Evolution

by L.L. Bartlett

  “Sir, you don’t spend a lot of time here. You comes and goes so fast, ain’t nobody able to catch you to say a word, least of all the boy.”

  Richard exhaled. “Point taken.” And how. He turned for Doris. “As of this minute, there are new rules in this kitchen. My brother is a member of this household and withholding food as a punishment will no longer be tolerated. I fired the last cook. I’ll do it again if I have to. Do you understand?”

  Doris’s cheeks flushed bright red, and her voice was shaky when she murmured, “Yes, sir.”

  Richard brushed past Curtis. “Now to see if I can undo the damage.”

  Richard knocked on Jeff’s door, but there was no answer. He turned the handle. The room was dark, but the light spilling in from the hall revealed a huddled shape lying on the bed.

  “Jeff? We need to talk.”

  No answer.

  “Curtis told me what’s been going on at dinnertime. I’ve spoken to Doris. Everything’s going to be okay now.” Yeah, let’s just pretend the last ten weeks never happened and everything will be peachy keen.

  The kid didn’t move. From somewhere in the dark drifted the tinny sound of a small radio. It was one of the few items Jeff had retrieved from the apartment he’d shared with their mother before her death the year before.

  Richard tried again. “You’re either going to have to talk to me, or a counselor. One way or another, we have to solve this.”

  Still no answer.

  “Look, why don’t the two of us go out and get something to eat.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital by now?”

  “I told them I’d be late. Right now I think it’s important that we—”

  Jeff swung his legs over the side of the single bed, sitting up, but still didn’t face Richard. “Just go away. Now.”

  “I can’t. Not until I have some kind of assurance that you’re going to work with me on this. We can get you help, but you’ve got to be willing to accept the fact there’s a problem.”

  “I don’t have no stinkin’ anorexia. Girls get that, not guys. I know what I’m doing.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re screwing with your health and it could have life-long consequences.”

  Jeff snorted. “You are so wrong. I have not given up eating. I’ve just stopped—”

  “Ketchup and hot water is not soup. It’s not eating.”

  “Shut up!” Jeff erupted from the bed and started pacing the confines of the small darkened room. “It’s all her fault. I’ve heard her telling people who visit, ‘He steals food!’ She told people on the phone you fired Helen, but that was me who stole from them. I did not! I never have. I don’t want anything of hers—of theirs!”

  The impact of the words caused Richard to sag against the door frame. He covered his eyes with his right hand. “Dear God, is that what this is all about?”

  “And I don’t want anything from you, either!” Jeff crossed the room in three paces, yanked open a dresser drawer and grabbed something from within, tossed it at Richard, hitting him in the chest. The packet fell to the carpet.

  Richard bent down to pick it up. An envelope of cash. He thumbed through it: ten ten-dollar bills.

  “What’s this, your school lunch money?”

  Jeff’s defiance waned, and he was back to being a short, skinny teen-aged boy with a pallid complexion. “Go away,” he said, his voice a whisper—a plea.

  “No.”

  They stared at one another for long minutes. Were those tears in the kid’s eyes?

  “You need to eat,” Richard said.

  Jeff shook his head. “You can’t make me.”

  Somehow Richard swallowed down the lump in his throat. “No, I can’t. But I’m asking you, please, go downstairs and try to eat something.”

  Jeff shook his head, his lower lip trembling. “No.” He blinked back tears. “You don’t understand. She made me look like....”

  And suddenly Richard did understand. It was pride that kept the kid from enjoying a meal, a bite, a taste. Grandmother had humiliated him one too many times in front of servants and strangers.

  “I’m sorry, kid.” The words were inadequate to express the degree of guilt and sorrow pulling at Richard’s soul. “I’m sorry all this has happened, and I don’t know how to make it right. I really don’t know.”

  Jeff said nothing.

  Richard resisted the urge to reach out, to hug his younger sibling, knowing Jeff wouldn’t know how to accept such an expression of compassion—at least from him.

  “Please, go away,” Jeff said, his voice cracking.

  Richard struggled to swallow. He stared at the kid for a long twenty, thirty seconds, and then he turned and pulled the door shut behind him.

  #

  Richard found both his grandparents in the living room, sitting in their usual chairs, reading. For the first time the room’s silence struck him as unnatural. Only the sound of the mantle clock broke the quiet, and it occurred to him that he rarely heard the two engage in conversation. Maybe after so many years of marriage they didn’t need words to communicate. Or was it that they had nothing left to say to one another?

  Richard cleared his throat. His grandmother looked up from the magazine on her lap. She gazed at him over the top of her reading glasses, and a smile broke her wrinkled features. “Darling, Richard. Come and sit down.” She patted the couch cushion beside her, clearly delighted to see him.

  “Hello, Grandfather.”

  The old man rewarded him with a faint but genuine smile. If nothing else, Richard knew his grandparents loved and cherished him. Too bad they couldn’t extend a smidgen of those emotions to Jeff. Then again, who was he to judge them?

  “I thought you’d be at work,” Grandmother said.

  “I should be, but something came up.” Grandmother’s blue eyes shifted from pleasure to concern. That would change in a heartbeat.

  “I’ve got some unhappy news for you.”

  Grandfather folded his newspaper, his expression darkening.

  “Jeff and I will be moving out as soon as I can find other accommodations.” He’d used this threat before, but this time he was deadly serious.

  “You’re leaving?”

  Typical. Grandmother never acknowledged Jeff if she didn’t have to.

  “Yes. The principal at Jeff’s school called me in today. They seem to think he’s unhappy at home and that it’s affecting his health.”

  “We can’t be held responsible for whether that boy’s happy or not,” Grandmother snapped, her back stiffening.

  “That’s true. But apparently there’s a continuing problem with the kitchen staff here. It seems Doris has been denying Jeff food.”

  “Then we’ll fire her right away,” Grandfather said. The poor old man had no clue about the dynamics going on around him.

  “I’m not sure that would solve the problem,” Richard said. “Because it also seems that someone has been telling people that Jeff steals food. I don’t believe that’s true. Between this and being denied food, he’s been starving himself. I can’t leave him in a situation that threatens his health. I’m legally responsible for his wellbeing, and as his guardian I take that obligation very seriously.”

  Not serious enough, a voice inside him mocked, or else you’d have noticed the kid was in trouble long before this. He clamped his jaws together, as though that would help dispel the guilt.

  It didn’t.

  “And I have my reputation at the hospital to think about. If it gets out that I couldn’t keep my own brother from suffering malnutrition—”

  Grandfather looked suitably upset. “I don’t want you to go.” He turned his anger on his wife. “And we will do everything we can to make sure that the boy is treated fairly under this roof, won’t we Margery?”

  Pink spots appeared on the old lady’s face.

  “Won’t we,” the old man said again, with more force.

  Richard had never seen the old man stand up to his grandmother.

&n
bsp; Her gaze dipped to the magazine on her lap.

  “That boy deserves an apology,” Grandfather said.

  Grandmother’s eyes blazed, her fingers crumpling the magazine. “I will not.”

  “You’ve told lies about that boy. I know you’re capable of it. I’ve turned a blind eye to the way you’ve treated him, but no more. Do you hear me?”

  Instead, she retrieved her cane, rose to her feet, tossed the magazine onto the coffee table, and shuffled out of the room. Richard watched her go; he didn’t try to stop her.

  A gnarled hand touched his arm. “If she won’t do it, I’ll apologize for her. Do you think I should go up there now?”

  “Thank you, but no. Not now.” The back of his throat constricted, and the hand on his arm tightened slightly. “I’ve failed him. Dammit, Grandfather, I’ve failed.”

  #

  Ten minutes later, Richard was back in the kitchen. Doris was gone, but Curtis still sat at the table, his dinner dishes no longer in sight.

  Richard retrieved his coat from the back of the chair.

  “Everything all right now, sir?”

  Richard shook his head. “I let things go too far. Part of me says I need to get Jeff out of this house, but I know if I do he’ll have even less structure than he has now. I don’t want to make things worse; as if that’s possible.” He shrugged into his coat. “I’d appreciate it if you looked out for him. I’d be willing to make it worth your while.”

  Curtis shook his head. “No, sir. I can’t take your money. If I’d’a been paying closer attention, I’d’a found some way to tell you the boy was in trouble. I feels responsible, sir.”

  Richard shook his head. “He’s my responsibility.” He glanced toward the darkened hallway and the staircase beyond. “It’s just ... I wasn’t expecting it to be so damned labor intensive. I made the commitment to the hospital before I knew I’d have to be responsible for Jeff. I can’t abandon either of them, and it seems like both are suffering. Curtis, I don’t know what to do.”

  “It be okay, Mr. Richard,” the old man said, patting his arm paternally. “You go back to work now. I’ll think of something.”

  With no solution at hand, Richard could only nod.

  #

  Curtis climbed the stairs, his rheumatism causing his knees to creak in protest. He shuffled down the hallway and paused at the far door on the left side of the hall. He knocked twice. No answer. He knocked again.

  “I told you to go away,” came Jeff’s angry voice. The door was yanked open, and he stared, blinking up at Curtis. “Oh, sorry.”

  “Get yer coat, boy. I’m taking you to MacDonalds.”

  #

  The snowy night made for a sparse crowd at the Williamsville McDonalds. The night crew had already blocked off a good portion of the seating area where they’d swabbed tables and mopped the floor.

  “Sit,” Curtis ordered, and Jeff plunked down at the first available table. This was stupid. He wasn’t hungry and he wasn’t going to eat. Richard had put Curtis up to bringing him here—bribed him, probably. The Alperts always tried to buy their way out of situations. Not that Jeff had ever seen any of them do it, but wealthy people were all the same. Eager to crush the little guy. And Richard, being at least eight inches taller than Jeff, definitely qualified as big.

  Curtis arrived with a brown plastic tray, but the only things on it were two Styrofoam cups. Curtis sat down, passing one of the cups to Jeff, taking the other for himself. He unzipped his coat and took off his knit cap, setting it on the table. “I always like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter’s night.”

  “It’s almost spring,” Jeff said.

  “Maybe by the calendar—but Mother Nature don’t go by man-made deadlines.” He removed the plastic cover from his cup. The steam curled upward.

  Jeff stared at his own cup. Hot chocolate wasn’t food, but Curtis was employed by the Alperts—that meant it was their money that paid for the cocoa. He pushed the drink aside.

  Curtis paid him no attention and picked up his cup, blowing on it to cool it. “This here ain’t the best hot chocolate, but it ain’t too bad, either.” He took a small sip. “Ahh, good. Try some.”

  Jeff shook his head.

  “I know what you’re thinkin’. But the money that paid for this came from winning with a straight flush last Saturday night. Pot was worth about forty bucks.”

  Jeff looked from Curtis back to the chocolate. It smelled pretty good. Still.... “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

  Curtis’s eyes narrowed. “Got no reason to, Jeffrey.”

  Jeff studied the cup for a long moment. He removed the cap and sniffed at the foamy brown liquid before taking a tentative sip.

  It tasted wonderful.

  He put it back on the table. He didn’t want to look too eager.

  “You know, I think you got a lot of pride. That ain’t necessarily a bad thing. You don’t want people doin’ for you. You think it makes you look weak.”

  Jeff didn’t comment.

  “It don’t feel good to be beholding to others. I know that feeling.” Curtis took another sip of cocoa.

  “So what would you do? I gotta live there. Richard’s got papers that say so.”

  Curtis shrugged, held his cup up to eye level and examined it before taking another swig. “I’d get me a job, then I could pay my own way.”

  Jeff snorted. “I’m not even sixteen. Who’d hire me?”

  “My friend Joe Miller has a car wash up on Main Street. He’s looking for a rag boy.”

  “Rag boy?”

  “Yeah. Someone who’ll dry off the windshields and wet spots after the cars come out of the dryer.”

  “Don’t you have to be sixteen to get a job?”

  “Not if you get a parent or guardian to sign your working papers.”

  Jeff shook his head. “Richard would never sign.”

  “He might if someone could convince him they were going to try to eat again.”

  “Did he tell you—?”

  Curtis shook his head. “I been around the block a few times, boy. Not much gets by me.”

  Jeff huddled into his jacket, his voice small. “I want to eat. I just ... lost interest.”

  “You got to start out small. Like drinking a cup of hot chocolate.” Curtis took a deep swallow. “Better with whipped cream from a can.”

  Jeff nodded and took another sip of cocoa. It did taste okay. More than that, it tasted good. Really good! He allowed himself a deeper swallow. “How much does a rag boy make?”

  “Minimum wage. But lots’a people tip. It’s the tips that make the job worth doing, especially this time a year. People feel sorry seeing a boy working in the cold and wet.”

  “When do you think I could start?”

  “Why don’t we go visit Joe and you ask him?”

  #

  “A job? What are you, crazy?” Richard cringed at the sharpness in his tone. It was close to eleven o’clock on a school night as he looked around the crowded Emergency waiting room to see if the people in chairs were all staring at him.

  Jeff looked from Richard to Curtis. “I told you,” he muttered.

  “Why don’t we all sit down and talk about this,” Curtis said, but despite the hour there weren’t three empty chairs in one spot.

  “Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” Richard asked.

  “No,” Jeff said, belligerently. “You always make me wait. Not this time. Why? Why can’t I get a job?”

  Richard shook his head. “Not here. Come on,” he said, and led them to a side corridor. They followed him down it to a small conference room. He switched on the light and ushered them into the uncomfortable office chairs. Jeff slumped, looking lost in the winter jacket that was miles too big for him, arms crossed across his thin chest, his expression defiant.

  “I’ve got ten minutes,” Richard started. “That’s all, to explain to you why—”

  “You just can’t stand to see me do something I want to do for a change.”
<
br />   “Working in a car wash? Why in hell would you want to do that?”

  “Because I don’t want to be beholding to you all the time.”

  Richard sighed and tried to regain his temper. “Jeff, you haven’t got the stamina. Maybe in a couple of months—”

  “No, now!”

  “No!” Richard answered with equal force.

  Jeff turned to Curtis. “I told you he wouldn’t sign for me. Well, I don’t need his signature. I’ll forge it.”

  “And then we’d both be in trouble. Your principal already hinted that she can have a social worker check up on us because I didn’t know what’s going on with you. Is that what you want? To be put in a foster home?”

  “Can they do that?” Curtis asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t care about me. You never have,” Jeff accused.

  His words hit a little too close to home. “I’m not the one who passed out twice in gym class and didn’t tell about it,” Richard countered.

  “Now, now, now,” Curtis said, hands held out to placate. “There’s gots to be a compromise here.”

  Richard shook his head. “No, there’s no compromising when it comes to Jeff’s health.”

  “What would it take for you to sign those papers?” Curtis asked.

  “For one thing,” Richard began, pointing his right index finger practically in Jeff’s face. “He’d have to start eating again.”

  “He says he’ll do that.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Richard countered, sizing the kid up. “I can’t just take his word because I can’t be with him day in and day out to check up on him.” He turned, speaking to the kid. “If you want a job this bad, you’re going to have to work for it. You show me you’re eating by gaining weight, and then we’ll talk about it.”

  “How much?”

  “Weight?”

  Jeff nodded.

  Richard sighed. “Five pounds. You gain five pounds, and then we’ll talk about it.”

  “By the time I gain that much weight, I’ll already be sixteen.”

  “And then you won’t need my signature. But nobody’s going to hire you if they think you’re going to keel over and get hurt. You get hurt, they get sued, and goddamn it, if that happens I’d take them to the cleaners. I’ve got my own money, and I’ve got Grandfather’s law firm behind me, and they’re the best in the city.”