by P.D. Workman
CHAPTER TWO
AFTER THE DISMISSAL BELL, other students were hanging around in the hallways and around the school, visiting, catching up with old friendships and trying out new ones. Already there were a few couples lip-locked in front of lockers or in corners, testing out the new freedoms of high school. In junior high, such displays had been immediately broken up by the teachers. In high school, they were ignored. But Henry didn’t hang around or look for any of his friends. He hurried straight home.
He dropped his books on the kitchen table. Bobby was crying in his room.
“Ma? Ma, are you home?” Henry called, looking around for her.
There was no reply. Henry made his way to his bedroom, where Bobby was standing in his crib screaming. He held onto the bars tightly. The baby’s face was red and sweaty. He sounded frantic, like he’d been crying for a long time. When Henry appeared, he immediately reached out his arms, the screams changing in pitch to an urgent uh-uh-uh! Henry reached in and picked him up. Bobby clung to him, his sobs slowing down. His fingers dug into Henry, sharp nails catching at his skin. He was holding on so tightly that Henry figured if he let him go, he’d just stay hanging there, like a baby monkey. Henry bounced and cuddled him, waiting for him to settle down.
“There, you’re okay,” he murmured. “I’m here. You’re okay.”
There were three empty bottles in the crib. Henry collected them awkwardly with one hand, wedging one under his opposite armpit. He went into the kitchen.
“Shh, shh,” he comforted quietly as he jiggled Bobby. One-handedly, he prepared a fresh bottle of formula for Bobby, and handed it to him.
“There you go. Why don’t you put that in your mouth for a bit?”
Bobby’s sobs quieted, and he drank the bottle around sniffles. Henry took him into the bathroom to change Bobby’s reeking diaper. He gently wiped Bobby’s bottom, starting him crying again. His skin was bright red and inflamed, obviously painful. Henry disposed of the dirty diaper and left Bobby bare bottomed.
“There. You can play like that while I study and get a snack.”
Henry put Bobby down on the kitchen floor and made another jam sandwich for himself. He sat down over his books, eating the sandwich slowly while he studied, glancing over at Bobby every few minutes to make sure that he was happy and keeping out of mischief.
The front door opened. Henry looked over his shoulder to see who it was. Clint. A big man, wearing a construction hardhat, looking unshaven as usual. He smelled rankly of sweat.
“Hi,” Henry greeted, and looked back at his books, uninterested in further interaction.
“Hey, Hank,” Clint grunted.
“Don’t call me that,” Henry objected. “It’s Henry.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Clint didn’t care. He had no intention of showing Henry the respect of calling him by his preferred name.
“You seen my mom?” Henry questioned, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the space between his eyebrows.
“No. She’s not home?”
“No.”
Obviously. Why would Henry ask about her if she was there? Clint wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. Clint watched Bobby playing on the floor.
“How come Squirt’s got not diaper?” he demanded.
“Got left in a dirty diaper. It burns his skin. The baby book says the best thing is to let his skin get some air,” Henry explained.
“What if he whizzes on the floor?”
“I’ll clean it up.”
“Okay.”
Clint looked around.
“I’ll see you around, then, Hank.”
“You’re not staying?” Henry questioned.
“Not if Dorry’s not home.”
He adjusted his hard hat, showing a white band of skin where the front support of the hat kept the sun and dirt from darkening his face, and he turned and left. Henry sat for a moment, listening to his retreating footsteps. Then he shrugged and went back to work.
It was late when the door opened again. Dinner and homework were long since finished. Bobby was back in bed, asleep this time in a clean, dry diaper and onesie, tummy happily full. Henry put down his book and got up off of his bed quietly, so as not to wake Bobby.
“Ma?”
He walked out to the living room where she was taking off her shoes and her fall coat. Her face was pale and thin, dark rings under her eyes, her brown hair lank and uncombed over her shoulders. She forced a smile at Henry.
“Hi, Honey. How was your day?” she questioned.
“You left Bobby alone,” Henry accused, ignoring her greeting and question.
“I couldn’t take his fussing any more,” she told him, her voice flat and emotionless. “Don’t get on my case,” she warned.
“You could have called me at school. So I could come home at noon or something.”
“I didn’t want you to miss any more school. He was okay until you came home,” she asserted.
“You can’t leave him alone like that! What if he got out of his crib? Or someone came into the house? You know Social Services would take him away if they knew you left him alone.”
“Well,” she shook her head slightly at him, “no one is going to tell them.”
“You want him to be taken away?” he challenged.
“They’d put him in foster care for a while,” she said uncaringly. “Then they’d give him back again.”
Henry remembered being in foster care many years ago. When she was recovering from a relationship and couldn’t “handle” him. She probably didn’t even remember the man’s name any more. But Henry did. He remembered Frank. He remembered a lot more than she thought he did, though neither one of them brought it up.
“Bobby’s got a real bad rash,” Henry told Dorry. “Was he dirty when you left?”
Dorry swept her hair back from her face with both hands in a tired gesture. She went to the fridge and looked through it listlessly, eventually selecting a small juice box of lemonade that sat alone on the top shelf. Henry watched her remove the straw, removed the wrapper from it, and poke it into the top. She took a couple of small sips, and put it to the side on the counter, where she probably wouldn’t pick it back up again.
“Of course not,” she told him. “I made sure he was okay.”
“You can’t just leave him by himself,” Henry repeated. “The baby book—”
“Henry,” she interrupted him tiredly. “I don’t care what the baby book says. The baby book doesn’t have to listen to him cry all the time. I do. You know how he’s been the last few days.”
“Yeah, ‘cause he’s been sick,” Henry pointed out. “And I was the one taking care of him then, not you. Did you even stay with him at all today? Or did you just put bottles in the crib and leave as soon as I was out of the house?”
“You’re not my mom,” Dorry said bitterly. “I’m yours. And you don’t get to tell me what to do.”
Henry exhaled sharply in frustration. He picked up his books from off of the table, closing them loudly and putting them into his backpack.
“Is that how you took care of me when I was a baby?” he demanded.
Dorry looked at him for a moment, her pale brown eyes expressionless.
“You turned out okay,” she said, ruffling his hair.
That was as close as she ever got to saying that she loved him. Henry didn’t fail to notice that she hadn’t answered the question.
Henry woke up several times during the night. Not because Bobby was fussing, but just because Henry was worried about him. He would get up and check Bobby’s diaper, worried that the rash was going to get worse if Bobby had to sleep the night through in a wet or dirty diaper. He checked Bobby’s temperature to make sure that his fever hadn’t returned. When he couldn’t think of anything else to check, he just stood there by the crib in the moonlight, looking at Bobby’s cherubic face as he slept peacefully. Then Henry climbed back into bed and tried to force his mind to slow down and let him return to sleep.
“Hey, Henry
,” Andrew sang out, “ain’t that the third time today I seen you on the phone?”
Henry started, and turned around guiltily.
“I don’t know, did you see me the other two times?” he quipped, trying to make light of it. The last thing that he needed was for someone to be monitoring how many times he went to the phone. Many of the students had cell phones, but they weren’t allowed to use them at school, on danger of having them confiscated, and that meant that there were long lineups and steep competition for the pay phones, especially during lunchtime or the short breaks between classes. Henry had already been late to a couple of classes, and used the phone when he was supposed to be running to the restroom.
Andrew laughed.
“Yeah, man. What’s up, you got girl problems?”
Henry gave him a significant look and turned his back on Andrew again, facing the phone and waiting impatiently for the call to be answered.
“You wanna give me some privacy?” he suggested, hoping that Andrew would just go with the idea that Henry was trying to connect up with some girl he was interested in, and leave him alone.
The answering machine picked up. Henry frowned, waving Andrew off. The boy finally backed off, laughing. Henry cupped his hand around the receiver so that no one would overhear him.
“Mom, it’s me,” he said urgently. “Pick up if you’re home.”
After a moment, there was a click. Henry sighed with relief.
“What’s up?”
It was Clint’s rough, impatient voice.
“Oh, hi. Mom’s not there?”
“No.”
“Is Bobby there? Do you want me to come home?” Henry suggested worriedly.
“He’s fine. Dorry decided to take him to that moms and tots thing. And he’ll be tired and have a nap when she gets back.”
Henry breathed out.
“Good. Are you gonna be there after school?”
“More than likely,” Clint growled. “So?”
“If you’re both there, maybe I’ll go to the mall for a bit after school. You can have some time to yourselves.”
Clint grunted.
“Sure. Just don’t stay out too long. She’ll get worried.”
“No,” Henry agreed. “Just an hour or something. I won’t be long.”
Clint hung up. Henry hung up the receiver slowly. He felt a rush of relief. Now he could finally relax and concentrate on his classes. Bobby was okay. There was nothing for him to worry about. He moved out of the way of the phone to let the next person make their call.
Henry wandered through the mall, happy to be able to relax and not have any responsibilities for a few minutes. A lot of the stores had signs up. Schoolbags and knapsacks to be left at the front of the store. They were afraid of kids shoplifting. Henry left his knapsack at the front of the electronics store. If someone really wanted to shoplift, they wouldn’t need a knapsack to do it. The clerks couldn’t watch everyone if the store was busy. They had disregarded Henry as a shoplifter as soon as he walked in the door. He didn’t look like trouble. None of the clerks were watching him. He could pocket a pack of batteries, or anything that wasn’t tied down that would fit in his pocket. Henry picked up the batteries and weighed them in his hand. All you would have to do was to slip them into your pocket.
Henry found himself picking up his knapsack at the front of the store, with the weight of the batteries in his pocket. His heart was racing and he felt lightheaded, like he was going to pass out. He turned around to tell the clerk how bad their security was and prove to them how easy it was to shoplift. Then he realized how stupid that would be. They could put him in jail for what he had just done. He considered going back into the store and putting the batteries back. But that would be risky. Going back in would be suspicious. Better to just walk away.
On the way home he realized he was grinning. It had been so easy to lift the batteries! He had done it right under their noses, without anybody suspecting a thing. And now he felt what? Powerful. Superior. Exhilarated. And just a little bit guilty. He was still breathless with excitement. It was an odd feeling. He had foolishly followed a compulsion, and he had gotten away with it. He received no punishment, no consequence. And he was one pack of batteries richer for it.
Before he got home, he put the batteries in his knapsack. No point letting his mom find them in his pocket if she decided to do laundry.
“That you, Henry?” Dorry called when he opened the door.
“Hi, ma,” Henry greeted, sticking his head around the corner to nod to her on his way to the kitchen.
“You’re late getting home,” she observed.
Henry stopped. He frowned and went into the living room where his mom and Clint were sitting on the couch watching TV. Clint was in his undershirt, one arm around Dorry, who had her head nestled in his shoulder and her legs stretched across his lap.
“I told Clint,” Henry said uncertainly.
Dorry looked up at Clint for verification. He set down his beer on the side table, nodding, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Yeah,” Clint confirmed. “He called while you were out with Squirt.”
“You didn’t tell me,” Dorry complained.
“You weren’t worried,” he pointed out, scratching his bristly chin and looking at the TV.
Dorry fished for an explanation, not wanting to sound like she hadn’t cared that Henry hadn’t come straight home.
“I didn’t realize how late it was until I heard you come in,” she said lamely.
Henry shrugged. He picked up Bobby from where he was playing on the rug and bounced him, making Bobby crow loudly, all smiles.
“Hey, buddy! How was your day?” he said in his high baby-talk voice. “You went out with mama? Had a fun day?” He tickled Bobby.
“He loves that playgroup,” Dorry observed. “I’ll maybe take him again next week.”
“Good,” Henry approved. It was good for her to have somewhere to take him. Somewhere that she could meet with other adults, good examples, and socialize with them. “I’ll go study in my room,” he offered, “take him along with me.”
“Thanks, bud,” Dorry said, smiling softly. “You’re a good kid.”
As he retreated from the room, Dorry put her arms around Clint’s neck, pulling him close for a kiss. Henry felt his face growing hot. He grabbed a banana from the kitchen counter and hurried down the hall. He closed his door to shut out their low murmurs to each other.
Bobby had been fussing for a while before Henry finally managed to fully rouse himself from sleep. He stumbled to his feet, rubbing his sticky, sleepy eyes with his palms. He turned on the night-light and patted Bobby soothingly on the back.
“What’s the matter, Bobby? You hungry?” he questioned softly. He noticed how red the baby’s cheeks were. “You teething, bud?”
Henry rubbed Bobby’s back in slow circles, seeing if he would settle. Bobby continued to sob and fuss. Henry left him in the crib and shuffled out to the kitchen. He blearily prepared a bottle.
“Can’t you shut that kid up?” Clint demanded, stalking into the kitchen.
“He’s teething,” Henry said tersely, struggling to screw the top onto the bottle, but it kept getting cross-threaded.
“I said to shut him up!” Clint repeated.
“I’m trying!”
Clint aimed a kick at the back of Henry’s knees. Henry was still half asleep, and both knees buckled. The bottle went flying, a pool of milk spreading across the floor. Henry swore, staggering to his feet.
“What did you do that for?” he protested. He knew he’d made a mistake the minute the words left his mouth, and threw up his hand to protect himself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”
Clint raised his hand, eyes calculating. He backhanded Henry powerfully across the cheek, throwing him to the floor with the force.
“Don’t you ever back-talk me!” he shouted.
Henry’s mother came into the kitchen, pulling her tatty housecoat shu
t across her thin body, tying it messily.
“Clint, leave him alone. Go back to bed,” she said quietly.
“I have to sleep,” Clint griped, “Can’t have that baby keeping me awake all the time.” He headed back to the bedroom. “You’d better make sure he cleans up in there.”
“He will,” Dorry assured him. “Go on.”
Clint shut the bedroom door. Dorry reached down and helped Henry to his feet.
“Come on, sweetie,” she encouraged.
Henry got up, holding his throbbing face.
“I’m gonna be bruised for school,” he said, his throat constricted, and hot tears overflowing his eyes. He sniffled, silent sobs shaking his belly.
“It’ll be okay,” Dorry said calmingly. “I’ll get you some ice.”
“I gotta get Bobby his milk and clean up,” Henry’s voice shook.
“I’ll clean up. You take your brother his bottle. I’ll bring you ice when you’re done.”
His breathing still shaky, Henry got a new bottle for Bobby, who was now wailing full force in the bedroom. Henry picked Bobby up and lay down with him on the bed to feed him. Bobby fussed a bit, then settled down to take the bottle, and soon fell back asleep. Henry rested quietly, cuddled up with Bobby, waiting for his mother to bring the ice. Dorry eventually came in and handed him a frozen gel pack. She sat on the edge of the bed and examined his cheek.
“I don’t think it’s too bad,” she told him. “If anyone notices, just say you fell down.”
“Yeah, right,” Henry snapped back. “I tripped and fell on my face. Social Services would be here before I got out of school.”
“Maybe it won’t even show.”
“It’ll show. Why’d he have to do that?” Henry whined.
“You know better than to talk back to Clint.”
“I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean to, he just startled me. I didn’t have time to think.”
“He’s like that when his sleep gets interrupted. It’s not really his fault,” she said. She ran her fingers through her sleep-tangled hair. “I gotta get back to bed. You get some sleep. Everybody will feel better in the morning.”