Small Wonders

by Courtney Lux

  The projects are bright and strange and they make the space feel alive and interesting, if a little claustrophobic. Liam’s art has moved to the walls, too. The space around the window is colored with smudged blue sky and clouds, the doorframe leading to the hall is etched with Sharpie sketches of the city, and the space above June’s playpen has been made bright and happy with a field of painted sunflowers.

  The kitchen and bathroom occupy the other side of the apart­ment. The bathroom isn’t much—a sink, a toilet, a bathtub with water pressure that varies from a drip to a beating hard enough to turn skin slightly pink. The kitchen is equally Spartan. The fridge is held shut with a carabiner and a bungee cord rigged on the side, and a card table takes up most of the floor space. Liam painted the room an alarming shade of yellow that nobody likes, but no one has bothered to change.

  The apartment is as mismatched as its inhabitants. The single unifying factor is the smell of laundry detergent, chemical and clean, that permeates everything from the couch cushions to the shower curtain.

  Trip follows June as far as the family room. “Wanna make me some good money at the park today, June bug?”

  June Noelle Holliday is a happy baby most of the time. Her skin is the same deep tan as her mother’s, her hair is dark, her eyes are big and amber-colored, and she has a strawberry-colored birthmark that covers much of her left ear and part of her cheek. She hasn’t shown any interest in walking, which has Scarlett nervous, but Trip thinks she seems just fine and he’s fairly certain that babies don’t walk this early anyway. Besides, no walking makes his life easier when he gets bullied into a babysitting gig. Scarlett doesn’t pay him, but she’s usually good for a pack of cigarettes or spotting him a few dollars on the shared cellphone bill. Besides, he’s owed her for a long time, and Trip Morgan has a thing about debts.

  Trip scoops June up in one arm, ignoring her angry protests until he’s reached the kitchen and he can put her back on the floor.

  Jude’s still running lines in the shower and Devon is in one of the rickety folding chairs with a water glass cradled in his hands and the paper open on the table in front of him.

  Trip nods a hello while he rinses his mug in the sink. “No work today?”

  Devon scratches at his neck and then his wrist, shakes his head. “Nah, man. Keep cutting back my shifts.”

  Devon works at a corner market in Nolita unpacking deliv­eries and loading them onto the shelves. The pay isn’t great, but he gets to bring home the food that’s about to expire. They all sur­vive on a regular diet of bruised fruit and stale cereal.

  “Tough break, bud.” Trip glances at him and tries not to stare for too long.

  Devon Foley’s a decent guy. He’s good about paying the bills and keeps his things in order and he’s a regular prodigy on the violin, or at least he was all of those things. Lately Devon’s been off. He has dark circles under his gray eyes, and he’s testy and shifty enough to put Trip on edge. They’re all small things, but, Scarlett’s right: There’s something up with Devon lately, and Trip knows what it is. Devon’s using, or maybe just using more heavily, and it’s most likely meth.

  Trip knows addicts—the look, the signs, the energy. He spent a lot of hours in his formative years around them, Devon included. Devon Foley is eight years Trip’s senior, and he grew up in one of the houses closer to town back in Bekket. Devon had never been that bad when he was in high school; he spent a decent amount of time around Trip’s brother, Jeremiah, which meant he did a lot of drinking and smoking, and though Trip didn’t spend enough time with them to know for sure, most likely a decent amount of meth. The age difference meant they never spoke more than a passing word to one another until a chance meeting in New York nearly two and a half years ago when Devon had recognized Trip playing on a street corner.

  Even after their reunion in the city, Devon and Trip never spoke much of why either of them had left Bekket. All Trip knows of Devon’s time in Bekket is that his parents were decent people, he did okay in school and he disappeared from Alabama three months after finishing high school. People talked about it plenty, but no one knew where Devon went or why. Trip’s best guess is that Devon dreamed of something grander for his life, most likely involving playing his violin, and apparently not involving his accent, based on his near-total suppression of it.

  Whatever his reasons for leaving, Devon does not hate Bekket. As his one extravagance, he has the paper delivered all the way from Bekket to their New York apartment every week. It usually shows up a few days late, but once it arrives, Devon pores over each page as though if he looks at the words hard enough, he can be back there. He offers the pages to Trip for further inspection, often with an enticing comment about one of his brothers being arrested, but no matter how the offer is made, Trip declines. He and Devon have little in common, but even if Trip doesn’t want to read the weekly news of Bekket, it’s nice that someone in the city knows where he came from.

  “You get saddled with the kid?” Devon’s attention shifts to June pulling open all of the floor-level cabinet doors. He rests his elbows on his knees to put her more at eye-level.

  “Yeah, Scarlett’s got a job thing. I’m gonna tote June along to the park while I play to try to take in some extra cash.” Trip replaces the coffee mug in an overhead cabinet and sets to work dumping saltine crackers into a plastic bag for June to eat later on.

  “Weather’s nice. Should be good crowds out.” Devon dips his fingers into his glass and flicks water toward Trip. “Who wouldn’t want to drop a few bucks for a cute June bug and a pretty little Lark?”

  “Don’t call me that.” Trip wipes the moisture from his cheek and flicks it back at Devon.

  No one calls him “Lark” but Devon. He’d christened him with the nickname the first time he’d caught Trip singing in the shower nearly two years ago and refused to let it go. He’d taken to pinching Trip’s cheeks, cooing the name at him when he’s in a particularly foul mood.

  “Aw, come on, Lark. A cute songbird like you shouldn’t get your panties all in a twist over something so small.”

  “I got a name that suits me just fine.” Trip stares into the fridge. He grunts out an irritated note before slamming the door and filling a sippy cup with water from the sink.

  “You hungry, kid?” Devon pulls June onto his lap, but his gaze stays on Trip. “I have a bowl of leftover pasta in the fridge you can have. I can hold onto June, too, if you want to shower or something before you head out.”

  “Nah, man, I’m fine.” Trip reaches for June and hikes her up on his hip. He feels more than a little guilty about the whole thing. Devon’s still Devon, even if he does seem sketchy lately. “You wanna come?”

  “What? Out to the park?”

  “Yeah.” Trip moves back toward the bedroom for his things, raises his voice. “If you bring your violin, you ‘n’ me ‘n’ June could make a fortune. Buy one of them rotisserie chickens from Food Emporium and a six-pack and still have cash left over for bills by the time we’re done.”

  Devon doesn’t answer, so Trip slings his guitar over his back and lifts his bag in his free hand before going back to the kitchen. Devon’s still in his folding chair, picking at a fingernail.

  “Hey, you hear me?” Trip drops his things and settles June down, too. He scuffs a hand through Devon’s hair as he passes him to pull the stroller out of the hall closet. “Music, a trip to the park; a decent meal? Any of that interesting to you?”

  “No can do, Lark.” Devon sniffles and scrubs at his nose.

  “What? You got better shit going on?” Trip leans hard on the handles of the stroller, but it won’t unfold. He sits down on the floor to try prying it open by the wheels.

  Devon pushes himself up and out of his chair. “Nah, man.” He pulls the stroller out of Trip’s hands. “Sold my violin.”

  “What the fuck?” Trip moves back a few inches when Devon kicks the stroller
hard on its crossbars. “You love that thing.”

  “Needed the cash, brother.” Devon kicks the stroller again.

  “I’m gonna say it again: What the fuck, man?” Trip pulls June into his lap when she gets too close to Devon and the stroller. “You made rent fine, and we don’t have electric due for another week.”

  “Expenses.” Devon slams the stroller against the floor with a grunt. “When the fuck’s Scar gonna get the kid a better fuckin’ stroller, huh?”

  “When she’s got a violin to sell, I guess. Don’t break the damn thing. Christ. Treat it like you treat a girl you wanna fuck, huh? Take it slow, see how she’s feeling. Ease into it.”

  “This funny to you?” Devon scowls at him. “You wanna carry the fuckin’ kid all day?”

  “Easy, buddy. Christ.” Trip raises both hands, palms out. “You mad because you can’t get the stroller open or you pissed because you have a tough time getting girls to fuck you?”

  “What would you know about fucking girls, Morgan?”

  “Only what Scarlett tells me about her preferences.” Trip yawns to cover his surprise. Devon’s rarely so surly.

  “Yeah, well, these days, Scarlett doesn’t say shit to me, so I guess it’s a good thing I got you to relay it to me, huh?” Devon grips the handles of the stroller, leans his weight into it and gives the crossbars under the stroller one final kick. It snaps open with a pop.

  Trip claps June’s hands together for her. “Our hero.”

  Devon steps back and rolls his shoulders. He frowns at the stroller. “Good fuckin’ luck getting that folded back up.”

  Trip pushes himself upright and shifts June to his hip. “So the violin…”

  “Jesus, Morgan, since when do you give a shit?”

  “Since I’m out a duet partner.” Trip slings his guitar back over his shoulder and drops his bag into June’s stroller.

  “Yeah, well, you’ll figure out a new gig. You always do.” Devon digs in his pocket and fishes out a pack of Marlboros. He holds out the box.

  Trip’s fingers twitch at his side. “Got the kid. Scarlett’ll skin me alive if she thinks I was smoking with her, and you know it.”

  “Since when do you turn down a free cigarette?” Devon shakes the pack so it rattles with a musical little rhythm; he’s suddenly much more the Devon that Trip’s always known. “Smoke it later, asshole.”

  “Thanks.” Trip pulls one out and tucks it behind his ear. “What’re you gonna do with your day then?”

  “People to see, shit to do.” Devon pulls out a cigarette for himself before pocketing the pack and trading it for his lighter. “You gonna get gone sometime today or you just gonna keep wan­dering your bum white-trash ass around this apartment talking shit?”

  “What the fuck’s it look like I’m doing?” Trip tugs the stroller toward the front door, “And I’m not talking nothing, but speaking of big talkin’ pieces of shit, where the hell’s Liam?”

  “Something about gallery spaces.” Devon stands with the paper tucked under his arm and moves from the kitchen to the family room. He pushes open the window and holds his cigarette out it. “I’m s’posed to ask you to keep an eye out for mannequin legs.”

  “What’s in it for me?” Trip tugs the front door open with his free hand. He hates trying to drag his guitar and bag down the stairs when he has the baby and the stroller with him.

  “Didn’t say.” Devon blows smoke out the open window. “Just asked me to ask you. Li’s always good for spotting some cash on the bills or you could ask him to buy you that six-pack, kiddo.”

  “Not a fucking kid.” Trip pushes the stroller out onto the landing. “And how the hell am I supposed to get the damn things home when I’ve got all this shit?”

  “Much like your duet situation, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Devon points his cigarette at Trip. “When it’s a matter of a few more bucks or a free drink, you always manage to turn some kind of trick, crafty little Lark that you are.”

  Trip raises his voice as he steps out the door and turns his attention to the baby. “Junie, can you say ‘fuck you’?”

  After Trip has made it outside, having the baby doesn’t seem quite so bad. She goes into the stroller, his bag goes over his shoulder and then everything is easier. Trip’s mood improves when they make it to the park and find it teeming with people.

  He parks June not far from the Washington Arch, puts his bag by his feet, sticks the coffee can in front of the stroller, hands a second one with a slotted lid to June and then they’re good to go. It’s been a while since he got saddled with babysitting duty, and, though he’d never admit it to Scarlett, he’d forgotten what a good gig it could be.

  People stop to listen and coo over June, and they’re all too happy to tuck some cash into both the coffee can at her feet and the one in her hands. Without counting, Trip knows it’s the best he’s done in weeks.

  They take a break when June throws a tantrum over being strapped into her stroller for too long and Trip’s forced to fol­low her in slow circles around the park and pull wrappers and cig­arette butts from her sticky hands. She throws a second tan­trum when he won’t let her in the fountain, but is quickly mollified when he purchases a squeeze package of applesauce for her from a nearby store and lets her make a smeary mess out of the applesauce and the crackers he’d packed. After that, she promptly passed out in her stroller. Trip takes the opportunity to get out of the park and study the trash outside a few storefronts. He doesn’t find any mannequin legs or any other body parts, so he goes back to the park to keep playing while the crowds are still good.

  He keeps out of people’s pockets because babies draw atten­tion and June’s stroller won’t allow him to run, but even that doesn’t bother Trip today. He’s had to dump both cans of cash and change into his bag to make more room by the time the sun starts to sink in the sky. He’s sitting on a bench with June parked at his side and studying his fingertips, which are bloodied from a few too many hours of playing, when a familiar voice calls out.

  “How’d I know I’d find you two here?”

  “If I’m gonna get stuck with your kid, I might as well take advantage.” Trip gives Scarlett a once-over. She’s flushed and happy-looking. “How’d the interview go?”

  “Oh, there’s no way in hell I got it.” She stoops to unbuckle June from her stroller. “Hello, my angel! How are you, hmmm? Trip, did you feed her?”

  “No, I let the kid fuckin’ starve.” Trip sighs when Scarlett looks at him darkly. “Yeah, she made art with some crackers and we stopped in a bodega for one of them squeeze things. Do you have any idea how fuckin’ expensive those are?”

  “Well aware.” Scarlett kisses June’s cheek and snuggles her close. “I’ll reimburse you, I promise. Oh, look at you, pretty baby, did you have a good day? Tell Mommy all about your day. Trip, you can put your bag in the stroller. I’ll carry her home. Mommy’s not ready to put her baby down, is she?”

  “You’re awful fuckin’ happy for someone who just got shafted from a job.” Trip drops his bag into the stroller and shifts his guitar to his back as he pushes himself to his feet. “You get somethin’ else?”

  “Didn’t even try.” Scarlett tears her attention from the baby to look at Trip. “I met someone.”

  Trip pulls his cigarette from his pocket, thrilled to finally be able to smoke it. “You telling me I got saddled with mandatory celibacy and a day with your drool monster so you could get a good fuck in?”

  “I’m not you, Morgan. For me, meeting someone doesn’t mean a three-hour romp in the sheets and then going on my way.”

  “I appreciate your opinion of my endurance.” Trip digs a book of matches out from the mess of things in his bag.

  “Stay away from us if you’re going to be smoking that.” Scarlett takes a few steps away from Trip as they make their way out of the park. “He bought me coffee.”


  “Well, ain’t you special?” Trip takes a long drag on his cigarette. It makes him dizzy. “And for all you know, I’ve gone to coffee with people before.”

  “Sure you have.” She rolls her eyes, but then she’s casting a dreamy look toward the leaves above them. “We talked for forever.”

  Trip makes a show of gagging. “Jesus, woman, you going soft on me or somethin’?”

  Scarlett doesn’t acknowledge the jab. She takes a step in closer to Trip despite the cigarette. “He was just so good, ya know? There aren’t a lot of good guys out there.”

  “You live with one.” Trip takes a step to the side to put the distance back between them.

  “I’m still a little convinced those eyes of yours are a sign you’ve got one foot here and one foot somewhere else entirely.”

  “Heaven?” Trip casts an innocent smile her way, but then laughs at how incredulous she looks. “I was talking about Liam, but, wow, cool. Good to know where we stand.”

  She shoves Trip a few inches away. “He wants to take me to dinner tomorrow.”

  “Who, Liam?”

  Scarlett pushes him again, irritated this time.

  “Take a joke, would you? And congrats, I guess.” Trip blows smoke toward the street away from June and Scarlett. “D’ you manage to mention in all them hours of talking that you have a kid you handed off to your roommate for the day?”

  “Well, no, it seemed too soon.” She rubs June’s back. “Like ‘Hi, my name’s Scarlett, I’m a single mother.’ Fuck, should I have?”

  “You really wanna ask me about what’s considered okay when it comes to lying to a stranger?” Trip quirks an eyebrow at her.

  “Fair point.” She drums her fingers on June’s back. “I don’t think he’d mind.”

  They’re nearing their door, so Trip slows to finish the last of his cigarette. “And if he does?”

  “Then he’s not as good of a guy as I thought and he can kiss my ass.” Scarlett hikes June higher up on her hip.