Stones in the Road (27 page)

She frowned, her eyes looking judgmental and rather suspicious.

“Is Noah all right?”

“Ask him yourself.”

“He’s hearing impaired.”

“Try it,” I said.

She asked Noah how he was.

“I fine!” he exclaimed.

“You won’t get much further than that,” I pointed out, “but it should be enough to demonstrate that he’s not duct-taped and handcuffed in the basement or anything like that.”

“I really don’t appreciate your sarcasm, Mr. Wiley,” she said, turning to face me.

“No one does.”

“I’m not simply ‘checking up on you.’ I’ve done my report, and I’ve asked the judge to have your partner take a drug test. I wanted to inform you of that myself to make sure you were aware of it. I hope you will trust me. I really am trying to act in your son’s best interests.”

I had a dozen choice zingers just waiting to spring off my tongue, but I said nothing, because I realized she was being honest and she was just doing her job.

“If he fails the test?” I asked.

“Then we will figure out the next step forward.”

“I have never seen Jackson drunk, or high, or behaving strangely, or anything of the sort, so I’m not sure what you mean. If I thought he posed any sort of danger to my son, we’d be out the door in a flash.”

“Not all drug users fit the stereotype of behaving strangely and doing strange things. Many seem quite normal. You really don’t like me, do you?”

“To be honest, no, I don’t. Your job is to take children away from their parents. I can’t imagine you’re very popular.”

“I would say my job is to make sure children are safe with their parents, because too many times they’re not, and without people like me, those children would never get the help they need.”

“Touché!”

“This is not an adversarial process.”

“You keep saying that.”

“And you keep not believing me.”

“It’s a free country.”

“What will you do if your partner fails the drug test?”

“Kill him, most likely.”

“I take it you’re being sarcastic again.”

“Not at all. If I use the ax to kill him, it’ll dull the blade, so I’ll have to think of something else.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“If he fails the test, I’ll be out of here like a shot. Don’t you worry about that.”

“I’m not trying to break up your family.”

“Not sure I care what you’re trying to do, to be honest. Will there be anything else?”

She offered an uncertain frown.

“You really don’t like me.”

“Are you surprised? If the government cares so much about me and my ‘family,’ why don’t you legalize gay marriage and give us a few rights?”

O
NE
OF
the reasons our apartment was so expensive was the built-in Jacuzzi in the bathroom off the master bedroom. It seemed like an extravagant waste to me, but Jackson liked his little luxuries. I left Noah to his Xbox game, filled the Jacuzzi with hot water, and gratefully sank my body into it.

I had aches and pains in all kinds of places, in both body and soul. The water swirled around me, and I tried to let it wash away the tension and upset.

Noah eventually wandered into the bathroom, as was his habit.

I pointed to the water.
Join me
?

He was not a big fan of the Jacuzzi, its novelty having worn off after the second or third time, his body in no need of the healing rejuvenation of spa treatments. At least not yet. Still, he undressed and climbed inside, playing for a few minutes as though it were a miniature swimming pool before seating himself across from me.

I need you to tell me something
, I signed with my serious face to show him I was no longer going to pussyfoot around.

What
? he signed back.

You told me you saw Papa do something. I want to know what it was
.

He frowned, lowered his eyes.

I waited him out.

Eventually he lifted his eyes to look at me.

I want to know
, I insisted.

His doe in the headlights look made me feel sorry for him, but I was not going to be so easily put off.

Tell me.

You’ll be mad.

No, I won’t. I promise. Now tell me what it was
.

I thought I knew already, but I wanted him to say it.

He hemmed and hawed for a while, then stood and climbed out of the Jacuzzi, dripping water on the floor. I stood as well, grabbed his arm, forced him turn around. I was not going to let him walk away.

He looked at me in surprise.

I want to know
, I signed.

I know, Daddy. I’ll show you. Come on
.

We put towels around our waists, and I followed him into the kitchen. He got a chair from the table and moved it to the cabinet on the far side of the stove. He climbed on top of the chair, reached up to the very top cabinet, opened the door on the right. The door on the left, I knew, was a false door that did not open. He reached into the cabinet, felt around for a bit, found what he was looking for, and turned to me, holding a bag of what looked like flour in his hand.

My heart sank.

He got down from the chair, took the bag to the counter. He pretended to open the bag, to spread out some of the powder in a line. Then he put his finger to the side of his nose, making a snorting gesture.

He looked up to me, his eyes telling me that he knew Jackson had done something really bad.

I saw him
, he signed.
I wanted a drink of water because I was thirsty. I saw him, but he didn’t see me. Don’t be mad at me, Daddy.

I’m not mad
, I signed.

Don’t be mad at Papa.

Don’t worry about it.

Please don’t make Papa go away
.

He was upset. I could see it in the way his lower lip trembled, in the haunted, fearful look in his eyes.

Is that why you haven’t been feeling good lately
? I signed.

He shrugged.

You were afraid to tell me, weren’t you
?

Again he shrugged.

Thank you for telling me.

Please don’t make Papa go away. I don’t want you to be sad, Daddy. And I don’t want Papa to be mad at me. Please don’t tell him I told you.

Papa has a problem, and we will have to talk about it.

Please, Daddy!

I’m sorry
.

He burst into tears and ran for his room.

I went to my own room, sat on Jackson Ledbetter’s bed, put my face in my good hand. I felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to my balls.

I
HAD
intended to confront Jackson that night when he got home from work, but I fell asleep instead and had strange, troubled dreams that I did not much care for. In the morning, I looked at him, lying there next to me, my heart feeling like it would tear in two. I was a pretty lenient guy, and I could put up with a lot of crap, but I had made it perfectly clear to Mr. Jackson Ledbetter that drugs were a line I was not prepared to cross. Not after what Kayla and I had done. That was my guilt talking, no doubt, but even so.

I made coffee in the kitchen, took my cup, and went to sit on the balcony. Another beautiful day awaited. Weather wise, at least. We were looking for a high of eighty-five and not a cloud in sight. I felt like I wanted to enjoy my balcony time because it was quickly going to end. Since Mama’s house was going to be torn down, we couldn’t stay with her. Indeed, she was staying with Bill and Shelly—and we couldn’t stay with them either.

I would have to go back on public housing, which meant I had to go to the housing authority office and fill out the forms again and get back on the list and wait for something to become available. Only God knew where we’d wind up when our fate rested with the housing authority folks. I could also just pack my bags and do something crazy like go to California.

It’s funny, that feeling when your whole world is crumbling around you. Every little thing takes on a bright intensity. Everything hurts a bit more than it should.

Yes
, a small voice in my mind said.

But
….

But nothing!

This voice was not so easily quieted.

But… you love him
.

I sighed with a sort of despair, because yes, I loved him, and I could not imagine living the rest of my life without him. But that’s what I was going to have to do.

The door to the balcony slid open, and Jackson Ledbetter stepped outside, a towel over his shoulder. He was on his way for an early morning swim.

“Hey,” he said.

I didn’t answer.

“You all right?” he asked.

I sighed.

I tried not to lust over him, standing there as he was with his finely muscled belly and chest, his toned arms and abs, his utter perfection, his Devil-may-care eyes, that soft brown hair mussed with sleep. How happy I’d been to call a man like that my own, to wake up to him every morning, to eat breakfast with him, to make plans for the future with him, to rest in the comfort of knowing he would always be there, that we’d grow old together, maybe make some babies together, maybe move to Boston, or maybe buy a big old farm house in Union County to raise our brood. Noah could finally have a dog. And maybe some brothers and sisters. Like Mama, we could raise chickens. I did not aspire to great and grandiose things, only to a life full of love, the laughter of children, maybe a bit of fishing and camping here and there, maybe a trip to Disney World. Nothing too over the top or outrageous, just a few things that were true and genuine.

All of it was slipping out of my hands, and the feeling left me breathless.

“You’re not feeling well?” he asked.

“A little overwhelmed,” I admitted.

“This last week has been….”

“Shitty,” I said. “Absolutely shitty.”

I started to tear up. I squeezed my lips shut, determined not to cry.

“We’ll get through it,” Jackson said, crouching down and putting his hands on my hips as he looked up at me in that tender, possessive way he had. “Hey! It’s all right. What’s going on with you?”

“It’s too much,” I muttered, wiping at my eyes.

“We’ll get through it,” he promised. “Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling so down?”

He put his head against me, his arms around me, trying to hug me.

I wanted to tell him to take his goddamn drugs and fuck off, but I didn’t have the heart. Despite everything, he made me feel better just by being there, so handsome and manly and strong. The smell of him, the sight of him, the feel of him, the way his hands touched me, the feel of his breath on my bare chest—it calmed me down. Like he was a drug himself and I was a hopeless junkie.

“Is everything okay at work?” he asked.

I shrugged.

“Want me to get you anything?”

I shook my head.

“Want me to stay with you? I was going to go swimming….”

“You go ahead,” I said.

“You sure?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Jackson went down the walkway to the pool, and I watched him go, biting at my lip.

“Y
OU
NEVER
did tell me what we should get the thing for his birthday,
Willis
,” Mrs. Ledbetter said.

“Well, perhaps you should get him whatever you think is best,
Eugene
,” I replied.

We were finishing dinner at Frenelli’s that evening, and surprisingly enough, there had been little in the way of fireworks. It might have been my mood, or lack of it. I had passed that day in a daze, most of it spent lying on the couch, gripped by a relentless blackness that I could not shrug. I knew what I had to do; now I had to find the courage to do it. To pack my bags and walk away.

I had not wanted to come to this dinner, but Jackson’s parents had insisted, and I’d been in no mood to cook. So I went through the motions.

“Then it’s decided,” Mrs. Ledbetter said, taking a long drag on her vape pen and smiling at me.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” I admitted.

“Too late now. I think every boy should have a puppy. Don’t you?”

“Don’t you dare bring a dog into our apartment,” I said. “Dogs are not allowed.”

“They let
you
live there,” she pointed out.

“And they let
you
come to my door without a leash.”

She issued a throaty laugh.

“I think I’m beginning to like you, Wilfred. You are really very remarkable.”

“Mom, no dogs,” Jackson said firmly. “Please!”

“Why don’t we ask Bob?” she suggested, glancing at Noah.

“Stop it, Mom!”

“What could it hurt? What is the sign for ‘dog’?”

“Mom!”

“I feel like I want to do something special for him before we leave. He seems to be growing on me. And I’ve decided to call him Bob. That was my first instinct, and I trust my instincts. So ‘Bob’ it is. Don’t you think Bob would like a dog for his birthday?”

“A dog is a good companion for a child,” Mr. Ledbetter said

“Besides,” Mrs. Ledbetter went on, “it might soften the blow when he learns that his Grandmother Eunice was the one who called the DHS on his baby daddy. Or is it ‘baby papa’ with you two? I can never keep it straight. So to speak.”

A silence fell on the table.

Mrs. Ledbetter looked at me, raised her eyebrows slightly. “Surely you must have wondered who it was? No? It hasn’t escaped my notice that neither of you have mentioned it. Surely a visit from the DHS is worth a little conversation around the dinner table? Am I missing something?”

She had our complete attention.

“Did Jackie tell you he’s been in rehab three times?” she asked, raising her eyebrows and looking around the table.

“Mom, please don’t,” Jackson said softly.

“Then there was that thing at the hospital—”