The King of Jam Sandwiches

by Eric Walters

  “Not once.” I paused. Time for more secrets. “He’d have to notice me to hit me.”

  She slid her hand over and took my hand. She did it gently and subtly, so that even somebody standing right there probably wouldn’t have seen it. “I notice you.”

  I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what to say. The bell rang. Harmony went to get up, and I kept holding her hand. “Not yet,” I said. She slumped back down.

  It would take a few minutes for everybody to line up and the lines to start moving into the school. I just wanted to sit with her a little longer. It was nice to be noticed.

  ELEVEN

  We joined a bunch of students, including Taylor, for the walk home. Safety in numbers. Harmony said we should take a shortcut through the alley, and I looked at her like she was insane. She said she was only kidding. She sure had a weird sense of humor. We stuck to the streets.

  The whole school seemed to know what had happened in the alley that morning. Harmony had told the story at lunch, and it had spread like lightning. It was strange hearing her tell it. She’d added some extra details. Somehow, between the alley in the morning and lunch in the cafeteria, the three guys had gotten older and bigger and scarier.

  She had also made it seem like I had played a bigger, braver part and that my clocking the guy in the nose hadn’t been accidental. It felt good to be a hero, even if it was more in the story than in the alley. I had to hand it to Harmony, she could really tell a story.

  Sal—who has known me the longest—said something about how I used to get into fights all the time. Harmony looked surprised, though I’d already told her that. The others looked just as surprised. Fighting wasn’t what I was known for. At least, not now.

  By the end of the day I’d had lots of people saying things to me, some offering congratulations. There was also something different about the way people were looking at me—they were even acting differently. I was being noticed. That was both comforting and uncomforting.

  Why was so much of life like that—good and bad, hot and cold, up and down, in and out? Why couldn’t anything just be one way or the other? Why did things always have to be so complicated?

  One by one the pack broke off until it was just Harmony and me left. There was no longer any safety in numbers. My antennae went up, and she quickly noticed.

  “Those losers are probably still in the hospital.”

  “Do you really think so?” I asked.

  “Don’t be stupid. Of course not, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to be here. Had you ever seen any of them before?”

  “Never.”

  “Then you’ll probably never see them again,” she said.

  “No harm in being careful.”

  “Do you want me to walk you home?”

  “Funny. I’m probably better off without you. I’m faster than you, so I can run away from danger.”

  “Then why didn’t you run from danger in the alley?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t going anywhere without you. Besides, he’d already grabbed me.”

  “Yeah, but if he hadn’t, if you could have run away, would you have left me there?” she asked.

  “I would never have left you.”

  We were both silent for a moment. “I guess I owe you an apology,” she said finally.

  “Wait, you’re apologizing and I don’t have a witness? Nobody will ever believe it happened.”

  “Can you shut up for a minute? Look, I was wrong. We shouldn’t have gone down that alley. I should have listened to you.”

  “Maybe you will next time,” I suggested.

  “No promises. If you don’t make promises, you don’t have to break them.” Harmony hesitated. “Sort of like if you don’t pray for anything, you don’t have to worry about being disappointed.”

  She knew me too well.

  “Do you work tonight?” she asked as we approached her house.

  “Yeah, from four thirty to closing at nine.” I gestured toward the house. “Are they still treating you well?”

  “They’re really nice. This is probably the nicest place I’ve ever been.”

  “That’s great. But as soon as your mother gets her act together, you’ll be going back home, right?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Would you like to meet her?”

  “Your mother?”

  “Don’t be stupid. I mean Darlene, my foster mother. She’s been asking to meet you. She said you can come over for dinner one night. And before you say no, because that’s what you do, aren’t you at least a little curious to see what a foster home is like?”

  Harmony was right about both things. She had learned that my first answer to anything new was no. What she didn’t know was that I was more than just curious. I’d actually had the strange thought of wondering if my father died, could I live at this foster home and stay right here in the neighborhood? Maybe it would be good to go in and see the place for myself.

  “I’d like to meet her but not today,” I said. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “You keep ending up in foster care, and this one you think is the very best. So I’m just wondering…” I let the sentence trail off.

  “Why do I want to go back to my mother?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “For the exact same reason that you don’t come into foster care.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve never been in a foster home where they don’t give me food and put clothes on me. I’ve never been in one where they just go out and leave me alone at night. I’ve never been in one where I get ignored and they don’t even notice I live there. So the real question is, why do you stay with your father?”

  “It’s my house. He’s my father. He needs me.”

  “And that’s my answer. It’s my home. She’s my mother. She needs me. Now do you understand?”

  “I guess so, but…it’s just you deserve better than that.”

  “And you don’t?” she asked.

  Did I deserve better?

  “I have to go or I’ll be late for work,” I said quickly and then turned and walked away. I knew the answer to her question. Even though I hadn’t answered, I knew. I already had what I deserved. Somehow all of this was my fault.

  TWELVE

  Mrs. Watson—she had asked me to call her Darlene—had a snack waiting for us. It had taken three more days of Harmony hounding me on the walk home before I’d agreed to go in. Giving in was the only way to get her to stop asking.

  Mrs. Watson seemed very nice and made me feel welcome, but I was still a little anxious. I tried to chew with my mouth closed and keep my elbows off the table. It had a tablecloth on it, and there was a bowl of fruit in the middle. There were nice pictures on the walls and nice furniture. Everything was nice. The place was clean and tidy. It even smelled clean and tidy. Everything about it seemed so normal. Not normal like my house but normal like my friends’ places, and filled with normal things. Including the food. Food was normal. Rows of cans hidden in the basement wasn’t. This foster home wouldn’t be the worst place to end up.

  Mrs. Watson poured me a second glass of lemonade without even asking if I wanted one.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She was older, smiley and very friendly. Harmony had told me that Darlene and her husband had three kids—two were married and the youngest was away at trade school. Her husband, Frank, was an electrician.

  “Are you sure you don’t want another cookie or two?” she asked.

  “Before he says no, he actually does want some more,” Harmony said. She grabbed three more off the plate Mrs. Watson was holding out and put them on my plate.

  “Thank you.”

  “Such good manners,” Mrs. Watson said. “That’s a sign your father raised you right.”

  It was also a sign that Harmony had told her about my having a father but no mother. Otherwise she would have said parents.

  “It’s just so wonderful to have Harmony brin
g home her, um, friend.”

  I could tell by the way she said it that she was wondering if it should be boyfriend. Most of the kids at school thought that as well. I worked hard not to think about it. Neither Harmony nor I said anything, and there was silence in the room—which Mrs. Watson quickly broke.

  “Harmony talks about you all the time.”

  I looked over at Harmony. Was she blushing?

  “I already know you’re the smartest, most serious student in the class, you work part-time at the Priamos’ butcher shop and you’re a basketball star.”

  “We just lost the first game of the season, so not so much a star,” I said.

  “He got a double-double,” Harmony said. “Robert did his part.”

  “We still lost.”

  “And modest too,” said Mrs. Watson. “Does your father ever go to see you play?”

  “Uh…his work is on the other side of the city, so he can’t get there on time to watch.”

  Even if he worked near the school, he probably wouldn’t come. I wouldn’t have wanted him to be there anyway.

  “He must be very proud of you,” Mrs. Watson said.

  I hadn’t even bothered to tell him I was on the team. If I had, one of two things would have happened, neither of them good. Either he wouldn’t have cared at all or he would have cared too much. Caring too much would have been worse. It would have meant that no matter what I or the team did, it wouldn’t be good enough.

  “We’re so happy that Harmony has become the team manager. I told her I want to come to a game to watch, but she won’t let me,” Mrs. Watson said.

  “What would you do, clap when I hand out a towel?”

  “I could do that. We are just so happy to have you with us. You’re a delight to have around.”

  I chuckled slightly.

  “What? Don’t you think I’m a delight?” Harmony asked, eyes blazing.

  I held up my arms in surrender. “Delight is the exact word I use to describe you when I talk about you to other people.”

  “You talk about me to other people?” she asked.

  “You’re all I ever talk about,” I said. “I stop strangers to talk about you. When I walk Candy, I talk to other dogs about you. When I—”

  “Shut right up,” she said.

  I didn’t talk to people about her, but I did think about her. A lot. A whole lot.

  “Although I’m sure those boys in the alley didn’t think either of you was so delightful,” Mrs. Watson said.

  I was surprised Harmony had told Mrs. Watson about that. I certainly hadn’t told my father.

  “I’m glad you were there to protect Harmony.”

  “I think it was more like us protecting each other.” I looked at my watch. “I have to get going.”

  “Are you sure you won’t stay for supper?”

  “Thank you, but I’ve got to get going.” To make supper and walk Candy and start studying.

  “Another time then,” Mrs. Watson said.

  “Thank you. Definitely.”

  We all got to our feet, and Mrs. Watson gave me a hug. It felt awkward. Harmony stood off to the side and smirked.

  “See you tomorrow,” Harmony said.

  I’d made supper. And then I waited and tried to keep it warm. The clock kept ticking. I waited some more. And he didn’t come. I stood at the front window and counted cars, figuring the next set of lights coming down the road would be his. But it wasn’t. Then I started bargaining—first with myself and then with God. Bargaining seemed different than praying. And then I thought of Harmony doing the same. If she were here, she’d know I was doing that. Okay, if my father’s wasn’t the next car, it would be one of the next ten or twenty. But still it wasn’t.

  Then I stopped bargaining and ate dinner. I pulled out my math homework and did questions between bites. It helped to get my mind off worrying about where my father might be.

  Three or four times, Candy started barking and I went to the front window and looked out. It was just a passing car or somebody walking by. A couple of times I went to the TV and turned on the twenty-four-hour news channel to see if there had been a bad accident on the 401—his route home. Nothing there. That was both reassuring and troubling. If he’d been caught in a massive traffic jam that had blocked the whole highway, he wouldn’t be able to let me know what had happened because he didn’t have a cell phone. But then I started thinking, What if he hadn’t been caught behind an accident but had been in an accident, a bad accident? What if I saw our car on TV, and it was all smashed in? Or there was a knock on the door and a police officer was standing there, telling me my father was dead?

  I’d gone down to the basement. I’d needed to see all the food on the shelves. I’d known it would be there, but it had made me feel better to look at it. I had taken a can of meat. Nothing fancy, just a can of Spam. I’d adjusted the tally sheets so it wouldn’t be missed. I’d opened it up, eaten half and given the other half to Candy. She deserved it. She was here for supper. She was here for me.

  I wrapped up my father’s dinner and put it in the fridge. Then I did the dishes. Somewhere between washing and drying them, it went from dark to real dark outside.

  I needed to create order. I put my math textbook and finished homework in my pack. I made a sandwich—one half jam and one half peanut butter—and put it and an apple in the fridge.

  For the second time, I walked around the house to make sure all the windows were closed and the doors were locked. I paused at the front window and peered up the street. Deserted. No motion. No headlights. The lights were off at most of the houses, and people were turning in for the night. I wished I could turn in.

  If he was going to be late, he should have called and let me know. He could have used a pay phone. If he still had a cell phone, I could have called him. Then again, he’d had a cell phone the time he was gone for days and days. I’d kept calling him, and he’d kept not answering it.

  I picked up the remote. It was almost time for the eleven o’clock news. Maybe I could find out something. I was about to sit down when the phone rang. I ran across the room, my feet barely touching the floor. Was it him calling or somebody calling about him or—

  “Hello!” I practically yelled into the phone.

  There was dead air and then, “Hi, Robert.”

  My heart sank and rose at the same time. It was Harmony. More than once I’d thought about calling her tonight—not to tell her he wasn’t here but to hear her voice.

  “Hey, Harmony,” I said, trying to sound casual, like nothing was wrong.

  “I’m sorry for calling so late, but I had to wait until everybody here was asleep.” Her voice was very quiet, like she was trying hard not to wake anyone up.

  “I hope your father won’t give you a hard time about me calling you this late.”

  “He won’t even notice.” That was true.

  “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

  “No, I won’t be going to bed for a while.”

  “I figured you’d still be up, working longer than anybody else,” she said. “Right?”

  “Right.”

  “I just needed to talk to you,” she said.

  There was something about her voice. Had she been crying?

  “Did something happen? Are you all right?” I asked.

  There was only silence at her end.

  “Harmony, you didn’t call this late just to say hello or see if I was studying, so tell me what’s wrong.”

  She sniffled. She had been crying—she still was crying.

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  There was more dead air. For a second I thought she’d hung up.

  “They can’t find her,” she said finally.

  “Find who?”

  “My mother. My social worker called to tell Darlene, to tell me. She left rehab…and she’s gone…again.”

  “I’m sorry.” I was sorry, but another part of me was happy, because it meant Harmony would be staying around longer. I felt bad, dis
loyal, for even thinking that way.

  “I just feel so…so…I don’t know, like nobody cares for me. My own mother doesn’t care for me. I’m so alone.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “I knew you would.”

  She had no idea how much I understood. I had the urge to tell her about my father not coming home, but she didn’t need that right now. Even if I wasn’t sure what I should say to her, I knew what I shouldn’t say.

  “You need to go to bed,” I finally said. “Go to sleep, and it might be better tomorrow.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “How can it be worse?” I asked.

  “You should try to get to sleep too. And thanks.” “For what?”

  “For making me feel like I’m not alone. Good night.”

  “Good night. I’ll be there early tomorrow to get you because of basketball practice.”

  “I’ll be ready. Good night, Robert.”

  I hung up the phone. Now I just had to do the same thing, believe the same thing I’d told Harmony. Tomorrow everything would be all right.

  “Candy, come.”

  I took her out to do her business, then checked the doors and windows one last time. Then we went up to my room, and I closed the door, put a chair against it and got into bed. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

  THIRTEEN

  I had the notebook open to the first page and the first number—5,012. Then I flipped through to the last entry page. I crossed out 1,615 and wrote down 1,614. That was a better number—a smaller number.

  Candy gave a little yip, and I looked down. She wagged her tail, and I gave her a scratch behind the ear.

  “It’s going to be all right.” I squatted and wrapped my arms around her neck. I gave her a big squeeze. Bigger than usual.

  “You mean a lot to me, girl. You know I’ll always be here to take care of you. I’ll be back right after school, and no matter what, you’re going to be okay.” I paused. “I have a plan, and it includes you.”

  I released my grip and stood up. She pressed against my leg, clearly not wanting me to leave. I didn’t want to go either, but I had no choice. I had to keep doing what needed to be done. I’d fallen asleep around three and slept right through until just before my alarm. Before three, I’d lain there awake, listening for the sound of my father’s car pulling up and going over my plans. I didn’t just have a plan—I had plans. Plan A, plan B and now a new one—plan C. Lying there in bed, unable to sleep, I’d gone over the items needed for each plan to make sure I could execute whichever one I needed to.