I smiled at her. She looked different. It took me a minute to realize why. Her white hair had been combed and pulled back into a neat bun. Even her dress seemed a little less faded than normal. Like Pa, she seemed not at all put out by us needing her help. She seemed happy.
“Dinner ready!” Mrs. Glazov called. Susie gurgled in her high chair. She was seven months old now and gumming a cracker. Pinky ran into the kitchen.
“I’m not hungry,” Dad said from the kitchen doorway.
“Sit,” Mrs. Glazov ordered.
“Better do what she says,” I said. “She can be very bossy.”
So Dad sat, and when he saw Boots, he smiled. “I’m glad he’s okay, Tommy,” he said with a wide grin.
“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”
It was a good evening. Mrs. Glazov had made a Russian noodle dish, not exactly like Busia’s pierogi, but almost as tasty in a different way. Pinky chattered away happily, like she hadn’t done in months. After dinner, Mrs. Glazov gave Pinky a bath and put Susie to bed. Dad and I did the dishes. When Mrs. Glazov came out of the nursery, she was smiling. “Beautiful baby,” she said. “Real doll.” She put her hands on her hips. “Good job on dishes. I come back and help again tomorrow.”
My dad shook his head. “You’ve already done so much.”
“Please,” she said. “Make me feel useful. Let me come. I come every day if you want. No vegetables to plant in winter.”
“But we don’t have any money to pay you. We can’t even pay the medical bills for Mary Lou.”
“Tommy taught me to read,” said Mrs. Glazov, without looking at me. “Tommy plays accordion with me,” she continued, “and Tommy invited me to Thanksgiving. Think it’s time I do something for you.”
Dad looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time.
“Tommy good boy,” Mrs. Glazov said.
“Yeah,” my dad agreed. “He’s pretty amazing.”
As I lay in bed that night, I kept hearing my dad’s words again and again. And I couldn’t stop smiling.
38
TRYING TO FIND THE WORDS
When Mary Lou was burned, everyone asked me about it. On the paper route, at Mass, in the classroom. But no one mentioned what had happened to my mother, even though from their looks and whispers, I knew they’d heard. I guess being burned in a fire was okay, but melancholia was something no one wanted to talk about.
When I went out for the first morning recess, I stood by the wooden horses for a moment, trying to pull myself together. It was fine. If no one wanted to talk about my mom, I wouldn’t either. But I couldn’t quite decide what I wanted to do. After a while, I realized Sam had walked up and was standing next to me. “Tommy, are you all right?” he asked.
“My dog got hit by a car,” I said. I could see Sister Ann and the other nuns at the far end of the girls’ side of the playground. One of the third graders had fallen jumping rope and was crying loudly.
“That’s awful!” Sam said.
“Boots needed stitches,” I said. “But I think he’s going to be okay.”
Eddie had been avoiding me all day, but he sauntered over to us now. His forehead was wrinkled, his eyes blazing with anger. “Talking to your new best friend?” he asked.
Sam blushed and looked at the ground.
“Come on, Eddie,” I said quietly. “You know you’re my best friend.”
“Do best friends rat each other out?”
“No.” He was right: friends keep each other’s secrets. Maybe we weren’t friends anymore after all.
“So why’d you do it, then?” He pushed me in the chest.
I just stood there and looked at him.
“Come on!” he yelled. “Tell me.” He shoved me again.
“Eddie,” said Sam. “The nuns are right over there.” He seemed nervous, jumping from one foot to the other like he had to go to the bathroom.
“Why don’t you tell him, Sam?” Eddie hissed his name like it was a bad word. “We’re already in trouble. They might even expel us.”
“What?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Eddie. “Because of the fight at Prince Pond last Friday. Thanks a lot, buddy.” Then he slugged me in the stomach.
I wasn’t expecting the blow and I fell to the ground. My belly ached, twisted in knots, and for a moment, I thought I was going to throw up. I stood up slowly, boiling mad. Ready to hit him. Ready to beat him. Just like Mom had beaten me.
But before I could take a swing at him, I saw Sam watching me, and Sam made me think of Mary Lou, and I waited to see what she would say. To see if she would tell me not to hit him. And I did hear a voice. But it wasn’t Mary Lou’s. It was mine. It was as if I could hear myself, as if I were standing there right next to me, saying, Tommy, don’t do it!
And suddenly, I didn’t want to hit Eddie. I was sick of it all. The fighting and the lying and the pretending everything was okay when it really wasn’t.
“I’m sorry,” I said. Then I turned and walked away. Maybe it wouldn’t do any good, but I could try to save him.
“Chicken!” Eddie yelled after me. “Commie!”
A rock flew through the air, whizzing past my leg.
I kept walking. Sister Ann was still at the far end of the playground, putting a bandage on the third grader’s knee. I was pretty sure she hadn’t seen Eddie hit me. When she was done, the girl went off with her friends and Sister Ann turned to look at me. “Is something wrong, Tommy?”
“May I speak to you about Eddie, Sister?”
“Ah,” said Sister Ann. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I know Eddie is your best friend, but we have a very clear policy against fighting at St. Joe’s.”
“But—but I didn’t tell you everything,” I stammered. “It’s true, Eddie has been picking on Sam all year, but so have I. You just didn’t catch me. So if you’re going to punish him, you’d better punish me too.”
Sister Ann pursed her lips. It was cold and they were chapped. Her nose was red too, now looking more like a beet than a pickle. But her eyes were smart and warm.
“Please give him another chance,” I said. “And Sam too. Really, he didn’t do anything wrong.”
Sister Ann nodded. “I will be speaking to Father Miskel this weekend. He wanted a week to think things over. He will make the final decision, but I will let him know what you have said.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And thank you for tutoring Mary Lou too.” I turned to walk away.
“Tommy!” Sister Ann called after me. “If you need anything, please, just ask.”
I knew she was trying to be nice, but part of me was kind of annoyed. Asking was usually the hardest part.
The next day on the paper route, my hands started to sweat as I approached Ma and Pa’s house. I knew they had gone to the hospital the day before to pick up Mom and take her to their house. She’d only been in the hospital one night. I knew Ma and Pa had a guest room, the one for when their grandson visited, and Mom was going to sleep there. I imagined her lying on a twin bed with a blue comforter, baseballs in the corners of the room, and a whole stack of Boys’ Life magazines in the closet.
I didn’t want to see her. But I also kind of did. Maybe I was a chicken, but that morning, I didn’t leave my sled, just threw their paper up onto the front porch and kept walking.
That day at school, everyone left me alone. Sister Ann didn’t call on me all day, even when it was clear I wasn’t paying attention. Eddie threw snowballs with Luke and Peter. Sam wasn’t there. He didn’t show up on Thursday or Friday, either. I wondered if he was sick. Or maybe his mother was doing worse.
On Saturday after my paper route, I decided to stop by McKenzie’s store. The front door was locked and a sign reading STORE CLOSED hung in the front window, but I rang the doorbell anyway. After a moment, Sam came out of the back room and let me in.
�
�Tommy,” he said, “what are you doing here?”
I shrugged. “You missed a lot of school.”
“We’ve been at the hospital with Mother.” His eyes got glassy, like muddy puddles, but they didn’t overflow.
“Sorry,” I said.
He shook his head. “Dad’s in the back. Want to help us pack? We’ve got three weeks before the move.”
“Sure,” I said.
The shelves were mainly bare, but Sam and I worked steadily, putting the leftover cans into a box. “How’s your mom?” Sam asked.
This time, I could feel my eyes fill with tears. “I’m not sure. You’re the only one who’s asked,” I whispered. “No one else will mention it.”
We packed silently for a few moments.
“I wish someone would talk to me about my mom,” Sam said. “What will happen to us when she dies? Who will take care of Dad and me?”
“She’s been in the hospital for a while now,” I said quietly. “You two have been doing okay.”
“But we always thought she’d come home.”
That was true. It was awful having Mary Lou gone, but everyone kept reassuring us that eventually she would come home.
“The worst part is, sometimes I wish she’d just hurry up and die. Just so this’d all be over. But I don’t really mean it,” Sam added quickly. “Do you think I’m awful for saying that?”
“No,” I said, remembering all my thoughts about my own mother when I’d been driving to the hospital with Ma and Pa. “Not at all.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” Sam went on, “what will happen to her? Will she go to heaven? Where will she be buried? If we move into the city and she stays in the hospital here, will she be alone when she dies?”
I didn’t know.
“And then sometimes, I worry about stupid things. Like, what will we do with her clothes? Her pictures, her diaries and papers. They’re all in this big box. She used to write, like me . . .”
“Maybe you could ask her?” I suggested. “About the clothes at least.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, placing the last can in the box. “Maybe I will.”
Mr. McKenzie came out of the back room, carrying a box. “Hello, Tommy,” he said.
“Hello, Mr. McKenzie,” I answered.
The doorbell rang then, and we all turned to see who it was.
My father, in a casual shirt with no tie, was standing outside. “Tommy told me he was thinking of stopping by,” he yelled through the window. “I thought you might need some help packing up.”
I’d mentioned it in passing at breakfast. I hadn’t even realized Dad had been listening.
“We can always use an extra hand,” said Mr. McKenzie, unlocking the door and letting him inside. For the next two hours, we packed and loaded boxes onto an old truck. The leftover inventory was being sold to another store owner, a few towns over. “We’re not getting much,” said Mr. McKenzie, “but it’s better than nothing.”
We were almost done with the packing when Dad cleared his throat and said, “Did Tommy tell you?”
“Tell me what?” asked Mr. McKenzie.
Dad’s face was ashen, but he plowed on. “It was my paper. The copy of the Daily Worker. In college I—”
“What?”
“In college, I attended a few meetings, but—”
Mr. McKenzie stood up, suddenly furious. “You knew where the paper came from all along?!”
“My wife threw out some old papers without asking me. Tommy just accidentally found it at the paper drive.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?!”
My dad didn’t answer.
Mr. McKenzie turned bright red, and I swear I saw a vein throb on his forehead, just like Mom’s. He picked up a glass jar of pickles and threw it against the wall.
Sam and I jumped as bits of glass and cucumber flew everywhere. It was like when Mom broke the vase. When I threw the drinking glass. Now Mr. McKenzie was furious too.
But Mr. McKenzie wasn’t screaming or yelling. He was looking out the window, taking one deep breath and then another.
“I’m so sorry,” Dad said quietly. “If I’d admitted what had happened in the beginning, if I’d told the truth—”
“You might be the one without the job now,” interrupted Mr. McKenzie. “I can’t blame you for doing what you thought you had to do to keep your family safe.”
He sat back down on the box he was using as a chair. It was as if breaking the glass had caused the anger to explode out of him, like popping a balloon.
I stood up. “I’ll clean up the broken . . .”
“I made the mess this time,” Mr. McKenzie said. He smiled at me, and I was pretty sure he was remembering the jar I’d broken on my first day at the store. “I’ll clean it up.”
“No,” said my dad. “We’ll all help.”
So I got the mop and the broom from the back room. Mr. McKenzie swept. Sam sopped up the pickle juice with a towel. And Dad took the dustpan with the bits of glass and dumped it into the wastebasket.
When we were done, Mr. McKenzie made us all sandwiches on his thick, crusty bread.
He pulled the two last root beers out of the cooler for Sam and me, and two beers for him and Dad. We clinked the bottles together before we drank.
“Good sandwiches,” I said, my mouth full of bread. “I’m gonna miss them.” What I really wanted to say was I’m going to miss you, but I couldn’t quite get the words out.
Mr. McKenzie smiled. He’d lost weight over the past few months, which had given his face a gaunt look, sort of like my father’s.
“When I was a kid,” Mr. McKenzie said, “I dreamed of having my own sandwich shop.”
“I’d buy your sandwiches,” I said.
“Yeah, well.” Mr. McKenzie shrugged. “Dreams don’t always come true, Tommy. Sometimes you try and try and it still isn’t enough.”
Dad looked like he wanted to say something, the skin around his eyes wrinkling like he was trying to figure out just the right words. But I guess he didn’t find them, because he only took another sip of beer.
39
DOUBTS AND DISEASES
I thought about what Mr. McKenzie had said all day. When you’re little, you think you can do or be anything. Then you get older and realize, no, John is better than you at baseball, and Maria’s better at math.
If I was being really honest, I knew I was never going to be a cowboy. There wasn’t a Wild West anymore, no outlaws to be hunted down on horseback with a lasso and a gun. It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream that was never going to come true.
The mood stuck on me like a fog I couldn’t shake. That evening, I played a duet with Mrs. Glazov in our living room after Pinky and Susie were in bed. I didn’t miss any notes, but the music still sounded wrong, hollow, empty, as if the accordion knew my heart wasn’t in it.
Mrs. Glazov stopped suddenly in the middle of “On Top of Old Smoky.” She gave me a funny look, but didn’t say anything about my playing. “Tommy,” she said. “I have news.”
She pulled a crumpled piece of newspaper out of her pocket. “Look what I read in paper!”
It was from the Downers Grove Reporter. Apparently, a group of local musicians was starting a musical society.
“You not teach me to read, I never see this!” she raved. “I went to meeting last week. We planning concert. At Tivoli. Trumpet player, his cousin run the projector and he talk to boss and he say we have it cheap. Wednesday, April 21. It January 23 now. We have three months get ready!”
“What do you mean, ‘we’?” I asked.
“You play too. I be music teacher again! You my star student!”
I’d never heard her talk so much. She was dreaming, just like Mr. McKenzie. It would only end in disappointment.
“No,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want
to. Not in front of all those people.”
“But, Tommy . . .”
I got up and ran to my room.
Later that night, Dad knocked on my door. I didn’t answer, but he still came in.
“Mom is settled at the Kopeckys’,” he said. “She’s going to be there for a few weeks, resting. Kind of like a holiday.”
I nodded. Not having her in the house was kind of like a holiday for me too. I felt bad thinking it, but it was true.
“And you know Mrs. Glazov is going to keep coming over, as sort of a housekeeper and a nursemaid for the little ones.”
I nodded again.
“Things are going to get better, Tommy. They really will.” He smiled, but his voice was strained, like he was trying to convince himself.
“Sure,” I said. But really, I thought, what was going to change?
“You seem down tonight,” Dad said on his way out the door.
I shrugged.
“Don’t worry about Mary Lou’s bills,” he said. “We’ll figure something out.”
But he had to force his voice just a little too hard to sound cheerful, and that gave me even more to worry about.
The next day on the paper route, I slipped and fell on a patch of ice right in front of the Kopeckys’ house. The sled didn’t tip over or anything, but I fell on a rock and there was a big cut on my knee, the same one I’d skinned running away from Mom.
It hurt pretty bad, but surely I could hobble down the road to the next house. I didn’t want to go into Ma and Pa’s to ask for a bandage because I might see my mother. I had only gone a few steps when Ma came out on her front porch. “Tommy! I saw you take that horrible spill. You get in here right now and I’ll fix you up!”
“I’m fine!” I called.
Boots looked at me and whined.
“Tommy! Right now!”
There was no arguing with Ma, so I slowly made my way up the steps. It did feel good to go inside the warm house. I took off my jacket in the foyer and followed Ma into the kitchen. It was the same size as ours, but the cabinets were painted blue, the countertops were white, and there was a blue-and-white-checkered cloth on the table.
The Paper Cowboy Page 19