by Nicole James
“I thought I’d surprise you.”
“I’ll make up Kiet’s room for you, Aunt Ratana,” her mother said, signing along for Malee.
“No need. I already found a place.”
“Found a place?”
“Yes, Brother. I plan to stay in Grand Junction for a while. I want to get to know my favorite nieces and nephew better.”
Malee knew that Aunt Tan had never been able to have children of her own. Being the free spirit that she’d always been, Malee wondered if that hadn’t worked out for the best for her aunt. She’d enjoyed a freedom that having children would never have allowed her.
But perhaps now, with her husband gone, she’d come to miss having children in her life. Malee didn’t know, but she was glad to have her aunt come for a visit. Things around the restaurant were always livelier when she came.
“Where is this place you found?” her father asked.
“It’s a furnished apartment over one of the stores just down the street. It’s above the empty storefront next to the coffee shop. It’s suitable for my needs.”
Malee’s heart skipped a beat. That meant it was right across from Brothers Ink. She knew the spot. It had a big bay window that overlooked Main Street.
“Do you need help getting the place cleaned up?” her mother asked.
“No, it’s very clean, very lovely. But I do need some help unpacking. I’m having quite a few boxes shipped over.”
“How long do you plan to stay?” Malee asked her.
“I don’t know, dear. I’ve signed a six-month lease. So I’ll be here until the spring. Then we’ll see if I’ll stay on. Perhaps the itch to travel again will hit me. But for right now, I’ve had enough of traveling. I’m ready to stay put for a while and get to know my nieces and nephew better,” Aunt Tan said and signed.
“That’s wonderful!” Lawan said, signing along for Malee.
“I’m famished. How about you feed your Aunt Ratana, then maybe after the lunch rush, one of you can walk back and see my new place.” She looked to Malee. “How about you, Malee?”
Malee nodded. “Oh yes, Aunt Tan. I’d love to.”
She clapped her hands together under her chin and signed back as she spoke. “Good. Then it’s all settled.”
Chapter Twelve
On Monday afternoon, when the shop was closed, Max taught an afterschool class for middle school boys at Pops’ Gym. It was a beginner class that taught the basics of boxing and MMA, half aimed at getting them interested in signing up for the other classes—at least that’s how Max had sold it to Pops—but really Max wanted to give the kids something to do to get them off the streets in the summer. It had been so well received he’d decided to offer another class during the fall.
Over the last few weeks, he’d begun noticing a skinny boy of about seven or eight years old hanging around. The boy would never come inside; he would just stare through the window and watch. Max had attempted to invite him in once, and the boy had run off when he’d opened the front door.
This afternoon, Max was trying a different approach. He left the front door propped open and ignored the boy, hoping his obvious curiosity would draw him inside. Max had turned up the music, trusting that would make him feel less noticed. It worked. Halfway through the class, the boy slipped inside to stand at the back.
Max pretended not to notice him until he decided to show the class some techniques with the punching bag.
“Everyone gather around and sit in a circle.” He pointed to the boy in the back. “You, there. Come hold the bag for me so I can demonstrate.”
For a moment the skinny kid looked terrified, but Max just pretended not to notice while he got a pair of gloves. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if the kid would come up to him or run out the door. Then the kid’s scuffed hi-tops come into his peripheral vision.
Max extended his gloved hand, wrist up, and asked nonchalantly, “Can you close up that Velcro for me, kid?”
The boy hurried to comply, pulling them tight around Max’s wrists.
Max grinned at the boy and extended his knuckles toward the kid. “Great job. Give me a fist bump.”
The boy’s face lit up under Max’s small praise, his smile bursting ear-to-ear as he bumped his frail fists to Max’s huge gloves.
“Think you can steady the bag for me?”
The boy shrugged.
“It’s simple.” Max pointed to a spot on the floor. “I just need you to stand here, brace your shoulder against the bag, and hold it in place for me. Can you do that?”
The boy nodded enthusiastically as Max took him by the shoulders and moved him into position.
“Perfect.”
He turned to the class and gave the boys some pointers on how to stand, how to throw a jab, and other techniques.
When he was finished, he turned to the boys. “That’s all for today. Next class maybe you’ll each have a turn hitting the bag. Let’s have a round of applause for my assistant.”
The boy grinned shyly as they clapped.
“Class dismissed.”
The boys all scrambled off the mat. Some of their parents were waiting for them. Max turned to his new assistant. “Could you put these gloves in that box over there?”
He nodded.
Max extended his wrist. “Give me a hand getting ‘em off?”
The boy reached to pull the Velcro loose.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Ben,” he replied softly.
Max extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ben. You can call me Coach Max.”
They shook, the boy’s frail hand looking ridiculously small in Max’s big mitt.
“Well, Ben, you’re the best assistant I’ve ever had. I sure wish you could stick around and help me some more. I’ve got to sweep this big ol’ floor all by myself. I might be here all night.”
Ben thrust his chest out proudly. “I could sweep. I’m a good sweeper.”
“You are? That’s awesome! Come on. I’ve got this push broom. Think you can handle it?”
“I can handle it,” he assured Max with his chin up.
Max led him over to the wall and got the broom. The boy eagerly pushed it around the floor at racecar speed. Max grinned, not sure how much actual good it was doing, but happy he’d finally drawn the kid in.
When he was done, Max asked him if he could come back next Monday and be his assistant again. The boy excitedly agreed.
“You live close by, Ben?”
He nodded.
“Do you want me to call your mom or dad and have them come pick you up?”
He shook his head, his smile disappearing.
“Do they know where you are?”
The boy hesitated.
“Is your mom home?”
He shook his head.
“Where is she? In town shopping?”
“Momma’s gone.”
Max wasn’t sure if he meant she was dead or on a trip, so he didn’t question it. He just nodded. “I see. And where’s Daddy?”
“Daddy’s at the bar.”
That had Max’s chin coming up an inch. “Oh. Is the bar near here?”
“It’s the one with the green frog.”
There was only one bar around that had a frog in the front window—a green neon frog. Otto’s Pub, a tiny dive bar two blocks down on Colorado Ave.
“Do you need to call him?”
The boy shook his head.
“Do you need a ride home?” Max knew it was probably not a good idea to be driving a child anywhere without his parents’ permission, but he hated to have the kid wandering the streets after dark. And this time of year, dark came just after six o’clock.
“I have a key.” Ben pulled the red yarn string it hung by from under his shirt as if that made him responsible.
“Can I walk you home? Just to make sure you get there?”
Ben shrugged. “I guess so.”
Max moved to some hooks on the wall and grabbed a hooded sweatshirt jacket that had Fourth
Street Gym imprinted across the chest. He glanced over at Ben as he slipped it on, noticing the boy didn’t even have a decent coat. “Hey, Ben, seeing as how you’re gonna be my assistant and all, you really need to wear one of these jackets. Come on.”
Max led him to the office and dug around on a shelf. He knew Pops had an extra one somewhere that he’d gotten for one of his grandkids who’d come to visit from Florida last summer. He found it and pulled it out. It was brown like his, but a small.
He held it out. “Try this on for size.”
The boy turned and slipped his slim arms into it. It hung off his shoulders and down to his knees as he turned with a huge smile, modeling it. Max held out his hand for a high five. “Looks fantastic!”
The boy smacked his hand, and Max led him outside. He paused to turn out the lights and lock up, his eyes automatically straying down the street toward Malee’s bedroom window.
There was no light on.
He turned and held his arm out. “Lead the way, my good man.”
Ben marched off, his chin in the air for all the world, as if he were dressed in a tuxedo.
Max chuckled, flipped his hood up, and jammed his hands in his pocket. A moment later the boy mimicked his actions, flipping his own hood up and tucking his hands in the low hanging pockets. Max reached over and folded back the edge of the too-big hood so the boy could see. They exchanged a grin and walked down the street.
They walked two blocks down Fourth Street, in the opposite direction of Main. When they reached Pitkin Avenue, the boy turned right and led him down two blocks to a less-than-desirable side of town. The boy stopped in front of a small run-down house. The gray paint was peeling, and the tiny yard was nothing but dirt. The house next to it was boarded up, a rusted BEWARE OF DOG sign hanging lopsided by one corner on the chain-link fence. The house on the other side was a drab mud color, but the tiny porch had a rocker and a broom leaned against the wall next to the door. Faded floral curtains hung in the windows. It was run down, but at least the place appeared to be kept tidy.
Max glanced back at Ben’s house. It had no fence, but it should have had a condemned sign on it, in his opinion. The roof looked like it leaked, and one of the windowpanes had been broken at some point and now was repaired with nothing more than a piece of cardboard and duct tape. A navy blue bed sheet hung in the front window as curtains.
“Is anyone home, Ben?”
The boy shook his head.
“No brothers or sisters?”
He shook his head again.
Max glanced down the street. “You have any family around? Aunts? Uncles? Grandparents?”
He lifted his bony shoulders in a shrug. Then he turned and inserted the key. Hell of a lot of good the lock did, Max thought. He or anyone could have booted in that flimsy piece-of-shit door without half trying. Hell, he could just punch his fist through the cardboard and climb in.
Max stood on the walk, not at all feeling good about leaving this child here alone. He glanced down the street, wondering if he should call the police or child services, or if he should find Ben’s dad and beat the shit out of him.
“You wanna come in?”
Max’s head swung back. Christ, how many people did this kid invite into his home? Max hesitated. But maybe Ben was afraid of the dark house. Maybe Max should go in just to make sure there wasn’t anyone inside. Feeling uneasy about the whole situation, Max nodded. “Yeah, sure. Just to make sure you’re safe.”
Ben flipped the light on, and Max followed him. The inside wasn’t much better. Ratty couch. Ancient TV that Ben immediately flipped on. An old game system hooked up, so at least the kid had that. Must be his only form of entertainment while he waited around for his alcoholic father to come back from Otto’s.
Max knew he was making all sorts of snap judgments, but he was having a hard time coming up with any explanation for this boy’s current living conditions. Yeah, he knew some people had a hard go of it, struggling to make ends meet, but then why the hell would his father be at a bar drinking away what little money the family had while his son wandered the streets?
“Think I could get a glass of water, Ben?” Max asked, more because he wanted an excuse to see the kitchen than anything else.
“Sure, come on.” Ben led the way.
The floors creaked under Max’s weight as they moved down a hall to the kitchen at the back. It was as ancient as the house. An old chipped porcelain sink and drain board perched atop dingy pale green cabinets on one wall, an old stove squeezed next to it, and on another wall, an old refrigerator with a box of kid’s cereal on top.
“The glasses are in there.” Ben pointed to an upper cabinet and started to climb up on the sink to get one, but Max stopped him.
“I got it, son.” He reached up and opened the cabinet, half afraid what he might find. In the back of the cabinet, he spotted a bottle of whiskey, an inch of amber liquor remaining. It was tucked behind some mismatched dishes, a couple chipped coffee mugs, and some glasses that looked like they’d been swiped out of a bar.
Max took one down and leaned to fill it at the tap. He glanced over as Ben opened the fridge and stood looking inside for something to eat. Max could see there was not much there. A bottle of ketchup, four cans of beer, a gallon of milk that looked like it was down to its last glassful, and on the second shelf, a half empty pack of hot dogs.
Ben stared forlornly at the contents.
This was just too much for Max to handle. He couldn’t bring himself to leave this boy here with barely any food.
“Hey, Ben. You want to share a pizza with me?”
Ben’s eyes got big as he swung around. “A pizza?”
“Yeah.” Max rubbed his stomach. “I’m starved. I was just thinking about ordering one.”
Ben nodded his head. “I love pizza. We don’t have it much, though.”
I bet, Max thought, pulling his phone out. “You like pepperoni?”
Ben’s head bobbed in excitement.
Max called the local place and ordered two large pizzas and a six-pack of colas. When he hung up, he looked at Ben and asked, “So, you got any good video games?”
Two hours later, they were full of pizza, the leftovers tucked away in the fridge, Max having purposely ordered more than they could eat so the kid would have some for tomorrow. Max had wrapped it in a piece of tin foil he’d found in a drawer and hidden it down in the vegetable crisper. He’d put his finger to his lips, and told Ben. “Shh. Don’t tell anyone. It’s your secret stash for tomorrow.”
Ben had grinned and nodded.
Max had discarded the empty boxes in the garbage can outside.
Now they were on their third video game; it was almost ten and Ben’s father still wasn’t home.
Max stared toward the window, wondering how he should handle this. Should he wait around for the man and give him a piece of his mind? Would the guy turn the tables on him and call the police, saying he was the intruder or worse, accuse him of being some kind of child molester?
If Max confronted him, would Ben’s father forbid him from ever coming to the gym again? Right now that may be the only safe place this kid had to go. Max might have a chance at being a positive influence for Ben. If he played this wrong, he might be cut out of the boy’s life and any chance of that would be gone.
If he called the police, where would Ben end up? Would he be put in the care of the state? Could he be doing the boy more harm than good by reporting this?
And what did he really know?
The phone on the kitchen wall rang. Ben went to answer it. When he came back, he said, “That’s my dad. He’s on his way home.”
Max nodded and stood. “Good. I guess I should be going, then. You gonna be okay?”
Ben nodded. “Thanks for the pizza, Coach Max.”
He ruffled Ben’s hair. “You’re welcome, Ben. I’ll see you for the class next Monday, right?”
“You bet.”
Max headed to the door. “You ever want to stop by the
gym, it’d be okay.”
“Okay.” Ben’s face brightened.
“I have another job. I work at the tattoo shop on Main Street. You know where it is?”
“The one where the motorcycles park?”
“That’s the place. You ever need anything, or just want someone to talk to, you can come by and see me anytime you want, okay?”
Ben’s eyes got big. “Okay.”
Then Max pulled his wallet out and took out a business card with his cell phone number. “You hang onto that. Call me if you ever need me.”
Ben nodded, looking at it.
Max opened the door, but paused to turn back. “You lock up, now, okay?”
“I will.”
“Goodnight, Ben.”
“Goodnight, Coach Max.”
He waited until the boy had locked up before he stepped off the stoop. As he headed down the sidewalk in the brisk October night, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. He’d only gotten a few feet when a voice from the neighbor’s porch called to him.
“What business you got with that boy?”
It was the voice of an old woman. Max stopped in his tracks, his eyes searching the dark porch. The rocker creaked, and he spotted an elderly woman sitting in it. A flashlight beam hit him in the face, and he lifted his arm, shielding his eyes from the blinding light. “Ma’am?”
“Who are you? You aren’t that boy’s father.” Her voice was accusatory. She dropped the beam to the ground, and he could see again.
“He was hanging around the Fourth Street Gym. I wanted to make sure he got home safe.”
The beam hit the logo on his sweat jacket. “Fourth Street Gym, huh? That where he’s been going?”
“Yes, ma’am. Do you know the boy’s father?”
“Useless piece of garbage is what he is.”
Max walked closer. “I’m Maxwell O’Rourke.”
Her chin came up. “O’Rourke?”
He’d heard the censure before in townspeople’s voices when they said his name like that. He was an O’Rourke. No matter that he’d never been in any serious trouble before. He was one of those wild parentless O’Rourke boys, and they all knew no good ever came from them.
