by Lisa Tucker
Willie is still in the bedroom. He has the giant teddy on the double bed and he’s telling him a story. He fusses while I’m changing his diaper, but when I’m finished, he goes right back to the story. It’s “Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” or what he remembers of it.
Rick is on his knees, spreading napkins on the living-room floor. He lays out a sausage biscuit and hash brown patty for each of us. When he turns around and looks at me, I go to Willie, tell him breakfast is ready. He says he’s hungry, but when he gets in the room and sees Rick, he throws himself on my leg.
“What is it, buddy?” I ask, as I pick him up. “You know who that is, don’t you?” I turn around so he’s facing Rick, but he won’t look, he pushes his face against my shoulder. “Remember?”
“Daddy,” he sputters.
“That’s right. And Daddy got you a sausage biscuit. Your favorite.” His little arms are glued around my neck. “Let’s sit down. You can be on my lap.”
“No,” he yells, and points back into the bedroom.
Rick is staring at us, but I shrug. “I have to see what’s wrong.”
Willie won’t tell me until I shut the door. Even then, he wants me to hold him on the bed. And he’s whispering. “Daddy is wike Shredder.”
Shredder is the bad guy on the Turtles cartoon. I wish I could laugh. “Your granny told you that, didn’t she?”
He nods, and then it all pours out. Not about Rick though, about me.
Granny told him I was going to leave him forever and run away with Daddy. And he didn’t want me to go. He wanted to be with me. He cried and cried, but Granny told him to be quiet. Granny told him good boys don’t cry. He wants to be a good boy.
I want to scream.
“I was just at work, baby. Your granny misunderstood. I would never, ever leave you.” I pause, take a breath. “And you know who bought you all those toys out there?”
He shakes his head.
“Your daddy.”
While he’s thinking about this, I lift up his shirt—the blue-and-yellow-striped one with the juice stain. I wish I’d thought to grab some clothes. “He also brought us here last night, so I could give you a big belly kiss.”
He’s laughing now. After a moment, I say, “You want to eat?” He’s at the door trying to open the knob before I’m even off the bed.
Rick looks relieved. He’s already finished his food, and while we’re eating, he talks to Willie about the toys. Obviously, he wants to make the same point I did, because he mentions that he’s bought a couple of toys every week for the last month and a half. Since the middle of August. Since the last time he saw Willie, in the trailer in Omaha.
I can feel his eyes on me, but I look straight ahead.
Willie has a mouth full of hash browns when he asks Rick why he doesn’t have any chairs to sit on. He thinks it’s funny. “You gots a TV but no chairs or tewaphone.”
“I just got this place a few weeks ago. I planned to fix it up before you saw it, but I didn’t get a chance.”
This seems to satisfy Willie. He picks up the little plastic cup of apple juice and asks me to open it for him. Then he babbles about the toys, trying to figure out which is his favorite. When he runs off to look at them again, Rick starts wadding up the napkins and food wrappers and talking about the house. He says he knows it needs work, but he plans to paint it, inside and out. And he’s going to put down carpet. “It’ll be better for Willie.” He smiles. “Softer if he falls on his little butt.”
I stand up and walk to the window, put my palms flat against the glass. It still feels cold even though it has to be mid-morning. Everything about the last twenty-four hours seems like a nightmare. We’re supposed to have a rehearsal today, our first in the studio. Fred said he was putting us with the best sound people in town. The guys were so excited on Saturday night, when Fred made the announcement. Even Jonathan didn’t flinch when Fred said he was going to bill us as “Patty Taylor and Jonathan Brewer, popular jazz.” “Popular?” I asked, and he just smiled.
Rick comes up behind me and says he figured the country would be good for Willie. And it’s only ten miles from his job. The drive isn’t bad. I turn around, look at a deep scratch on the floor. “I appreciate you helping me last night, Rick, I really do. But it doesn’t change—”
“I have to show you something.”
He starts down the hall, and I think he’s going to the toy room, where Willie is. But instead he goes into the other bedroom, the one that has nothing except for the U-Haul boxes. I stand in the doorway, watch as he picks up one of the boxes and moves it to the middle of the floor. I can tell from the way he lifted it that the box isn’t empty, after all.
“Look,” he says.
I walk closer, but I’m still not close enough to see inside. He must know I don’t want to be too close to him, because he takes a few steps back. Now I come forward, and on the top of the box, I see our old straw welcome mat.
I can’t help it; I kneel down and pull it out. Underneath, the box is full of bundles of newspaper. I pull out a chunk and unwrap a ceramic salt shaker in the shape of a cow.
“Is the pepper in here too?” I say, grabbing the next thing.
“I’m not sure,” Rick says.
I take another bundle and unwrap my Campbell’s soup mug. I got it from the company for free. I had to save labels for almost a year.
I pull out one thing after another, line them up on the floor. Glasses and cups and plates. The cow pepper shaker. The snowman cookie jar I bought for our first Christmas together.
I haven’t seen any of these things since the night Rick was arrested.
It happened after midnight, in Kansas City, down by the river. Of course I didn’t know anything at the time; I didn’t even realize he hadn’t come home yet. When the cops came banging on the door, screaming that they had a search warrant, I was asleep. They wouldn’t tell me what Rick had done or where he was. They cuffed my hands behind my back and forced me to the floor.
I had to lie face down in only my T-shirt and underpants. They told me not to say a word, and I didn’t, not even when they ran a knife through my stuffed Snoopy, the only thing from my childhood I’d been able to sneak out of Mama’s house. I remember thinking it was like being in a war, so much screaming, so much noise. I heard breaking glass, crashing dishes, the rattle of pans bumping across the kitchen tile. The dresser drawers cracking as they smashed them on the ground. A perfume bottle shattering when they dropped it in the bathtub. An explosion when they turned over the stand with the television.
It lasted at least two hours, and it felt like years. When they were finished, our apartment looked worse than if it had been hit by a tornado. A tornado is a random act of nature; it usually spares some things, but this was the work of determined, angry men. Nothing had been spared here.
This is what I always thought anyway. I never went back there. After the police were done questioning me at the station, I went to Mama’s, and when she threw me out about a week later, I went to the Lewisville shelter, and a few weeks after that, I ended up downtown, in the Catholic home for unwed mothers, where I stayed until Willie was born. I knew the police had turned the apartment into a crime scene, but that wasn’t the only reason I didn’t go back. I was afraid if I had to look at all those things I loved broken to pieces, it would break me.
I’m picking up the cows when Rick tells me how he got these boxes. One of his friends went through the apartment, packed up everything that wasn’t damaged, and put it all in storage. It’s been there the whole time he was in jail, and last week he rented a truck to pick it up.
I’m still too stunned to say anything. In these boxes are three years of my life. All of my life with him.
Willie is yelling that he’s ready to show us his favorite toy. He runs into the room, then over to me and pulls on my arm, but he really wants Rick. He’s looking at him, but he’s too shy to ask. “I bet I know your favorite,” Rick says, walking towards him. “The train.”
&nb
sp; Willie shakes his head, but he lets Rick take his hand, lead him across the hall. I hear him giggle and say, “It’s a surprise!”
I walk to the doorway, listen as Willie tells Rick why the elephant is his favorite. Rick is looking right at him, nodding as Willie runs around, talking about one toy after another.
I’m still holding the cows, remembering the day I got them at a garage sale. Rick was out somewhere with his friends, and I had the Lincoln. I had finally gotten my driver’s license, at seventeen. I was still nervous about driving alone, but I had to get out of the house for a while.
When I told the old woman running the sale that I wanted those cow salt and pepper shakers, she asked if I cooked much.
“Not really,” I said. “But I’m trying to learn.” I felt bad because I knew I wasn’t trying very hard. I would find a recipe in my cookbook, buy the food, and then let it spoil. Part of the problem was that Rick was almost never there at dinnertime. I kept thinking I’d cook for myself, but then I’d just eat crackers from the box and watch TV.
“You have plenty of time,” she said, and smiled and patted my arm like she was my granny.
I was touched by her friendliness, but I thought she was wrong. Time was the one thing Rick and I didn’t have. We couldn’t keep living like this. Most days, I thought it was unlikely I would live to be twenty-one. Even if I did, I was terrified Rick wouldn’t be there with me.
The things I bought for the house were so real, so permanent. I think that’s what I loved about them: they never changed. The snowman cookie jar was the same the first Christmas, when we were happy, as the last, when he was so busy cutting and bagging dope that he never spoke to me all day.
I carefully put the cows on the floor and walk into the toy room. Rick is playing with Willie, and I sit on the floor with my legs crossed and watch them. The sun is streaming in the window, and they’re pushing cars around the track. When Rick says, “I hope I don’t run into anything,” Willie quickly shoves four cars right in front of Rick’s car. Rick makes a screeching sound and tells Willie he needs better brakes.
I look away when I find myself thinking about his accident.
While Willie is arranging the train cars, Rick tells me about his job. He says he’s working on the loading dock at the plastic factory in Lewisville. It’s boring, but there’s lots of room to move up. And he gets to drive a forklift, he says to Willie. He gets to lift huge wooden crates that weigh thousands of pounds.
Willie loves this idea. He says he wants to drive the forklift with Daddy.
I’m still surprised how easy it is for him to call Rick that.
After a while, Willie says he wants to ride the blue ball, and Rick puts him up on top of it, then sits down in front, holding the sides of the ball, trying to keep him steady. He smiles when Willie manages to roll off the ball and right into his lap. Rick gives him a quick kiss and Willie squirms away, but he’s grinning so big you can see all of his little teeth.
Willie is starting to get bored with the toys when Rick suggests they tear down the wallpaper in the kitchen. He says it’s disgusting; I don’t think it looks that bad. The purple flowers are a little too big, but the floor-to-ceiling vines are pretty. It has turned yellow here and there, but it might be washable. The only tear is in the corner, hardly noticeable.
It certainly looks worse an hour later. Rick is using a sharp knife, but it’s too thick to fit easily between the paper and the wall; Willie has a plastic fork from McDonald’s. There are patches of torn wallpaper and other places with globs of dried adhesive. The exposed wall is dingy, institutional gray. Willie’s contribution is a knee-high line of rips going all the way around the kitchen.
But I have to smile as Willie kicks his way through the sheets of paper on the floor. I can’t remember when he’s been this excited.
They both have their shirts off. It’s still cool in here, but Willie insisted he was sweaty too.
Rick waits until Willie is in the toy room, checking on his teddy bear family, to ask what happens next. I start to tell him I need to be at a rehearsal, but then he says he doesn’t mean today.
“I got this place. I bought all those toys. I let Boyd take child support out of my checks.” He doesn’t turn around. The muscles in his back are flexing like an obscene grin. “I’m his father, Patty. I want to be in his life.”
I knew this was coming, but I’m still not ready. I hear Willie laughing down the hall. I take a deep breath, and finally tell Rick he’s right. He is his father, and if he’s really straightened up—really and truly—I guess he could start supervised visits with Willie.
“Visits?” he says, and turns around. “That’s what you think I’m talking about?”
“Well, Gerald Boyd said you—”
“Come on, Patty.” He shakes his head. “You know what I want.”
“No, I don’t,” I say, but it’s a lie. I do know. Maybe I knew it last night, when he was sitting on the bed at Mama’s. Certainly I knew it this morning, when I woke up in this place, so much like the kind of house we used to talk about living in someday. Way out in the country. Far away from my mother and his mother, far away from his friends, far away from all our problems. A real home.
I’m so confused; I can’t think of any reply when he looks into my eyes and holds my gaze. “You know the best thing for Willie would be to live here. Me, you, him.”
I exhale and look away from Rick, but it doesn’t help. The package of Pampers he bought is propped against the wall, and it reminds me of what I always wanted for Willie. What I dreamed about in Kentucky, why I woke up in tears because I knew Willie would never have it. A normal life. A place where he could spread out his toys and stay. Permanence.
Willie is back, holding the elephant, laughing and kicking his way through the sheets of paper on the floor. “Look, Daddy,” he shouts, a moment later. He’s picked up a long strip and wrapped it around his stomach and chest. “I a wall.”
Rick laughs. “You’re having fun, aren’t you, buddy?”
Willie nods and repeats that he loves this motel. Rick smiles. “I was just telling your mom that you guys should live here with me. How does that sound?”
Willie is still tangled up in wallpaper. I’m not sure he understood what Rick was saying, but he says, “Yep!”
I’ve never seen him so happy. Does it matter that I don’t love Rick? If Rick has really changed, then Willie deserves to have him in his life. Willie deserves a father who loves him.
I’m still thinking about this a few minutes later, when Rick puts Willie in the air, spinning him around like a top. Every few circles, he leans Willie over so I can kiss his nose. Willie is laughing a high-pitched, joyous giggle. But then Rick changes the game. He doesn’t hold Willie out; he suddenly leans over and kisses me, hard.
When I jerk back, I know Willie is looking at me. I force a smile, but still he says, “Don’t, Daddy.”
Rick laughs. “You jealous I kissed your mom?”
Willie squirms until Rick puts him down; then he runs over, throws his arms around my legs. When I pick him up, he fingers my earlobes. As Rick walks closer, he sticks his arm out, repeats, “Don’t, Daddy. Mama don’t wike it.”
“I’m okay, buddy,” I say, but I’m peering into his face, wondering if the sadness I see is real or a reflection of mine. How could he know?
“I wanna go home,” Willie suddenly says.
Rick tries to distract him but it doesn’t work. He has no interest in the wallpaper now, no interest in playing cars. And every time Rick comes near, he holds his arm out. He won’t let Rick get close to me. “Mama don’t wike it,” he keeps saying.
I hold him closer and breathe in his hair. I know what he’s doing and I can’t believe it. He is trying to protect me, my tiny boy, who doesn’t even understand what he’s protecting me from.
All of a sudden, it hits me with the force of a slap, how stupid I’ve been. His father is a man who forced me to the ground, bruised me, put his hand over my mouth. Of c
ourse Willie wouldn’t want this for us—even if he’s too young to say why. I remember the intensity of a child’s feelings. I would have done anything for Mama. She never understood what she had in her daughter’s love.
Rick is standing very still, chewing on his bottom lip. I take a breath and force my voice to sound light. “Maybe we should get going. It has to be almost lunchtime. I have a rehearsal this afternoon, like I told—”
“He’s two years old, Patty. He doesn’t get to decide.”
“He isn’t deciding,” I say firmly. “I am.”
“So this is it? I do all this shit for you and you just walk away?”
His voice isn’t loud but it’s undeniably angry. Even Willie senses the change and mumbles, “Home.”
I look at Rick, turning my eyes at Willie. “We really can’t talk about this now.”
“When can we talk about it? After I take you back?” He smiles a mean smile. “You’ll call me up sometime, just to talk?” He takes a step closer, shakes his head. “I’ve given you plenty of chances, Patty. I tried to talk in Kentucky but you threw me out. I begged you to talk in Omaha but you ran away like I was a dog about to bite you.”
Willie whispers, “Mama,” and I pat his back.
We argue for a while—or at least Rick does. I’m pretending to listen, nodding like I understand, trying to keep him calm. When he finally grows quiet, I think it worked. He’s come to his senses, realized he can’t talk like this around a two-year-old.
But then Willie repeats that he wants to go home, and he asks me to call the big guys to pick us up. “I pack my toys in the van,” Willie says. “I take them home.”
“We don’t need to do that,” I say quickly, but it’s too late. Rick grabs the elephant off the floor, shakes it by the throat, as he shouts that the toys are staying here, so are we.
“Stop it, Rick! You’re scaring him.”
“I not scared,” Willie screams, but his body has gone so rigid it’s hard to hold him. He has his hands out and he’s trying to grab the elephant from Rick. “You hurt it! You hurt it!”
