by Dara Girard
Yes, his sisters deserved better. Just thinking of them made him smile. They were the only people in town who loved and looked up to him. They were so sweet and smart. He remembered when he'd gone to the church charity looking for clothes he'd picked up an old stain glass kit for his thirteen year old sister, Angela. She made amazing art with it, which he put up near the windows giving their gloomy place some beauty as it cast rainbows on the walls and floor. He wanted to get her some more tools and pay for a school trip to an art gallery in two months. Then there was his shy little sister, Grace, who needed braces. She was ten and her teeth were growing in crooked. Kids were already making fun of her and she had no friends.
Not that his parents noticed. His mother was always in a foul mood, angry that she'd ended up marrying a 'good for nothing Bailey' and getting 'good for nothing children.' His father was hardly around but nobody missed him anyway.
Cole slowly walked down the path that cut through the Armstrong's manicured lawn trying to think of another way to make money when he saw an older woman coming towards him carrying heavy bags. He rushed up to her. "Let me help you," he said half expecting her to refuse. People didn't let Baileys help them.
"Oh thank you," she said offering him a bright smile of relief. "I bought more than I should have."
Cole stopped and stared at her for a moment in amazement. She'd smiled at him. Not a fake distant smile, but a real genuine one. He'd never had that before. He took her bags even more eager to please her just to get her to smile at him again. She had a nice round face, sparkling eyes, warm brown skin and grey hair. If he had a grandmother he'd want one to be just like her. He helped her carry her bags to the door, wishing he could help her with something else.
"Thank you young man," she said taking her keys out of her handbag.
"My pleasure," he said liking the soft island lilt of her words.
"What's your name?"
Suddenly, the door swung open, cutting off his reply. "Mother," Beth said in an urgent rush. "Are you okay?"
"I'm perfectly fine," she said startled. "This young man--"
Beth snatched the bags from Cole and anxiously peered inside. "You'd better check to make sure everything is here. Baileys have sticky fingers."
The woman shot her daughter a glance of annoyance. "Of course everything is there. I didn't raise you to be facety like this."
Beth sent Cole a look of suspicion. "Why are you back here? I told you we can't use you."
"He was helping me."
Beth set the bags aside and pulled money from her purse. She held out a five dollar bill and waved it at him with impatience."Fine you can go now."
Cole took a step back, trying to take rein on his temper. He wanted to take the five dollars and ram it in her mouth. He could show her how much of a sticky fingered no good Bailey he could be. Instead he gripped his hands into fists. "I'm gone."
"Wait," the older woman said grabbing his sleeve. "What did you come for?"
"To mow the lawn," Beth said.
Her mother stared at her, raising her eyebrows. "Is this a puppet show? I ask him a question and you answer?"
"No, mother but--"
"Then keep your mouth shut 'til I ask you to open it again." She turned her attention to Cole. "Come inside. I want to talk to you." Before her daughter could protest the woman stepped past her and said, "Put the kettle on. I'm thirsty." She ignored the stunned silence that followed her request and headed for the kitchen.
Cole hesitated then followed. He'd never been inside such a fine house before. He gaped at the rose colored wallpaper and polished wooden floors. There wasn't a cockroach in sight. When he passed the family room he quickly peeked inside and saw Mr. Armstrong standing near the fireplace and his son, Grant, reading a book. He knew Grant from school, not personally, but from a distance and by reputation. Grant always had a crowd of admirers around him since he was a track star and talented musician. Cole was too in awe to notice the frown on Grant's face when he saw him. He hurried to the kitchen then halted at the sight of how large it was. His entire apartment could fit inside it.
"Sit down," the woman said getting some Jamaican bun and cheese out of the refrigerator. She set them on the table.
He sat, rubbing his hands together under the table. "Yes, Mother Armstrong."
"No," she said with a laugh. "I'm not an Armstrong. That's my daughter's married name. Just call me Ms. Hetty."
"Hey Bailey," a voice said behind him. He turned and saw Grant standing in the doorway, a look of annoyance on his face. "What are you doing here?"
Cole opened his mouth to reply, but Hetty beat him to it. "We're having a private conservation. You can talk to him later."
Grant scowled then stormed away.
"So you do lawn care?" Hetty asked.
"Yes ma'am," he said. He'd tried to join a landscaping crew but no one would hire him. However, he'd watched them work and picked up skills. He didn't have the equipment, but knew how they worked.
"What else can you do?"
Beth came into the kitchen and filled the kettle at the sink.
"Polish silver," he said.
She set the kettle on the stove and mumbled, "And steal it too."
Cole shifted in his seat, wanting to defend himself but knowing he couldn't.
"Go on," Hetty urged.
"I can clean spider webs."
Beth rested a hand on her hip. "You think I'd allow spiders to build webs in my house? My house is spotless."
"I didn't mean to offend."
"You might as well say you'd kill mice too."
"I can if you need me too."
Beth gasped. "You cheeky little--"
"Quiet, Beth," her mother interrupted.
She pointed at Cole. "Did you just hear what he said? He sits in my home and implies that we have mice!"
"Be quiet."
"But--"
Hetty turned to her daughter. "Have you forgotten that I'm still your mother? I said keep your mouth shut and I mean it. I can still box your ears and I'll make it your mouth if I have to." She turned back to Cole. "Go on."
He cleared his throat. "I'm good at fixing things."
"Anything in particular?"
"Anything you ask me to."
Hetty nodded. "Good I have a task for you. I have a lawn swing that needs to be fixed. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"How much?" Cole gave her a price and she shook her head. "Too high."
Cole rubbed his hands and swallowed. He didn't want to lose her business, but he also didn't want to admit that he didn't even own a hammer or screwdriver. He needed money to buy tools. "I'll also paint the trim if you like."
"The price is still too high."
He lowered his gaze. Think Bailey. You need this job. He knew what his father would do. He'd try to sweet talk her, but he was no good at that. He liked to be honest. He sighed he hoped that wouldn't be a mistake. "I can lower the price if you'd allow me to use your tools."
Beth opened her mouth then quickly closed it, remembering her mother's threat.
"How much?" Hetty asked.
He gave her another price.
Hetty smiled and held out her hand. "Agreed. Come back tomorrow after ten."
Cole shook her hand, careful not to pump it too hard. He really wanted to give her a big hug. He'd made her smile and now had a job. He grinned back. "I will. Good day," he said, meaning every word.
At dinner Beth bristled with outrage. "You won't believe what Mother did today. She hired a Bailey."
Arthur Armstrong looked at his mother-in-law, who was calmly eating her dinner, then at the pinched face of his wife. His three sons waited to see how he would handle the situation. He chose to proceed with caution. "To do what?"
"Does it matter?"
"I'm curious."
"Fix the lawn swing."
"Why didn't you say so, Mother? I could have gotten it fixed for you."
Hetty did not raise her gaze from the curried trout and cream
y scalloped potatoes on her plate. "On three occasions I asked but no one listened. I was tired of waiting."
"Mother," he said in a soft patronizing tone. "You're new to this place so you don't know the people. Some of them you just can't trust."
"Exactly," Beth said. "The Bailey men are lazy, worthless men. What will people think? You don't know what you've done."
"I know exactly what I've done. I gave a young man a chance," Hetty said.
"But he's a--"
"He's not his father. Let him prove himself."
Grant touched her shoulder. "I'll fix it for you, Gran."
Hetty repressed a shudder. It wasn't good to not like one's own flesh and blood but she didn't take to her grandson. She found him to be as slick as palm oil. After her husband's death she'd looked forward to moving in with her daughter's family, but the move hadn't been as peaceful as she'd hoped. Her daughter was constantly correcting her, her son-in-law ignored her and her grandchildren barely noticed her. She'd carried heavy shopping bags before without anyone caring. To everyone she was just an invisible old woman. That young Bailey boy had been the first to take any notice. To really make her feel as if she mattered, not to feel as if she were just a burden or obligation. She had plenty of money, because she and her husband had been savvy with their finances, and could go to a residential facility, but she didn't want to be around just old people. But being around the younger generations wasn't much fun either. At times she considered moving to the cottage she and her husband still owned in New York and had used as a holiday house, but it would be lonely there.
"I've already hired Cole," Hetty said. "And I plan to keep my word."
"But--"
"I'm a grown woman and I've made up my mind. This has nothing to do with any of you."
That evening Hetty took out an old photograph and sat on her bed staring at the faded image. It was a picture of her cousin Lenny, a fine looking young man who'd been shot and killed in an armed robbery bust when the police mistook him for one of the assailants. She remembered returning to Trinidad to attend his funeral. She let her finger trail over his smiling happy face. No one had given him a chance. No one had taken the time to look past his poor grades and background to see what a hardworking young man he was. She remembered how he could make you smile when you wanted to cry and how he never felt sorry for himself. Cole somehow reminded her of him. Unlike Lenny, she would make sure he was given an opportunity to prove himself. But she knew helping Cole wasn't just for him, it was for her. She glanced around her crowded bedroom filled with stuff she could afford, but didn't need. It offered her no comfort. She was restless. She had done her childrearing and had worked most of her life. She'd waited all her life for these days of leisure, but she was bored. She wanted to do something. She wanted a reason to live. Cole had not only noticed her, he'd made her feel useful. He'd made her feel viable again.
Cole arrived the next day at ten on the dot. Hetty sat in a lawn chair and watched him work. He was a good worker. Skinnier than he should be but strong. He told her about his sisters. They laughed together that Saturday like two kids getting to know each other and shared a lunch of spicy chicken patties and talked about their frustrations.
"No one will give me a chance," Cole said as they finished their meal.
"I did and I know others will too."
"I really want to thank you."
Hetty waved his thanks aside. "It's not a big issue. I'm glad you could help me and respect me." She sighed. "Sometimes my family treats me as if I were two years old."
"I wish I could take you home with me," Cole said. "I'd let you do whatever you wanted."
"Where do you live?"
Cole shook his head. "It's not good enough for you." He wondered if he'd ever have a place good enough for her to visit. Baileys had never owned anything. But he pushed the thought away and finished fixing her swing. Hetty giggled with delight when it was finished and immediately tried it out. She then gave him another task and soon he was a regular at the Armstrong house. To his surprise, word quickly spread and he was able to get other small jobs around town. But no job compared to working for Ms. Hetty, Cole thought as he dug up a patch of dirt she wanted to use as a herb garden. She was one of the most wonderful women he'd ever met: Smart and pretty and sweet and he loved her.
He'd given her a card for Mother's Day wishing he could spend every Mother's Day with her and treat her and his sisters to brunch like other families did. His mother hated Mother's Day and didn't like cards. She said they were just expensive pieces of paper unless there was money inside. But not Ms. Hetty. When Cole had given her his card--he'd wanted to get her perfume or flowers but a card was all he could afford--she'd given him one of her beaming smiles and held the card close as if he'd given her a treasure. Even though her family had treated her to buffet and gifts of scarves and jewelry she made him feel that his gift was just as important. And that night he wished he could always make her smile and imagined spending every holiday with her from New Year's Day to Christmas. He wished he could rescue her somehow. He hated to know she was unhappy living with her family. He knew how she felt, but he didn't know what he could do. He was close to raising enough money for Angela's school trip and with more jobs he could raise enough for Grace, but helping Ms. Hetty would take a miracle. At least he was glad that luck was finally on his side.
Grant watched Cole from his bedroom window with seething anger. Why was his grandmother paying attention to that dirty old Bailey? His friends were already ribbing him about it. Bailey was making him a laughing stock. He was the one who was supposed to shine. He was the track star and musician, but his grandmother barely took notice of him. What was so important about a stupid swing anyway? And why did she keep having to have him come back? Bailey almost acted like he belonged there, but he didn't. Hell, he could even sense his parents starting to like him and his two brothers had once asked Bailey to join them for a soccer game. He hated Cole Bailey. He should know his place.
That night Grant went into the garden and unscrewed a major hinge on the swing. He smiled as he imagined the havoc he'd just created. Now Bailey would get what he deserved.
Hetty loved to sit outside on late spring evenings. She was so happy that she now had a beautiful swing to sit in. Outside she felt close to Lenny and her husband and no longer thought of them with pain. Her heart had a new resident. Cole had filled her life with laughter and joy. She hoped to one day meet Cole's sisters since he talked so fondly about them. She sat on her swing and swayed back and forth then she heard a snap and the swing came crashing down. Shooting pain followed. She cried out as hot tears filled her eyes.
Beth rushed to her. "Mother!" She turned to her husband who'd followed close behind and said, "Call an ambulance."
Minutes later Hetty was taken to the hospital where they discovered she'd broken her hip. Infection quickly set in and for days Hetty was gravely ill, but to the relief of her family she pulled through.
Cole, however, soon found his world shattered. Word quickly spread about his poor workmanship and soon he was being called a 'no good Bailey' again and what little work he'd been able to get dried up.
"So typical," his mother said as he cleared up the fast food dinner he'd bought with money he'd saved. She sniffed in disgust. "You Bailey men always screw up a good thing."
"I know I fixed it right," Cole said, wishing there had been leftovers for tomorrow night's dinner. The greasy chicken meal was nothing like the baked plantain and jerk chicken Ms. Hetty had once treated him to, but it was still food.
His mother rested back in her chair, putting her feet on the table. Her boots added to the many scratches that were already there. "Then why did it break nearly killing the old woman?"
Cole swallowed feeling a little ill. "I don't know, but I didn't make a mistake. I tested it myself and I'm heavier than Ms. Hetty. I would never do anything to hurt her."
"Just take responsibility," Angela said. "Go to the hospital and ask for forgiveness."
<
br /> He shook his head. "I can't face her."
"I thought she was your friend," his youngest sister, Grace, said.
Cole blinked back tears. She was and that was why he couldn't face her. He didn't care what anyone else thought of him, but if she thought he was a 'good for nothing' Bailey he couldn't handle it.
"You have to visit her," Angela insisted.
He hung his head. He knew he was disappointing them. He'd disappointed everyone. "Leave me alone." He turned wishing there was somewhere to hide. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to go to get away, so he went into the stairwell. He collapsed onto one of the steps, covered his face and cried. He loved Ms. Hetty and wished he was in the hospital instead of her. He wished he could take all her pain away, especially since he was the cause. He was a 'no good Bailey' who deserved to die. His mother was right. He was a screw up. He was no different than the rest of the Baileys. Cole quickly wiped his eyes, when he heard footsteps, and turned his face to the wall.
Angela sat beside him and lightly rested a hand on his shoulder. "You have to go see her. "
He kept his face turned and shook his head.
"I want you to give her something."
Cole let his shoulders droop then slowly looked at his sister and saw that she held a small stain glass project in her hand.
"It can't be fun being stuck in a hospital, this will brighten it up for her."
Cole sighed, taking the stain glass. It was a picture of a garden. He was so close to making their lives better and he'd failed. There would be no school trip or braces, but he'd at least do this for her.
The next day, he dressed in his best suit. When his mother saw him she laughed. "You're going to a damn hospital not a funeral."
