THE LAST BOY

by ROBERT H. LIEBERMAN

  “Well,” said Mrs. Tilley, cutting her off and smiling indulgently, “that's certainly very interesting.”

  “Interesting?” echoed Rosie.

  “But you’re not the mother.”

  “No. Of course not. But I’ve taken care of Daniel since he was born. And I know him as well as his mother. Maybe even better right now.”

  “We certainly would gladly talk with Danny's mother and discuss…”

  Rosie refused to give up.

  “Just listen, please,” she pleaded. “This has all happened once before. There was another boy just like him in Watertown and…”

  As best she could, Rosie tried to relate all she had learned from Tripoli—about the boy called Matthew, the old books that had been discovered in his hut, the chain of the legacy that had been broken but might still be reparable.

  “I’m sorry,” said the woman, now eyeing Rosie warily. “I really have to go.” She started her engine and, with a fixed smile, continued out of her driveway and hurried off to church.

  When Molly awoke on Labor Day morning, the sky was black with oppressive low clouds and the air felt pregnant with a storm. Daniel was already up. He had put on his T-shirt and shorts from the day before and he was sitting listlessly in the kitchen with his head resting on the table.

  “Maybe you want to work in your garden while I make us breakfast?” She stretched and yawned.“I think you need to water it again too,” she said, hoping to spark him into activity.“It looks kind of dry.”

  Daniel didn’t even bother to raise his head.

  Ignoring his mood, Molly toasted some bagels and set out juice. She buttered a bagel and placed it in front of him. “Go on, take a nibble. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “I’ve got a stomachache,” he complained.

  Finally he took a couple of bites.

  But a few minutes later he was assaulted by a sudden case of diarrhea. As he sat perched on the toilet, she felt his forehead. He didn’t have a fever. He wasn’t particularly pale, either. Molly was sure she knew what it was: nerves. Sometimes when she was under stress it happened to her. The best strategy, she decided, was none. Don’t make any fuss. The less said about school the better. When she thought about his starting on Tuesday, Molly found herself vacillating. She wanted to do the right thing for Danny, but what was right? Give up her job and find themselves back where they started? Penniless and on the edge? Or dependent on the whims and wiles of another person? There was no one she really could talk to, no one she could trust to have only Danny's interests at heart. Not Tripoli, nor Rosie, nor Larry. Everybody had their own agenda, and Tripoli had gone off the deep end.

  Daniel went to his bed and lay there on his back, hands clasped over his abdomen and staring up at the ceiling.

  “I was thinking we could go out to Little Tree Orchards.” Molly sat on the edge of his bed and engulfed his hands in hers. Despite the heat they were icy cold.“They’ve got early apples, and we could pick a basket. Maybe make a nice pie. As long as the rain holds off.” She shot a glance out the window at the leaden sky. “It looks a little grim out there, but we can give it a try.”

  Daniel sat up and stared out. “It won’t rain,” he said in a little voice while chewing on a corner of his thumb.

  “Oh Honey, don’t do that. You’ll nibble off your finger,” she said, trying to make a joke of it. Into her mind popped the image of a fox caught in a trap, trying to gnaw off its own foot.

  So she dressed him in fresh clothes, piled him into the car, and they took off.

  When Daniel saw the apple trees in the acres of orchard, he completely forgot his stomachache.

  “Look how nice they are!”

  In a minute he was high up in a tree, scampering from branch to branch selecting the best apples and carefully handing them down to Molly, who stood on a ladder.

  “Be careful up there,” she warned. “I don’t want you falling down. Remember what happened on those monkey bars.”

  “I was little then,” he piped. “How's this one?” He held out a large, well-formed apple flushed with red.

  “Oooh, it's perfect. And get that giant one over there—you see it?”

  The orchard was full of other families, children and their parents picking. A lot of the people kept roaming around, looking for better trees with bigger apples.

  “Don’t bruise them,” warned Daniel as he climbed down into Molly's arms. “Then they won’t keep. But if you’re careful with them, you can make a hole in the ground and store them there all winter,” he explained with earnest wide eyes.

  Later, they took a hike around the outskirts of the orchard. Though the sun was obscured, the heat and mugginess of the day kept building. They cut through a cool pine forest that then opened into a large meadow. Grazing cows looked up, their heads turning to track them as they moved across the field. In the distance, Molly could still hear the high voices of children playing in the orchard.

  “I know you’re worried about school, Honey,” she said finally.

  He didn’t answer.

  They came to a fence and Daniel stretched apart the strands of barbed wire for Molly to slip through. Then she held them for him.

  “Kids are always nervous about the first day of school,” she went on. “I can still remember my mother taking me. Some of the kids were crying. One girl threw up all over her desk. Everybody was a little jumpy. But once we all settled in, we loved it. We had a really nice teacher.”

  They cut through a recently hayed field that was dry and bony. A young heifer came trotting up to them. Daniel petted it, then rubbed his nose against the calf 's neck, drinking in its scent.

  “I don’t see why I have to go,” he said without looking at Molly.

  “But Darling, everybody has to go school. That's the way it is. It's the law. And try to understand, Sweetie. I’ve got to work. We need to make a living.”

  He turned to look at her and the neglected heifer poked him with its head.

  “Darling,” she ran her hands through his hair, “I’ve got to pay the rent every month.”

  “Hey,” his eyes shone hopefully,“we could move out to Trip's?”

  “But we’d still need to pay for ourselves. You can’t always count on others, and Trip isn’t a millionaire.”

  “Or we could build our own place,” his face brightened.“I think I know how.”

  “Danny, Angel,” she said, clasping his face in her hands and kissing his lips. “You can’t build your own health insurance or dental plan.” She took his hand and they continued on, climbing down to a stream bed that was nearly dry. Daniel stooped down and washed his face in a pool of trapped water.

  “It may not be perfect,” she said, watching the water trickling through his hands, “but we’ve got to somehow live in the real world.”

  Daniel looked up at her, his face wet and glistening. “Is your magazine the real world?”

  “Everything's the real world, Honey. The birds. The trees. But also the buildings. And the cars and streets are real. Even the mall you hate—that's real, too. Some of the real things we like, some not. But we’ve got to deal with them.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Sweetie-pie, we can’t live on cattails and nuts. I’ve got a job and I like it. I like it a lot. I can’t drag you to the office for the rest of your life. And school's not the end of the world. Just give it a try.”

  “Why?”

  “Can you please stop saying why? When you get to school you’ll see why. And once the teachers get to know you, see how smart you are and how much you can read—why I’ll bet you anything they’ll jump you ahead. Maybe they’ll put you right into second grade—or third grade even. Who knows? And you’ll make good friends. You’ll see.” Molly tried her utmost to sound infectiously enthusiastic, but still it didn’t catch.

  “Oh, come on, Danny,” she pleaded, “for my sake at least. Promise me that you’ll at least try, huh?”

  As they neared the edge of the orchard where Molly
had parked her car, she noticed a young woman in a business suit and heels standing next to her old Chevy. The woman wore heavy makeup and lots of jewelry. She seemed to be wilting in the midday heat, but when she spotted Molly and Daniel, she immediately perked up with a smile.

  “Mrs. Driscoll?” she asked, approaching Molly. The woman fumbled in her purse.“I’m a producer with CBS.”

  Molly, taken by surprise, put down her basket of apples. “How did you know I was here?”

  The woman handed Molly her business card. It was for a prime-time magazine show hosted by Anne Snell, the famous movie star. Molly had seen the program a couple of times.“Hi, Daniel,” said the producer, holding out her hand.

  “Hello,” said Daniel, smiling and shaking it.

  Molly didn’t like the looks of this. “I don’t get it. How did you know we were here?”

  The woman just smiled mysteriously.“Look, I’m sorry to bother you like this on the weekend, but it's the only way I’ve been able to get you.”

  The sun was broiling and Molly picked up the basket and carried it back towards the car.

  “We’re going to make an apple pie,” Daniel chirped, tagging along.“You want a piece?”

  “That would be wonderful,” said the woman smiling at Daniel as she followed behind.

  Molly turned and cut her with a look.“What is it you want?”

  “We’d like to have Daniel appear on our show. We’d fly you both to Los Angeles, put you up in a first class hotel. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she addressed Daniel.

  “You talk to me, not him,” said Molly, clipping the conversation short.“And I’m not interested.”

  “We’d be willing to pay travel and expenses and whatever else—”

  “We’re not going,” she said, shoving the apples into the backseat.

  “We’re talking about ten thousand dollars.”The woman turned to Daniel.“You’d like to be on television, wouldn’t you?” she asked in a childish voice.

  Molly didn’t even wait for Daniel to open his mouth. “I’m not putting him on any television show.”

  “We’re prepared, if necessary,” said the woman eyeing her,“to go higher.”

  Molly opened the door for Daniel, and he climbed in on the passenger side.“I’m not putting him on some freak show.”

  “Please Mrs. Driscoll, our show is a very respected program. Last year we won two Emmys for news stories. Daniel would have exposure that—”

  “His name is Danny. Danny, got it?”

  “Twenty thousand,” said the woman, apparently not one to mince words.“You could buy yourself a decent car,” she said, looking down with a touch of disdain at Molly's wreck.

  “I don’t need a car. This one's fine. It's a classic. A collector's item, in fact,” she added sarcastically.

  “Twenty-five thousand. But that's as high as I’m authorized to go.”

  Molly looked at her. “You don’t get it, do you? First of all, he doesn’t go on any television shows. Secondly, if he did, you’d be wasting your money. You’d be disappointed. He doesn’t do any tricks.”

  “We thought you’d like to visit L. A., but if you’d prefer I think we could convince Anne and a crew to come here and film it in Ithaca. Twenty-five thousand dollars,” she said as Molly got into the car,“just to interview a little boy. And Anne Snell doesn’t often travel for a shoot unless it's really important. And Daniel is.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said, cranking the engine. It took four tries to get it going, and when it sputtered to life it left the woman in a cloud of blue, oily exhaust.

  “Bye!” called Daniel leaning out the window.

  Molly drove back to town in silence, the only sound was the wind whipping through the open windows. Slowly, the magnitude of money that the woman had been offering began to dawn on her. Who knew how much they were really prepared to spend? She thought about the slack it might buy her at work if Larry would grant her a leave, or just the prospect of having a nice chunk of cash sitting in the bank. The temptation, however, was only fleeting. Once they had him in the limelight on a big show like that, any chance of normalcy would be gone forever. No, she told herself, whatever the payoff, the price was just too high.

  “Okay, let's first get all the ingredients together,” said Molly when they were back in the trailer. The afternoon heat was merciless, and the trailer was baking. Turning on the oven was insanity, but she had to keep Daniel occupied. Keep his mind off school.“Now let's see, what do we need for the crust?”

  “Flour.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And then some kind of butter or fat?”

  “Why, you don’t need my help, Honey.”

  “Yes, I do!” he laughed. He seemed to be his old happy self as he helped her core and peel the apples. For a little guy, he handled the sharp knife with ease. Molly knew where he had learned to do it.

  “Now let's get the ingredients together.”

  “I’ll get them,” said Daniel, eagerly. He climbed up on the counter and took down the canister of flour from the high shelf. Then he handed Molly the sugar, jumped down, and started hunting through the lower cabinets for a pie plate.

  “No, no, let it go for now. We’ve first got to get our dough going.”

  “Okay,” he said, sticking his finger into the sugar to take a taste. “How do we do that?”

  Daniel stood on a stool, watching as Molly carefully measured out the ingredients, the drops of perspiration dripping off her face into the dough. She showed him how to cut the butter into the flour, and let him add the cold water.

  “You want to do the mixing?”

  “Yeah!”

  “All right, you mix this with your hands. Are they clean?”

  Daniel started busily kneading.

  Later, she let him roll out the dough. They were about to lay it into the pie plate when there was a knocking at the door.

  “Hey, look,” exclaimed Daniel, popping open the door.“It's Trip. And Aunt Rosie, too!”

  Seeing the unlikely pair, Molly could feel all the buoyancy of the day leaking away and she was furious.

  Tripoli pulled her aside.“We need to talk,” he said in a subdued voice.

  “But we’re just in the middle of making a pie.”

  Daniel's eyes flashed anxiously from one adult to the next. Something was about to transpire and he knew it.

  Tripoli had Molly by the elbow and was trying to maneuver her out the door.

  “Oh, look, an apple pie,” cried Rosie a little too ardently for Molly's taste. “Why don’t Daniel and I finish this while you two talk,” said Rosie brightly, stepping over to the counter and taking charge.“Right, Daniel?”

  Daniel remained stationary, still holding the door. “Are you going to talk about me?”

  “Just good things,” said Tripoli with a wink.

  “So why can’t I listen?” he asked, pointedly.

  “Because you need to finish the pie, Darling,” said Rosie, taking him by the shoulder and turning him back toward the kitchen.“Oh, look, the apples are all peeled already. We just need to slice them up a little more. Now, Daniel, where's the sugar?”

  Tripoli hustled Molly out the door and closed it behind them.

  “Do we have to go through this again?” she asked wearily as they stood in the front yard. She kept her gaze on Daniel's garden, couldn’t even look him in the eye.

  “Molly, I love you,” he said soothingly. “You know that.” He took his hand and stroked her cheek. His fingers felt unusually rough and calloused.

  Finally, she looked at him. “Well, you’re not treating me like you do. I spent the whole day trying to cheer Danny up and then…you two appear and ruin everything. You and Rosie just keep battering me.”

  “If we do, it's because we love and care about Daniel too.”

  A truck started up in front of the neighboring trailer. A moment later the Dolphs drove past, moving with deliberate slowness. Their heads were turned and they were staring
boldly at Molly and Tripoli.

  “You know, Trip,” she said, watching the truck as it progressed down the lane,“I don’t quite recognize you anymore. You’re not the same person I used to know. And I’m not sure it's necessarily for the better.”

  “I’ve learned things. And I’ve changed, yes. I see matters differently. I know things now that I didn’t know before. Molly, I beg of you, you’ve got to at least hear me out.”

  “Okay, out with it then,” she said, impatiently. A rivulet of sweat sluiced down from her temple, and she didn’t even bother wiping it away. “God, I hate this heat,” she mumbled to herself. “Well?” She turned back to Tripoli.“Go on already!”

  “The Hermit,”Tripoli began. This wasn’t the way he wanted to explain things, but these days he never seemed to be able to catch Molly at the right moment. “There are a couple of things I didn’t tell you. We got a set of fingerprints from the old man before his body disappeared from the morgue. The old man who took Daniel? I know who he is—was.”

  Molly lifted an eyebrow, and Tripoli could see he was gaining her attention.

  “His name was Matthew. Matthew Roland. His name came up as a missing person. Twice.”

  “Huh?”

  “He had disappeared as a little boy from his home in Watertown.”

  “Watertown? So that's what—”

  “He was just about Daniel's age when he vanished,” Tripoli pressed on. “Right out of school. Not a trace. He had lived alone with his mother. A single woman. He was missing right through the winter. The whole winter. In the spring, he suddenly came back. Perfectly healthy and everything. Except…” He paused.

  “Except?”

  “Except he was changed. Radically changed.”

  Tripoli went on slowly, deliberately. He told Molly about his conversation with the old sheriff in Watertown, his trip to Sarasota to meet with Flossie Francis. Molly appeared surprised by the lengths he had gone to, and Tripoli went on, relating everything he had subsequently learned. He took from his car the old clippings he had found in Watertown papers, the pictures of young Matthew he had borrowed from Mrs. Francis, and showed them to Molly.

  She looked at the photos, then scanned the articles, her eyes always returning to the pictures. Little Matthew the first grader, standing with his class. Matthew with his teacher.