Keeping the Tarnished (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Bobby

Johnny

“Dude, what the hell? I don’t mind buyin’. It’s a damn corndog,” Bobby said as he and Johnny were standing in the Quick Stop, looking in the greasy glass warmer, which was full of deep fried food. The fat, redheaded lady wasn’t there, but the racist old man was behind the counter. Johnny was under the impression that everyone that worked at the run down store was related. He disliked most of them, but the store was in walking distance.

“I don’t need you to buy me anything,” Johnny said defensively.

Bobby was a tall, slender, black boy that lived a few miles from Johnny, just inside of town. He was a nice enough kid, and Johnny knew the boy’s situation was extremely similar to his. Bobby’s alcoholic father was too weak and sick to be much a physical threat, but Bobby claimed to have suffered greatly when he was younger and his father was healthier.

“Man, I need to get two potato wedges and two corndogs,” Bobby said in a friendly tone to the toothless, gray-bearded old man behind the counter as Johnny stood back, watching the interaction.

“Johnny, your dad know the company you keep?” the old man asked Johnny over his glasses.” Johnny looked at the old man, afraid to answer in front of his friend. Just before he responded, Bobby began laughing at the comment as the old man took the food from the warmer and set it on top of the grease-covered case.

“If it’s not too much trouble for ya, can I get that in two sacks?” Bobby asked the old man.

Johnny knew the trashy man was never one to turn down business, but he despised any person of any color other than white.

He angrily shoved the wedges into two separate white sacks, and then tossed the corndogs in on top. He didn’t bother wearing gloves while handling the food.

Johnny didn’t care, and Bobby didn’t seem to. The conditions he usually ate under were much less sanitary than this place.

The old man slowly walked the sacks to the register. As he peeked over his glasses at the keys on the register, he pecked them with his finger like a chicken pecking at the ground.

“Four eighty-eight,” the old man snapped. Bobby had a crumpled up five dollar bill. He threw it on the counter.

“Keep ya mothafuckin’ change, old man!” Bobby snapped back angrily.

Johnny, completely shocked at the way Bobby spoke to the old man, was quick to exit the store through the door.

The old man was obviously shocked as well, as he said nothing in return. He only stared as Johnny exited the building with his mouth agape.

“Dude, what the hell?” Johnny asked as Bobby was laughing.

Bobby started walking to his father’s maroon 1992 Grand Prix, which Bobby usually drove.

“Get in. I’ll take you home,” Bobby said as he reached for the handle, still chuckling.

“Man, I better walk. It’s a little late,” Johnny replied. He wouldn’t risk his father seeing him in the same vehicle as Bobby.

As Bobby opened the car door, he sat one of the white sacks in his seat, and tossed the other one at Johnny.

Johnny caught it with a look of irritation on his face.

“Just shut the fuck up and eat. I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” Bobby said as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

Johnny turned and began walking home. It was hot day, but not excruciating.

As soon as he heard Bobby’s car drive away behind him, he tore the bag open and grabbed at least four wedges and shoved them in his mouth. He barely chewed them before he swallowed. As he finished off the wedges, he grabbed the corndog and tossed the white sack. He devoured the corndog within a minute. Although he acted irritated, he was incredibly thankful that Bobby bought him food. Cold chicken noodle soup was anything but appetizing.

The blacktop leading to the dirt road and his father’s house had thick trees and other vegetation on either side. The sun was already attempting to hide behind the tree line. Johnny took the time to enjoy the evening. He liked walking from the store. He was a little worried his father would be at home before he made it there. For whatever reason, Thomas Tregalis hated when his son was not at home when he got there.

The sounds of buzzing locusts and bullfrogs croaking from the spillways were already prevalent. Johnny loved the noises of nature. He turned on the dirt road leading to his father’s house. His stomach made several strange grumbling noises. Johnny chalked it up to inhaling his food and barely chewing. He truly hoped his father wasn’t home. If he knew for a fact the man was still at the mill, he would have walked slower and enjoyed the time out of the house.

As he walked past the old abandoned house a mile before his father’s place, the boy couldn’t help but think the abandoned house looked more presentable than the house he lived in. He stopped a moment and looked at the old house. It was overgrown with ivy. All the windows were intact, and the house itself seemed interesting. It was small, white, and had probably been empty for quite a while.

As he stood staring, the familiar sound of his father’s truck sent the boy’s heart racing. He had the sudden impulse to run to the house and hide behind it. He knew that it wouldn’t matter in the end. Either his father would drive past him, or he would harass him to some degree. The truck turned on to the dirt road like a bat out of hell. Johnny watched as Thomas came flying down the road like a belligerent moron. Johnny knew his father was in rage. As the truck got closer, Johnny descended into the ditch. The man slammed on the brakes, sending his truck sliding down the dirt road. As the dust flew, Johnny heard the creak of the door as the man exited the truck.

“A nigger! A motherfuckin’ nigger?” Thomas was cloaked by the rolling dust as he stormed around the front of the truck, running full speed at Johnny in the ditch.

Johnny stood still in a horrified trance, unable to move as his father approached. He knew the old man had told his father what Bobby had done.

The man grabbed the boy by the shirt and threw him down in the ditch. Thomas was violently enraged.

As he stood over the frightened teen, breathing hard with his chest bowed out, Johnny actually feared for his life.

“Get up!”

Johnny slowly stood to his feet.

“Look at me!” the man yelled at his son.

As Johnny made eye contact, his father’s fist came flying at his face.

“Dude, wake up. Dude.”

Johnny sat up straight, looking at Jared. Johnny swallowed hard as he looked all around the basement.

“Johnny, dude. We crashed in the basement, it’s like three in the morning.”

Johnny continued to look all around the room.

“Man, you were having a bad dream.”

Johnny remembered they had fallen asleep in the recliners in the basement. Johnny looked at Jared, but said nothing. The boy then stood from the recliner, breathing heavily, still looking around.

“Johnny, man. It’s all right, dude. It was just a bad dream.”

Johnny looked at Jared and nodded. Luckily, for whatever reason, he was able to regain the reality of the situation rather easily. Perhaps Jared’s interruption aided somehow. As Johnny went through the process of reassuring himself that he was in fact safe, his father was nowhere around, and he had not been anywhere near his father at any point in time.

He noticed at some point in the night Graye must have snuck downstairs and covered them with blankets as they slept.

“My bad, man,” Johnny said as he sat back down in the recliner.

“It’s all good, dude. Night,” Jared replied as he pulled his blankets to his chin.

“Night.” Johnny was scared to try to sleep, but he was just too tired to fight it. He felt better having someone familiar close by. The boy closed his eyes and drifted to sleep once more.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Breakfast

Graye

“How do you do it without getting the shells in the bowl? I’ve never been able to do it right,” Johnny asked as he stared into the bowl of fresh egg whites and yokes with several white pieces of shell. The boy had flour on his face, some in his hair, and more all over the front of him. Although he’d donned one of Graye’s aprons, his black gym shorts and blue t-shirt had managed to become covered as well.

Graye was more than amused by the situation. As she watched Johnny trying his hardest to help her make breakfast, she was all smiles. “It’s a learned skill that comes with years of practice, my young chef,” the woman said, smiling happily as she began to open a package of hickory-smoked bacon.

Jared was still sleeping in the basement, and Bryce decided she wanted to sleep in as well. Jackson was called to a neighbor’s house around six thirty to euthanize an extremely injured horse. He told Graye he didn’t want either of the boys to see that, so they were left sleeping.

It wasn’t until around three in the morning that the woman had gone to the basement to cover the boys. With her own lazy children fast asleep at eight, Graye was more than happy when a chipper, well-rested Johnny entered the kitchen and asked if he could help. The two had been laughing and talking loudly as she showed him the basics of breakfast.

She loved the boy’s innocent charm, and she couldn’t help but notice how he seemed to naturally fit right into the family, regardless of the setbacks which had taken place.

The conversation the boys had the night before weighed heavily on her mind. Jared never talked about his dyslexia openly. The fact that Johnny was there for him to discuss it with was monumental. She was also eternally grateful for the boy’s selfless acts of courage as he protected her family from the coyote. She learned that morning it had tested positive for rabies.

“Not too shabby, sweetheart. Did you do a lot of cooking back home?” Graye asked as she reached in the lower cabinet by the stove for a frying pan. Johnny was still smiling as he plucked tiny pieces of eggshell with a fork from his bowl of cracked eggs.

“No, I never went in the kitchen unless my dad said it was okay.” Immediately Johnny halted what he was doing as Graye witnessed his smile fade, as if the boy had said something he shouldn’t have.

Graye didn’t push the topic, as she could recognize the sudden discomfort.

“Well, I do believe your biscuits are ready to go in the oven, sweetie,” the woman said as she began placing the bacon into the frying pan. “So, did Jared tell you we are hosting a boil this Friday?” Graye asked as she handed Johnny a whisk.

“Yep. He said you guys do it every summer.” The boy began smiling again as he grabbed the whisk from the woman. “I just beat ’em until they’re all yellow, right?” Johnny asked as he looked down at his bowl.

“Yes, that’s right,” Graye began to chuckle. “So, did Jared tell you his old friend, Tyler, was going to be here?” She witnessed a stone-cold look fall across Johnny’s face as he looked up at her. She was fishing for a reaction, and she instantly obtained it.

“Yep. He did.” Johnny shook his head as he returned his gaze to the eggs.

“Well, I will be sure to get you introduced to the neighbors,” Graye said as she opened the heated oven.

“What the hell have you done to this man?” Jared asked as he entered the kitchen from the basement. The boy appeared to still be half asleep. His eyes were half closed, his hair was wildly messy, and his arms were crossed as he smiled at the sight of his friend dressed in his mother’s apron.

“Hey now. You wanna eat this morning?” Johnny asked, smiling as he headed to the oven with a large pan of biscuits.

“No complaints here, man. I think having another cook around is an awesome idea,” Jared said as he entered the messy kitchen.

“Jared, sweetie, I think a hot shower is calling your name,” Graye said as she kissed her sleepy son on the cheek.

Jared stretched his arms to full extent and yawned loudly.

“All right, all right,” the boy said. “Johnny, what you wanna do today after you’re done with the Betty Crocker thing?” Jared asked as he headed toward the living room.

“Betty who?” Johnny asked with a confused smile. “Man, I don’t care. I’m up for whatever,” Johnny continued as Graye watched the interaction, sipping her coffee.

“Sweetheart, breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,” Graye said from the stove, prompting her son to get upstairs.

Before Jared left the kitchen, a bouncing Bethany came full force at him from Bryce’s room. “Hey!” Jared said softly as he grabbed the ornery pup from the kitchen floor. “You could use a shower too.”

Graye watched as her greasy son left the kitchen.

She began showing Johnny how to scramble eggs and cook the bacon completely. Johnny diligently watched her. She could tell that through the course of the morning his mood had shifted slightly. The boy had seemed to be all smiles and upbeat when they first began cooking.

“My dad…my dad didn’t want me in the kitchen if he wasn’t home,” Johnny said in a nervous voice as he watched the bacon grease popping.

Graye inhaled deeply through her nostrils, attempting to keep the clamorous questions in her mind caged.

“He had a lot of important things in there that he didn’t want me losing accidentally,” Johnny attempted to explain. “He, he wouldn’t come home some nights, so I would sneak in there and get soup or bread or something.”

Graye was unsure of how to respond as she listened to the boy’s comments. “He had a lot of documents he kept in the kitchen?” she asked as she looked at the uncomfortable boy. Johnny was breathing a little heavily, and she could tell he was distressed by the conversation as he avoided eye contact. She contemplated ending the discussion as the boy seemed to be growing extremely uneasy.

“No. He had cans, and, um, car parts, and pieces in there.”

Graye couldn’t stop looking at Johnny. She didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to communicate, but she didn’t know what to say. “Did he cook for you? Did he cook a lot for you, your father?” Graye asked inquisitively. She was nervous herself. She watched Johnny bite his bottom lip. It was clear he didn’t want to talk to about it anymore, but he didn’t stop himself, either.

“The stove wasn’t right, he just couldn’t really cook,” Johnny said as he looked at Graye. “Is that okay?” he asked, pointing to the nearly charred bacon.

“Oh. That is very well done.” The woman gasped as she moved in front of Johnny and removed the pan from the burner, placing it on an unlit one and shutting the gas off.

“So, what would happen if you went to the kitchen?” the woman asked as she removed the popping bacon from the pan with a fork, and placed it on a plate with a paper towel on it to collect the hot grease. “What would your father do if you were in the kitchen when he wasn’t home?” Graye removed the last piece and then focused her attention strictly on Johnny.

This question seemed to be too much for Johnny. His face reddened and he began pinching his fingertips with his right hand. He looked away from Graye and from the stove altogether.

Graye reached out and touched the boy on the shoulder. “Hey, sweetie. You’re fine. If you want to talk to me about anything at all, we have all the time in the world to talk about whatever you want.” Graye said as she slowly moved closer to the boy. She could feel the tension leave the teen’s shoulders as she hugged him.

“I will.”