“That’s right,” I say. “I’d tell you that you both had to clean your room.”
“And I would say no because I didn’t want to.”
“Heh. Then I’d say you better.”
Edmund laughs and nods along with the bizarre hypothetical. “But then I would throw my Legos”—he knocks over a small stack of five Legos—“and I’d pout, and I’d jump on my bed.” He crawls on top of his bed, slow and careful. “And then you would say, that does it, young man, you’re grounded.” He imitates my voice like I’m part bear.
“That’s right,” I say.
Edmund takes a seat on his bed and continues his smiling. “But it would be okay that you yelled, because you love us and just want what’s best for us. Like a real family.”
Edmund’s innocent fascination with having a family hurts more than anything else I’ve felt in recent years. Even if my family was “backward” or “Amish,” as Owen likes to say, at least I had a family. I never worried about having parents who loved me or whether I would have a home to return to.
“We’ll try to be more normal,” Luke says, ending the silence.
“No,” I say. “Don’t try to be normal. Just be yourselves.”
The boys regard me with nods, but the feeling in my gut says they aren’t taking my words to heart.
“I mean it,” I say, probably harsher than I should. “That’s the new rule for the house.”
“Act normal?”
“Be yourself.”
“O-okay.”
I have a feeling they still don’t understand what I mean.
THE BRILLIANCE of a clear Minnesota morning can’t be understated.
I take a deep breath of fresh air as I pull the truck out of the driveway onto the quiet road outside our house. Edmund sits shotgun and Luke sits in the back, his nose buried in his notebook as he continues to draw. He never utters a word.
I use the GPS on my truck to route a path to Edmund’s elementary school. I’ve never been there, and I want to arrive in a timely manner, of course. It says we should arrive fifteen minutes early, and that’s the kind of time I like to see. I need to speak with Edmund’s principal, after all.
Halfway there and I’m staring at the GPS, trying to make sense of the roads.
“Do you know what’s cool?” Edmund asks.
I ignore the question for a moment to focus on my driving.
Edmund rocks back and forth. “Did you hear me? I asked—do you know what’s cool?”
“Hm?” I reply, still distracted.
“Lego Batman.”
“What?”
“Lego Batman. He’s made of Legos but he also has a movie and a video game. I played the video game once. It was fun, and it has the Joker in it.”
“Hm.”
“Do you know why I like the Joker?”
There are a lot of signs around elementary schools. Special speed limits. Kids walking around. Crossing guards. Black ice. I get tense and grip the steering wheel like my truck could fly out of control at any second. I don’t know why, but groups of kids get me nervous. I’ve never been that fond of random children.
“Did you hear me? I asked if you knew why I liked Joker so much. Do you?”
“Edmund,” Luke says through his teeth. “He doesn’t want to talk. Leave him alone. You’re gonna make him angry.”
“It’s fine,” I say as I pull the truck around into a parking spot. “If I didn’t want to talk I’d say so.”
“I like the Joker because he’s funny,” Edmund concludes with a restrained smile.
All three of us get out of the truck, and my mind finally catches up with Edmund’s comments. Lego Batman? Kids like the Joker now? I don’t know much about superheroes, but even I know he’s a villain. What is this world coming to?
We walk into the elementary school fifteen minutes before classes are due to begin. Kids half my height, maybe shorter, run the halls in groups. I keep my hands in my pockets, my shoulders bunched up near my neck.
I glance over at Luke and Edmund. They’re not bad. They’ve been surprisingly good, actually, even if we adopted a cat because of Edmund.
We enter the principal’s office, and a young woman stands to greet me. She smiles wide and motions to a couple of chairs stationed around the room.
“Hello,” she says. “My name is Principal Veronica. You must be Mr. Williams? You’re Edmund’s foster father?”
“That’s right,” I say.
“Oh, good. I just wanted to fill you in on a few things before he begins.” She slides over a small stack of paperwork and taps at Edmund’s grades. “He’s remarkably talented at school, and despite changing so many times, most of his instructors have advised him to advance as normal.”
“Advance as normal?” I repeat.
“Yes. Most kids who go through the foster care system typically fall behind in their studies, but little Edmund is right on course, which is great.”
“Hm.”
“Would you like to see his classroom? I’m sure his teacher, Mrs. Green, would love to meet you.”
“No,” I blurt out a little too hastily. “No, I don’t need to meet the class. I’m sure Mrs. Green is fantastic.”
“Does Mrs. Green have show ’n’ tell?” Edmund asks.
Principal Veronica nods. “Yes, she does.”
“I’m going to bring Legos in for show ’n’ tell.”
I shake my head. “No. No, you’re not. Legos stays home.”
“Lots of children bring Legos in for show ’n’ tell,” the principal says.
“But not rabid lunatic cats,” I quip.
She grimaces and frowns, clearly confused. I don’t blame her. I don’t even have the energy to explain the situation.
“Well, I need to get this guy to school,” I say, motioning to Luke. “Thank you again for your time.” I take Edmund’s paperwork. “I really appreciate you filling me in.”
“Of course. Have a nice day, Mr. Williams.”
Luke and I stroll out the door, wading through a river of children until we get outside. Although everything has a coating of white, the sun still bakes my exposed skin.
“You don’t like Legos,” Luke mutters as we cross the parking lot back to my truck.
“I’m not a fan of cats,” I say, earnest in every regard.
“And you don’t like kids.”
I exhale as I swing open the driver’s-side door. “I’ve never been fond of kids.” I take a seat, throw Edmund’s paperwork down, and start the engine. “But that was then, this is now. I want a family.”
Luke gives me an odd look as he buckles his seat belt.
I wish I knew what he was thinking, but he keeps quiet, like always, and I have a feeling he’s taking my words the wrong way. Still, I’m not sure what else there is to say. I’m sure Owen would remember some tip or trick our classes taught us to get around this, but I’m at a loss. Maybe, given enough time, Luke will understand I’m trying to be a good father for him and his brother.
As I pull out onto the road, Luke turns to me with his eyebrows knit together.
“Where’s Owen?”
“He’s working. We’ve switched our schedules around so that one of us will be with you guys at all times.” As park rangers, we have the luxury of taking odd times. It’s a twenty-four-hour job, and thankfully, our fellow rangers have our backs as we transition into a family life.
“You two used to work together.”
“That’s right.”
“Aren’t you going to miss that?” Luke asks, his voice quiet.
“Of course. I enjoyed working alongside Owen, but I knew it wouldn’t last forever.”
More than enjoyed. Owen and I were a great team, but sacrifices have to be made with families. We both know that.
Luke fidgets with his jacket. He reaches back, grabs his notebook, and returns to whatever he was doing before, retreating into silence.
Christmas decorations on passing houses remind me that I still haven’t thought of
a gift for Owen. Or the kids. Tsk. I need to be more on top of this. What am I going to get them all? Owen has something unbelievable planned, and I’m bumbling around, waiting until the last minute, still in shock about the fact that we have a mangy cat.
We reach the middle school way too soon. I park, Luke and I get out, and I can tell by his sluggish steps that he doesn’t want to be here. I don’t blame him. Middle school was a soul-crushing experience for me. It was the first time that all the other students in school knew about my odd lifestyle and my father’s adherence to strict religious codes.
The other kids were ruthless. Relentless mocking was my daily reality.
I glance over my shoulder and see that Luke has fallen behind. I wait for him to catch up, and when he reaches my side, he stops.
“Do you think we’ll ever go back to that picnic spot?” he asks.
What an odd non sequitur of a question. “Probably,” I say. “It’s a beautiful spot. The lake reflects the sky like a mirror. When the sky melts from red to purple, the water goes with it, the whole world changing for the glory of the night.”
Luke stares up at me, though he’s only a few inches shorter. “I remember. Edmund and I went there once, with our mom.”
I say nothing.
“Um….”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Were you any good at school?”
“Yeah. I got decent grades. Why?”
Luke shakes his head. “I wanted to know more about you.”
By asking about my grades? Not the standard way to go about getting to know someone, but I guess it’s better than me. I should’ve been asking him about his day or his hobbies or anything rather than sliding into my own daydreams and thoughts.
Well, Carter, better late than never.
“So,” I say, grasping for anything. “If you could have any superpower, what would it be?”
Luke’s eyebrows lift at a slow rate, like he’s having a hard time comprehending the situation. I cross my arms and shrug.
“What?” I ask. “I can’t talk about superheroes?”
“Uh, it’s just… I didn’t think you liked them.”
“Well, I can tolerate them.”
“If I could have any power… I guess I would want invisibility.”
I chuckle. There we go. That’s a good answer. “You’d sneak around and fight crime?”
Luke stares down at the ground, his shoulders slumped. “Something like that.”
“If not that, then what?”
“I dunno. Sometimes I just wish I was invisible.”
Again, I’m caught off guard by the explanation. Maybe I should stop judging answers by how I interpret them. I can’t seem to get a good bead on these kids. And I shouldn’t be talking about depressing things right outside his new school, especially not on his first day.
“Enough chat,” I say. “Let’s go.”
I turn to head into the building, but Luke holds out a hand. “Uh,” he begins.
“What is it? We shouldn’t be late.”
He chews his tongue and stares at the pavement.
“You got something to say?” I ask. “If you do, out with it.”
I don’t know why, but Luke withdraws. He sighs and shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Let’s go.”
We head into the school, past the gates, fences, and even a metal detector. The security gets me nervous, even though it’s nothing more than a middle school, and it reminds me why I don’t like crowds or people. Two girls walk by me and Luke, but they have so much makeup, and wear their clothing so tight, I have to do a double take to make sure they aren’t fully grown women. What happened to today’s kids? They’re growing up way too fast.
I guess the girls take my reaction as a disgusting insult, because one flips me the bird and the other yells, “What a creep!”
With a groan, I turn to Luke. “Teenagers are impossible.”
He gives me a sardonic half-lidded stare.
“Not you,” I quickly add. “I mean, teens in general.”
He rubs at his arm and looks away.
I’m not helping. My foot is so far in my mouth it’s kicking my lungs.
We continue in silence. I prefer it this way. Less likely I’ll fuck up our relationship if I’m quiet.
Are all teenagers this moody? Of course they are. They’re swimming in hormones, and the world treats them like kids, but everyone wants them to be adults. It’s a confusing time, and I remember feeling out of place 24/7 when I was his age.
Once I reach the principal’s office, I walk inside and find the place a mess. Secretaries are scurrying to and fro, and stacks of papers line the walls. It’s the perfect analogy for the teenage body. Everything is crazy.
A man twice as wide as he is tall waddles over to me. I hold out a hand, he shakes it, and then motions me back to his office.
“I’m Principal Jones,” he says through a few ragged breaths. “You caught us at a difficult time. You’re Mr. Williams, correct? And this is Luke Weppler? Your foster son?”
“That’s right,” I say.
A bell rings, interrupting our conversation for a good thirty seconds.
“We should make this quick,” Principal Jones says. “The big issue I need to discuss is Luke’s grades. You see, from the transcripts we received, Luke doesn’t qualify to move on to the next grade. He needs to repeat the seventh.”
Luke, stationed in the corner of the room, hunches into the shadows like he’s trying to disappear into the void. He doesn’t look up during the principal’s statements. He must’ve known.
“Aren’t we in the middle of the semester?” I ask.
“That’s right, which brings me to a couple of options. Either we can send Luke to the local community college to complete his seventh-grade curriculum and he can return in August, when the eighth grade starts, or he can sit through the classes this year and try again the next to get better grades.”
“So, missing a year and a half worth of schooling?”
“Yes.”
That’s bullshit. There’s no way we can take that option. Then again, an adult school isn’t a place for someone like Luke. He’s already “different” and doesn’t need to be separated from his peers any more than he already has been.
“Mr. Williams?” the principal asks.
“I need to think this over,” I say, curt.
Owen will know what to do. He’s better suited for this kind of decision.
“And here is Luke’s file, for your review.”
I take Luke’s paperwork and tuck it under my arm.
“Classes have begun,” Principal Jones says. “Perhaps Luke should be getting to them.”
Luke shuffles from the room without a single comment. I start to follow, but the principal shakes his head. I wait, confused. What more could he need to say to me?
“Here is Luke’s behavioral report from his last school’s counselor.”
The man hands me yet another stack of paperwork, this one twice as thick as the last. I take it and flip through the pages. It has months of meetings and discussions, but most of the pages don’t have much in the way of information.
“He’s a troubled boy,” Principal Jones says. “I thought you might want to know before you made your decision. I think the adult school might be the best environment for him, considering his questionable background.”
“We can always take him to therapy,” I say with a huff, disliking the adult school idea more and more.
“Therapy is expensive.”
“Everything’s fucking expensive these days.”
And you don’t put a price on a kid’s emotional well-being. Of course Luke would be upset. Who wouldn’t? He needs some time to sort it out, and maybe talking to a professional will help with that.
Principal Jones straightens the belt for his slacks. “No need to get defensive. I’m just here to inform you of everything I heard over the weekend. I understand that taking in a troubled teen can be difficult.”
&nb
sp; “Looks like,” I quip.
Somehow I missed out on all the good stages of childhood and went straight to “difficult mode.” Then again, Luke has been nothing but accommodating. It surprises me how many reports say he’s difficult or troubled.
“You don’t have to decide now,” the principal says. “Think it over, and talk to me in January, after the holiday break.”
“All right.”
I give Principal Jones one last handshake before heading for the door. I step out and tense, surprised to see Luke hovering around. He spots me, turns on his heel, and marches away with a quick step. Was he spying on us?
I let out another sigh.
What will Owen say? I’ll talk to him later tonight.
FLEAS.
The damn cat brought fleas.
I itch my arm and glance over the myriad of antiflea medications I purchased from the vet. They said Legos was in bad shape, but after spaying her they felt the best course of action was to send her home with us. Now she has a cone on her head—which has made her grumpy and growly—and whatever breed of flea she had, it’s the kind that’ll live through a nuclear holocaust. Fat. Poison resistant.
And it’s also part rabbit, because the bugs seem to have exploded throughout the house. I need to call an exterminator. If that doesn’t work, I might just burn the place down.
“When are we going to go caroling?” Edmund asks as he paces the living room. His green jacket, lit up with tiny Christmas lights sewn into the front, gives him the appearance of a sentient tree. Even his green beanie looks like it might be made from pine needles.
“When Owen gets home,” I reply, gathering up gloves for everyone.
Luke waits in his room. Last I checked he was hunched over the desk, pouring himself away into another drawing. I swear he’s become quieter and quieter the last few days. He doesn’t talk about school, doesn’t engage much with Edmund. Come January Owen will be the one staying home during the day—he’ll get Luke to come out of his shell. Hopefully.
A harsh meow drags my attention to the floor. Legos fights with her cone, twisting around on the floor.
“Leave it alone,” I say, feeling foolish for talking to a cat.
Edmund frowns. “She doesn’t like it.”
Thirty-One Days and Legos Page 4