Watch

by Cass J. McMain

  Scott gasped with a sudden memory. His teacher had told him to rub his pumpkin with lemon juice, to make it stay fresh longer. He’d meant to tell his mom about that, after he’d finished carving. But he hadn’t gotten to do any carving, and then everything had just gotten away from him, and he had forgotten the lemon juice. Damn, he thought. But maybe it wasn’t too late.

  He left the stick on the lawn and went to the living room. His mother was sleeping on the couch. “Mom?” he whispered. “Hey… Mom?”

  She didn’t answer, nor did she move. She just lay there, snoring lightly. Scott walked up closer and bent down with his nose two inches from hers. She smelled of perfume, the same as her room had. But also of other things: cigarettes, wine, sweat. He looked at her hand where the band-aid was. Blood had soaked through it in a blot.

  She’d bled a lot, for such a tiny cut. Scott looked down at his own hand. He never had gotten a band-aid for his own cuts. His had looked a lot worse, but they hadn’t bled like hers, even when he tried to make them worse so they’d soak his shirt. Not deep enough, probably. He should have used a knife. That would have made it deep enough, so it could have bled and bled.

  Scott wondered how much blood you could lose before you died. His mother had bled a lot, but not enough to kill anybody. She snorted and smacked her lips, and Scott turned away in disgust. If she’d been bleeding to death, I’d have let her. He went to the kitchen and got the lemon juice and rubbed it all over his pumpkin.

  Juice got into the cuts on his hands and stung. He smiled.

  Chapter 8

  …I had to know it was coming. Was I blind, or merely afraid? He was my brother, and I loved him. I did love him.

  Scott found Todd in the spare room, digging through a box.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Jesus! You scared me, you little twerp.” Todd sat back on his heels and swatted at his brother. “Mom’s not home yet, is she?”

  Scott shook his head, dodging swats. “Nope. What’re you doing?”

  “I’m looking for stuff about Dad.” Todd resumed digging in the box. “Something with his birth certificate or something. Or pictures. We’re doing a ‘family’ project in school; I can get extra credit for putting more details in.”

  “You don’t remember his name?”

  “Of course I remember his name, dumbass. But not his middle one, and that stuff.”

  Scott knelt down nearby, looking at the box. “You could ask Mom.”

  “Nuh-uh. She’d be pissed off. You better not tell her I was even in here looking, either. She hates him.” He picked out a small booklet of photos and started flipping through them. “I wish I could find a picture. There used to be some, before. But I think she threw them out.”

  “Why’s she hate him so much?”

  “Well, ’cause he left. I guess you were too little to remember. He left, and married that girl in Florida.”

  Scott just shrugged. He didn’t remember his father at all. “What was his name?”

  “Leonard.”

  “What about his last name?”

  “Same as ours, dummy. Irving.”

  “Oh. So he’s got our name?”

  “We’ve got his name, ’cause he’s our dad. Duh. Quit asking stupid questions.”

  “How come Mom’s a Moonrich if we’re Irvings?”

  “She took her old name back, I guess.”

  Scowling, Scott stood up and walked around the room. The urn with their grandfather’s ashes rested on top of a dresser. There were some pictures in frames there, too. He ran his finger over the frames. He recognized his mother, and his uncle Bruce. There was a man there he didn’t recognize, and he held it out to his brother. “Is this him, Todd? This could be Dad.”

  Todd glanced up and snorted. “No, that’s Grandpa Moony.”

  “It is?” Scott squinted at the picture and shook his head. “How do you know?”

  “Because I know. It’s him. You think he always looked old?” Todd shoved the box he had been going through back into the closet and pulled out another one. “Why do you think it’s there with the ashes? Put it back before you break something.”

  Scott continued to hold the picture and stare at it for a while. “Why’s she keep the ashes and stuff in here? She never comes in here.”

  “So she doesn’t have to look at them.”

  “If she didn’t want to look at them, why’d she take them? She could have given the urn to Uncle Bruce or something.”

  “I don’t know. Shut the fuck up and quit bothering me. I want to find something before Mom gets home.”

  With a snort, Scott put the picture back next to the urn and started going through the drawers. The first two were empty, but the third wasn’t. There was a stack of paperwork, some loose paperclips, a rubber-band, a button shaped like a horseshoe… and a knife.

  He reached for the little knife immediately, then stopped and looked up at his grandfather, staring down at him from the picture next to the ashes. He closed the drawer and opened another. Sweaters. Next drawer: socks. Men’s socks. He wondered if they had been his dad’s. The rest of the drawers were empty.

  Scott stood chewing his lip, his eyes going back and forth between the drawer with the knife, and his grandfather’s ashes. He wanted to touch that knife, and he opened the drawer again to look at it. It was a pocket-knife, with a yellow pearly handle and a ridge for your thumbnail to catch hold of to open it. Scott wondered if it was sharp.

  Of course it’s sharp, dummy. With his eyes on his grandfather’s picture, he moved his hand slowly toward the knife. His finger touched it, then two fingers. He stroked it, like it was a pet. Smooth.

  “What are you doing? C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

  Scott jerked his hand back as though he’d been scalded and rapidly closed the drawer. His heart was pounding. “Did you find what you needed? About Dad?”

  “No, she must have got rid of all his stuff. There’s no pictures, no letters, nothing. I’ll just have to put his name, that’s all.”

  “Could you call him?”

  Todd shook his head. “No. He’s not interested in us, he’s got his new family and all. It’s OK. C’mon, let’s get out of here.” He reached over and flipped off the light.

  Scott looked into the darkened room for a moment, then pulled the door shut behind him and followed his brother down the hall.

  Chapter 9

  Scott sat in the sun at the park, and Nick crouched next to him. They took turns throwing pebbles into a pile. Scott passed his handful of pebbles back and forth between his hands, waiting.

  “Throw it already, geez.”

  Nick looked up. “I will, keep your pants on.” He sighted along his arm again and threw a pebble. It landed several inches short.

  “Lame.” Scott leaned forward and bounced a pebble in his hand. The goal of the game was to get your pebble as close as possible to the pile. He threw.

  “Bull’s eye! Right on top.”

  “It’s not bull’s eye without a target.”

  “Close enough.” Scott sat back and shook his pebbles in his hands, enjoying the rough, warm feel of them. “You guys having family for Thanksgiving?”

  Nick nodded, eyes on the rockpile. “Yep. You?”

  “Mom’s making dinner. I don’t know if anyone else is coming.”

  “We’ve got tons of people. Aunts and uncles and cousins. My grandma’s bringing a pie.” Nick threw a pebble into the pile. “Boo-ya!”

  “I’ve got a cousin. My mom hates her.”

  “How come?”

  Scott took his turn with the pebbles. “She stole some stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “Just stuff.” Scott looked away. He didn’t want to explain. “It wasn’t important stuff. Throw your rock already.”

  Nick did. “So you don’t have any family coming?”

  “Don’t think so.” Scott tossed a pebble and looked at Nick out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to ask Nick about the magazines;
what it had felt like to take them and whether his brother had forgiven him or not, but he didn’t have the nerve. “What kind of pie is your Grandma bringing?”

  “Pumpkin, prolly. I wish Apple, though. I don’t like Pumpkin.”

  “Me either. It’s OK with whipped cream. When I was little, I wouldn’t eat it because Todd told me it was made out of old Jack O Lanterns. He said if you looked close, you could see bits of old candles in there.”

  “Gross.” Nick flipped his last pebble over the top of the pile. “Shit. Who won?”

  “I dunno. Say it was a tie.” Scott stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. “Want to play ball or something?”

  “Can’t. Gotta get home before Mom comes looking for me.” Nick lived very close to the park, and this had happened before.

  Scott felt lucky; he lived within walking distance, but not so close his mother was likely to come walking by. He looked around at the houses that ringed the park and wondered what it was like for the kids that lived in them, to play in the park with their mother watching right out the window. He’d never play in this park if he lived right here.

  Nick punched him on the arm and took off at a trot, hopping nimbly over the rockpile as he went past. Scott walked more slowly. When he came to the rocks, he kicked the pile apart and scattered the stones in all directions.

  Chapter 10

  …If I had been him? What would he have done about me? I could do nothing but what I did. Forgive me nothing or everything. I was trapped. Always, I was trapped.

  Pam presented herself at the front counter and was shown into the Principal’s office. It smelled of glass cleaner and furniture polish. Two stiff chairs faced the desk, and a row of tiny chairs lined the far wall. In one of these small chairs, Scott sat nervously.

  Principal Seedman nodded at her and shook her hand. “Good afternoon, ah… Ms. Irv… ah, I’m sorry. Ms. Moonrich. Pam, is it?” He held a folder in his hands, and looked at it instead of at her. “Pam? I’m sorry to have had to call you in, but we feel this is something you should, ah, involve yourself in. Please sit.”

  She sat, and turned to look over her shoulder at Scott behind her. “Scotty? What did you do?” Scott stared at his lap and shook his head, so she turned to the Principal. “What’s this about, Mr. Seedman?”

  “Ah, Ms. Moonrich, you see. We found this, well, rather… Scott was found with this knife.” He produced the knife from a desk drawer and slid it carefully across the surface toward her as though it was made of blown glass and might shatter. “He was showing this to his, ah, friends. At recess, you see.”

  Pam picked up the knife, recognizing it at once. This one had been one of Lenny’s favorites. He had looked for it for hours on the day he left, and hadn’t been able to find it. She remembered, because she had hidden it from him.

  “Scotty?” She whirled around in the chair. “Where did you find this knife?”

  He didn’t raise his head or speak, but his eyes lifted to her briefly and then returned to his lap.

  “He, ah. He told us that he had brought it from home. Is that the case, Scott?”

  Pam dropped the knife into her purse. “He did bring it from home, Mr. Seedman. This knife is one of my… one of my father’s. I suppose I should have guarded it more carefully.”

  “Well, Ms. Moonrich, young boys are very tempted by things like this, you see. We need to remember how dangerous even small household items can be. When they are used, ah, inappropriately.”

  “What exactly was he doing with it, Mr. Seedman?” Pam asked, but did not wait for an answer before turning to Scott. “Scott, you come here right this minute and tell me what you thought you were doing?”

  Scott put his feet out as though to stand up, but then squirmed back in the chair again. “I didn’t do anything,” he muttered weakly. “I just was showing them it.”

  “Ms. Moonrich, he wasn’t being threatening toward anyone. I want to make it clear that our concern was simply that he had the knife at all. It’s not acceptable at school, you see. We, ah, we don’t feel he needs to be suspended for this, since it is the first time we’ve had any real problem with him. Scotty is usually a good boy. Aren’t you, Scotty?”

  “Well. Thank Heaven for small favors there. Scotty, you are in serious trouble, young man. Stealing your— this knife like that and bringing it to school. You apologize to Mr. Seedman right now, and you thank him very much for not suspending you.”

  Scott glared out at them both from underneath his scowl. “Sorry, Mr. Seedman. I only wanted to show my friends, I didn’t know it was against the rules.”

  Mr. Seedman nodded, and a small smile played over his lips briefly. “I know, son. I know you probably didn’t think it was dangerous or wrong. But knives are very, ah, dangerous, aren’t they? You could have been hurt, or one of the other students might have been hurt. You see? Do you understand that now, Scott?”

  Scott nodded. He’d understood that already. “I was just showing it to Nick and them. I didn’t have it open, like to cut anyone.” But this was a lie; he had had it open several times. He had told Nick he could use it to cut Lupe’s ear off.

  Pam had him by the arm now. “Well, Mr. Seedman, I am sorry about this behavior. Believe me, we’re going to have a long talk. And you!” She jerked his arm sideways. “You are grounded. Do you hear that, mister?”

  Scotty hung his head and said nothing, and the Principal moved around toward the pair of them and opened the door.

  “I, ah… well, of course we are pleased to see that you take this seriously, Ms. Moonrich. And thank you for coming in.” He knelt down in front of Scott, patted his shoulder gently, and joked, “Now you better be glad your mom’s here, Scott, ’cause you’ve probably missed your bus home!”

  The buses were only half gone when they reached the parking lot, but Pam was jerking Scott along too quickly for him to be able to see which ones were still there.

  “I am so humiliated, Scott. So embarrassed. How could you do this? Stealing from me. From me! And then coming here to show off like that.” They reached the car and she fumbled for the keys.

  “I just found it and I thought it was… cool… I wasn’t stealing it.”

  “Don’t you lie to me, Scott Irving!” She spun around and slapped him hard, across the face. “Don’t you dare lie to me. You stole that knife, and you brought it here to show it off to your friends. Lying and stealing are things I will not tolerate out of you, little man.” She found the keys and jabbed them at the car, then shoved him and told him to get in the back before she left him there.

  The remaining few buses rolled by, and Scott could see the kids inside staring out the windows at the spectacle he had become. He fought the tears as hard as he could, but they came anyway, and rolled down his hot cheeks.

  She was right; he had lied about it. He’d stolen the knife.

  He wasn’t sorry about that.

  Chapter 11

  That night they ate dinner in stressful silence. There was no dessert. Pam told the boys she had planned to make cookies, but that she hadn’t had time because of having to go to the school for Scott.

  “And there won’t be any television for you tonight either, boy-o. Let me just tell you that right now. Go do your homework, both of you.”

  “I don’t have any,” Scott said.

  “Just go, Scott. Go to your room and think about what you did today. I am very disappointed in you.” As an afterthought, she added, “And if I find out you lied to me about the homework, you’ll be very sorry, so I suggest you think long and hard about it.”

  Todd followed Scott up the stairs.

  “Thanks a lot, dipshit. What the hell did you think was gonna happen?”

  Scott shrugged. “I just wanted to...” He looked at Todd and then away again. “I wanted it. I didn’t think anyone would find out. I was gonna put it back.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure you were.” Todd stood on the bed and stretched his palms toward the ceiling. “She spank you?”

  Sco
tt shook his head. “She slapped me.”

  “On the face?”

  “It didn’t hurt.”

  “You cry?”

  “No, dickhead, why would I? Didn’t hurt, I said.” Scott slapped himself across the face, not very hard. Then he did it again, this time more roughly. “See? Doesn’t hurt.”

  Todd had been jumping on the bed lightly, trying to touch the ceiling. Now he stopped and looked down at his brother. “Dude, don’t do that. Now you got a big red mark on your face.”

  The younger boy got up and went to the mirror to see. “Not as big as the one I had earlier.” The one he’d seen in the car mirror had been much larger and redder. He’d lied when he said it didn’t hurt: it had hurt plenty. The busloads of kids going past and laughing at him had hurt even worse. He traced a finger around the handprint, then looked at his brother in the mirror. “When was the last time you got spanked?”

  “Um, I don’t know.” Todd dropped and sat cross-legged on the bed. “I guess Mom never really spanked me. Dad did, once, when I ran away. Mostly I just got slapped, like you.”

  “You ran away? When?”

  Todd made a face. “Before you were born. I didn’t get very far, but they were really mad I tried it. Dad held me up by one arm like a doll or something and just whacked me all over. I was pretty scared, I remember that. Mom actually stopped him.”

  “Wow. You could have gotten a broken arm or something.”

  “Nah.” Todd shook his head. “He wasn’t hitting that hard.”

  “Still, you could. There was a boy in school, his dad broke his little brother’s arm, and they had to take him away. The dad.”

  It was Todd’s turn to look away. “So… you’re grounded again?”

  Scott nodded. His mother had grabbed him by the shoulders when they got home, and shaken him. “Thieves and liars are the worst men in the world, and you just damn well better remember that,” she’d said. She’d raised her hand up as if to slap him again, but let it drop instead and pushed him away, sent him to his room, grounded.