by Fran Friel
"'Yes, Mama,’ I said feeling strange. ‘I love you.'
"Still inches from my face, she stared into my eyes. ‘I can't have your little friends come and visit with me no more, Henry.’ I didn't know they had visited her. ‘But they liked our visits—and the special lovin’ I gave them.'
"Mama kissed me again and she started to rub my belly. I felt afraid, but not like usual when I knew I was going to get whipped. She moved her lips close to my ear; I could smell her stale perfume and sweat.
"'You don't want your daddy to go away, do you, Henry?’ she whispered.
"I started to feel panicky. ‘No, Mama,’ I whispered back.
"'Good boy,’ she said, her lips brushing my ear, her breathing husky. ‘Then I can save all my special lovin’ just for you.’ She kissed me hard on the mouth and slid her warm fingers from my belly down inside my trousers. I felt nauseated and confused—my lip ached, and Mama's rubbing felt good and bad all at the same time.
"Then she stopped. She pulled away quickly and looked me hard in the eye. ‘But you can't never tell your daddy about this. He'll leave us if you do. You hear me?'
"With tears in my eyes, I nodded, ‘Yes, Mama.'
"She put the ice back on my lip and set off for the kitchen as if nothing had happened. ‘Your daddy will be back soon, so I need to start supper. Go on and clean yourself up. You look like shit.'
"I stayed there on the sofa for a minute. I didn't know what had just happened—all I knew was that my head hurt, my lip ached, and my penis was hard.
"'What did I just tell you, boy? Get up before your daddy comes home and finds you like that. Didn't you hear a thing I told you?’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘Pathetic.'
"I got up, staggering as I walked, but I made it to the bathroom before I vomited. I wiped my mouth on one of Mama's white towels, and that's when I saw the dark red lipstick mixed with my blood. My stomach heaved again. When the retching finally stopped, I looked in the mirror and saw the sticky red stain still smudged across my mouth. What if my daddy saw it? I scrubbed my face and rubbed so hard with the towel that my skin was nearly raw. There was still some red around my swollen mouth but if Daddy asked, I could say I had fallen and busted my lip.
"I knew Mama would kill me if she saw that I had ruined one of her towels, so I bunched it up under my shirt, ran to my room and hid it in the back of my closet behind the toy chest. I was nine, and somehow I knew I wouldn't be playing with those toys much anymore."
Frank's hands were idle against the clay. He stared at the empty eyes of his sculpture, his face wet with tears..
"Henry? Did you say your name is Henry?” Rebecca had restrained herself from interrupting earlier, and now she forced her back straight against the chair, struggling to maintain her professional composure.
The man looked up in shock. “Oh, God! You won't tell anyone, will you?” he said.
Stalling, Rebecca glanced at the ceiling and tapped her pen on her notebook.
"Hmm ... how about I make a deal with you, Henry? You tell me more about your father, and I won't tell anyone about your name."
Still looking shaken, he wiped his wet eyes with the back of his hand, and considered the deal. “Promise you won't tell?"
"Yes, Henry. Your secret is safe with me,” she said, with a benign smile. “Please, go on with your story, but remember our deal."
Henry nodded like a petulant child caught in a lie, then he snatched the bottle from the table and sprayed the hollow sockets of the clay eyes. Rebecca noticed that his face relaxed like magic as his hands caressed the moistened clay. He went on with his story.
"Back in Philadelphia, our cabbie pulled away from the convenience store right into a heap of traffic. After twenty minutes of horn blaring and a few choice gestures by our driver, we pulled into the Broad Street Rent-O-Wreck. Leaving Mama in the taxi, I climbed out while she ranted on about the shabby establishment we'd been brought to. I closed the car door behind me, but I could see Mama's mouth still going. The cabbie frowned at me with his heavy eyebrows as I headed for the rental office.
"'It's late in the day, son, but I think I can find something for you,’ said the old man at the rental counter. His shirt was wrinkled and his clip-on tie was twisted. I was a sight myself after all the traveling. I wore my favorite black Zeppelin T-shirt with the silver blimp on the back, my best Wranglers, and my big Texas Son belt buckle. By that time, I was sweaty, tired, and ready for a beer, but of course I never drank in front of Mama—she didn't approve.
"After signing some paperwork and haggling about not having a credit card, the old man settled on a fifty for his troubles. I smiled and thanked him. He pocketed the cash, fished around in a drawer behind the counter, and brought out a set of keys on a battered Rent-O-Wreck key chain.
"'Come on. This way, son. I'll show you to your chariot.’ I followed the old man out into the afternoon heat and around the side of the building where a beat up cargo van was parked.
"'There you go.’ He handed me the keys. ‘Not much to look at, but she runs good, and the A/C works.'
"Sure enough, the old white Ford started right up, and she ran like a top. I drove around the building and saw that the cabbie was leaning against the outside of the car. His arms were crossed and he had a sour look on his face. I watched Mama's expression through the taxi window when she saw the van. You didn't have to be a lip reader to figure out what she was saying.
"I transferred the bags and Mama to the van. I strapped her in the front seat, all the while trying to calm her down. ‘It runs fine, Mama.’ ‘Don't worry, the wheels are not going to fall off.’ ‘Mama, it is not a death trap.’ I paid the taxi driver, who snatched the cash from my hand, slammed the door of his taxi, and sped away faster than a bat outta hell.
"While Mama fussed, I looked at the map. Once I sorted out how to get to Blue Bell, we set off and I made my way through the downtown traffic. When we hit the highway, Mama finally quieted down and fell asleep. I began to wonder what the Rutt Estate would look like. When the letter came about the inheritance, Mama seemed shocked. I asked her about Daddy's family, but she ignored me. I pressed her on it, and she grumbled something about the Rutts’ disapproval of my daddy's choices, but she refused to say anything more.
"The thought of having a permanent home was tempting. We hadn't lived in one place for very long since I was thirteen—after Daddy's death. I loved Mama, but I sure missed Daddy. He was a police detective, and he loved telling me stories about cases he worked on, especially how he figured out crimes with the smallest clues. He was proud of what he did, and I was proud of him, too.
"Daddy loved his work. He even did some private investigator's work on the side. Sometimes he'd take me with him on stakeouts. Nothing dangerous, just stuff like watching a door to see who went in and out. It was mostly boring, but I loved being there with my daddy."
Henry gazed down at the clay, then out the office window. Sullen, he lowered his eyes and looked at his slick mud-covered hands.
"You're doing fine, Henry,” said Rebecca. Trying to hide her impatience for him to continue, she kept her voice steady and low. “Take your time. Just go on when you're ready."
With a deep a sigh, Henry continued.
"On the night of my thirteenth birthday, Daddy invited me on one of his stakeouts. Most of the excitement had worn off for me by then, but I still wanted to go. I didn't really have friends anymore, so rather than staying home with Mama, I thought it would be good to get out of the house. Mama could get very ... demanding when Daddy wasn't home.
"I helped Daddy get his gear together, and as I was heading out the door, I heard him and Mama arguing. They hadn't been getting along for some time, but things seemed to be getting worse. I hid on the porch to listen.
"'Where's that boy goin'?’ I heard Mama say.
"'He's going with me tonight, Sue Ann,’ said Daddy.
"'Well, the hell he is. I need him here with me! What am I supposed to do here alone? You ain't never arou
nd.'
"'Now don't start that business again. You know I gotta work if you want a roof over your head.’ And with a hush in his voice, he said, ‘And besides, Henry's been spending far too much time with you.'
"Mama went silent for a minute. That almost never happened, but she rallied, full of venom. ‘I don't care what the hell you think. I want that boy home with me!'
"'Not tonight, Sue Ann,’ he said, looking back and shaking his head. ‘No more.'
"I ran down the walkway behind Daddy as Mama screamed through the screen door, ‘Henry, you get your ass back in this house, right now! HEN-RY!'
"I could still hear her hollering all the way down Oak Street as we drove away. I felt liberated by my daddy's defiance, but at the same time, I was worried what Mama was going to do to me later when Daddy wasn't around. And what he meant by, ‘No more.’ Thinking about it gave me a sick feeling in my stomach.
"Daddy and I were both quiet that night. We sat in the car and he let me take a few stakeout pictures with his camera, and he told me about a new recording device the department was using for phone taps. But it felt awkward after the argument with Mama, so we both kept quiet, trying to avoid the whole mess. We were packing up and getting ready to go home when Daddy stopped and looked at me. I thought he was going to say something, but he just stared.
"I was getting nervous, so I fumbled with some film cases and asked, ‘So is that it, Daddy? Ready to go?'
"He took a deep breath and said, ‘Son, I'm sorry I haven't been around much. And I'm so sorry I haven't been there ... when you needed me.’ He looked stricken.
"I didn't know what to say, and the sick feeling in my stomach knotted into a sharp pain. I tried not to let Daddy see that I was scared.
"'Everything's okay, Daddy,’ I said. ‘Ready to go?’ I wanted out of the car. I knew what he meant, and he knew that I knew it. Mama had warned me time and again that if Daddy found out about us, he would leave us and we'd be homeless in the streets. How did he know? Mama would never believe that I didn't tell him. I started to shake.
"'It's all right, son. It's over.’ He reached out and touched my shoulder. I don't remember him ever touching me like that before. I shuddered and pulled away, feeling a sudden rush of anger.
"'Don't touch me! I don't know what you're talking about. Just shut up! Shut up!’ All the tension and the years of lying caused something inside me to snap. I had never spoken to my daddy that way. I could see the anger boiling up into his face, but he clamped his jaw tight struggling to stay in control.
"'Now, Henry. I know what's been going on between you and your mama. It's not right, boy, and it's got to stop.'
"'I don't know what you're talking about!’ My heart was pounding in my chest, and the ringing in my ears sounded like alarms going off.
"'Your mama promised me she stopped that perverted shit a long time ago. Hell, Henry, we had to move because of it. The neighbors were talking, and my job was at stake,’ he said, almost pleading. ‘When the boys stopped coming around, I wanted to believe it was over.'
"I was petrified, feeling caged in, and Daddy just kept going on and on, like he couldn't stop himself.
"'I saw it, Henry, with my own eyes. I came home early and the two of you were so busy fucking you didn't hear me come in. I saw my own wife on top of you, boy!’ His face was red and tears were welling in his eyes. ‘My own wife, Henry!’ He slammed his fist against the steering wheel.
"I pulled the handle and flung the car door open, and I just started running. I ran even harder when I heard Daddy calling after me.
"'Henry! Where the hell are you going? Henry!’ he shouted. ‘I'm sorry, son. Come back!'
"I just kept running, crossing the tidy yards and the side streets. I jumped fences and ran until I thought my chest would explode. My world was coming apart, and my mind felt like it had shattered. Exhausted and stumbling, I blacked out. Sometime in the night, I dreamed dark dreams of my mother whispering my name, telling me I was more of a man than my father could ever be. Then I woke up at the park in the Little League dugout to the sound of lawn mowers and the smell of cut grass.
"My head ached, and I realized that my nose had been bleeding—my shirt was splattered with dried blood. I figured it happened when I blacked out and fell. I splashed water on my face from the drinking fountain and wiped my hands on the grass. I didn't know what else to do, so I headed home. It was a long walk and I figured Daddy would be gone when I got there, just like Mama always warned. When I came around the corner to Oak Street, I was shocked to see police cruisers with flashing lights in front of my house. Before I got to the front door, a police officer stopped me and asked for my name.
"'I'm Henry, sir. This is my house.'
"'Henry? Oh ... your father spoke of you often. We worked down at the station together.’ He put his hand on my shoulder and turned me away from the door.
"Worked? ‘Where's my father?’ I said. A deep dread tightened in my chest.
"'You need to calm down, son,’ he said. ‘There's been an accident.’ I tried to run for the door, but the cop grabbed me by the shirt. ‘You can't go in there right now.'
"'Where's my father?’ I screamed, trying to wrench myself free.
"The cop jerked me hard toward him and looked me square in the eye. ‘Your father's been shot, Henry!’ he just blurted it out. Then he tried to compose himself., ‘And I'm sorry, son, but he didn't make it.'
"My mind was swimming, ‘Shot ... didn't make it?'
"'What happened?’ My eyes started watering.
"'Seems he was getting ready to clean his service revolver and it discharged,’ said the cop.
"That could never happen! Not as careful as my daddy was with his guns.
"The cop looked away for a moment, and I broke for the door. I didn't believe it. Daddy couldn't have shot himself. I busted in through the screen door and saw the detectives with their white gloves moving around my daddy's easy chair. He was slumped there like usual, as if he were sleeping, but his face was gone—only bloody meat and bone remained. His shirt was stained dark red down the front; the back of his easy chair was wet with blood and ruined bits of skin and hair.
"'Henry! Henry!’ Mama was hysterical, screaming my name. Something inside me froze, and it hardened and died in that moment. I knew Mama was responsible for my daddy's death. And I thought about all those years she warned me and badgered me and swore me to secrecy about our ‘special lovin’ so Daddy wouldn't leave, and now he was dead—and it was her fault. The grief and shock and fear all turned to rage. I despised her. I thought I could have killed her barehanded, right then and there.
"'Henry, my baby,’ she sobbed. She was sitting in a chair just beyond the kitchen door, her red hair falling around her shoulders. Calling to me, her arms open, she pleaded, ‘Henry, please come here, baby.'
"Like a robot, I walked to my mother. I let her wrap her slender arms around me and run her fingers through my hair. Laying her head on my young shoulder, she said, ‘Henry, I need you, baby. You're the man of the house now.'
"She wept ugly lying tears, and still, I let her touch me."
January 17—Personal Journal
I'm not sleeping; no appetite to speak of. And lunch with Rob was difficult today. But no matter what, I've got to stay focused on Henry...
Fashionably rumpled, the young doctor set his lunch tray down on a table in the cafeteria and stepped around to hold the chair for Rebecca.
"Thanks for accepting my invitation. I know it's not Bookbinders, but I've been trying to catch up with you since you started work."
"I'm sorry I haven't called, Rob. I've been preoccupied with my case work."
"So I hear. Making quite a name for yourself already. But you know the saying, all work and no play.” He raised his eyebrows and grinned.
"I know, and the fact is, I owe you big for this job."
"No way,” he said. “You got the job on your own merit. I just helped to put a little bug in Director Daddy's ear. No
need to thank me ... but then again,” he said with a wink.
"You're incorrigible, Robert. You never give up."
"Well, you're one to talk. I've never seen anyone pursue a position with such determination. Why the hell you wanted to work here is beyond me."
"It's for my mother, Rob."
"Yeah, I know the story. But my grades sucked, and my father's the boss. That's why I'm here. But you? With your residency recommendations, you could have worked almost anywhere."
Rebecca shrugged. “Here I can make a difference."
He leaned forward with serious eyes. “If you really want to make a difference, Becky ... then stop breaking my heart and have dinner with me.” A silly grin spread across his face; he looked hopeful.
"Soon, Rob, but not right now. I have to get back to work. I've got a patient at one.” She stood up with her tray.
"You just got here! And you haven't eaten a thing."
"I know, but duty calls. I promise we'll do dinner soon.” Rebecca turned away, disposed of her untouched food, and headed back to work.
January 17—1:00PM: Frank Doe Session
"Henry, I have a surprise for you today,” said Rebecca.
"Maybe you should call me Frank."
"I promised I'd keep your secret. In fact, all of our work together is completely confidential,” she said. “It's just between you and me. So, for the purposes of our work, I think it's best to call you Henry. Don't you agree?"
"No.” He scratched at the lone wisp of hair on his scar-riddled scalp.
"Oh, come on. It'll be fun. Besides, I brought Henry a present. I can't give it to Frank.” She tilted her head and gave him a smile.
"What present?” he asked.
"First, are you in? Is it Henry, or Frank?"
He rolled his lashless eyes. “Okay, it's Henry."
Rebecca opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a leather pouch, handing it to Henry.
"Here, they're yours."
