Spare Change

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “But,” Olivia sobbed, “…when the rainbow is gone—”

  “It’s never gone,” the boy said, “it’s always there if you go looking.” The child eased his hand into hers and looked up with eyes blue as the balloon.

  The next morning Olivia awoke with the strangest peace of mind.

  Thus began a new life. Olivia had gone through a thousand heartaches and passed by countless milestones, but at long last she had arrived at the place where she could spend her days enjoying the simple life of warm-hearted friends, pot roast dinners and neighborly parties—a life free of complex relationships.

  Ethan Allen

  It was a real nice thing, Mister Behrens fixing me a ride to Wyattsville. But I gotta say, the closer I get to Grandpa Doyle’s house, the more I’m worrying he ain’t gonna be too pleased with the sight of me.

  Mama said he didn’t want nothing to do with Daddy—could be, he’s got no use for kids. ‘Course, I don’t know if Grandpa didn’t want nothing to do with Daddy when he was a kid, or just after he got growed-up and mean. I’m hoping it was the growed-up part; leastwise then I got a chance.

  Daddy wasn’t always mean. Mama said when they was first married he was sweet as honeysuckle—‘course, you couldn’t prove it by me, I only knowed him as mean.

  Blood’s thicker than water, according to Mama, so I’m trusting this grandpa’s gonna let me stay. I’ll say I take after Daddy when he was a kid, that ought to make Grandpa feel good—if it turns out Daddy was a mean kid, then I’ll say I’m more like Mama. If I can’t get this grandpa to take some sort of liking to me, I’m really shit outta luck.

  The Crossing

  When the flatbed of chickens pulled out of the Lucky 13 Truck Depot, Ethan Allen had his eyes focused straight ahead, watching only where he was headed. Had the boy turned to look back, he would have seen Tom Behrens—a man standing apart from the others, his hands jammed deep into the pockets of ESSO coveralls and his foot kicking at the dirt. Tom watched as the truck shrunk to the size of a toy then disappeared altogether. If he was smart, he told himself, he’d walk away. Walk away and forget what he’d seen in the boy’s face, forget that it was the same look of hardness and hurt he’d seen in the mirror a thousand or more times. It had taken him twenty years to forget those days, and now, in the span of a few short hours, it was all back again. “May the Lord God have mercy on you, Jack Mahoney,” he mumbled, then turned and walked off.

  “You got dirt in your ears, boy?” Butch Wheeler shouted in a booming voice.

  Ethan Allen, lost in the thumping of tires against the road and thoughts of how to explain himself to this never-before-seen grandpa, looked over. “Dirt in my ears?”

  “Yeah. Four times I asked, whatcha thinking about Jack; but you sit there like you’re deaf as a stone.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Ethan said with a sheepish grin. Obviously, he was gonna have to keep an ear open for answering to the name of Jack Mahoney.

  “No harm done.” Butch Wheeler signaled for a left hand turn then pulled into the line of cars waiting for the ferry to dock.

  Ethan craned his neck checking out the cars on both sides of the truck. He saw plenty of Fords, Plymouths and Pontiacs, but happily, no police cars. All he needed now was another hour or two of luck. Once he made it to the mainland, Scooter would never find him. Never in a million years. Even if Cobb nosed around the truckers asking if they knew anything of Ethan Allen Doyle, they’d say no and shake their head. Good thing he’d thought to say his name was Jack Mahoney.

  They sat there for another twenty minutes, the chickens squawking and the motor grumbling like it was in need of some oil; finally the line of cars began to inch forward. They’d moved two, maybe three, car lengths when Ethan spotted a uniformed man up ahead. His heart came to a standstill—no beating, no pumping blood in one side and out the other, nothing. It could be they had his picture—if that was the case it wouldn’t matter what name he was using. A faint heartbeat started up again and he slid closer to the door, looping his fingers around the handle. He could run if he had to, if his heart held out long enough, but maybe… he turned and in the high-pitched voice of a castrated canary, said, “Okay if I squat down under the seat when that policeman gets here?”

  “Policeman?” Butch roared, a cascade of laughter slid down his chins and set his belly to bouncing, “Why, that man’s just a ticket taker!” He laughed again then said, “But you…well now, you got the look of a lad who’s up to something.”

  Ethan’s mouth flew open, “Not me,” he stammered, “I ain’t up to nothing!”

  “Is that so,” Butch said, a chuckle still rumbling through his chins. “Could be you robbed a bank. You got the shifty eyes of a bank robber. Yes sir, robbed a bank, or maybe stole that dog. You do either of those things, boy?”

  “No sir,” Ethan Allen answered in earnest. “I never robbed no bank, and this here dog was a birthday present from my mama.”

  “That so?” Butch laughed again, then stuck his arm out the window and handed the uniformed man his ticket. Once the ferry was underway, he turned to the boy and asked, “You running away from home, Jack? Is that why you’re so skittish about the police?”

  Ethan Allen, who’d now tuned his ear to listening for the name Jack, answered, “No sir.”

  “Your mama, she knows where you’re headed?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And she allows for you to be hitching rides on chicken trucks?”

  Ethan could make up stories quicker than you’d imagine possible, and he could tell them in a way that was most convincing. He also knew when he was skating too close to the edge of believability and the look on Butch Wheeler’s face, indicated it was time for him to move back. “Truth is,” Ethan said, in a heavy-hearted voice, “my mama’s dead. But, when she was breathing her last, she told me to go live with Grandpa.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Honest! Look here,” Ethan fished in his pocket and pulled out a card that read—love, Grandpa. “See, this is who I’m supposed to go live with.”

  “Oh? And, where exactly does this grandpa live?”

  Ethan showed the back flap of the envelope with Charlie Doyle’s return address.

  “Doyle, huh? He your mama’s daddy?”

  Still tuned in to his using of the name Mahoney, Ethan nodded.

  Butch handed the envelope back, “Where’s your own daddy?”

  “He got shot in the war and died.” Ethan thought about adding in that his daddy had been a hero with all kinds of medals, but he decided against it—sometimes saying too much was what could get a fellow in trouble.

  “That’s sure enough a rotten break,” Butch said, “but it don’t explain you being so afraid of the law.”

  “If they get hold of me, they’ll lock me up in an orphanage. This kid I know got sent to an orphanage, and he said it was God awful; they make you sleep on the floor and eat things that ain’t fit for human consumption.”

  “It ain’t quite that bad,” Butch said with an easy smile, “but it sure enough ain’t pleasant. Anyway, you got no worries; you got blood kin willing to claim you.” He glanced over at the way one side of the boy’s mouth was sloping toward his chin, “Your grandpa knows you’re coming, don’t he?”

  Ethan forced a happy-looking smile onto his face and nodded.

  After that, things went along smooth as a pig’s belly. Butch Wheeler unloaded the crates of chickens in Richmond, then turned west onto Route 33 and drove Ethan Allen all the way to Wyattsville, right to the front door of his grandpa’s apartment building. “You want me to go in with you?” Butch asked, but the boy shook his head and hurried off.

  Ethan Allen ran his finger along the names printed on the mail slots—Parker, Cunningham, Ryan, Casper, Dolby—Doyle! Apartment 7D. He gave Dog’s rope a tug, walked past the No Pets Allowed sign, stepped into the elevator and pushed number seven. As the brass doors rattled shut, he started to sweat—it was one thing to say you were going to live with a grandpa who didn�
�t know you from a knothole; but something else entirely, to be standing there when the door opened. He spit into the palm of his hand and slicked his hair back. “He’s my grandpa, he’s gotta like me,” Ethan told his reflection.

  When the elevator doors opened, Ethan stepped out into a hallway with carpeting that stretched from one wall to the other. There was not a soul in sight and it was way too quiet for his liking. It didn’t give off the sounds or smells of a place where people lived. He heard the far away echo of people talking, but after the elevator doors rattled shut, even that was gone. Using the smallest whisper possible, he tried to practice what he would say when Grandpa Doyle answered the door, “Hello,” he squeaked, “I’m your grandson, Ethan Allen; I’ve come to live with you.” The words flip-flopped in his throat and made him want to gag, they sounded stupid and shrill as a tin whistle. He started down the hallway and tried again, “Hi there, Grandpa Doyle,” he said, this time mustering up a feigned gleefulness. It sounded worse than hello, I’m your grandson. One more try and then he found himself face to face with apartment 7D; he gave the doorbell a quick glance, then decided he wasn’t quite ready and shuffled off to the far end of the hall. “Grandpa Doyle,” he repeated over and over again, trying for the sound of sincerity, the sound of a boy genuinely glad to be spending time with an old man. When he finally got it right, he started working on what would follow.

  The better part of an hour had passed by, before he finally gathered himself together and went back to apartment 7D. He positioned himself square in front of the door, with Dog partway behind, hopefully looking smaller than his actual size. “Hi, Grandpa, I come to thank you for all those dollars you been sending me,” Ethan mumbled in one final run through, then he straightened his back, forced a smile to his face, and pushed the doorbell. He waited for what seemed an awfully long time, then pressed his finger to the bell a second time. This time he heard the chiming, a muffled sound like the ringing of a steeple bell miles off, but once the sound of the bell died away there was nothing else—no shuffling of feet, no calling out just a minute, no sound whatsoever. He stood there a while longer then went back to the lobby and checked the mail slots again.

  There it was, Westerly-Doyle, 7D. No other Doyle in the building.

  Figuring Westerly to maybe be Grandpa Charlie’s real first name, Ethan Allen took the elevator back to the seventh floor and rang the bell again. Still no answer. With nowhere else to go, he had little choice but to wait.

  Olivia

  At one point I believed I would spend the rest of my life crying over Charlie; but Clara, bless her heart, has helped me to get over it. At first I saw her kindness as meddling and wished she’d leave me alone. I certainly to God am glad she didn’t.

  At least I’ve got a life now. Not the real happy sort of life I had with Charlie, but it’s a whole lot better than it was after his death. I keep busy, but I still think about him every day and I can’t help but wonder if he’s looking down on me.

  If he is, I certainly do hope he’s not put out about me getting rid of all his personal belongings. I doubt that he would be, Charlie’s simply not the sort.

  Sometimes I have dreams where we’re back together again—they’re so real I wake up expecting him to be there, lying alongside of me. Whenever that happens, I keep my eyes shut tight and stay in bed. I keep hoping I’ll slide back into the dream; but of course I never do. If ever I do, I’m going to ask Charlie how he feels about me going to dances and parties.

  Clara swears it’s what he would want me to do… but me, I’m not so sure.

  Uninvited Guest

  When Olivia and Fred McGinty, who on this particular evening had escorted her to the movie theatre, returned, they found the boy and his dog propped up against her apartment door—both of them sound asleep. “Stand back,” Fred, who was forever trying to impress Olivia, said, “I’ll handle this.” He kneeled down with his face on the same plane as the boy’s, “Wake up, son,” he said and gave the lad a gentle shake.

  Ethan Allen, tuckered out from a full night’s lack of sleep and hard to rouse under the best of circumstances, tipped over onto the floor, still fast asleep. Dog however, jumped up and started barking so furiously you’d wonder if his head might pop off; the barking finally woke Ethan. The first thing the boy saw was Fred McGinty’s face—a face as round and happy looking as Santa Clause himself. “Grandpa Doyle,” Ethan said, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes and remember the speech he had planned.

  “Doyle?” Fred McGinty gasped. He stood up so fast he almost toppled over. “You think I’m Charlie Doyle?”

  “You’re not?”

  Fred, who was as superstitious a man as ever lived, suddenly turned pale as paste. “What is this?” he asked angrily, “some sort of sick joke?”

  Ethan Allen clambered to his feet. “Joke?”

  “How’d you get in here? Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m your grandson, Ethan Allen Doyle.”

  Olivia’s hand flew up to her mouth. She drew in a gasp of air and then fainted dead away.

  Fred, still reeling from the thought of the boy mistaking him for a dead man, caught Olivia half a heartbeat before she would have landed face down on the hallway floor. “Are you okay?” he asked, although her eyes were glazed over and her legs so rubbery they could barely keep her upright. “Are you okay?” he asked again, but the answer was obvious for she had the look of a woman who had seen a ghost He pried the key from her hand, unlocked the door and helped her inside. “You need to sit down,” he said gingerly guiding her to the sofa, “I’ll get you some water.”

  Ethan Allen and his dog, both of whom had been forgotten, followed them inside the apartment. “I suppose I’ve come at a bad time,” he mumbled meekly, but made no attempt to leave. He waited a few minutes then looked at Fred and said, “I’m sorry I surprised you, Grandpa, but…”

  “Stop calling me that!” Fred shouted. “I’m not your grandpa! Charlie Doyle is…”

  Olivia bolted upright, “That’s enough, Fred! This boy’s come here to see his grandpa, which, as you well know, is none of your concern!”

  “Well, I think he ought—”

  “Nobody cares what you think! Just go home, I’ll handle this.” Olivia, having made a miraculous recovery, crisscrossed her arms over her chest and fixed her eyes in a hard set glare, which ultimately caused Fred to stomp off in a huff. While the bang of the door was still echoing across the room, she turned to the boy and in a voice given over to sweetness, said, “Honey, that man wasn’t your grandpa, he was just a neighbor.”

  “Oh,” Ethan replied, his expression more bewildered than ever.

  Olivia gave a great sigh and lowered herself back down onto the sofa. “So,” she said, “You’re Ethan Allen Doyle.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “And, you’ve come to see your grandpa?”

  “Yes ma’am,” Ethan answered. “Is he here?”

  The boy had the same blue eyes as Charlie, the same look of earnestness, the same way of tearing at Olivia’s heart. Obviously he knew nothing of what had happened. “Well now…” she stammered, the popcorn she’d eaten at the movie theatre was exploding all over again; kernel after kernel bursting open, hammering buttery little holes in her chest. “He’s not here,” she finally blurted out, “but, you and I are, and we’ve got lots to talk about.” She jumped up and began plumping some sofa pillows that weren’t the least bit mussed. “Of course, before we get to all of that,” she said nervously, “we ought to have ourselves a cup of cocoa and something to eat. You look like a boy who’s been travelling, and I’ll just bet your poor little tummy is practically turned inside out from hunger.” Olivia headed into the kitchen and motioned for him to follow. Moving about in a fidgety sort of way, she flung open the refrigerator, “Let’s see now,” she rambled on, “I’ve got boiled ham, cheddar cheese, tuna fish salad, cherry pie—any of those things strike your fancy? I could warm up a bit of sweet potato casserole, how’s that sound?”
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br />   Ethan Allen, feeling a bit overwhelmed, said, “You got peanut butter?”

  “Peanut butter?” Olivia once again found herself wishing she and Charlie could exchange places. “Honey, I don’t have any peanut butter. You could’ve asked for a dozen different things and I’d have had them, but I don’t have peanut butter.” She began another rundown of all the other things she did have.

  Ethan watched as the woman flitted from one side of the kitchen to the other, opening cupboard after cupboard, fidgeting her hands, shuffling her feet, never settling in any one spot. Every time he looked at her, she’d glance off in some other direction. He’d decided on a ham sandwich, but she set three in front of him, along with a helping of potato salad and two cup cakes. Without anybody even asking, she’d given Dog a bowl of water and some broken up pieces of meatloaf. In Ethan’s book, people didn’t go around doing stuff like that—unless they were up to something. He eyed her suspiciously for a good long while; then he asked, “Are you my grandma?”

  “Me?” Olivia gasped. “Me?” With the look of a woman who couldn’t fathom the carrying of another burden, she lowered herself into the chair directly across from Ethan. “Because of my being married to your grandpa, Charlie Doyle, I suppose I would legally be considered your grandma, but only in the most formal sense. See, grandparents and grandchildren have relationships that go way back in time—you and I, why we’ve just met. We hardly know each other, and given such a circumstance, you wouldn’t actually regard me the same as you would a blood relative grandma.”

  “Oh. Okay then. I suppose I could do with just having a grandpa.”

  Olivia looked at the boy’s blue eyes and wanted to cry. How many times can you lose somebody you love, she wondered. Do they just keep coming back, forever and ever and ever? How long did she have to pay for having twenty-one days of happiness? She gave a sigh so deep it had the sound of something hauled up from the basement of her soul. “Ethan Allen,” she moaned, “it truly breaks my heart to have to tell you this, but your dear sweet grandpa passed on nine months ago. It happened in Miami Beach, Florida, while we were still on our honeymoon.”