by C. S. Lakin
He grunted in disgust. He loved his dad, but the old man never stepped up to the plate. He let Rachel do all the disciplining and correcting. And Simon just walked all over her. Surely his dad could see that. Why didn’t his dad take action? And why had he let stupid Uncle Ethan stay all week, smoke in his house, guzzle beer all night? His dad should have taken one look at Ethan and his floozy girlfriend and sent them on their way. Well, at least his mom was finally putting down her foot.
Reuben watched Ethan and Annabell disappear into the back den, where they had been sleeping on the couch, heard them tossing things around, packing. His mother had insisted Annabell sleep in Dinah’s bedroom, but Annabell had just laughed and said, “Yeah, right.”
He knew Ethan’s visit had caused his parents to argue; Reuben heard it through his bedroom wall some nights: their hushed, controlled voices, the anger leaking out. He never could decipher their words but it was obvious they were talking about Uncle Ethan.
“Reuben, help me put these groceries away.”
His attention snapped around to his mother standing at the front door. He walked over and picked up a bag to take into the kitchen. She grabbed his sleeve and he froze.
“And you and I are going to have a little talk about that cigarette.”
He met his mom’s eyes and saw harsh judgment and disappointment. His spirit sunk like a rock ricocheting into his gut. In that instant he realized so many terrible things. That not only did she think he was guilty, that she assumed he had been smoking, cavorting with his uncle, but that no matter what he would say in defense, she would not believe him, not a word. That all these years of obedience and trying to be a good son to her meant nothing, nothing at all. She had no clue who he really was, how he really felt about anything.
Reuben tore his gaze away and, cradling the bag of groceries in his arms, went into the kitchen and wondered again, for the millionth time, why no one ever saw him.
Simon nudged Levi. “Now,” he whispered, “while the guy’s messing with those magazines.”
Levi gulped. He didn’t want to be there, in that liquor store. He’d just wanted to ride his bike home and get something to eat, but Simon wanted some candy, and claimed he didn’t have any money on him. Like Levi really believed that.
It felt as if his heart had leapt into his throat and was choking him. “I c-can’t,” he managed to force out of his throat. “P-please.”
“Now,” Simon hissed, kicking Levi behind his knees.
When Levi didn’t move, Simon pressed his face against his ear. “Listen. The first time’s always the hardest. But one you see how easy it is, you won’t be so scared.”
“But he’s right over there–”
Simon cursed, a string of biting words and nasty names, into Levi’s ear. “Last chance, shrimp. Or pay the consequences.”
Those final words filled Levi with terror. Levi had stolen little things before for Simon. Even money out of Uncle Ethan’s wallet, that time back in summer. But not when anyone was around. Not when he could actually get caught. He’d only refused once—when he and Simon had been riding bikes home from school and Simon saw some cool leather jacket draped over a stool in an open garage and just had to have it. He told Simon if he wanted it so badly, why didn’t he swipe it himself? In response, Simon pushed him hard off his bike, then, caused him to smack his head on the street, cut open his scalp and need twelve stitches, Simon crying to their mom that Levi had lost control of his bike when a car drove too close. Levi’d been too scared to tell the truth; one look at Simon’s face with its fake concern told him he’d get worse if he did. So he just nodded and listened to his mom scold him for not wearing his helmet and threatening to make him take the bus if he disobeyed. He had to stand there while she cleaned the wound and listen to her praise Simon for getting Levi home, for watching out for him, what a responsible boy.
Levi fidgeted, trying to get his feet to move, but they wouldn’t obey. He dared a glance at Simon, who rolled his eyes and pushed Levi out of his way. Levi dropped back and watched the guy as he finished with the magazines and then straightened up, turning his head to check out the counter. From where he stood, Levi couldn’t see the candy rack—or Simon. And Levi guessed the guy didn’t spot Simon either, for suddenly his brother came up behind him and startled him with a tap on his shoulder.
“Let’s get out of here,” Simon said, pushing Levi hard in front him, ushering him toward the door. Then Simon stopped just as they nearly made it outside, and waited. The guy in the store yelled, “Hey!” and ran over to them, grabbing Levi by his shirtsleeve, spinning him around.
“You little thief! Think you can walk out with candy bars stuffed in your pockets without paying?”
“W-what?” Levi answered, his heart racing.
The guy grabbed his shoulders, spun him around, and yanked something from his back pockets. Levi turned and looked at the half-dozen Hershey bars staring him in the face. He glanced over at Simon, who stood frowning, shaking his head in disappointment. Levi started shaking all over as an understanding came over him. Even if he wanted to speak in his own defense, Simon destroyed any chance.
“Stealing again?” Simon clicked his teeth. “Man,” he said to the store guy, “my little brother can’t keep his hands off the candy. He’s a little slow in the head.” Simon tapped his own head and smirked. “Sorry about that. I’m supposed to keep a closer eye on him; he’s such a retard.”
They guy glared at Simon, then looked Levi over. Levi could feel the guy’s eyes pin him down, and Levi hoped, prayed, he wasn’t planning on calling the police. Just the thought made his knees start to buckle.
“Okay, I’ll let it pass this time.” He shot them both a stern look. “But I don’t ever want to see the two of you in here again, you hear me?”
“No sir,” Simon said, using the fake sweet voice he often used on their mom. Levi suddenly felt like throwing up. He swallowed down the bitter taste seeping into his throat as Simon pushed him out the glass doors onto the sidewalk. Without a word, Simon unlocked their bikes and hopped on his and rode down the street toward home. Levi lagged behind at a safe distance, but caught up to Simon waiting at a stop sign. He was so mad at what Simon did, tricking him like that, making it look like he stole those candy bars, but nothing would come out of his mouth.
To Levi’s surprise, Simon pulled a chocolate bar out of his shirt, ripped the corner of the wrapper, and broke a piece off and stuffed it in his mouth. “That was just a warning, shrimp.” He stuffed more chocolate into his mouth, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “You see, if you refuse me again, I’ll make sure you get arrested and end up in jail. They put kids in detention camp for years, you know,—for stealing. And you can guess how much the tough kids in there like to beat up little weak shrimps like you.”
Levi nearly lost his grip on his bike. Simon rode off and Levi struggled to catch his breath. The cold air didn’t help; his throat locked up tight and he felt an asthma attack coming on. The world around him was closing in, squeezing him in a vise, like he was molten metal and being shaped by forces he could neither see nor control. Simon was molding him, and he knew if he tried to harden and resist, he would break. Snap in two.
Tears worked out his eyes and down his cheeks as he thought about running to his mom and hugging her legs, telling her what Simon was making him do. She would believe him—she would. But Simon would get punished and Levi knew exactly what would come next. He sobbed even harder just thinking about it.
He could not run and hide behind his mom, and he couldn’t trust his dad to protect him from Simon. He would just have to let Simon mold him, use him for his whims, but someday, Levi told himself as he wiped his face and got on his bike, he would harden into a sword that would cut back.
But even as he said those words to himself, he knew he didn’t believe them. And with that realization wrapping around his neck like a noose, he pedaled the last three blocks home.
Jake had never taken the boys to a b
aseball game, never even considered it. Rachel was the one who had suggested it, the all-American way for males to bond. Jake realized he had no clue if his sons liked sports; they never said, and they never watched games on TV. Jake avoided it, reminded of too many hours listening to Ethan and their father yelling at the screen, guzzling beer, ordering his mother around, Rebecca plying them with pretzels and chips and popcorn, whether it was Monday Night Football or NBA playoffs. His brother and father mindlessly recited statistics of players and games, sometimes over the breakfast table, while tromping through drifts to get to a duck blind, during long drives in the truck, dates and numbers announced in the air, insubstantial, meaningless. Jake had tired of it, wondering what piece of male hormone or DNA strand he had to be lacking that made their enthusiasm sound like dribble. Jake had played a little baseball in junior high, a fun, noncompetitive affair, and he enjoyed rounding the bases and catching a fly ball, the pleasure more wrapped up in the package of a sunny warm day, a light breeze drifting down from the Rockies caressing his face, the intoxicating smell of freshly mown grass baking underfoot.
Jake gripped the flimsy cardboard tray laden with cups of sodas and foot-long hotdogs, maneuvered through the crush of the crowd, the narrow aisles of the bleachers, the benches too closely tucked together for more than one pair of legs to ease through at a time. Arriving at his small entourage, he asked, “What did I miss?” Jake sat, passed out the drinks and dogs, wiggled into his seat.
“Nothing—what do you think?” Simon answered. Jake looked down, saw Simon tapping his foot. “This is boring.”
“You’re supposed to just settle in and enjoy the experience. It’s like life—a lot of nothing goes on for a while, and then, wham! Something exciting happens, a guy gets a hit or a homer, and the players dive into action.” Simon rolled his eyes.
Jake looked at Reuben, at the far end of the bench, book-ending his younger brothers. “What do you think, Rube? You enjoying the game?”
“I guess. I don’t get why it’s so exciting. They run the bases but they don’t get anywhere. Climbing’s better.”
“How’s that?” Jake asked.
Reuben shrugged, turned at the smack of ball against bat, watched the pitcher catch the pop-up fly ball. “I guess it’s the feeling of getting high above everything around you. Gives you a chance to see a wider world.”
Jake nodded. He knew Reuben had been growing more enamored with climbing rocks, but Jake didn’t get the appeal. The challenge—yes. But dangling hundreds of feet in the air, facing your death on hard ground below—that made no sense. Reuben didn’t seem like the type to want to flirt with danger; he was anything but a risk-taker, cautious, contemplative. At least that was how Jake interpreted Reuben’s manner. But he realized, sitting there, he didn’t really know these children. He’d been living in a house with them for years, all of them moving in a coordinated dance of life around one another, but he didn’t know their hearts, what drove them, what dreams they embraced, how much pain still simmered under the surface. Simon’s pain seemed to have morphed into an unquenchable flame of hurt, where he burned everyone around him by its heat. And Levi—Jake didn’t know anything about him. It seemed the more he tried to talk to Levi, the more the boy closed up, withdrew. Not even Rachel’s warmth could penetrate him anymore, and that fazed Jake. He recalled Levi as a baby, so small, sickly, asthmatic from all the drugs and booze Leah’d ingested. He’d outgrown much of his speech impediment, but Jake wondered in secret if something was wrong with Levi, something hard to detect, something that set him out of kilter, unable to process life the way other children could—apart from his mild dyslexia and reading difficulties.
“Levi, how you doing, bud?”
Levi pulled himself up from his slumped-over position. His hotdog still rested wrapped in foil on his lap. “Okay, I guess.”
“Maybe I should have taken you boys to something more exciting—like car racing.”
Levi’s eyes lit up. “That’d be cool. Can we do that sometime?”
Simon grunted, elbowed Levi. Levi bit his lip, raised his head to watch the game.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Jake asked.
Levi shook his head.
Simon slurped his soda through a straw. “Dad, this is pathetic, you know.”
Reuben turned to listen. Levi bristled.
“What’s pathetic, Son?”
Simon rolled his eyes again. “I really hate it when you call me son. Sounds like Leave it to Beaver or something.”
“Okay,” Jake backpedalled. “So, what’s pathetic, Simon?”
“This,” he said, gesturing with his arm. “Taking us to a good old ballgame, you and the boys, trying to make us think you care about us, want to spend time with us.”
Jake took a breath before answering. “I do want to spend time with you. I barely see you, with my work and all your school activities and homework—”
“You’d make more time, if you really cared.”
“I do care.”
Simon grunted, not masking his disgust.
Jake’s stomach started to ache. “You don’t have any idea what kind of demands are put on me—trying to provide for a family of seven—”
“Well, you didn’t have to add more kids. Or another wife.”
“Simon—”
“Dad, just can it, okay?”
Jake closed his mouth, then his irritation got the best of him. “You know, a little gratitude would be appreciated. I put in a hard work day, sometimes overtime, to make sure you kids have everything you need—food, clothing, toys. You have a lot more stuff than most kids in the world—”
“Please, don’t start in with that crap. I hear it from Rachel all the time. How people are starving all over the world, how we shouldn’t waste food, or leave the lights on, or run the water too long.”
“Well, it’s true,” Reuben said to Simon, leaning close to be heard over the noisy crowd. “You take everyone for granted and take advantage of whoever you can. You get people to do stuff for you because you’re lazy, don’t want to carry your own load.”
Jake held up a hand. “Okay, relax. I didn’t bring you here to start arguing. I’m only saying. . . I do care about all of you. I love you; you’re my children.”
Simon snorted. “You never wanted us. Mom said so.”
Jake heaved a sigh. How many of those hurtful words volleyed between him and Leah had been picked up by his kids? Those many arguments, rife with accusations. He thought his kids had been too young to understand more than tone and inference. But Leah had been closest to Simon; who knew what she said to him in private, thoughtless confessions not meant for any child to hear?
“It’s not that—I did want you, once you were born. We were young, just married, trying to get on our feet and I was in school. But your mom didn’t want to wait, wanted to have you kids right away.”
“And if you’d gotten your way, none of us would have been born!” Simon retorted.
Jake closed his eyes, calmed his breathing, tried to think of how to answer but words flew out of his head. Words, excuses, explanations. Would anything really help, anyway?
Reuben looked back at the playing field but the pain on his face was unmistakably evident. Levi slowly unwrapped his hotdog, took a small bite. Simon fumed so hard beside him Jake thought he’d see steam start to come out his ears.
Jake wanted to put his hand on Simon’s shoulder, connect somehow with him—as if a physical touch could form a bridge to link their hearts. But he knew Simon would push him away. He kept his voice low, tried to get Simon to look at him.
“I know about the private investigator. That you’ve been trying to find your mother.”
Simon shot Jake a fierce glare. “How?”
“The man called me; you’d given him our phone number. You’re a minor, underage. He was concerned you might be thinking of running away. He did explain to you he couldn’t take you on as a client, you being a child—”
“That was a lame excuse. H
e wanted more money.”
“—And he had a legal and moral responsibility to inform me. Simon, what were you thinking? That you could track Leah down and she’d throw her arms around you in relief that you’d found her? Or that she’d be so impressed with your effort to find her that she’d love you again?”
“Maybe she has been trying to find us. You’ve moved—”
“She hasn’t, Simon. I left our address with her parents in—”
“Dad, you don’t understand!”
“I don’t? Don’t you think I tried to find her, track her down? She doesn’t want to be found, Simon, and that’s the truth. If she cared about any of you, she’d have come home. But she didn’t. She filed divorce papers and gave all of you up, didn’t want any custody, any visitation—nothing. And don’t try to contact her parents; they won’t reveal where’s she’s gone. I know it hurts—”
“You don’t know anything!” Simon turned away.
Jake grabbed Simon’s arm and commanded his attention. “I don’t? I don’t know how much it hurt to have her leave me, leave all of us? Do you have any idea how much I hurt, how much I missed her? She was my wife, the woman I loved.”
Simon spit out words and they burned Jake’s face. “You obviously didn’t love her enough. It’s your fault she left. You should have been a better husband. I listened to your fights! I saw! She just wanted a big happy family and you wanted to go to school and carve your stupid animals!”
Simon jumped to his feet, pushed his way past Reuben and down the concrete stairs. Jake watched him run into the stadium building. Levi blew out a breath but pretended to watch the game.
“Dad,” Reuben said quietly, “do you want me to go after him?”
Jake closed his eyes, opened them. His lip trembled as he answered. “No, that’s okay. Let him blow off some steam.”
