Minding Ben (32 page)

“Is only two days, one and a half when you count church time. I bet you anything she'd keep you. You know she can't make children, right?”

I actually hadn't known that and thought she was just too sour for anyone to like.

Sylvia shook her head. “She have fryballs.”

“What?”

She rubbed somewhere beneath her navel. “In she womb. Fryballs. Anyhow, Grace, I been meaning to tell you.”

“What?”

“Your mother.”

My heart seized. “What?”

“No, is nothing. Just remember to tell she not to write you here for a while.”

That made it real, that after next weekend, I was going to have to find someplace else to go. I was about to tell Sylvia about Kath's offer when the doorbell buzzed.

“But who the ass is this ringing my bell on a Saturday morning?” she asked without making any effort to rise. “I bet you is the lady from the city again. Miss How-she-name.”

It wasn't Cassandra Neil. It was Bo, and he stank. He looked like a vagrant. His skin was grimy and dull and his hair kinky and dusty. His clothes were filthy, and he smelled rank, all at once like unwashed body, rotting dirt, and stale beer.

“But look who it is”—he grinned, showing mossy teeth—“my almost wife.” And the stench of his breath pushed me away from the door. I hurried down the corridor before he tried to do something crazy like give me a hug.

“Jesus Christ, look at you, Bo,” Sylvia said. “Before you even try to talk, go straight in that bathroom and bathe yourself. Christ, man. You looking like one of them black American bum on the subway.”

Bo grinned again, and he looked fearsome. “You have something clean for me to wear?”

Sylvia stretched over to one of her piles and tossed him some clothes. “Don't come out until the water run clear, and throw away any washrag you use, you hear me,” she ordered him. “Grace”—she used one of Derek's jerseys to fan under her nose—“bar or no bar, open up that window let some fresh air come in here. God didn't mean for the living to smell so, man.”

Even though Dame was asleep on the couch, I only cracked the window. After about half an hour, Bo came out in a much too large Hawaiian print shirt and a too tight pair of jeans shorts. Sylvia sang:

Jean and Dinah
,

Rosita and Clementina
,

Round the corner posin'
,

Bet your life is something they sellin'

and we both cracked up.

“What you give me to wear, girl?” Bo laughed too.

“Is my shirt and one of them boy father old pants.”

“You have anything to eat?”

“You know where the kitchen is. Go and see what you find.”

He came back with a mountain of rice and peas and turkey wing and what looked like a caramel-flavored snow cone.

“Bo, where you get shave ice?”

“I scrape inside the deep freeze.”

Sylvia shook her head and held up another old dress of Micky's. “You go ahead. You don't know that is snow poison?”

Dame woke up, and Bo offered him a lick. Sylvia threw the dress at him. “Jacob doing he best to try and kill my child. I don't need you to finish off the devil work.”

“So”—Bo took a big bite of fridge frost and pancake syrup—“what really going on here in truth?”

Sylvia filled him in, and he salted her entire speech with curses. “Jacob really better don't let me catch him outside after dark.”

“What to do, Bo? At least the city making him fix up this place.”

“But watch the place around you, Sylvia. Not even dog supposed to live like this in this here America. You think Jacob would ever give one of them Jew family down the road a place like this to live? Not even them illegal Russian living like this. Is only nigger people they feel like they could treat so.”

“Everybody does do for they own, Bo.”

“You talking stupidness, Sylvia. Every month you give Jacob good good money to live here. You talking like you asking him to do you a favor. And what about your child? Dame can't even say boo.”

She touched Dame's head. “Anyhow, Bo, don't act too righteous. You self did know this place have lead and you didn't say nothing.”

My stomach tightened, and I glanced from Sylvia to Bo.

“What you talking about? What I did know?”

Sylvia said, “Not you self who tell Jacob the paint in here making my child a mongoloid? How long now you know that? You never tell me nothing.”

I didn't look up again, just kept folding smaller and smaller the tattered kitchen tablecloth until the bunched fabric was board stiff and I could bend it no further.

“Who tell you that, Sylvia, Jacob? And you believe him? You think I would know something like that and not tell you anything? You and them children is my own blood.”

“Blood? Money mean more than blood in this America, yes.”

“So who you believe, Sylvia, me or Jacob? What other lie he tell you?”

“Up to now I tell you is Jacob tell me anything?”

I didn't dare move in case one of them noticed me sitting there.

Sylvia said, “The good Lord don't hold no grudge and me neither. This place fixing, Dame will get he treatment, and my love coming home soon. Let we just forget about it.”

Bo didn't look as if he wanted to forget about it, but he turned to me and asked, “And where you planning on going when Sylvia move, Miss Grace?”

Sylvia said, “Is the same thing we was talking about before you come. I tell she to go and stay by Dodo.”

Sometimes Bo came through. “Sylvia, you mad or what? Grace and Dodo living together? Two fowl cock can't live in one coop, girl.”

“See, Sylvia, even Bo know that,” I put in.

Then Bo said, “Grace, let me hold a twenty, please?”

I noticed he didn't ask to borrow the money. “Till when?”

“I still owe you the twenty from before. This time I want a gift.”

“When is your birthday?”

“Okay, okay, you give me ten and ten from what you give Sylvia. Ten each.”

I looked at Sylvia to see if she was okay with this arrangement. She turned down her mouth and shrugged.

“Hold on.” I high-stepped around the rubble on the floor and closed the bedroom door behind me. I had just over $500. I took $20 for Bo, $40 instead for Sylvia. Now $440. Back in the living room, I gave them each their money.

Bo said, “The vault in the back. You still saving up for we thing?”

“I can't marry a man who living in the park, Bo.”

He tucked the money into his tight shorts. “You will remember me as the one that get away.”

To her credit, Sylvia laughed, “Heh-hey,” and said, “Bo, go quick before you kill me here this Saturday morning.”

M
iriam put her fingers to her lips, taking time to close the door soundlessly. “You should let us know if you plan on coming in early, Grace. Anyhow,” she said, “just try to be quiet. I only just got Ben to go down and Sol's resting. He had an accident.”

“What happened?”

“Cut his hand. Lost quite a bit of blood.”

“Oh.”

“Please keep Ben quiet in the morning, okay, out of our room. I've got errands, and Sol needs to get some rest.”

It wasn't even eight yet. I went up to Dave's, but he wasn't there. Not a sound from Brute and Cesar either. There was nothing to do. I didn't want to go in and turn on the television in case the sound disturbed Sol. I wasn't hungry enough to make something to eat. The evening outside was still warm and light. I took the elevator back down and was surprised to see old Paul still behind the desk. “Working a double, Paul?”

“What, Grace?”

I said a little louder, “Doubling up tonight?”

“No, no. Waiting for the Duke to come in and relieve me. Danny Boy called in tonight.” He looked at his watch. “Better come soon. I've got a dance to go to.”

I wasn't sure if he was joking.

“Okay, then . . .”

I headed off to the square and sat down on a bench far away from the playground, where I didn't need to be until the morning. I could see the shops across the road, the entrance to the subway, and the steps leading down to the paved area where kids on skateboards practiced their moves in the dying daylight.

That Miriam didn't want me to take classes on the nights I worked was nothing too major. I'd just take something on Friday night or during the day Saturday. More important, I needed to figure out where I was going to be staying in two weeks.

The subway exhaled a batch of riders, and I watched them come up, get their bearings, and move on. A blond girl ran up, and before her feet touched the top step, she hopped on her board and pushed off toward the guys on the ramps. She crossed a familiar profile, and I pulled back to see Evie standing with the double carriage a few feet from the entrance. I wondered if she ever went home. Evie raised her hand to greet someone coming up the stairs.

Duke.

He walked over and gave Evie's lifted cheek a brief kiss. She slowly circled him, straightening his high collar, dusting his yellow-fringed epaulets, and brushing flecks off his coat. Satisfied, she came back to the carriage, and they walked off together toward the towers.

“Wow,” I said out loud, and the woman sitting on the next bench turned to look at me. I had no idea that Duke and Evie were, what? Were they married? Ule had never said a word, but then she prided herself on not gossiping. I said “wow” again, and the woman got up and walked away. I laughed and spread my arms along the back of my bench, wondering what else I might see if I stayed out late enough.

BEN WAS ANXIOUS TO
see his mother.

“Maybe she'll come in and see us before she leaves.”

“Grace, my daddy hand hurt.”

“It is?” I couldn't bring myself to ask him questions about his parents. “Oh no.”

“We were playing in the grass and Daddy and Dave were trying to cut down the big tree and Daddy cut his hand.”

“Uh-oh, I hope he's all better now.”

“He my daddy, Grace. He very strong, you know.”

“I know.”

“Can we go and see Mommy now?”

I could hear Miriam readying herself out there. “Okay, mister, I think Daddy is still resting. But you have to let me carry you into the living room, okay?” He stretched up his arms to be lifted. “And be vewwy vewwy quiet,” I said in my best Elmer Fudd impersonation.

Miriam was dressed in the flowery tent I'd ironed on Friday evening, her white short shorts, and open-toed sandals. Ben leaned toward her. Now in the eighth month of her pregnancy, she was huge around her middle and wasn't able to carry him for more than a minute. Instead of taking him, she put both fists on her fat waist and crossed one foot behind the other. “What did I tell you last night, Grace?”

I felt stupid pointing out that Sol was not in the living room.

“I specifically told you to keep him in his room.” She slung Ben low on her hips. “How's my big boy this morning?”

“Hi, Mommy. Can I come with you?”

“How do you know I'm going somewhere?” And to me she said, “What, you can't even follow simple directions now?”

“I know,” Ben said. “Can I come?”

“Not this time. But, Ben, why don't you and Grace go for pizza pie today?”

“Yay, Grace! Pizza pie.” He wiggled for her to put him down, and as soon as his feet touched ground, he started hopping about, chanting, “Pizza, pizza, pizza.”

Miriam turned to me and, glaring, pressed her finger to her lips. Then Sol came out of their bedroom, shirtless in navy striped boxers. He held up a fatly bandaged left hand like a king crab's
gundy.

“Daddy.” Ben ran straight to his father, who managed to catch and lift him midsprint. I saw Sol grimace.

Miriam blew wet hair off her face. “Grace, this is exactly what I wanted to avoid. Sol, what are you doing?”

“Mir, I'm not straining my hand at all. Hey, buddy.” He kissed Ben on the lips.

“Wow, Dad, look your hand.”

Sol rotated his hand like the waving queen of England.

“Hey, Grace, did Mir tell you what happened?”

His chest was muscular, with a sprinkling of curly red hair in the middle.

Miriam answered for me. “No, I didn't get a chance to tell her last night. But, Sol, you really need to go lie down. The doctor said.”

He cut her off. “I feel fine, Mir. You got me to stay home today, but I'm not going to spend the whole day in bed. Especially if you're not in it with me.”

Her blush started just above her bosom and crept all the way up to her hairline.

“Can you throw a ball, Dad?” Ben asked.

“I can't throw a ball, but I can throw a boy.” Sol moved closer to the armchair and plopped Ben into the soft cushions.

Miriam picked up her bag, “Okay, I can't watch this. I'll be back this afternoon. We'll talk tonight, Grace. Just try your best to keep”—she pointed her chin in Ben's direction—“away from this one as much as possible, please. Sol, go back to bed.” She left, and Sol sprawled a little indecently on the floral couch. Ben slid off the armchair and scampered over to him.

“So what happened?” I asked Sol.

“I forgot I was born on the Upper East Side.”

“What?”

“We went up to Dave's country house for the weekend, and I was helping him dig up this huge root from the backyard and I almost chopped off my thumb.”

“Daddy had a hax, Grace.”

“You cut your finger with an ax? How?” I couldn't understand the physics.

Sol laughed. “No. We'd busted up the stump with the ax already and were using these hand trowels to dig at it and I was clearing with my other hand and—” He made a stabbing motion, and I felt the slice.

“Ow.”

“You're telling me. The doctor said I was lucky I didn't lose my entire thumb. But the painkillers cure all.”

“Hey, Dad, do you want to come have pizza pie with me and Grace?”

“That sounds like fun, bud, but Daddy has to go back to bed or else Mommy might be mad when she gets home.” He rolled his head against the back of the couch toward me. “Did you make coffee, Grace?”

“Not yet.”

“Good, put on a fresh pot, will you?”

While the coffee brewed, I settled Ben in with a Pooh video and lay on the carpeted floor next to his chair. Maybe Miriam was going to fire me tonight, and that would be about perfect, right now. No place to live during the week or on weekends. The tape was halfway through when I heard their shower going. Ten minutes after that, Sol called me.

“Daddy want you, Grace,” Ben informed me. He didn't look away from the Hundred Acre Wood.

Sol stood at the foot of their bed in an unbuttoned dress shirt and different boxers. A necktie dangled from the
gundy.
“Hey, I need some help.”

I was a good ten feet away from him. “You're going to work?”

“Just for an hour, two tops. I'll be back before Mir gets home, so this is between us, okay?”

Wet, his hair was darker, more like copper.

“Do you know how to tie a tie?”

“Yes.”

“Good, help me with the buttons, and then the tie.”

Up close, he smelled fresh, like water and soap. I did the buttons quickly, having no choice but to look up as I got to his chest and then his neck. He stood with his arms up like a cornered bandit. After flicking the collar, I said, “Tie, please,” and slid the silky fabric from the bandaged claw.

The job that I did flawlessly for Derek on countless mornings in Brooklyn was impossible to get right now.

“Christ,” I said in frustration.

Sol laughed. I could feel his Adam's apple vibrate. “Just take your time, Grace.”

I looked up and laughed too.

“Have I told you,” he said, “that you look a lot like someone I used to know?”

I concentrated on tying the tie right this time. I measured out the two sides, pulled the thicker end almost down to his waist, and smoothed the fabric. I felt him against me but didn't move away. Maybe Miriam was going to fire me tonight. I fiddled with the tie some more and used my thumb to dimple the fabric just under the knot. The bristly hairs on his bare legs rubbed against my thighs. I was done with the tie, but still I ran my hand down the length of the silk, pressing the material against his body. I was giving him time.

I didn't lean into or away from him, only stood there with my hands hanging down. He was kissing me, and I was kissing him back. And it felt good. The elbow above his wounded hand nudged me to him, and I remembered Brent in the backseat of his car an age ago. What if Miriam did fire me tonight? Kathy would do it, and Bridget had done it. He cupped his able hand around my waist, and just when I decided to touch him, Ben called out—

“Grace,” he shouted. “The tape end.”

I jumped away from Sol.

“Grace, wait. Go put him in the crib. Close the door. Ah, fuck.”

I moved toward the door and said, “It's done.”

“What?” The king crab
gundy
was up again.

“Your coffee,” I said. “It's done.”

“I KNEW YOU HAD
it in you,” Kath said when I told her what almost happened.

“I am royally screwed.”

“So very very close,” she said.

“Please be serious. Plus, I think she's planning on firing me tonight, anyway. Jesus Christ.”

“Then you should have gone ahead and fucked him for fucking him sakes, Grace.”

“Why did I call you?”

“Why'd you call me? Let me tell you why you called me, because I'm the only one who'll tell you like it is. You know what?”

“I think so, but what's your what?”

“I think you're going to get fired tonight. She's been building it up for you.
I'm not paying you to go to school, go pick my strawberries? Can't you even follow simple directions now?
Give me a fucking break, Grace. Massa day done.”

That was the campaign slogan of her father—he who had descended from indentured servants—the year it looked like the East Indian minority was going to take political power on the island. I laughed. “Shit, Kath.”

“Tell me about it,” she said. “You know what I would do now if I were you?”

“What would you do, Kath?”

“I'd tear up that frigging place to see what I could find.”

“What? Why?”

“You heard me. That's all I'm saying.”

I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE
to start. There was nothing in the bedside tables and nothing beneath the layers of clothes in the dresser drawers. The boxes on the top closet shelves held sweaters and long underwear, and Miriam's smaller summer clothes left unpacked during her pregnancy. The shoe boxes held shoes. All the way in the back of her walk-in closet was a fat fabric garment bag. I unzipped the front expecting to see Miriam's wedding dress and instead saw her black fur coat. I'd always wanted to try it on.

I lifted the coat off the padded hanger and saw that it cloaked a large brown shopping bag. I felt sheaves of paper and envelopes. I draped the coat over my shoulders, surprised such a big, shaggy thing was so light, then I took the bag off the hanger and sat on the raffia rug. There were lots of greeting cards from Miriam's Brooklyn family. Happy Easter, Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday, all addressed to Maria. I flipped through them the way Evie fanned the cards during a pause in our all fours games. And there were letters too. One fell out of a card, and I opened it to figure out where it belonged. “Dear Solomon,” it began in Miriam's familiar looping script.

Who knows, this might be the last letter I write to you. Whether it is or isn't depends on your response, but I had to write and let you know that I'll respect your decision, regardless. This is not how I pictured our relationship ending, me pregnant and contemplating not being and you being put in this god-awful position. Forgive me. You have to believe me when I tell you that this was an accident. I know what your mom is saying. I know what they want you to do. In the end, I can't tell you what choice to make, and I'll say it again: I'll respect your decision.

Do know that I love you.

Your Maria

Maria. Miriam . . . What Ettie must have put her through. And then to have suffered one of the nightmares my mother regularly dreamed for Helen and me, a baby born less than nine months after a wedding. “Jesus.” The letter had fallen from a white card embossed “For My Love.” Inside was a picture of a Miriam I barely recognized. Her hands were on her skinny waist, and she was laughing into the camera at something hilarious. Curly black hair framed her face and fell about shoulders. Her nose was different too—same as her father's and siblings' in Brooklyn. She looked young and beautiful and happy. I tucked it and the letter back in and, after running down the hall to check the door, continued going through the big brown bag.