Deviation, Breaking the Pattern #1

by P.D. Workman

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT WASN’T TWO WEEKS before he saw Sandy again. They ran into each other, oddly enough, at the mall. Sandy gave him a start, tapping him on the shoulder as he pocketed a package of razors. Not that he needed razors; it was just the thrill of taking them. He jumped and turned guiltily.

  “It is you,” she said. “I have a pretty good memory for people. What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Henry.”

  “Henry,” she repeated, wrinkling her nose. “And this is your baby?” she indicated Bobby, sitting in the cart swinging his feet.

  “Yeah. Well, not mine—my brother.”

  “He’s a cutie. I got pregnant once,” she said lightly, “but I got an abortion.”

  “Oh,” he didn’t know what to say. “Sorry.”

  “I got over it. Would’a’ been worse to have been tied down to a kid. No good for a girl. Eats up half your income in babysitting.”

  Henry just nodded. She was in a talkative mood. He wondered if she was high.

  “So what’re you doing here?” Sandy questioned.

  “Just shopping,” Henry shrugged.

  “Yeah, with a five-finger discount, I see.”

  Henry flushed, feeling hot right down to the roots of his hair.

  “It’s a rush,” he said, as if he had to explain it to her, who had a finger in so many pies.

  “Try this,” she put something in his hand. Henry looked down, half expecting drugs. It was money. Henry thumbed the bills apart and examined them.

  “P-notes?” he questioned.

  “You know the lingo,” she observed. “Yeah. It’s fun. You get a hundred in funny money, you buy something and get good twenties back as change. You give the good twenties back to the dealer, and keep what you bought.”

  Henry handed them back.

  “Cool,” he approved.

  “Yeah. You wanna go for an ice cream or something?” she offered brightly.

  “I thought I wasn’t your type,” Henry reminded her.

  She ruffled Bobby’s hair.

  “No, but this guy is,” she leaned over and kissed Bobby square on the lips. Henry’s stomach twisted.

  “Don’t do that,” he growled, pushing in between her and Bobby.

  “Don’t kiss him?” Sandy questioned, frowning.

  “Don’t kiss him like he’s grown up. He’s a baby.”

  “What’s the difference?” she asked.

  “Kiss him on the cheek or forehead. Gently. Not like he’s…” Henry ran out of words, not sure how to explain his fear to her.

  Sandy shrugged.

  “I didn’t mean nothing by it,” she apologized. “So, you want an ice cream or not?”

  Henry looked at her for a moment. She was cute. In spite of the fact that he wasn’t her type, she was the one who had offered to spend time together. She was relaxed with him, not like the other girls.

  “Okay, sure,” he agreed.

  Dorry had been getting back later and later from group therapy lately, so Henry wasn’t worried immediately. But as the evening wore on, he started to get anxious. She was a home person. When things got bad, she was far more likely to refuse to get out of bed than to go out and be irresponsible.

  Henry called the doctor in charge of group. He had a hard time getting past the receptionist, but eventually convinced her that he had to talk to the doctor.

  “Henry Thomas,” the doctor greeted cheerfully. “How’s mom?”

  “I don’t know. What time did she leave your office?”

  There was silence, and Henry knew the answer before the doctor said anything.

  “Today?” the doctor said uncertainly.

  “She was supposed to be at group with you today,” Henry reminded him.

  “No, she transferred over to Dr. Watson’s group, on Fridays. Because of her new job.”

  Holding the phone against his shoulder, Henry fell into a chair, his face in his hands. How could this be happening?

  “Henry, are you still there?” the doctor prodded.

  “Yeah,” Henry said, his voice rough, barely able to get the single syllable out.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “What’s going on?”

  “She doesn’t have a new job,” Henry said. “She’s been going out Wednesdays, not Friday. And… today she didn’t come home.”

  “That’s out of character for her,” the doctor observed with concern.

  “She doesn’t like to go out,” Henry said. “Where’s she been going if she’s not going to group?” his voice cracked. He swallowed, trying to keep the hot lump in his chest from turning into tears.

  “Has her behavior changed in any other way?” the doctor’s voice remained calm and even, clinical. His lack of emotion helped Henry keep from breaking down completely.

  Henry tried to concentrate on the question, tried to focus on Dorry’s recent behavior. How had she been lately?

  “I don’t know. I didn’t notice anything, except her staying later at group,” he said.

  “Well, maybe she’ll still show up.”

  “Maybe,” Henry agreed, not hopeful.

  “Take care, Henry.”

  Henry said goodbye, and hung up the phone.

  < < <

  Bobby was fussy, hot and flushed with fever. Henry cuddled with him, trying to quiet him back to sleep. Bobby whined and held Henry around the neck, pressing his burning face against his chest.

  “Shut up!” Clint shouted angrily from the other room.

  Henry held Bobby close.

  “Please, shh, it’s okay,” Henry whispered anxiously. “Shh… come on, Bobby. Don’t keep Clint up.”

  He could hear Clint’s bedsprings squeak, and he got up nervously. He went into the kitchen to see if a drink would calm Bobby down.

  Bobby started to cry in earnest when Henry turned the light on. Henry heard Clint’s feet hit the floor with a bang, and turned in panic.

  That was followed by a blank. Henry didn’t remember the confrontation with Clint. He didn’t remember leaving the house or where he went or what he thought after that. He remembered Clint getting out of bed and the next thing Henry was aware of was that he was pounding on the door of the emergency shelter.

  “Get out of here or we’ll call the police,” someone shouted from inside.

  “You gotta let me in,” Henry shouted back. “Come on, please.”

  “You wanna talk to the cops?”

  “I need to get in,” Henry pleaded.

  There was no further response from the building. Henry banged on the door until his fists were bruised and sore. He sat down on the curb in front of the shelter, sobbing. He didn’t look up when a car pulled up and someone walked up behind him.

  “Move on, kid. Or we’re going to have to take you in,” a man’s voice warned.

  “I can’t go,” Henry protested, his voice still teary.

  “You’ve got a girlfriend in there,” the cop suggested. “And you don’t think you can wait to work things out. We see it here every day. But you can wait until she decides to come to you.”

  Henry shook his head. They had it all wrong.

  “I need somewhere to stay. I need someone to help with my baby,” he said.

  The cop came closer, coming around in front of Henry. For the first time, the cop saw that the bundle Henry held was not a knapsack or bedroll, but a baby wrapped up in Henry’s coat. He shone his flashlight in Henry’s face. He sat down on the curb next to Henry. He moved the coat aside to examine Bobby’s face.

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s sick. We can’t sleep outside.”

  “What happened?”

  Henry shook his head.

  “I don’t know. We had to go,” everything was muddled, he couldn’t even get the words out properly. “Why won’t they let me in?”

  “You rest here a minute. I’ll see what I can work out.”

  The cop was gone for a while, talking on the doorstep of the shelte
r while Henry hunched dejectedly on the curb. The man returned, and patted him on the back.

  “Come on, buddy.”

  “What?”

  “Come on,” the cop repeated, and gave Henry a hand up. He led Henry to the open door. A man in wrinkled gray sweats met him.

  “Come on in, son. Sorry for the misunderstanding.”

  Henry was tired, his mind foggy. He just wanted to go to bed and let consciousness seep away. Like at the prison, he could feel his brain grinding to a halt, refusing to let him function any longer. He looked around inside for somewhere to put Bobby down. The man took Bobby gently.

  “I’ll just put him in a crib while we take care of you.”

  “He’s sick,” Henry murmured. “Has a fever.”

  The man felt Bobby’s head.

  “A bit of one. Not bad. Best to just let him sleep. We’ll have him looked at in the morning.”

  He took Bobby out of the room, and returned a few minutes later.

  “There, he’ll be fine for now,” he assured Henry. “Let’s take care of you.”

  Henry sat down in the chair the man motioned to.

  “My name is Jonathan. What’s yours?”

  Henry had no energy at all for invention. He sat hunched in the chair.

  “Henry.”

  “What happened tonight, Henry?” Jonathan questioned.

  “I don’t know.”

  Jonathan brought out a white metal first aid kit with a red cross on it. Henry watched listlessly as he took out antiseptic wipes and gauze.

  “Take off your glasses,” Jonathan said. Henry obeyed without understanding why. Jonathan dabbed at Henry’s cheek with a piece of gauze and Henry was surprised to see it come away red with blood. He touched his face with exploratory fingers. It was swollen, seeping blood, but Henry had no pain sensation. Jonathan moved Henry’s hand away in order to continue his work. Henry’s lids grew heavy, and he started to nod. He was barely conscious of being taken to bed and lying down.

  “So what happened last night, Henry?” Jonathan questioned the next day. “Tell me a little bit about your situation.”

  Henry noticed a blood speck on his glasses and cleaned it carefully. He put them back on his face gingerly. Today the bruises did hurt.

  “I don’t know,” Henry said. “My mom’s disappeared. Bobby was sick and crying.”

  “It wasn’t Bobby who hit you,” Jonathan observed with a slight smile.

  “You can’t tell anyone,” Henry pleaded.

  “I don’t even know your last name,” Jonathan reminded him. “I can’t report anything. But I want to help. Can’t you tell me?”

  “Clay,” Henry said, deciding at the last minute that perhaps using their proper names was risky. “My mom’s… boyfriend. He just gets mean sometimes.”

  “Where’s your Dad?” Jonathan questioned. “Could you stay with him?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  “So you’re trying to take care of Bobby on your own? How can you manage that with school?”

  “Oh, I get help,” Henry assured Jonathan, to keep him from getting too concerned or involved. “It isn’t that bad.”

  “Do you guys live with Clay? Something should be done about that.”

  “N-no.” Henry thought fast. “I’m staying with a buddy, since mom moved out of Clay’s place. I just… went back for something for Bobby’s fever. A lot of our stuff is still there.”

  “Well, it’s good that you’re not living there. You’re safe at this friend’s house? Is it a long-term arrangement?”

  “Yeah. You know, I help out with chores and take care of Bobby, try to keep it from being too much extra work for his folks. They’re okay with it ‘til I’m old enough to take Bobby on my own.”

  Wouldn’t it be nice if he really did have a friend like that? It sounded like a really nice arrangement.

  “What about college?” Jonathan questioned.

  “It’s four years ‘til I graduate, then he’ll be in kindergarten,” Henry paused. “That’s a long way away.”

  “Yes, it is. But you need to be thinking ahead when you’re making major decisions.”

  Just thinking a day ahead made Henry’s stomach tight with anxiety.

  “I should be going,” he suggested. “I gotta take Bobby to the doctor and take care of things.”

  “Okay. You come back if you get in a jam. Knock and tell us who it is. We know you now, we’ll take you in. I’m sorry about the confusion last night. We get a lot of irate boyfriends and have the police on speed-dial.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Henry agreed. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I was just… sorta panicked.”

  “We’re here if you need us again.”

  Henry nodded gratefully.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Henry walked into the house and felt uncomfortable, like someone was watching him. Something was out of place, not quite right. He looked around carefully. Had someone been in the house? Was someone there now?

  The shoes looked wrong. Like someone had cleaned or straightened them. He looked around the kitchen but everything seemed okay there. He looked in his mom’s bedroom and his heart thudded heavily. It was empty. Henry had cleaned up his Mom’s stuff earlier in the week. Now Clint’s stuff was gone. The room was picked clean.

  Henry breathed a sigh of relief. Clint had made it clear from the start that he was there for Dorry. If she was out for long, he would leave. If she was at the clinic, he often took off for days or weeks. Now, when it became apparent that she was gone, maybe for good, he had cleared out. Henry and Bobby were on their own.

  It was hard. Henry was missing a lot of school, but studying and doing his homework so he could keep up. It was hard leaving Bobby alone during the day. He stayed late, went home at lunch, and sometimes skipped his last class. He put videos on in Bobby’s room while he was gone, and left him with extra bottles and snacks. The room was baby proofed, but he still worried Bobby would learn how to open the door and get into trouble.

  Trouble came in another form, however. A social worker, called by someone who had noticed the lack of parents recently. Henry was making sandwiches in the kitchen when she arrived. He answered the doorbell, and his stomach tightened. The woman was obviously a social worker. He knew that by the drab skirt and blazer before he even saw the ID tag.

  “Yeah?” he questioned cautiously.

  “Are your parents home, son?” she asked pleasantly, trying to look around him.

  Henry swallowed.

  “They’re out.”

  “Mind if I come in?”

  “I’m not supposed to let people in when I’m alone,” Henry blocked her, not letting her get past him.

  She indicated the Family Services badge that she wore around her neck.

  “I’m with Protective Services. I’d like to have a look around.”

  Henry was torn.

  “I guess,” he conceded finally.

  She came in and looked around.

  “So where’s your Mom at?”

  “She goes for therapy.”

  “I see,” she made a note on her clipboard. “Is she capable of caring for you and your brother?”

  “Usually,” Henry said, trying to stick close to the truth. “I help out as much as I can with Bobby.”

  She observed Bobby toddling around for a moment, and continued on her tour.

  “So someone is here during the day?” she checked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Bobby’s never left alone?”

  “No.”

  Henry was sweating. His heart was racing and he was nervous of everything that she looked at. He waited tensely for her to go.

  “Do you need any help?” the woman asked compassionately.

  “No, we’re doing okay,” Henry assured her. “If you have a card, then I can call if I do need something.”

  “Of course,” she pulled one out and handed it to him.

  “Thanks. I’ll call you.”

  She looked in each o
f the bedrooms.

  “I think you’re the only one living here,” she suggested quietly.

  “No,” Henry said flatly.

  “I’ll be back to check up in a few days,” she promised. Or threatened. It was friendly and soft, but it was really more of a threat than a promise.

  “Okay,” Henry said, trying to force a smile. “Maybe mom’ll be here next time.”

  She left after a bit more snooping around. Henry watched her retreat down the sidewalk and get into her car. He pulled his sweaty shirt away from his body, and ran nervous fingers through his hair. He sat down at the kitchen table, looking at his school work, and tried to sort out what he was going to do.