My mother’s friend from before, Evelyn, was standing on the front step—the first time she’d come to our house in almost a year, probably. The oversize stroller with Barry in it was a few inches below, on the cement walk leading up to the door. One look at Evelyn and you knew, she was in rough shape—that crazy perm of hers shooting out in all directions and her eyes sort of bloodshot. I knew, from all the hours I used to hear her talking to my mother, those times she came over, that Evelyn only slept a few hours every night.
I’ll tell you one thing, Adele, she used to say. Life’s no day at the beach.
I need to talk to your mom, she said. No need to ask if she was home. Even though we hadn’t seen her for months, Evelyn knew how it was here.
She’s sleeping. I had stepped outside, rather than invite her in, knowing Frank was there in the kitchen. Making French toast or something, from the smell of the butter on the pan.
I just got a call from my sister in Mass, she said. Our father had a stroke. I need to get down there.
This wouldn’t be a trip for Barry, she said. I was hoping your mother could look after him for the day. Both my regular sitters went away for the long weekend.
I looked behind her, toward her son. It had been a while since I’d seen him. He was bigger than I remembered, with a faint down of hair on his lip now. He was waving his arms, as if bugs were swarming around him, though they weren’t.
I packed a lunch for him, she said. His favorite foods. He’s had his breakfast and diaper change. Your mother wouldn’t have to do much. I could be back by dinnertime if I take off now.
Inside the house, I could hear the radio again, that classical station Frank favored. From the top of the stairs, my mother was calling down, Who is it? Then she was in the doorway too, still in her bathrobe. Her face had a softness to it. There was a mark on her neck. I wondered if he’d put one of the scarves on her again, too tight, but from the looks of her, she was OK. Just different.
It’s not the best timing, Evelyn, my mother said.
They’re not expecting my dad to hold on long, Evelyn told her.
Normally I wouldn’t think twice, my mother said. It’s just not a very good time right now.
My mother looked in the direction of the kitchen as she spoke. The smell of coffee. The sound of Frank, whistling.
I wouldn’t ask if I had other options, Evelyn said. You’re my one hope.
I want to help you, my mother said. It’s just hard.
I promise he’ll be good, Evelyn said.
Evelyn was smoothing down Barry’s hair as she talked. Remember Henry and his mom, Barry? And all the good times you two used to have?
OK, said my mother. I guess we could handle this. For a little while.
I owe you, Adele. Evelyn tipped the front two wheels on the stroller up onto the stoop, so for a second, Barry’s head seemed to be almost upside down. He made a noise a little like the ones I’d heard on the other side of the wall the night before. Just sounds, but maybe they were joyful. Hard to say.
Hey, Barry, I said. How’s it going?
I owe you, Adele, Evelyn said again. Anytime I can take Henry for you. (Like I was the equivalent of Barry. Like I’d ever want to spend a day at their house.)
I know you’re in a rush, Evelyn, my mother said. So don’t worry about anything else. We can get Barry’s chair inside. Henry’s really strong now.
I should get myself to the highway, Evelyn told her. The earlier I get on the road, the sooner I can get back. Put his chair in front of the TV and he’ll be happy. He loves cartoons. And then there’s the telethon. Jerry Lewis.
Don’t worry, my mother said. We’ll take him from here.
Back in the days when Evelyn and her son used to come over more, my mother used to say we needed to make our house handicap accessible, but then they stopped coming by and we never did. Now we had to lift Barry’s special hi-tech chair up the steps and into the living room.
The chair, with Barry in it, was heavier than we expected. After Evelyn drove away, Frank came out from the kitchen. He lifted the chair right up off the ground and carried it into the house, but gently. He took care, when they got to the living room, that Barry didn’t hit his head on the sides of the door. After Frank set him down, he adjusted Barry’s head, which had flopped over to one side in transit.
Here you go, buddy, he said.
I turned on the set.
Through the passageway, into the kitchen, I saw Frank and my mother. His hand reaching to open a cupboard over the stove, brushing across her neck, as if by accident.
She looked at him.
Sleep well?
She just looked at him. You know the answer.
It was Frank who fed Barry his breakfast. Evelyn had told us he’d eaten already, but when he saw the French toast, he got excited, so Frank cut a couple of slices into small pieces for him. For the second time in a day and a half, he was feeding someone here, but with Barry it was different. When Frank had placed the spoon between my mother’s lips, the sight had seemed so intimate I had to look away.
After the meal was over, Frank carried Barry into the living room and set him and his chair in front of the television. His mother had put a windbreaker on him, and a cap, but we took these off. Already, though it wasn’t even seven thirty yet, the air was heavy with moisture and heat.
You know what I think you could use, buddy? Frank said. A nice cool sponge bath.
He had gotten a bowl out of the cupboard then and filled it with ice cubes and a little water. He brought the bowl in the living room, along with a hand towel, that he dipped in the cold water before wringing it out.
He unbuttoned Barry’s shirt and drew the cloth over his smooth, hairless chest, his neck, his bony, birdlike shoulders. He drew the cloth over Barry’s face. The sound Barry made suggested he was happy. His head, that so often seemed to roll around with no particular pattern or connection to the rest of him, seemed more steady than usual, his eyes fixed on Frank’s face.
It’s got to feel hot in that chair, huh, buddy? Frank said. Maybe this afternoon I’ll carry you up to the tub, give you a real bath.
More noises from Barry. Joy.
On the front page of the paper, another story about record temperatures, anticipated traffic jams on the highway to the beach, danger of blackouts from overuse of air conditioners. But all we had was a fan.
I want to take a look at your leg, my mother said to Frank. Let’s see how it’s healing.
He rolled his pants leg up. The blood had dried along the cut place. In other circumstances, this would have been an injury that warranted stitches, but we all knew that wasn’t an option here.
The place on his head where the glass had slashed into his skin no longer looked alarming either. If it wasn’t for the place in his belly where they’d cut out his appendix, Frank said, he’d be splitting that wood for us. There was a satisfaction to be had in splitting wood, he said. Get all your anger out, in a way that didn’t hurt anyone.
What anger is that? I asked. I didn’t want it to be about me, something I’d done. I wanted him to like me, stay around. I already knew he liked my mother.
Oh, you know, he said. Late-season Red Sox. Every year, around this time, they start screwing up.
I didn’t think that was really it, but I didn’t say anything either.
Speaking of baseball, he said. Where’s that glove of yours? After I help your mother with a few chores, what do you say we throw around the ball a little?
Barry and I watched Fantastic Four, and Scooby-Doo. Normally my mother would never have let me watch so many cartoons, but this was a special situation. When Smurfs came on, I tried changing the channel to a less babyish show, but Barry started making a squealing noise, like a puppy when you step on its paw, so I let him watch that one. The show was just finishing when Frank came back down the stairs from wherever he’d been, helping my mother, to say he was in the mood for catch, how about it?
I told him I was terrible at sport
s, but Frank told me not to say those words. If you act like something’s too hard, it will be, he said. You got to believe it’s possible.
All those years in stir, he said. I never let myself believe I couldn’t get out. I just bided my time and thought positive. Looked for my opening. Made sure I’d be ready, when it came along.
None of us had brought up the topic of the escape until this. It surprised me that Frank would talk about it.
I didn’t know my appendix was going to be my ticket, he said. But I was ready for that window. I’d gone through it a million times already in my head. I’d worked out all my moves—the jump, and how to land it. I would have got it right, too, if there hadn’t been a stone under the grass, where I wasn’t counting on one. That’s what did my ankle in.
I knew I’d need a hostage, he said. A particular type of person.
He looked at my mother. My mother looked at him.
Then again, he said, it’s an open question, which person is the captor here, which is the captive.
He bent his head close to her ear and brushed her hair away, as if to speak directly into her brain. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t hear, or maybe he was just beyond caring.
I am your prisoner, Adele, was what he said to her.
CHAPTER 10
I THOUGHT WE’D JUST LEAVE BARRY where he was, but Frank figured he’d enjoy watching, so he carried him outside and set him in a lawn chair, with the Red Sox cap on that he’d picked up for himself at Pricemart. We were far enough back from the road that no one could see us, besides Barry.
It’s your job to root for your favorite team, my friend, Frank told him.
Don’t get your hopes up, I told him. You never saw anyone suck at baseball worse than me. (Barry, maybe. But I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.)
Want to run that by me again? Frank said. Didn’t you hear anything I told you about thinking positive?
Oh right, I said. I’m going to be the greatest center fielder since Mickey Mantle.
Mantle didn’t play center field, Frank said. But that’s the idea.
Here was the odd thing. When Frank threw the ball, I caught it. After my mother came out, and we gave her my glove and told her to take the catcher position, I hit his pitches. Not all but more than normal. You might have thought he was just feeding me candy, but that didn’t even seem to be the case.
He had stood beside me on the imaginary plate and placed my hands on the bat, repositioning the angle of my elbow and wrist, a little the way my mother did when she had taught me the fox-trot.
See the ball, he said, under his breath, just before the pitch left his hand. I got so I was saying the words too, like they would bring me a hit. It seemed they did.
If I had a whole season to work with you, he said, we could really get somewhere with your game.
A lot of your problem was in your head. You see yourself screwing up, it’s going to happen.
Picture yourself jumping out a hospital window and landing on two feet—a little glass on your head maybe, a gash down one side of your shin—you’re out of there.
To be honest, he said, the person whose arm worries me here isn’t you, Henry. It’s your mother.
You could use some serious remedial work, Adele, he said. You, I might need to work with you a lot longer. Years possibly.
Seeing her laugh like that, I realized it was a sight I hadn’t witnessed in a long time. I was catcher now. Frank was still pitching, but now he stepped away from the spot he’d designated as the mound and approached my mother on the plate. He positioned himself so he could wrap his long arms around her. Send one our way, Henry, he said, tossing me the ball.
Only one pitch, since there was no catcher. I raised my arm and released the ball. The two of them swung. There was a hard, solid cracking sound. The ball went flying.
From over in his lawn chair, Barry let out a yelp.
MY FATHER CALLED. HE AND MARJORIE and the kids were at a cookout. He wanted to know if we could do our Friendly’s night tomorrow instead of tonight. There was a sound to his voice, as he said this, that reminded me of how people acted on the phone, times when my mother got me to help her out with MegaMite, and I’d knock on the door of someone who used to be a customer, but didn’t want to buy vitamins anymore, and I knew they were just wishing I’d go away so they could get back to their life and stop feeling guilty.
You and your mother doing OK? he said. His voice had that sound where I knew he was feeling sorry for us, at the same time he just wanted to get off the phone and back to his other family, where things were easier.
We’ve got friends over, I told him. As Frank would have said, I could pass a lie detector test with that statement.
Evelyn also called. Traffic had been so bad on Route 93 it had been two o’clock when she reached the hospital. They were waiting to talk with the doctor now. She was hoping Barry could stay on till after dinnertime.
Just get here when you can, Evelyn, I heard my mother say into the receiver. He seems to be doing all right.
Evelyn must have asked about the diaper situation then. That was the part that worried her. He was a big boy now, Barry. Not the easiest thing anymore, lifting him out of the chair.
My mother didn’t say Frank was the one who’d changed him. Frank, the one who’d carried him back into the house after the baseball practice and run him a bath, filled it with ice cubes and shaving cream. From where I sat, in my room, I could hear the two of them: Barry making small, cooing noises; Frank whistling.
What kind of idiot am I? Frank said. I never got around to introducing myself, buddy. My name is Frank.
Barry made a sound then.
That’s right, Frank told him. Frank. My grandmother called me Frankie. Either one is fine by me.
He made us dinner again. My mother sat on the edge of the counter, sharing a beer with him. She had dug up an old Chinese fan, probably from some dance routine she’d done one time. Now she was fanning him.
I bet you could think up a nice dance to do for me with that one, Adele, he told her. You’d probably have some great-looking outfit to go with it. Or not.
Nobody was hungry, due to the heat, but Frank had made a cold curry soup with the last of the peaches and the last of an old container of hot sauce we had, from some take-out food we got once. After, my mother fixed root beer floats, and Barry and I sat in the backyard, beyond the sight lines of the Jervises’ aboveground pool, where we could hear the splashing of the girl with asthma and her little brother. When the bugs got bad, we came inside and turned on the television. They were showing Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Frank propped up Barry in his chair and wrapped another cool cloth around his neck. My mother made popcorn.
When we heard the sound of Evelyn’s car pulling up, Frank slipped up the stairs, as they had planned he would. As far as Evelyn was concerned, it had been just the three of us here. Me and my mother, and her son.
She had stepped into the living room now. Her father was stabilized, she said. Still in intensive care, but no longer critical. How can I ever repay you, Adele? she said.
I knew my mother just wanted them to go, but Evelyn had been driving for two hours. You look like you could use a cold glass of water, my mother told her.
She had just come back with the water when the news came on. An update. Energy consumption during the day’s heat wave had left the area in the danger zone for major power outages, and there was still the rest of a long hot holiday weekend ahead of us.
We know it’s hot out there, folks, the newscaster was saying, but our friends at Public Service are asking us all to turn off those air conditioners whenever possible. If the heat’s getting to you, consider a cold shower.
In other news, he said, police in the tristate area continue their search for the prisoner at large in the region since Wednesday.
The photograph of Frank flashed on. Up until this moment, Barry had seemed only marginally aware of his surroundings, but as the image of Frank filled the screen, he began to w
ave his arms and call out, as if greeting an old friend. He was making noises, slapping his head, slapping the television.
In the past, I knew, one of Evelyn’s themes in her conversations with my mother had to do with how people were always underestimating her son’s intelligence and comprehension of what was going on. For a while there, she had campaigned to get him mainstreamed into a regular classroom at school. But now, as Barry yelped and waved, she seemed barely to notice his agitation and excitement—the way he had started flailing his arms, more furiously than normal, with his shoeless feet kicking air. His eyes, that normally seemed not to focus, were locked on the television screen.
Time to get you home, son, his mother said, sounding weary.
Together, the three of us—Evelyn, my mother, and me—backed the wheelchair through the open door of our house—out into the darkness—and lowered it onto the walk. We watched as Barry’s mother slid the chair onto the ramp and up into the back of her van and buckled him into place. As the rear doors closed, I could see his face. He was still calling out, the same one syllable, the first word I had ever heard him utter that I understood.
Over and over, he was saying it, garbled but intelligible. Frank.
THAT NIGHT AGAIN, I HEARD THEM. They had to have known the sound would carry through the wall between our rooms. It was as if they didn’t care anymore who knew or what anybody thought about it, including me. They were in their own place now, and it was like a whole other country, a whole other planet.
It went on for a long time, their lovemaking. Back then I didn’t use that word for it—not that word or any other. It was nothing I’d known in my own experience or anyone else’s either. Nothing I encountered on those rare times I slept at my father’s house, though he shared a bed with Marjorie. Nothing I could imagine happening, in any of the other houses on our street, and nothing like any scenes they showed on television either—those times Magnum P.I. leaned in to kiss that week’s beautiful woman, or some pair of guest stars nuzzled in the moonlight on The Love Boat.
Labor Day Page 8
