The Newman Resident (8 page)

“I’d like to go back home now,” Christopher whispered.

Richard looked up at Carol. She wouldn’t look at him, and she wouldn’t look at their son. Then it came to him: betrayal. When he’d met his future mother-in-law and when he’d started law school he’d felt Carol was betraying him. And now the feeling had returned.

“You’ll go back,” Richard said, “if that’s what’s best. Right now, you’re visiting us. You can at least stay a week, like you do at Christmas. Then we can talk about Newman if you want. For now,” Richard said, standing up, “you need to get unpacked.”

Richard unzipped the safari backpack and took everything out: a pair of underwear, two pairs of socks, and a pad of paper with a pen. Christopher grabbed the paper and pen and sat back on his bed. Richard put the clothes in the drawer and opened the closet. The boxes and files and magazines were stacked so high
and tight they left no room for even the small bag. He’d have to move all the stuff to the basement tomorrow.

He placed the bag under the bed instead. His son held the framed picture of the three of them as though studying a relic discovered at some ancient burial site.

“Do you need anything before we get dinner ready?” Richard asked.

Christopher kept looking at the picture. “How am I supposed to keep up with the other residents if I’m gone so long? I won’t know anything when I get back home.”

Carol shook her head and left. Richard knelt down next to his son.

“It’s going to be all right,” Richard said. “You’ll remember everything. And you’ll learn a lot with us. You’ll see.”

Without looking up, Christopher motioned with his finger for Richard to come closer. “Do you promise?” Christopher whispered.

Richard had put the takeout in serving bowls to make dinner look more special. Each of them picked at the orange chicken and rice like scientists in a lab. Once in a while, someone actually took a bite.

“How do you like your dinner?” Richard asked.

“Thank you for preparing it.”

“I wasn’t sure you liked Chinese food, but you didn’t seem to know what you wanted when I asked.”

“They never ask us what we want to eat at home,” Christopher said. “We just eat what they give us.”

“I imagine this is better than what you had to eat at the school, isn’t it?”

“The school?”

“Yes, Newman.”

“No,” Christopher said, “the food back home is actually very good.”

“Oh.” Richard took a drink and went back to rearranging his food on the plate. “So, they have pretty good food at the school?

“Yes.”

Richard smiled, but then quit when he couldn’t figure out what to say next. Chinese? he thought. What a stupid choice to get for a little boy. Hamburgers, tacos—anything would’ve been better. He looked up at his son, but he didn’t look back. Then he looked at his wife, but she was looking down as well. She hadn’t said a word when they were setting the table.

After dinner, Christopher went to the room while Richard and Carol cleaned up. When they were done, they found him sitting on the bed. He wasn’t looking at the picture or reading or getting undressed. Just sitting.

“What are you doing?” Richard asked.

“Thinking.”

“Oh.” Richard looked at his wife, but she kept her eyes on their son. “Well, I guess it’s time for you to go to sleep,” he said. “It is, isn’t it? I don’t want to make you go to bed too early.”

“No, it’s time for me to go to sleep.”

Richard could feel the time pouring over him in some sort of molasses way. “It’s good to have you here,” he said, trying to leave the room. “Good night. Let us know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

“Good night,” Carol finally spoke.

“Good night, Carol.”

“Sleep tight,” Richard said as he was closing the door.

“What do you mean?”

“What?”

“What does ‘sleep tight’ mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s just something my folks used to say to me every night. Haven’t I said it to you during your visits?”

“No.”

“I’m sure I have.”

“No. If you had, I would’ve asked you about it before. What does it mean?”

“It means to enjoy your sleep,” Richard said as he closed the door, hoping to escape any other explanation.

“Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

After he closed the door, Richard turned to speak to his wife, but she was already at her office door down the hall. He walked towards her.

“It’s always a little awkward the first night,” Richard said. “It’ll get better soon.”

“No, this is different. Before, he knew he’d be back home soon. He doesn’t know what’s happening this time. He’s scared.”

“You’re making too big a deal—”

“I’ve got some catching up to do,” she said as she closed her door.

“So do I,” Richard said.

He walked back to Christopher’s door, putting his ear up to it. He thought he could hear crying and put his hand to the doorknob, but the sound stopped.

“Christopher, are you okay?” Richard asked.

“Richard, I’m asleep.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“I
’ll be home late tonight,” Carol said from the front door. “Don’t wait up.”

Richard sat back down at the kitchen table. Christopher stood next to the stove like he was guarding it from thieves, his left hand twitching. Richard wanted to run over to his son and hug him and talk to him and listen to him. He wanted to grab that hand and hold it so tight it couldn’t twitch, or so tight the twitch would leave his son’s body and enter his. But he didn’t want to do the wrong thing, so he just stayed in his chair.

“Christopher.”

The boy didn’t move.

“Christopher. It was an accident. You didn’t mean to spill the milk on her.”

Christopher turned, his eyes so blank, so empty—it was like the boy wasn’t even in the room. Worse, it was like he wasn’t anywhere else, either. He was nowhere.

“Christopher, let’s finish breakfast.”

“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“You didn’t eat much for dinner last night.”

“I apologize for not eating enough—”

“No, don’t say that. I was just saying you must be hungry.”

“I’m sorry for saying ‘I apologize’.”

Christopher walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Richard stood in the kitchen, rubbing his forehead, trying to come up with something, anything. His father always made being a father look so easy, so natural, but he couldn’t make it through the first morning without everyone being upset.

He found Christopher on the couch and offered to turn on the television for him, but his son wasn’t interested. Richard looked around the room as if there might be some cue card that would tell him what to say. Writing dialogue was hard enough; saying it at times like these was impossible.

“Richard?”

“Yes?”

“I slept tight.”

“What?”

Christopher looked up at his father. “I slept tight. Just like you told me to.”

“’Sleep tight’ isn’t an order.” Christopher looked away again. Richard knelt down near his son. “But I’m glad you slept tight. It’s good to have you home with us.”

Christopher looked at Richard out of the corner of his eye like he wasn’t sure he believed his father.

“Well,” Richard said, “one thing I’ve been wanting to do is call Grandma and Grandpa and let them talk to you. They were excited when I told them you’d be home for the summer, and they’d kill me if we didn’t call.”

Christopher looked shocked.

“No, I mean they’d be disappointed.”

Richard picked up the phone. The phone rang only once when Richard’s mother picked it up.

“This had better be Richard Carson, or I’m throwing this phone in the fireplace,” she said.

“You don’t have a fire going in June, do you?” Richard asked.

“I don’t need a fire, your father and I have been burning up wondering if you’d remember to call us. Now, let me talk to that grandson of mine.”

“Hey, I just barely got on the line, don’t—”

“I can talk to you forever, but I’ve only got the summer with that little boy. Put him on!”

There was quite a bit of his Texan grandmother in his mother, especially when she wanted to make it clear things weren’t going the way she’d wanted them to.

He looked at his son and pointed to the phone. “You’re on speaker now.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Christopher asked.

“Just talk to her. Be yourself.”

Christopher moved closer to the phone. “Hello, Mrs. Carson.”

“Who am I talking to, the bank? You call me Grandma, okay?”

“Yes.”

“How are you doing, Christopher? Grandpa and I have missed you an awful lot. Have you been getting our letters?”

“No.”

There was a pause. “Well, we’ve been writing you, and can hardly wait to see you. Remember when we came down to New York on one of your visits? We went to that place near the water, sort of like a shopping mall, and Grandpa took the picture of you and your mommy and daddy in front of the Brooklyn Bridge? Do you remember, honey?”

“No. But I believe that photograph is in the room I’m staying in.”

“Honey, Grandpa wants to talk to you. Just a minute. Bye, bye. I love you.”

“Good-bye.”

“Hey, little buddy,” Grandpa almost sang into the phone. “How’s my favorite grandson?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s you, Christopher. You’re my favorite grandson.”

“Do you have other grandchildren?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean you had to be my favorite. You’re my favorite because I like you.”

“Oh. I’m fine. How are you?”

“Doing a lot better than I was a few minutes ago, I tell you. Is it good to be home?”

“Here?”

“Well, yes. With your mom and dad.”

Christopher didn’t answer.

“Are you going to be coming up to see us? You’ve never been up here before, but this time you’ve got a longer break.”

“Where do you live?”

“Vermont. The most beautiful state in the country. You’d love it. You can run around all day and never see the same tree twice.”

Christopher looked up at Richard. “Are we going to Vermont today?”

“No.”

“No, we won’t be visiting you,” Christopher said to his grandfather.

“What!”

“Hi, Dad. Christopher just asked if we were visiting
today
.”

“Then you will?”

“Well, I don’t know yet. A lot of it depends on Carol.”

“Don’t wait too long, son. Time slips by pretty quickly without saying a word. What are you and your son going to do today?”

“I don’t know. We’re trying to figure that out.”

“Good grief, Richard, the boy probably doesn’t have a toy to his name. Go to the store.”

“He does need some new clothes.”

“I said toys, not clothes. But if he needs those, get them, too. Get out there and spend some time together. Grow some memories.”

“You’re right, Dad.”

“Let’s talk again real soon. Take care of yourself. And take care of that grandson of mine.”

“Will do.”

“And talk to Carol about when you can come up to visit.”

Richard hung up the phone. Christopher just sat on the couch like he was waiting for someone to tell him what to do.

“They really think a lot of you, Christopher. They’re anxious to see you.”

“Does Carol have parents?”

“Yes. Yes, she does.”

“Have I met them?”

“You’ve seen her mother a few times, but not many.”

“I don’t remember.”

“I didn’t think you would.” Richard looked around the room again, trying to think of what to do. “You know, this is ridiculous, you can’t wear the same winter shirt and pants all summer.”

“Why?”

“I think it’s against the rules.”

The little boy looked directly at his father, scared.

“Not really against the rules,” Richard said, “just hot. It’d just be real hot. You need something more comfortable. What kind of clothes would you like?”

“Should I wear clothes like yours?”

“If you want to.” Richard looked down at his Yankees T-shirt and faded jeans. “These are my writing clothes. And my reading clothes. And my watching TV clothes. In fact, I can do just about anything I want in these.”

“They are very,” Christopher paused, “versatile.”

Richard nodded. “I guess so. After years of getting up almost every morning and binding myself with suits and hanging myself with ties, I figure I can wear what I want now. And you can, too. You don’t have to dress like someone on safari anymore.”

“I like my safari uniform.”

“That’s nice, but you get to be yourself now. You’re not some big game hunter in Africa. You get to be a little boy.

“But I like being a Newman resident.”

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

T
he air was calm and humid. Richard and Christopher walked along the outside wall of Macy’s. He wanted to hold his son’s hand, but he wasn’t sure if Christopher was too old for that. As they neared the revolving doors, Richard stopped his son to look at one of the display windows.

“Macy’s has the absolute best windows in the world. Remember last Christmas when we came down and saw Santa’s workshop?”

“No.” Christopher stared at the display: three female mannequins wearing knit tops and cotton shorts, supposedly heading for the beach for an afternoon of fun. “No, I’m sorry, but I don’t remember. Was it this exact window?”

He didn’t remember all those elves hammering and sawing and putting toys together? And the little train that chugged around a big Christmas tree in the corner or the Mrs. Claus that was bringing out some freshly baked cookies for Santa and all his helpers? How could he not remember when it was just a few months ago?

“It’s no big deal. Let’s just go in.”

Christopher hesitated at the revolving door, his body swaying as he tried to get in rhythm. He finally stepped in, but he didn’t quite keep up and was pushed along in the door until he got to the
other side. Richard caught up with him in a few seconds, and they made their way through the crowded store.

Once they got to the boys’ department upstairs, Richard realized he had no idea how much to buy. He wished he’d asked his mother or father for suggestions; Carol wouldn’t have had any idea. After trying to figure out how frequently he’d wash and what Christopher could wear between washings, he finally decided on four pairs of pants, seven shirts, sneakers, and a handful or two of socks and underwear. If he was wrong, they could always come back.