Fireside

by Susan Wiggs

  “Doesn’t matter to me. I mean, congratulations and all, but it doesn’t matter if I found out when everybody else did,” AJ said. He did not want Bo to give him any kind of special status. As far as he was concerned, they were roommates. He studied a drawing of Kronos facing down a bad-ass Titan called the Cyclops.

  Bo didn’t say anything for a few minutes. AJ pretended to read, but the words blurred before his eyes.

  The chair across from him exhaled as Bo sat down on the leather cushion. “I know it’s a lousy break, this thing that happened to your mother,” Bo said.

  Duh. Tell me something I don’t know, thought AJ.

  “And what probably really sucks is hearing people talk about my news.”

  “Why would that suck?” AJ asked.

  “I figure the last thing you want to hear about is somebody else’s good news.”

  AJ glanced up from the book at last. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Bo to understand. “It’s cool,” he said tonelessly. “The Yankees thing.”

  “That’s nice of you to say, but we need to talk about you.”

  AJ quit trying to pretend he was interested in the book of myths. “Talk about me.”

  “Looks like you might be stuck with me for a little longer than we thought. According to Sophie, the soonest your mother can get a hearing is in six weeks.”

  AJ stomach knotted. He wished he hadn’t eaten so much spaghetti at dinner. Six weeks. A month and a half. And that was just for a hearing. Who knew what would happen after that?

  “Anyway, Mrs. V. is fine with us staying for as long as we need to, so that’s something,” Bo said. “But there’s one thing....”

  The knot in AJ’s stomach tightened. “What? Just tell me.”

  “I need to explain about the thing Dino mentioned earlier. He didn’t realize I hadn’t told you yet about the rookie program. They coach new players on how to handle reps, sportswear executives, the press, fans, that sort of thing. See, in the major leagues, baseball isn’t just baseball. It’s like learning a whole business. The trouble is, I’m supposed to go the week after next.”

  AJ sat there, smoldering mad, trapped. “Yeah? So?”

  “So I got a dilemma now. I’m responsible for you. I can’t just go taking off.”

  AJ couldn’t resist. “Why not? That’s what you’ve done my whole life.”

  “Hey—”

  “You can just go,” AJ stated, getting up and putting the book back on the shelf with a decisive shove. “I’ll be fine.” To his relief, Bo didn’t try to stop him as he stalked out of the room.

  He kept his head down and took the stairs two at a time, nearly colliding with Kim on the stair landing. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “No harm done. AJ, you look upset.”

  He was amazed to see what he saw in her eyes. They were soft with kindness and understanding. What was up with that? He was even more amazed to hear himself say, “It’s cool and all that Bo’s going to be a Yankee, but I have to go to school starting Monday, and that is not cool.” There was still no certified birth certificate, but Bo had gone over the attendance clerk’s head and sweet-talked somebody at the school into giving AJ provisional enrollment.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Most grown-ups would probably tell him all the good things about school. Not Kim. She said, “I used to hate school, myself. How about you?”

  He shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.” He thought about Mrs. Jackson, and how he always felt all proud to be in the top reading group, even though it meant reading harder books. And he liked Mrs. Alvarez, the teacher’s aide, who spoke Spanish most of the time, because most of the kids in class were Latino. His school in Texas, with its open-air walkways and sunbaked playgrounds, was completely different from the snowbound brick building in Avalon, filled with suspicious-looking Anglo kids.

  “But you feel funny about being new,” Kim said, guessing correctly.

  He nodded.

  “What can I do to help? Don’t look at me like that, AJ.”

  “Like what?” But he knew. He’d squinted his eyes, wondering why she cared.

  “Like you think I’m being phony. I’m not. I really want to know if there’s any way to help you. I’m new to this, you see—”

  “To what?”

  “To you. To having a friend your age. I like you, and I don’t want to see you hurting. So tell me what I can do.”

  Her words startled him. And she was getting really emotional. He didn’t quite know how to handle that. There was only one person in the whole world he could count on, and that was his mother, and she was gone. Yet here was this stranger who didn’t seem to want anything except to be nice to him. Part of him wanted to break down and wail, but he wasn’t about to do that in front of her. Or anybody.

  “AJ?” she prompted softly.

  He took a deep breath, hardening himself. “Nothing. It’s just going to suck. Everything sucks.”

  Again, she didn’t try to act all cheerful about it. She touched him on the shoulder and gave it the lightest of squeezes. “I know the feeling.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’m not going.” AJ glared at Bo across the darkened kitchen of Fairfield House.

  Bo clenched his jaw, silently vowing not to let this turn into a fight. They were the first ones up on a freezing Monday morning. Snow had come down all night, but according to the local radio reports, there was no hope of a snow day. This town was well-prepared, and snowplows were already out, clearing the streets.

  “Yeah, you are.” Bo braced his hands on the countertop and glowered at the coffeemaker, willing it to hurry up and brew. He hadn’t had to get up for school in years, and he’d forgotten how brutal these early-morning wakeup calls could be.

  “I’m not, and you can’t make me.”

  Drip, drip, drip. Outright defiance was something Bo hadn’t expected and wasn’t prepared for. The words sounded strangely intimidating, especially coming from a kid. You can’t make me. Bo had endured every sort of taunt and chatter on the baseball field, yet none of that rattled him the way AJ did. It was, he realized, because when all was said and done, baseball was a game. This, on the other hand, was not.

  He glanced at AJ over his shoulder, sizing him up swiftly, the way he would a power hitter fresh from the dugout. The boy’s face was stiff, his eyes hard with belligerence.

  “Hate to point this out, buddy,” he said, keeping his tone easy and reasonable. “But I can make you. So you might as well get used to the idea.” At last, the coffeemaker finished, and Bo filled his mug. Two sips later, he felt almost human. “Look, we talked about this. It can’t be avoided. You have to go to school, same as any other kid.”

  “I’m not the same as any other kid,” AJ stated, his voice quiet but still obstinate. “Who cares if I go to school or not?”

  “I care.” Bo’s words came out sounding testy. Well, hell. He was testy. Working on autopilot, he fixed AJ a glass of juice, handing it to him. “And you’re going. You don’t have to like it—you probably won’t. But it won’t be the end of the world, either.”

  “Not for you, it won’t be. And you don’t care if I go to school. You only care if I stay out of your hair so you can go away to Virginia.”

  “That’s bullsh—baloney, AJ, and you know it.” Bo held up two different boxes of cereal. AJ picked the one in his left hand, and Bo filled two bowls. He peeled a banana and started slicing it, then noticed AJ had fallen silent. “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” AJ took a seat and waited.

  Bo set down the cereal bowls, then sat on a counter stool next to AJ. “Eat something. You need breakfast.”

  “I’m not hungry. I feel sick.”

  He probably did. He sure looked a little green around the gills.

  “I get butterflies real bad when I’m up against something new,”
Bo said, digging in. “I’ve even thrown up, a time or two. That’s what happened before I had my first game in a farm-league team when I was just out of high school. I got cut right away that season, and I always blamed it on nerves. Looking back, I think I was distracted, too.”

  AJ took a bite of his cereal. “Distracted by what?”

  “Honestly, by your mother. By that time, she’d moved from Texas City down to Laredo with her folks, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you, even though there wasn’t technically a ‘you’ yet, since you hadn’t been born.”

  The boy took another bite. “But you still managed to blame me for messing up your career.”

  “C’mon, AJ.” Bo reminded himself not to get defensive. The kid was clearly looking for buttons to push. At least he was eating his breakfast. “You want the honest truth? I was a dumb-ass kid pretty much on my own, and I was scared I’d mess you up. But that didn’t stop me from thinking about you all the time.”

  The boy shoveled the cereal steadily now. “Don’t you have a family?”

  “My mother—her name was Trudy—passed away five years ago. And my big brother, Stoney. He works offshore, on an oil rig. I bet he’d like to meet you one day.” He refilled AJ’s juice glass. “I wish I didn’t have to go,” Bo reiterated.

  “Yeah, right,” AJ said. “I’m sure you’re just dying to stay here in the snow and babysit me.”

  He hated that the boy’s accusation did have a ring of truth to it. And that look would haunt Bo—an angry expression, underscored by the deep hurt of betrayal. It was an expression Bo hadn’t seen in a very long time, but he remembered it well. He used to see that same face every time he looked in the mirror. And it bugged the heck out of him, because he knew just what AJ was feeling.

  “I didn’t say that, either. I’m supposed to go to Virginia for this special program. It’s business, AJ.” It’s my life. “While I’m away, you’ve got Dino and everybody else here to keep you company. I’ll be back before you know it.” Even as he spoke, Bo could imagine how that sounded. AJ’s mother had gone to work one day, too. And she’d never come back.

  On one level, they both knew this was different. The INS or Homeland Security was not going to catch Bo in their dragnet. But on a deeper level, this was one more person abandoning AJ. In his short lifetime, the boy had lost his grandfather, and his grandmother had moved south of the border. He’d lost a stepfather and, most devastating of all, his mother. Now Bo was planning to take off. He didn’t fool himself that he meant all that much to AJ, but this was probably the last straw.

  “Everybody goes to school,” he said. “No exceptions. You’ll get through the day. Hell, you might even like it. Be who you are, because you’re a hell of a kid. Make some friends—”

  “I’m not going.”

  To Bo, AJ’s defiance felt like being confronted by a weasel or a wolverine—startling and threatening. You didn’t know how to handle it. He felt like a fool, being intimidated by a kid, but he couldn’t quite get past the discomfort. How the hell did people do this?

  “I don’t want to fight with you about this,” he said, keeping his voice even. Reasonable. “You need to get your stuff together. You don’t want to miss the bus on your first day. Unless you changed your mind and want me to give you a ride.” Bo had offered him a lift earlier, but AJ had declined, horrified by the suggestion.

  “I didn’t change my mind. I’m not riding with you,” AJ muttered. Then, to Bo’s relief, he shrugged sullenly into his parka, stuffed his feet into the warm snowmobile boots Bo had bought for him and tugged on his gloves.

  Encouraged by the air of cooperation, Bo asked, “Got everything you need?”

  “Yeah, sure,” AJ said. “No—wait.” He ran back to their room, feet thudding on the stairs, and came back down, zipping his photo of Yolanda into a pocket of his backpack.

  The gesture made Bo wish he could give the kid a hug, tell him everything was going to be all right. But the kid didn’t want hugs from Bo, and nothing was right, so Bo kept his mouth shut. Starting at a new school was hard for any kid. Bo of all people should know. He’d lost count of the times in his own boyhood when he and Stoney had been in charge of getting themselves up and off to school. If a kid showed up wearing the wrong thing, or smelling weird, or looking somehow different from the other kids, he was toast.

  “Wait! Lunch money. You need lunch money.” Bo fished a wad of bills from his pocket and handed AJ a twenty. “I don’t have anything smaller, but that ought to cover it,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

  AJ hesitated. Then he said, “I think I’m supposed to buy a punchcard.”

  Oh, yeah. Sophie had mentioned the card situation, but Bo hadn’t paid close enough attention to the details. When she’d first spoken of school and other long-term plans, Bo had still been in denial. He’d felt sure the whole AJ situation would be resolved quickly, or that somehow, things would magically take care of themselves. It had taken a few days, and lots of meetings with Sophie about the legal situation, for reality to sink in. AJ wasn’t going anywhere soon.

  Bo fished out another twenty and handed it over. “I don’t know what one of those cards costs. Better safe than sorry.” If it turned out the punchcard cost a hundred bucks, he’d gladly pay it. He’d pay any price if it meant AJ would cooperate. “What else? Did we get everything at the store the other day? Paper and pencils? A...what do you call those curvy things? A protractor?”

  “A French curve,” said Kim, breezing into the kitchen. “Morning, AJ. Morning, Bo.”

  The moment she entered, the air shifted. Even the light seemed to change, as though more of the sun’s rays were allowed to leak through the brooding clouds. She looked like a model in a mattress commercial, well rested and effortlessly beautiful.

  “Coffee?” Bo offered.

  “In a minute.” She turned to smile at AJ. “I caught you just in time.”

  As usual, Bo couldn’t take his eyes off her. She wore a black turtleneck dress, black stockings and high-heeled ankle boots, hoop earrings and pink lipstick. There was no better-looking outfit for a redhead than all black.

  She handed AJ a sack. “Just a few things for school,” she said. “Some folders, a binder and spiral notebooks. A calculator and a ruler. A French curve and a protractor. I hate to say it, but you’re probably going to need a protractor. Math teachers love giving problems with angles, don’t they?” As she spoke, she fixed herself a cup of coffee. Skim milk, no sugar.

  “Thanks,” AJ said. He peeled off one glove, reopened the backpack and stuffed in the extra supplies.

  Bo was amazed. She’d managed to come up with most of the things he’d neglected to get at the store. He caught her eye, adding a nod of thanks. “Well,” he said, “better get to the bus stop.” He walked to the front door with AJ. “You take care, now,” he said. “I’ll see you after school.”

  “’Bye.” AJ went out the door, into the cold semidark of the winter morning. He headed down the long walk that bisected the snow-covered yard and turned onto the lane leading to the street. In the bluish light, his shoulders hunched against the cold, he resembled a condemned man walking the Green Mile. He shuffled along at an old man’s gait, with his eyes on the ground and his shoulders hunched up. Halfway down the block was the bus shelter, where a few kids had already gathered.

  Bo shut the door against the cold, though he stood in place, looking out until AJ disappeared into the shadows. “Dammit,” Bo muttered, taken aback by the pain he felt. Hurting for a child was unexpectedly intense. “Dammit all to hell.”

  “That went well,” said a soft voice behind him.

  “You think?” He turned to Kim. “I wanted to give him a ride, at least on his first day. He said he didn’t want me to.”

  “Then you’re smart to respect his wishes.”

  “I had no idea it would be this hard.”

  “I don’t think
this is supposed to be easy.” She glared at him, a challenge. “I’m no expert on parenting, but I do know that much.”

  “Just because there’s nobody to be pissed at doesn’t mean I’m not pissed. I’m no expert, either. Most people get a chance to adjust to being a parent. I’m still adjusting. My being a father was just an act of biology.” He turned to her, not bothering to hide the genuine pain in his eyes. “I thought I’d spend the winter getting a crash course in major-league baseball, but what I need is a crash course in being a father. I don’t have the first idea how to do that.”

  “Well, guess what? You don’t have time for a crash course. AJ needs you to be a father now. He needs you to be present now. Don’t worry about getting it perfect. Sometimes you just have to be there. Just be what he needs.”

  Bo kind of liked it when she got all bossy like this. “I hear you, coach. How’d you get so smart?”

  “I’m not smart.”

  He studied her face, pretty even when she was being serious. She wore makeup every day, expertly applied, but still, he could see a fading, nearly undetectable bruise under her left eye. The makeup camouflaged it—almost. But growing up the way he had, Bo knew how a woman looked when she was trying to hide the fact that somebody had hit her. He knew she’d get mad if he said anything, so he just kept quiet.

  She headed back toward the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Because I feel bad for you and AJ.”

  “Does this mean you’re starting to like me? Maybe just a little?”

  “It means I feel bad for you.”

  Okay, he thought. From a woman like this, he’d take what he could get. “I just wish I could wave my hand and make all his troubles go away,” he said.

  “If you did that, you wouldn’t be a father. You’d be a comic-strip character or a, I don’t know, a superhero. Listen, AJ has to go to school, no matter what. Once he gets past the initial awkwardness, he’ll be all right.”