I’m happy to be going back. You don’t have to sell me.”
“I’m just saying, if we want to get out of debt …”
“Is there something you think I don’t understand?” No answer, so Liz finished for him. “We took a hit with all my ‘time off’ plus all the money we spent taking care of your dad the year before he died.”
“We had to do that.”
“I didn’t suggest anything otherwise … I really have to go.”
Anderson stood, circled the table, and pulled her against him.
He ran his hand through her hair, massaging her scalp the way she had always loved and occasionally thought she would never want to live without. He was only doing it so she could remember how good things used to be. And it was working, like usual.
Anderson had once been the sweetest, most attentive man she had ever met, back in the nectar of their once upon a time. Liz wondered how much of what had soured between them had to do with his father, and how much of it had to do with him getting passed over for a promotion.
Until his father’s diagnosis, Anderson hadn’t touched more than the occasional beer since before the two of them started dating. Apparently, he’d been a rager back in the day.
His old man died, and Anderson fell hard off the wagon. He never got back on, going from beer to hard liquor, flirting with being a weekend drinker before going full-time. Now he was a different man, and Liz longed to have the old Anderson back. She still got glimpses every now and then, but they were getting less frequent, so each one left her desperate for more.
“I’m so sorry,” Anderson said, kissing her on the forehead and lingering for a lovely moment before pulling away. “I’ve gotta get out of here, too. I’m late now. I just want to wish Junior good luck before I go.”
Into the living room, Anderson got to his knees and took Junior’s hands. “You’re going to have a great day at school today, okay?”
Junior nodded, expressionless.
Then Anderson stood, gave Liz another kiss on the cheek, and left them both in the living room as he walked out the door.
Junior stared out the window, watching him get in his car and drive away.
Liz got the sense that the boy was missing his father already, but then Junior turned away from the window toward her, and she saw the strangest look in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
And with zero emotion, Junior said, “Do you ever wish that Daddy would die?”
Three
October 15, 2011 …
“What do you mean?”
But Junior simply repeated himself. “The monsters must have gotten him.”
“Did you see the … did you see what happened to him?”
Still void of emotion, “I don’t think so.”
It had been easier to read his intentions when Junior was still standing beneath the purple sky. The power was still out, and it was pitch black inside. The darkness only made his muted emotions sound all the more menacing.
Liz sighed, found her way to the kitchen, lit a candle. “You’ve gotta give me more than that, honey. What happened to your father?”
“He disappeared.” The warm glow of flickering candlelight danced with the shadows on his face.
“Where did your dad disappear to?” Then, anticipating any number of Junior’s answers to a vague question like that, she amended herself. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“Dad made me go fishing. I fell asleep on the boat. When I woke up, he was gone.”
Liz gave Junior a long laugh, jangly, and full of nerves. “You guys are messing with me, right? This is a joke? The two of you are pulling a prank on me, and Dad told you it would be funny to pretend he went missing … right?”
She hated their pranks but was mostly tolerant since it was one of the few ways that Anderson would bond with his son. Her husband’s sense of humor was often mean-spirited. He thought it was especially hilarious to make fun of his wife’s gender and all t
he lack of intelligence that might imply. But she could never complain because he never meant anything by it. Anderson was always just joking, and Liz was forever in need of a little lightening up already.
“Swear you’re telling me the truth?”
Junior nodded.
Liz looked at him. The poor thing was soaking wet and distraught.
“So, you just woke up, and he was gone?”
Another nod.
“How did you get back here?”
“I walked.”
“How did you know where to go?”
“At first, I didn’t. But then the sky gave me directions. It took a long time.”
Liz didn’t want to freak out, but her husband was missing, and Junior was being even weirder than his usual odd self.
“What’s a long time, Junior? Where were you fishing? How far away from the cabin were you?”
“I told you not to call me that anymore. My name is Andy. Promise me, Mommy.”
Mommy? He only called her that when he was retreating into some protective shell, usually after Anderson scared him.
She wondered if he’d seen something that had traumatized him, something that his mind was blocking out. He didn’t process stuff like a normal kid. If there was even such a thing as ‘normal’ these days.
“I’m sorry, Andy.” She gave him her best smile, wishing he wasn’t so persnickety, or that Anderson didn’t take him wanting to be called something other than Junior so personally. “Sometimes, it’s hard to learn a new thing. I promise I’ll try harder. Can you try again to tell me what happened … so I understand? Why did you go fishing?”
“So, I could stop being a pussy.”
She sighed. Smiled again. “I’m sorry your father said that. Where did he take you?”
Junior shrugged.
She gave up and went back to the kitchen for her phone. Junior trailed behind her.
No signal. Reception had gone from half a bar to nothing. Great. That purple people eater of a storm had probably knocked out a cell tower or something. Still, the simple explanation did nothing to soothe her.
The phone died in her hand. You’ve gotta be kidding me. I just charged it!