Rich Shapero (21 page)

Fristeen shook her head. "We could
have died."

When they'd calmed down, they picked up the
broken glass and put Fristeen's room back together. Then Robbie hurried home.

***

As it turned out, he was in the clear.
Dinner hadn't been served yet, and Mom didn't say a thing about his late
return. The night was uneventful. It was the next morning that things really
went wrong.

Robbie slept deeply and was slow to wake.
When he left his room, Mom was in the kitchen.

"Is Dad still here?"

Dad strolled down the hall, greeted Robbie
with a smile, lifted him and kissed his temple.

Mom was watching out of the corner of her
eye. She turned with a melancholy expression. "Are you going to eat with
us?"

Dad shook his head.

"I can't take much more of this,"
Mom said.

"Felicia—"

"We're nothing to you."

"Stop it," Dad said.

"Please—" Mom softened, making a
pitiful face.

Dad put his arm around her, but Robbie saw
his gaze flicker.

"It's okay, Mom," Robbie said.

"Here's a surprise," Mom glared
at him. "Dad's going to take you to the lab."

"He is?" Robbie saw Dad's
expression turn dark.

"Today," Mom nodded. "Right
now. You keep asking—"

Robbie frowned. "He's busy."

"I don't believe this," Dad said.

"If
I'm
not worth the
time," she said angrily, "give it to
him."

"What are you doing?" Dad stared
back, at his limit.

"Leave us alone," Robbie shouted.

Mom's eyes got large and she pointed down
the hall.

As Robbie trudged to his room, she let
loose a fresh tirade. He closed the door behind him and paced from dresser to
bed. She was driving Dad away.

"Well?" Mom shrieked through the
walls.

"Go fuck yourself," Dad said.

"I may as well," she raged back.
"No one else wants the job."

Robbie heard the front door slam.

He paced and paced. When he thought enough
time had passed, he ventured out. He made a beeline for the back door.

"Where are you going?"

"Up the Hill." There was
indignation in his voice.

"You think you know," Mom said
lowly.

Robbie took a few more steps.

"I'm talking to you. Turn around! You
might pay a little— This is unbelievable. You're no better than—"

"Suck my dick," Robbie muttered.

Mom's face froze. For a moment, Robbie
thought that might have put things to rest, and he took another step toward the
door.

Then Mom swept down, grappled his shoulder
and dragged him to the sofa.

"Where did you get that?"
"What?

"What you just said."

"'Suck—'"

"Where?"

"I don't know. From Jim, I
guess." "Robbie!"

Mom was shaking. He'd never seen her that
way.

"It was this guy—Duane."

"Duane?"

Robbie nodded. "He has a
motorcycle." Understanding dawned in Mom's face and her eyes turned hard.

Just then, there was a knock on the back
door.

Mom guessed who it was. She stepped to the
door and opened it.

"Can Robbie come out?" Fristeen
asked.

There was a long pause.

"Can—"

"No, he can't," Mom said evenly.
"It's not your fault, but your friendship is over. It's a shame—what your
mother is doing. I'm glad I don't know the details. What's come home with
Robbie is more than enough."

Fristeen burst into tears.

"Mom," Robbie shouted. He rose
from the sofa. "Robbie?" Fristeen cried out to him.

"Go home," Mom demanded.

"No, I won't!" Fristeen shrieked.
"Robbie?"

He was behind Mom now, tugging at her. Mom
wheeled and cuffed him across the chest. "In your room, young man.
Now!"

When Mom struck him, Fristeen screamed, and
she was still screaming. Mom grabbed her arm and dragged her across the deck.
Robbie hurried after them. "Leave her alone," he cried.

Fristeen was kicking and squealing,
swinging her arms, beating at Mom's shoulders, trying to reach her face,
striking her again and again. Robbie hurled himself at Mom's rear, clutching
her shirt, lurching her away from Fristeen.

"Let go," he yelled. "Let
go, let go!"

When she felt him attacking her, something
happened to Mom. Robbie gasped as Mom's elbow jabbed his belly, he heard Mom's
shirt rip, and he had to struggle to breathe. Mom had Fristeen by both arms and
was shaking her wildly. They were at the edge of the deck. Fristeen lashed out
and drew blood from Mom's chin. And then Mom just went crazy, bellowing and
swinging with all her strength, slapping Fristeen full in the face. The blow
threw Fristeen into the weeds. Robbie was sobbing, teeth clenched, still clinging
to a wing of Mom's shirt. She wheeled on him, furious, and jerked him back
across the deck, into the house.

"You've wrecked everything!" He
kicked and tugged, trying to tear himself loose. "I hate you, I hate
you!" Mom's face twisted before him, and he swallowed his fear and raised
his fist to her again.

Her arm quivered as she raised it, pointing
toward his room.

But Robbie just whirled and bolted back out
the door. Fristeen was gone, so he crouched in the grass. He expected Mom to
come after him. The door remained open, but she stayed inside. He sat there,
his frenzy fading, dark thoughts closing in.

A few minutes later, he saw Grace coming
through the shrubs. Her jaw was set and her eyes were blazing.

"Where is that bitch?" she said,
mounting the deck.

"You better not," Robbie warned.

"Don't you worry." Grace saw the
back door was open. Instead of knocking, she just walked right in.

She closed the door behind her.

Robbie stood, expecting the worst. First he
heard Grace yelling at Mom, and then Mom yelled back, and then they were
shrieking at each other. And along with their voices, you could hear furniture
grunting, and heavy things falling on the floor. One of them groaned—a chilling
sound. Like when you're doubled up because someone socked you in the stomach.

Then everything was silent. Not a sound
reached Robbie from the sealed house. He retreated to the edge of the Clearing
and sat in the scrub, alone with his thoughts.

After a while, Grace left. She had a dazed
look, and she was mumbling, trying to calm herself down. As she started along
the path, Robbie heard her laugh. It was a Grace laugh, so there was no telling
if it was rooted in cheer or defeat, or poised precariously somewhere between.

Robbie thought Mom would come and get him,
but she didn't, so he sat there till sunset. When he heard the car in the
drive, he knew Dad was home.

A few minutes later, Mom appeared at the
back door.

"Robbie," she called.

He tramped to meet her. She had a large
bandage on her arm, and a small one on her chin. He could see she was still
eaten up with what he had said. Dad was waiting in the den, and Robbie expected
a big scene. But Mom escorted him to his room, and she and Dad had time alone.

The day's incidents had tipped the balance.
Robbie couldn't hear their words, but their voices were loud and hurtful. The
friction waxed and waned, and continued into the night. Dinner was forgotten,
and Robbie along with it. That had never happened before.

It started to rain and the house grew cold,
and there was no one to light a fire in the stove. Robbie curled beneath his
blankets and Shivers was with him.

"Nice work," Shivers wheezed.

Robbie trembled and shook, and then he
began to cry.

"It's always you," Shivers
laughed. "I'm the last to point the finger, heaven knows. But it's all
your fault."

Robbie curled tighter, wondering how it
would end.

"Don't trouble yourself," Shivers
sniffed. "They'll be back together, and you'll be there with them. We're
all one big family, remember? In the mold. Till then— Well, it's obvious, isn't
it?"

***

The next morning, when Robbie opened his
eyes, an arm was cradling him. A warm hand stroked his cheek.

"Mom?"

She lay beside him, and at the sign of his
waking, she kissed his brow. There was a rusty spot where blood had soaked through
the bandage on her chin. Her lids were red and swollen.

"I'm sorry," he said with all his
heart. "For being so bad."

Mom shook her head, tears glazing her eyes.
"You're the most wonderful son a mother ever had."

"Sure?" He felt queasy. Her wild
emotion had frightened him badly.

"Robbie—" "Mmm?"

"Your dad's left."

He heard the omen in her voice.

"I'm not sure he's coming back,"
Mom said. She took a breath. "It will be tough for
us
...
for a while. We'll just have to wait and see."

He nodded.

She hugged him. Her Mom-scent was thick.
Her breasts squished his chest.

11

The days that followed were an
ordeal. More than anything, Robbie wanted to see Fristeen, but Mom stayed home
from work and she was viciously watchful.

He thought she was occupied. He circled the
living room, getting closer and closer to the back door. He put his hand on the
knob.

"Robbie?" Mom was standing in the
kitchen entry. "Forget that little girl."

Was Fristeen okay? Her shrieks and cries
were still in his ears. He regretted he hadn't learned how to use the phone
when he had the chance. But what good was the phone if Fristeen was hungry?
Grace might be gone, and there might not be food.

Mom's emotional swings were alarming, and
without Dad they were unmanageable. When she was suspicious or angry,

Robbie was afraid to be in the same room.
When she was downhearted, he was afraid to leave her alone. What was going on
with Dad? Mom didn't know, or she wouldn't say.

He heard her on the phone a couple of days
after Dad left. She was in their bedroom, but the door was ajar.

"There has to be some way—" Mom
sounded helpless.

Robbie listened to the silence.

"If I can," Mom said, "why
can't you?"

More silence.

"I'm shocked. I'm ashamed. That's some
sultan's fantasy."

When she hung up, Robbie crept away.

A few minutes later, Mom came to his room.

"I'm sorry—" Mom hugged him,
falling to tears. "I'm so sorry, Robbie. You'll never know—"

He patted her, wanting to help.

"Forgive me." She gave him a
miserable look. "You will, won't you? When you're older—" Her face
crumpled. "I did the best I could."

The next day, they called Grandma. Robbie
talked first, then Mom took the phone.

"He's been wonderful," she said.
And then she got sad and told Grandma that Dad might not come back. "I've
tried," she said with defeat. "We had a foundation, something to
build on— That's me talking. No, Mom. Really— There's nothing more I can give
him. I'm not what he wants."

Later that day, Robbie asked if he could
wander up the Hill. Mom agreed, but she made him promise that he wouldn't go
far and he wouldn't visit Fristeen.

"I can't be as hang-loose as your
dad," she said with a pained expression. "It'll be harder for both of
us. I'm not going to lock you up. I just want to make sure that we don't get
into trouble."

Robbie thanked her and left.

As soon as he was out the door, he raced
for the path. He was only fifty feet down it, when he heard Mom behind him. The
rest of that day and the next, he was shut in his room. Mom brought food and
left without speaking. There was always the window, but things were so bad
between them, he didn't dare make it worse. When his confinement ended, he
remained in his room. He'd draw or sort his marbles. Or he'd just turn the
lights off and sit in the dark.

The days were blurry. At night, he slept
fitfully, unable to settle in, and when he awoke, he came to the surface
gasping for air. He prayed for the Dream Man to come, as he had in the past,
but the Dream Man stayed away.

One night after dinner, the phone rang and
it was Dad. Mom said a few words to him and handed the receiver over.

"Hello?"

"How's my boy?" Dad's voice was
raspy, like he'd just woken up.

"Great," Robbie said.
"Where—"