Black Beans & Vice

by J. B. Stanley

  I’ll have to save for years to afford a vacation for three to Disneyland, James thought sourly. It wasn’t as though his bank account grew larger with each paycheck. After all, librarians weren’t exactly in the upper echelons of the salary scale and there were always so many bills to pay.

  Driving home, James reflected that he had earned a great deal more money as an English professor. He could always return to that field, but such a change could mean moving farther away from Eliot and Jane, his friends and family, and his beloved library.

  “No. Quincy’s Gap is my home. I’ll just have to find ways to trim costs wherever I can,” he declared.

  James’ spirits were eventually restored by a lunch of salami and cheese on sourdough, Granny Smith apple slices, and a generous handful of cheese doodles. Following this feast of comfort foods, he spent the afternoon cleaning leaves and dried stalks from the garden beds, planting his new flowers, and spreading hardwood mulch. Singing along to the local country music station, James delighted in his outdoor work. He didn’t mind that his job at the library kept him inside five days a week, but during his time off, he liked nothing better than to walk around his property and make a list of chores that needed to be done over the weekend, eyeing his little yellow house with pride.

  “I practically had to chase after you with the danged chain saw to get you to mow the lawn when you were a boy,” Jackson had crossly remarked one evening as James described how much he enjoyed yard work. “And now look at you! Mr. John Deere himself.”

  “Don’t badger him, dear,” Milla had chided. “He still drives to our place to cut the lawn twice a month. You should count your blessings that you have such a fine son.”

  Jackson had made a noise somewhere between a snort and a huff and had quickly returned his focus to the pot roast James had made.

  This evening, James didn’t have to concern himself with cooking, as it was the Henry Family Pizza Night. He was relieved too, because he was feeling the results of an afternoon of physical labor in his lower back and in his hamstrings as well. He also imagined that Jane would be worn out from the drive back from Nashville. The idea of sitting down to a casual supper was sure to appeal to her and James went to extra lengths to tidy up the house before her arrival.

  For months, the only pizza place that would deliver to Quincy’s Gap was Papa John’s. James liked their pizza just fine, but ever since Luigi’s Pizzeria had opened two doors down from Quincy’s Whimsies, James had felt obliged to patronize Milla’s new business neighbor. Besides, Luigi had six children to feed, a fact which he repeated to his customers at every opportunity. Just thinking of the photo of the half-dozen, dark-eyed and adorable kids tacked behind Luigi’s cash register made James feel doubly compelled to order any Italian food exclusively from the eatery.

  “AH HA!” Luigi shouted when James phoned to place his order. “THE PROFESSOR IS CALLING FOR TWO PEPPERONI AND SAUSAGE PIES AND A CAESAR SALAD, NO?”

  James smiled. Luigi didn’t seem capable of calm speech. Everything he said came out as an exuberant yell. One day, he’d reprimanded James for being too soft-spoken on the phone. “I CANNOT HEAR YOUR MUMBLES, MR. LIBRARIAN!” Luigi had hollered.

  “I’m calling from the library,” James had answered in defense. “I’m accustomed to talking quietly.”

  “I’VE GOT SIX KIDS, PROFESSOR! THERE IS NO QUIET IN MY LIFE, CAPICHE?”

  “Yes, Luigi,” James now informed the boisterous proprietor using a raised voice. “Can you have the order delivered to my house around six o’clock?”

  “CERTAINLY!” Luigi screamed and hung up.

  James had just showered and put on a pair of loose-fitting chinos and a long-sleeved collared polo shirt when he heard Eliot’s impatient footsteps on the front porch.

  “Daddy!” he cried, his freckled nose wrinkling in delight.

  James knelt down and opened his arms wide. Eliot flew against his father’s chest, permitting a longer embrace than usual. James smelled the aromas of childhood on the boy: fresh grass, Ivory soap, Johnson’s Baby Shampoo, and the promise of things to come.

  “Did you have a nice time in Nashville?” James asked, reluctantly releasing the squirming child.

  Once freed, Eliot stepped aside and commanded, “Say hi to Mommy first.”

  Smiling, James reached out to Jane and she hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “We missed you,” she said warmly, her eyes echoing the sincerity of the statement. She was wearing her lavender sweater set.

  “Five days never seemed so long,” James answered and was unable to say more as Eliot demanded his full attention from then on. The four-year-old prattled on and on about his grandparent’s house, the day spent at the zoo, the tour of the Grand Ole Opry (which he referred to as the place where the cowboys sang), getting to meet Fay Sunray (whoever she was), and the set of wings he was given by the pilot of their “ginormously huge airplane.”

  “And Granny and Grandpa Steward have a pool! It was warm too, like a bathtub. And I have my own room in their house with tons and tons of toys!”

  Jane must have noticed the fleeting expression of envy that crossed James’ face. She knew he could never provide Eliot with an equitable amount of material goods or entertainment, but to her, that didn’t matter. He had quickly proved to be a loving and devoted father and no amount of money would increase his desire to do right by his son.

  “And how many times a day did you say, ‘I wish Daddy was here’?” Jane prodded Eliot in the side.

  He giggled. “A million!”

  James shot Jane a grateful look, knowing full well she’d asked their son that question to dispel James’ insecurities.

  “And I can’t believe how gorgeous the flower beds are!” She touched her sweater. “Those purple phlox are my favorite spring flowers. Won’t it be nice to sit out on the front porch with a glass of sweet tea come summertime?”

  The doorbell rang and Eliot bolted off to see who was waiting on the welcome mat. Jackson and Milla greeted their grandchild as though he’d been away for months. Milla scooped him into her arms and covered the little boy with kisses until Jackson finally intervened.

  “Ease up there, Milla! The boy can’t even breathe!” he grumbled with false sternness. His eyes were twinkling at the sight of his grandson.

  Jane also received a warm hello from Milla, while Jackson remained polite but aloof. James knew that his father wasn’t quite ready to accept Jane back without punishing her a little bit for breaking James’ heart years ago. Soon after Jane resurfaced in his son’s life, Jackson had solemnly counseled James not to trust her and to immediately seek legal advice regarding Eliot’s custody.

  James had ignored his father’s suggestion, however, as Jane had never once denied James the opportunity to spend time with his son. In fact, she was the one who routinely made the drive down from Harrisonburg, where she was a professor at James Madison University, in order for the three of them to be together.

  Often, while James and Eliot built Lego towers or Lincoln Log fortresses, she busied herself grading papers, enabling father and son to make the most of their time together. She and James took turns cooking, wanting to gather around the dinner table as a family whenever possible. The result of this schedule was that on weeknights, Jane had to drive home in the dark with Eliot falling asleep to the sound of a children’s lullaby CD, arriving home with little time to do anything for herself. Yet she had never complained. Unlike the Jane of old, who was habitually self-centered and impatient, motherhood had softened her heart as much as it had softened her body.

  “You’re very different now,” James had told her one night.

  She’d nodded in response and covered his hand with her own. “When we were married I cared about silly things, like what car I drove and whether or not I could fit into a size six dress. I had a great guy and couldn’t see you for what you were. I thought our life didn’t measure up somehow. I was a fool, James. A fool who didn’t understand what defines true happiness. With
you and Eliot in my life, I understand the meaning of that word now.”

  Looking around at his enlarged family, James recalled Jane’s words. He too was amazingly content and the feeling scared him a little. Suddenly, after years of being unsure of his future, his life was full of love and hope. What could he do to ensure that nothing changed?

  Luigi’s arrival interrupted his trepidations. “AH HA!” He boomed as his stout form filled the doorway. “I THINK YOU NO HAVE ENOUGH FOOD FOR ALL THESE PEOPLE, EH?”

  James handed him some cash and received the pizzas and Caesar salad in return. “I’ve got dessert if we’re still hungry. Thank you, Luigi. Have a pleasant evening.”

  “BUT YOU NO ORDER CHEESECAKE FROM ME! I’VE GOT SIX KIDS TO FEED!”

  “Goodnight!” James called out and shut the door. The adults were all trying to stifle laughs.

  “What’s so funny?” Eliot inquired. “Does Mr. Luigi think cheesecake is yucky?”

  Jane put an arm around her son’s shoulders and pivoted him toward the bathroom. “We’re laughing because Luigi is what we call a loud talker. Now march down the hall and wash your hands, please.”

  While Eliot complied, James poured cold bottles of beer into chilled pint glasses. Jane placed slices of pizza on the plastic red and white-checkered plates she’d found at Target and were held in reserve for the Henry Family Pizza Night. Milla distributed napkins and forks for the salad. These tasks were completed over an endless stream of female chatter and by the time Eliot joined his family at the table, his plate had been filled and a glass of cold milk rested on top of his napkin.

  After clinking pint glasses together in a toast, everyone tucked into their food. The pizza had a thin, crisp crust, mounds of melted cheese, and tender pieces of pepperoni and sausage. It was perfection.

  “I love pizza night,” James declared after swallowing a bite of crust. At that moment, he looked across the table at Eliot in order to illicit his son’s agreement, but Eliot hadn’t eaten a bite. Instead, he was performing surgery on his pizza, removing the round, greasy discs of pepperoni and the lumps of brown sausage while trying to keep the cheese intact.

  “What are you doing, buddy?” James questioned. “Is there something wrong with your meal?”

  Eliot shrugged, but didn’t say a word.

  Jane frowned and laid down her own slice. “Your father asked you a question, mister.”

  Tears sprang to Eliot’s eyes and though he fought against them, his effort failed and two little rivulets slipped down his cheeks. With trembling lips, he cried, “May I be excused?” and without waiting for permission, scrambled off his chair and ran down the hall. The stunned adults heard the door to his room slam.

  “What in Heaven’s Name … ?” Milla started to rise.

  “I’ll go,” James assured his family. “Please, eat. The pizza will get cold.”

  Though he was as flummoxed as the rest of them by Eliot’s outburst, James was secretly glad to have the opportunity to listen to his son’s troubles and provide comfort if possible. Knocking respectfully on the door, James did not wait to be invited in. After all, his son was four years old and too young to merit privacy.

  “What’s going on, Eliot?”

  The boy, who had been lying facedown on his bed, rolled over and sniffed. “I don’t want to eat meat anymore, Daddy. Are you gonna make me?”

  James had not expected this statement. He was so surprised by Eliot’s confession that he had no idea how to reply. “Um, I don’t know. Why don’t you want to eat meat? You’ve always eaten it before.”

  Clearly relieved that his father planned to calmly listen to his reasons, Eliot sat up completely. “Fay Sunray never eats it. She says it’s mean to kill animals for food.” His eyes threatened to spill over again. “I don’t want cows to die so I can have a Happy Meal.”

  Oh boy, James thought. He was absolutely unprepared to handle the current scenario. Maybe I should have ordered Idiot’s Guide’s to Parenting for the library, he mourned. To stall for time, he said, “Can you tell me about Fay Sunray? I don’t know her.”

  “She’s on TV,” Eliot replied, his expression quickly morphing from despair to adulation. “She sings, and shows us yoga, and explains how to take care of the earth and stuff.”

  “And she’s the one you saw perform when you were in Nashville, right?”

  Eliot bounced a little bit on the bed. “Yeah! We went last night. It was awesome!”

  “I’m sure it was, son.” James looked around the room. “Do you have a Fay Sunray book or movie or something I could look at? I’d like to get to know her better.”

  “Mom bought me the movie, but it hasn’t come in the mail yet.” Eliot had been greatly cheered by discussing the entertainer. “So I’m not in trouble?”

  “No, you’re not in trouble,” James reassured the boy. “Come back to the table and I’ll make you a grilled cheese, okay? We’re going to talk about this some more, but I’d like to tell your mother what you told me first.”

  Shifting nervously, Eliot gave James his most plaintive look. “But she might not like it. Do you have to?”

  James nodded solemnly. “Yes I do. Your mother and I are a team, remember? Different houses, same rules.”

  Eliot stuck his bottom lip out, mustering up the kind of drama favored by the very young. “I wish we had just one house. I wish we could be together all the time!”

  Surprised by his son’s yearning, James put his hand on Eliot’s back and gently pushed him toward the door. “You can never tell what the future will bring, kiddo. You can never tell.”

  Come Monday morning, James was still reeling over his son’s decision to become a vegetarian. At a quarter to nine, he unlocked the library’s front doors, rolled the cart of sale books gathered by the Friends of the Library out of the supply closet and into the lobby, flipped on the main light switch, and booted up all twenty computers. While the machines hummed and blipped into life, James made a beeline for the parenting books and began to scan the shelves. He was foolishly hoping to find a quick and easy answer on how to handle Eliot’s request.

  James selected several books with chapters on children and eating, but after reading several paragraphs on how parents should give their progeny a choice about what they’d like to eat before each meal, he began to grow frustrated. James planned dinners ahead of time. He didn’t wait to ask Eliot what he was in the mood to eat. He just cooked the boy the same food he was eating and served him a plateful.

  He wondered if he’d been handling dinnertime incorrectly. After all, he was fairly new to parenting and had decided to follow the same rules and guidelines established by his parents. But the book in his hands discouraged such old-fashioned child rearing methods.

  “You should encourage a child’s natural curiosity about foods by providing a colorful plate. Shape their food until it looks fun to eat! For example, you could create a vegetable pizza with a face made of broccoli and mushrooms or use a cookie cutter to encourage your kids to eat a heart-shaped tuna and sprout sandwich. Sometimes children don’t like different foods to touch on the plate. Try serving them meals in a Japanese-style divided box or three, colorful bowls,” one psychiatrist advised. “If a child still resists sampling something on his plate, you should respect his wishes and take the unappealing food away. Respect and dignity are an integral part of the parent-child relationship.”

  James chuckled ruefully. “I’d like to read that paragraph to Pop. He’d uncap his pen and write this PhD a scathing letter about how parents are meant to be benevolent dictators and kids are meant to be polite and obedient, not the other way around. I can’t even imagine what he’d think about the recommendation to serve Eliot’s dinner in a Japanese box!”

  In fact, Jackson had given James his own parenting advice a few weeks ago. “You be sure to do the right thing by Eliot,” his father had told him. “Don’t be too soft. He won’t grow into a man if you’re a lily-livered father. Draw the line and give him hell when he crosses it.
That’s what makes a man. Not these long-winded reasons why he can’t do this or shouldn’t do that. You say, ‘because I said so,’ and leave it at that. Worked for you and millions of kids before you.”

  It had taken all Jackson’s willpower to remain silent on his grandson’s decision to become a vegetarian. He merely shook his head with wonder and gave James a look that said, “You’d better nip this one in the bud.”

  Jane had also been nonplussed by her son’s determination to change his diet. Once Eliot was asleep in James’ house and she had driven back to Harrisonburg, she and James had spoken on the phone until late in the night and had decided not to act until they’d each done some research on the nutritional effects of vegetarianism on such a young child.

  Tired as he was, James had been unable to fall asleep afterward and so he perused the hypnotherapy brochure until he could practically recite the content verbatim.

  “At least I’m prepared for my afternoon session with Harmony,” James murmured as he examined another parenting book. “Because I’m not finding an ounce of practical advice on how to handle this situation with Eliot.”

  At the sound of someone clearing his throat, James pivoted to his left and looked up. Scott Fitzgerald, one half of the well-liked twin brother team working at the library, wore a solemn expression.

  “Good morning, Professor.” Scott spoke in his “business hours” whisper, though no patrons had entered the building yet.

  Francis Fitzgerald stepped around the corner of the stacks and stood shoulder-to-shoulder next to his long and lanky brother. Running a hand through waves of untamed brown curls, he nodded a sedate hello. Silently, the twins exchanged worried glances and then, as though they had rehearsed the movement in a mirror, each young man reached up to push his tortoise shell glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. If their expressions hadn’t been so lugubrious, James would have found the synchronized gesture amusing, but he recognized the signs of impending trouble in the fidgety postures of his two employees.