Stumptown Kid (7 page)

I tore the paper wrapping off the Popsicle and sat under the tree to eat it. There’s nothing better on a hot day than a grape Popsicle. It fills your mouth with a sweet coldness that spreads through you and seeps into your bones for a few minutes, like the cold in the storm sewer.

This time I didn’t enjoy it too much, though. I was playing over in my mind what Herman said about Vern adopting me if Mom married him. There was no way I’d ever let them change my name.

“Vern’ll
never
be my dad,” I said out loud to myself.
“Never.”

After the Popsicle was gone, I went inside and into my room. I picked up the snow globe my dad won for me and shook it. I lay on my bed and watched the white snow swirl around the little house.

Dad, please be alive. Come home so Mom won’t marry Vern. Come home so Mom and I can be happy and everything can be like it was before you left.

My comic books are piled on a shelf above my bed. I sat up and looked through them. I lay back again and reread one of the
Superman
comics.
Captain Marvel
and
Superman
are my favorites, but
Batman, Robin,
and
Crime Does Not Pay
are good ones, too.

When I’d finished reading the comic book, I stared up at the ceiling. I wished I was a superhero. I wished I was so fast and strong that I wouldn’t be afraid of Lobo or anybody else.

If I was a superhero, I could have big adventures, saving people’s lives and keeping the town safe from criminals. There would be more excitement in one day than I’ve had in my whole life.

That would be so great.

* * *

I fell asleep for a while and woke up at a quarter past four. I grabbed my bat and glove and hurried in the heat to Scott Park.

Everybody who’d played the day before was there, plus Will. They’d all started out in their favorite positions again, but Will was pitching because I wasn’t there.

“I’m gonna pitch today, Charlie,” he said. “Gotta work on my pitchin’ arm.”

“Okay.” For the first time I wished Will hadn’t made the team. Before this, if he wanted to play a certain position, he’d ask if anyone minded. This time, he
told
us.

I wondered if Coach Hennessey was going to let him pitch for the Wildcats, but I didn’t ask.

I got in line to bat behind Kathleen, Leslie, and Jim.

Will wound up and pitched a good one to Kathleen. She smacked it up to Bowie in left field. He caught it, but the ball bounced out of his glove and onto the ground. He fumbled for it while Kathleen raced for first. She was safe before Bowie was able to scoop up the ball and throw it.

Casey hollered from right field, “It’s that new glove, Bowie. It don’t catch the ball as good as our old ones.”

Bowie nodded, but I think he was embarrassed. I mean, that fly ball Kathleen hit was a can of corn. Bowie was standing under the ball when it came right to him. He didn’t hardly have to take a step to catch it.

Everybody rotated to the next position. Next up was Leslie, who’s a real good hitter. Will heaved her a fastball.

She hit a grounder to Alan at shortstop. Alan fired it to Eileen on second, getting Kathleen out. Then Eileen threw it to Johnny on first, so Leslie was out.

“Great double play!” Bowie yelled. “The Wildcats couldn’t have done better!”

Will hollered, “I’ve seen ’em do better plays than that.” I guess he was feeling like a genuine Wildcat, loyal to his team.

My chest felt like something was pressing on it right then and made me feel kind of sad.

It was awful hot, but when I play baseball, I guess I forget about the temperature till I’m about ready to pass out. Sweat was rolling off my face and sliding down my back.

We’d rotated positions about ten times before I noticed Luther walking along the grass next to the baseball diamond.

“Hey, Luther!” I called. We were between plays, so I ran over to him. “How do you like the job at Landen’s?”

“It’s a good job, Charlie.” He looked out over the ballpark. “You havin’ a good time?”

“Sure,” I said. “Wanna stay and watch awhile? We’re playin’ workup.”

“Okay,” Luther said.

I turned toward all the players in the field.

“Hey,” I yelled. “This here’s Luther Peale. He’s a professional baseball player.”

Luther grinned. “I
was,”
he called out. “I
was
a professional.”

“With the Memphis Mockingbirds,” I added.

“Hey, Luther,” Bowie shouted.

“Nice to meet ya!” Eileen yelled. “Charlie told us about you.” Everybody else waved or hollered hello, too.

Luther grinned and waved back.

We started playing again, and Bowie dropped the first fly ball.

“It’s that stupid glove again, Bowie,” Alan yelled.

I was up at bat next. I was feeling pretty self-conscious because Luther was here. Will pitched a good fastball. I swung hard and missed.

“Strike one!” yelled Walter.

“Don’t take your eye off that ball, Charlie,” Luther said from behind the backstop. “Talk to yourself. Say, ’I can hit it; I can hit it.’”

I nodded and got ready. “I can hit it; I can hit it.”

“Watch the ball,” Luther said, his voice low. “You can hit it.”

The pitch came, and I slammed that ball clear out into the stratosphere.

“Wow!” Johnny yelled from first base. “You really stung that ball!”

I was too busy running for first base to see Luther’s face, but I bet he was grinning. I ran the bases for the first home run of the afternoon.

Everybody pounded me on the back, and Luther came over. “See, Charlie?” he said. “You just got to watch that ball and tell yourself you can do it.”

The others came in to hear what Luther was telling me.

“You havin’ trouble with your glove?” Luther asked Bowie.

“Oh, it’s not the glove,” Bowie said. His face turned red.

“Don’t be too sure,” Luther said. “Let me see it.”

He took the glove, slipped it on, and pounded his fist into it.

“This is a new glove,” Luther said. “It needs shapin’.”

“Shapin’?” Bowie asked. “How do you do that?”

“Here’s what you do,” Luther said. “Tonight, you go home and—you have a kitten ball?”

“A softball?” Bowie asked. “Yeah, my sisters play softball.”

“Okay,” Luther said. “Put the softball into the glove and tie it closed with a strip of cloth. Then let the whole thing soak in a bucket of water for a half hour or so.”

“Won’t that ruin the glove?” Alan asked.

“No,” Luther said. “Take it out and let it dry for a day or two, still tied closed. Then—your mama got some hog lard?”

“Sure,” Bowie said. “She uses it for pies ’n stuff.”

“Okay,” Luther said. “Then when it’s dry, untie the cloth and use it to rub the glove with a little hog lard. You’ll have a great glove from then on.”

I looked at all the faces around me. Everyone was listening real hard. I’m sure they were thinking they’d better listen to the advice of a pro.

“Hey, Luther,” Bowie said, “maybe you could be our coach.”

Everybody started talking at once. Why didn’t I think of that? Luther would be the perfect coach! And we wouldn’t have to try out to be on the team. All us Stumptown kids could play, even the girls who weren’t allowed to try out for the Wildcats.

“Will you do it?” I asked Luther. “You could make us a great team.”

“Who would we play?” Jim asked.

“Luther hasn’t even said he’d coach us yet!” I yelled at him. “First things first. Would you, Luther?”

A smile spread over his face. “Okay, Charlie,” he said. “It’d be fun gettin’ back into baseball.”

So now we had ourselves a coach.

“We’ll play any team that wants to play us,” Luther said. “Maybe even the Wildcats.”

I looked over at Will. He was the only person who wasn’t smiling.

Vern, this bouquet is so pretty,” Mom said at supper that night. “It must have been expensive. You really shouldn’t have spent the money on it. But I love it,” she added. She reached over and turned the vase to the right a little.

“Nothing but the best for my Mary,” Vern said, smiling.

It made me mad the way he said it. Mom wasn’t
his
Mary.

I’d been thinking a lot about what Herman said about Vern adopting me. I sat there staring at Vern, imagining what it would be like if he was here all the time.

If he tried to be my dad.

The thought of it made my stomach feel bad, like rocks were piled up in there. I was never going to be Vern’s son.

“I’ve been thinking about something, Mary,” he said. “In fact, I’ve given this some serious thought, and seeing as how I’m the only male influence Charlie’s got, I think I should spend some time with him a couple times a week. We could start going fishing—maybe take in a ball game now and then.” He looked at me. “We’ll have fun, Charlie. I’m really looking forward to it.”

I wanted to say,
I don’t need you for anything. I have my dad and Luther.
I nearly said it, too.

“Oh, Vern, I think that would be wonderful,” Mom said. “Charlie would love to do some of the things he used to do with his dad.”

What? She couldn’t believe that. Maybe she was trying to make Vern feel good. But Mom was smiling, so I didn’t know for sure what she was thinking.

“You smart in school, Charlie?” Vern asked. He squinted at me from across the table as if he was trying to see into my brain.

“I do okay.” I’m not at the top of my class, but I’m not at the bottom, either. Anyhow, I figured it was none of his business.

“Well, it’s important to work hard, but don’t let anyone tell you that you’ve got to get straight A’s,” Vern said. “I didn’t get too many A’s, but I’m still a success. And I won’t be selling vacuum cleaners all my life, either. I’m working myself up to management, and before long, I’ll own the company. Then I’ll sell it and buy another one—build that up and sell that one, too. That’s how a man can get rich.”

“That’s wonderful, Vern,” my mom said, patting his arm. “But an education is important. Charlie’s going to graduate from high school and then maybe go on to college.”

“Maybe I’ll be an electrician like my dad,” I added.

“Anybody can be an electrician,” Vern said. “Be somebody special. Like a—”

“My dad was special!” Now I was really mad.

“Bill was a very special man,” Mom said, frowning at Vern. “Charlie looked up to Bill a lot. We both did, and so did everybody who knew him. He was an excellent father and a wonderful man.” She looked back and forth between me and Vern. “But I think it’s a great idea for you two to spend more time together. In fact, why don’t you both go outside now, and Vern, you can pitch a few balls to Charlie while I clean up. It’ll only take ten minutes or so.”

“Sure,” Vern said. “I’ll give you some pointers, Charlie.”

“You gonna play ball in your suit?” I asked.

He’d taken off his jacket when he came in, but he still wore a shirt, tie, and pants. I didn’t care if he wrecked his clothes. I just didn’t want to play ball with him. I figured Vern probably didn’t know a fastball from the nose on his face, and I didn’t feel like teaching him.

“We’ll just hit a few until your mom’s finished cleaning up.”

I almost said I didn’t feel like it, but Mom had a hopeful look, so I changed my mind. I guessed I could stand a few minutes of it.

“Okay.” I made sure I didn’t sound too happy about it, though.

“I’ll be out in the backyard,” Vern said. He probably played so bad he didn’t want anyone to see him from the street.

I got my bat, ball, and glove from my closet and walked through the kitchen on my way to the back door.

Mom stood in front of the sink, running hot water for dishes. “Have fun,” she said, smiling.

I couldn’t imagine having fun with Vern, but I didn’t say it. I went outside.

Vern started calling out instructions right off. “Here’s the pitching mound,” he said, tapping a spot between me and the bush next to the kitchen window.

“Mom’ll want me to hit away from the house,” I told him.

He rolled his eyes and smiled as if it was him and me against Mom. “O-kay. We sure don’t want Mary to worry about broken windows.” He took the ball and glove from me and walked farther out into the yard. “We’ll play sideways. You can hit into the neighbor’s yard.”

That was Mrs. Banks’s yard. I wondered if she was watching now like the night Luther came for supper. I couldn’t see her standing in the window. Watching us play ball probably wasn’t as interesting as watching me and Mom fight about a colored man.

“Ready?” Vern asked.

I nodded and got ready to swing.

Vern threw a wild ball that went left and dropped into Mrs. Banks’s yard. I ran over and picked up the ball and tossed it back to him.

“Watch now,” he said.

He wound up again and pitched me a ball that flew over my head about four feet.

I thought Vern would be embarrassed by that awful pitch, but he just shrugged, and I went to get the ball. I threw it back to him, but he muffed it and it landed at his feet. I sighed. This was going to be a long ten minutes. I wondered how many of the minutes had passed yet. Maybe Mom was watching from the window over the sink, and she’d have mercy on me and hurry with the dishes.

“You want to trade places?” I asked him. “I’ll pitch you some balls.”

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever will be helpful to you.”

Helpful to
me? Geesh.
This was trying my patience something awful. We traded places, and I pitched him one right over the plate. He swung hard and missed.

“Throw a good pitch now,” he said, going to get it. “That was too low.” He threw it back.

I gritted my teeth. “It was perfect,” I murmured real soft. So ol’ Vern wanted to be my male influence? He was more like a model of a person you’d
never
want to be like.

I gave him an underhand pitch. He swung and connected with the ball. It flew at an angle and crashed through Mrs. Banks’s shed window.

Vern stood there with his mouth open, looking at the broken shards of glass still clinging to the window frame. He looked back at me and put a finger to his lips, then strolled with his hands in his pockets toward the shed. Mrs. Banks didn’t come out, so I figured she wasn’t home or didn’t see what happened.

Mom didn’t come out either. Maybe she didn’t hear it.

Vern stopped in front of the shed, opened the door, and disappeared inside. In ten seconds he was out again, the ball in his hand, closing the door behind him. He walked over to me.

“I have a better idea, Charlie,” he said. “Let’s me, you, and your mom go get some ice cream.”

“But aren’t you going to—”

“Why don’t we keep this our little secret,” Vern said. He put a hand on my shoulder as we walked toward the back door.

“What do you mean?” I gave him a hard stare. “You aren’t going to pay Mrs. Banks for a new window?”

“Let’s just forget about it.” He squeezed my shoulder, and I jerked away from him. “It wasn’t a good pitch, Charlie.” Vern said. “Nobody could’ve hit that ball.”

Ever since supper when I thought about Vern adopting me, I’d been holding in all my bad feelings about him. His rotten pitches had made me even madder, but now the broken window and trying to weasel out of paying for it made me feel all crazy inside.

Vern said, “I’ll have to coach you a little bit so you know a good pitch from a bad one, son.”

I opened my mouth and something in my head yelled,
Don’t tell him!
But the storm inside me had to have someplace to go. All I wanted to do was make Vern miserable.

I stopped at the back door and looked Vern Jardine straight in the eyes. “I already know a good pitch from a bad one, Vern. Luther’s coachin’ us in baseball. Up until a little while ago, he was a
professional
baseball player in Tennessee. See, he’s an expert, and he’s giving us lots of good advice. So I don’t need
you
tellin’ me
nothin
’.”

Vern tilted his head a little like he didn’t hear me right. “You’re playin’ baseball with that colored fella?”

I nodded. It felt good to see the bright red rising up in his face. “We’re real good friends,” I added.

Vern pushed me inside and through the kitchen. “Mary!” he called.

Mom hurried out of her bedroom with a hairbrush in her hand. “I’m right here,” she answered. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t care what Vern said to Mom. He could yell himself into the next county, but he wasn’t my dad and he never would be. Luther was my “male influence” since Dad’s not here, and I was going to see him whenever I wanted to.

Vern pointed at me. “Did you know Charlie’s still seein’ that colored fella?”

“Well, yes,” Mom said. I could tell she was upset, but she kept looking at me as if that helped her talk. “Luther’s a nice young man. He’s teaching the kids a lot about baseball.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“’Cause it was none of your business, Vern,” I said.

Mom gasped and turned to me, her eyes filled with surprise. “Charlie, don’t you talk that way!”

But I was too mad to stop. “You’re not my dad, Vern.” My voice was getting louder and louder. “You got no say about who I can have for a friend.”

“Go to your room, Charlie,” Mom said. Her eyes were angry and her voice was louder than I’d ever heard it.

“Ask Vern about Mrs. Banks’s shed window,” I told her. “Ask him why he won’t pay for it after he broke it.”

I stomped into my room and slammed the door behind me.

Then I flopped on my bed and put my hands under my head and glared up at the ceiling.

I could hear Mom and Vern talking in low voices in the living room.

“What’s this about Mrs. Banks—”

“Mary, I mean what I say here,” Vern interrupted. “Are the other parents allowing this?”

“Vern,” Mom said, “I can’t tell Charlie not to see Luther. They’re friends, and I—”

“I thought I was going to help you raise that boy,” Vern said.

“What?”

Yeah, what? I sat up and listened hard.

Vern said, “Don’t be so surprised, Mary. You know how I feel about you. You’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known: beautiful and smart and sweet. I want to guide the boy. He needs a man to teach to him things—and not a colored man, either.”

“Vern, I know you’re doing what you think is right, but you haven’t given Luther a chance. You’re judging him before—”

“I know you think I’m prejudiced,” Vern said. “But I’m not.”

“But Vern, you’re judging Luther without knowing him,” Mom said in a patient voice. “He’s a nice young man, and he’s been good to Charlie—”

“You’re not listening to me,” Vern said real loud.

“Let’s not talk about this now,” Mom said. She sounded tired and lowered her voice. “I don’t want to fight with you, Vern.”

I slid off the bed and walked real quiet to the door to listen more closely.

Vern said in a softer voice, “I don’t want to fight, either, Mary. But we’ve got to get this settled. I’m not having a boy of mine makin’ friends and spending time with a colored man.”

My ears pricked up at that.
A boy of mine?

Mom heard it, too. “What did you say?” she asked.

“I said—well, he’s like my boy, Mary,” Vern said. “You know how much I care about both of you. And maybe you and me will get married one of these days.”

“Are you proposing, Vern?” Mom asked.

“You know I love you, Mary,” he said.

They said some stuff real low that I couldn’t hear. I put my ear to the door. There wasn’t a sound for a long time, so I twisted the doorknob and peeked out.

Vern was kissing my mom.

I felt sick to my stomach.

I closed the door and lay back down on my bed. If Mom married Vern, I didn’t know what I’d do.

And what would happen if Dad
was
alive over in North Korea? What if he came home to find out that Mom had gone and married somebody else? And Mom and I had different last names than he did?

It hurt too much to even think about it.

I hated Vern Jardine with a red-hot hatred. And I was ready to do anything I could to make sure Mom never married him.

* * *

A while later, Mom tapped on my door. She opened it and came in and sat on my bed. I held my breath, waiting to hear what she’d say.

“Charlie, I know how you feel about Luther,” she said. “I like Luther, too. He’s a good man.”

“You’re not gonna tell me I can’t see him, are you?”

“No,” Mom said. “That wouldn’t be right.”

“Good.” I could feel some of my stomach muscles unclenching.

“But Charlie, you shouldn’t have yelled at Vern. I’ve taught you better than that.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I want you to apologize to Vern,” Mom said.

“But he’s not my dad,” I argued. “He can’t tell me who I can be friends with.”

“That’s true, but you still don’t have the right to be disrespectful,” she said. “Vern means well.” She reached out and smoothed my hair. “Come on, honey. Vern’s going to take us to get ice cream.”

“I don’t want any,” I said.

“Since when?” Mom asked. “Ice cream’s your favorite food.”

“Mom, please don’t marry Vern! He’d make me stop seein’ Luther. And what if Dad really isn’t dead?”

The words just came out of my mouth. Mom looked real surprised.

“Honey, I’m sorry. Your dad
is
… gone.”

I tried to keep the tears from coming, but they came anyway. “But what if they made a mistake?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mom said. Now her eyes filled up with tears, and she took my hand. “Dad’s body was identified by the Army. I wish it was a mistake, too, with all my heart. But it wasn’t, Charlie. It wasn’t a mistake.”

“You didn’t look yourself and see if it was Dad,” I said. “So you don’t know for sure.”

“It was your dad,” Mom said, her voice real quiet. “There was no doubt, honey.”

I didn’t believe it. I knew it was still possible there was a mistake. But I could see pretty clear that I couldn’t convince her.