As I walked home, a police car pulled over. It was still very early, and I was wet from not having a raincoat on. The rain had gotten heavier. My pants were so wet they were dragging in puddles, and my shirt stuck to me. Water ran down my face, making it hard to see.
You need some help, son? The policeman had rolled down his window.
I’m OK.
You want to tell me where you’re going? he said. It’s pretty early for someone your age to be out on the road without a jacket or anything. Isn’t this the first day of school for you?
I was just taking a walk, I said. I’m heading back home now.
Hop in. I’ll drive you. Your parents are probably worried about you, he said.
Just my mother, I told him. But she won’t be.
Just to be on the safe side, I’m going to have a word with your mom. I’ve got a boy about your age.
We passed the Pricemart and the library, and my school, where a few cars were in the parking lot. Eager-beaver-type teachers, putting the last touches on their classrooms, only I wasn’t going to be there.
We passed the bank. Turned right up the hill, left onto my street. Past the Edwardses and the Jervises, all the way to the end. Mad as I was at my mother, I was sending her brain waves to not be out at the curb, packing boxes in the car. Most of all, I didn’t want Frank to be there. I was transmitting a message to him the way Silver Surfer did, with his telepathic powers, to go back in the house, upstairs, out of sight.
She was outside in her checkered pants with a rain poncho on, but no boxes, which was good. When she saw the police car stop in front of the house, she put a hand over her eyes, but that could have been to just keep the rain out, it was falling so hard now.
Mrs. Johnson, he said. I found your boy here out by the highway. I thought I’d bring him home to you. Particularly considering the fact he’s supposed to be in school in around forty-five minutes. Also he’s soaking wet.
She just stood there. I had seen what happened to her hands, just from going through the checkout line at the store, so I could imagine how they were trembling now. She kept them in her pocket.
What grade are you anyway? he said. I’m guessing sixth? Maybe you know my son.
Seventh, I told him.
Gotcha. I guess that would mean you’ll be a lot more interested in the girls than some pipsqueak sixth grader, right, Henry?
Thank you for bringing him home, my mother said. She was looking back to the house. I knew what she was thinking.
Any time, he said. He looks like a good kid. Just keep him that way. He extended his hand, to shake hers. I knew why she didn’t take her hands out of her pockets. I shook his hand myself, just so he wouldn’t wonder.
THE NIGHT BEFORE, ON OUR WAY to drop stuff off at the Goodwill box—our third run—we stopped by the house where Evelyn and Barry lived. My mother wanted to give some of my old toys to Barry. There was a Rubik’s cube and an Etch-A-Sketch that I didn’t think he’d have much use for, and a Magic Eight ball where, when you picked it up, there was a message on the bottom showing through a little plastic window—something meant to tell you what you should do with your life. I didn’t know how useful that would be for Barry, but my mother thought he might like to have some things for his room to make it look like a place a regular kid lived in. I was giving him my lava lamp too, though I didn’t want to. My mother said that was just the kind of thing that could get us in trouble if we tried taking it across the border. They’d think we were into drugs.
Evelyn was wearing a workout suit when she came to the door. She must have been working out to her Richard Simmons tape. She always said we when she talked about the things she did, as if Barry did them too, but really he just sat in his chair waving his arms to the music and making noises. Johnny Cash was definitely his favorite, but he liked Richard Simmons too.
Now, when he saw us, he started making noises, like he was excited. He was facing the TV screen, where a bunch of women in sweatbands were doing jumping jacks, and he was bouncing in his chair, but when he saw me, he started pointing at the screen, and pointing at me and yelling, only this time I understood what he was saying, even if nobody else did. He was saying Frank. He wanted to know where Frank was.
Back home, I told him. No harm in telling him. I knew his mother wouldn’t understand. One person that was definitely not going to pick up the phone and collect any ten thousand dollars was Barry.
My mother had not explained to Evelyn that we were leaving. All she said was that I’d been cleaning out my room. Back to school and all.
I wish I could have told her good-bye, my mother said, as we drove home. Maybe she wasn’t the greatest friend a person could have, but she was the only one I had. I guess I’ll never see her again.
Only we did. Shortly after the police officer had dropped me off, there was Evelyn, knocking at the door.
This time Frank was in the living room when she showed up. He turned around so only his back was visible, like he was fixing a light or something, but it had to seem pretty obvious that we were moving out. There was also no good way of concealing the fact that we had a man in our house.
Oh gosh, Evelyn said. It looks like I came over at a bad time. I just wanted to show you my appreciation for helping out with Barry the other day, Adele. You were a lifesaver.
She had made cinnamon rolls—though having sampled her baking in the past, I wasn’t getting my hopes up. My mother used to say Evelyn was the only person she knew who could mess up a Pillsbury slice-and-bake roll. Of course, Evelyn was also just about the only person my mother knew, period.
I guess I might be interrupting something, she said. I didn’t know you had company.
From behind her, on the step, Barry was making wild hooting noises, like some kind of jungle bird, and flailing. I knew from experience now that the word he was saying was Frank’s name. Though Frank was keeping his back to us.
I’m sorry I don’t have time to introduce you, my mother said. This gentleman here was just fixing something for us. Henry and I are taking a trip.
Evelyn peered into the living room. The rug was gone. Also all our books, and my mother’s framed print of a painting of a mother with a child on her lap, and the museum poster we always had up of a goldfish in a bowl, and one of a couple of ballerinas practicing. Through the door to the kitchen, you could see the shelves were empty of dishes.
I see, said Evelyn. She didn’t ask where we were headed on this trip of ours, as if she already understood she wasn’t going to get the real story.
So, thanks again for the rolls, my mother said. They look wonderful.
Maybe I should get my plate back now, Evelyn said. In case you’re gone for a long time.
There was no longer any plate of our own to put them on, so my mother set the rolls on the morning paper, its headline plainly visible. In the wake of last week’s prison escape, the governor was announcing tightened security measures being instituted at the prison. Just to remind everyone who might have missed the original story, they were once again running the photograph of Frank, with the numbers across his chest.
Take care of yourself, Evelyn, my mother told her.
You too.
WE WERE AT THE BANK at 9:00 A.M. when the doors opened. Just my mother and me. Frank had stayed home. The plan was that once we had the money, we’d swing on back to the house and pick him up before hitting the road, north toward the border.
In the past when we needed cash, I was the one who went in to get it, leaving my mother in the car. The amounts I withdrew were never all that much, and the tellers knew me. This time my mother said she figured she’d have to go in herself, since she was cleaning out her account. As close as she dared.
She was holding her passbook, and she had put on an outfit that she must have thought looked like something a person might wear if they were withdrawing eleven thousand three hundred dollars from their savings account. I stood next to her. There were two people in the line ahead of us. One an old woman, with a l
ot of coins to cash in. And a man depositing a couple of checks.
Then it was our turn. My mother’s hands were shaking as she set the passbook on the counter, along with the withdrawal slip.
I would have thought you’d be in school today, son, the teller said. From her name tag I knew her name was Muriel.
My son’s got a dentist appointment, my mother said. I knew this sounded ridiculous. Even a person like my mother would never schedule an appointment on the first day of school.
That’s why we need this money, actually, she said. Braces.
Goodness, that’s some expensive dental work, Muriel said. If you haven’t committed yet, you might want to try my daughter’s orthodontist. He’s got us on a payment plan.
It’s dental, plus other things, my mother said. An appendectomy.
I looked at her. That must have been the only kind of surgery she could come up with, but of all the choices she might have mentioned, this was the dumbest.
I’ll be right back, Muriel told us. With an amount this large, I just need to get it approved by my supervisor. Not that there will be any problem of course. We know you. We know your son.
A woman came in the bank with a baby in a frontpack. I looked over at my mother. These were sometimes difficult moments for her, but for once she seemed not even to notice.
I shouldn’t have tried to get so much, she whispered. I should have only asked for half.
It’s going to be OK, I told her. This is probably just standard procedure.
When Muriel came back, there was a man with her.
There’s no problem, of course, he said. I just wanted to make sure you aren’t experiencing any problems here. It’s a somewhat unusual situation, having a person withdraw this much in cash. Normally, when transferring funds of this quantity, our clients prefer to receive a cashier’s check.
It just seemed handier, my mother said. Hands in the pockets of her jacket. You know how these days they’re always asking for all these forms of identification. It can waste so much time.
Well, then, the supervisor said to Muriel. Let’s not keep our friends here waiting.
He scribbled something on a piece of paper. Muriel opened a drawer and started counting out bills. The hundreds came in stacks of ten, tied together. She counted these out too, while my mother studied the stack.
When Muriel had all the bills counted, she asked if my mother had something to put them in. We hadn’t thought about that part.
Out in the car, she said. She came back with the bag of hamster food I’d put in the night before. Before putting the money in the bag, she dumped out the last of the dry kibble into the receptacle next to the place where people filled out their deposit and withdrawal slips.
Muriel looked startled. I could give you a few of our zippered money pouches, she said. Would you like a few of those instead?
Actually, this is good, my mother said. If someone ever held us up at gunpoint, they’d never guess we had all this money in with the pet food.
Luckily, we don’t have too many criminals around here, right, Adele? Muriel said. She had learned my mother’s name from the slip she had filled out with the details of her transaction. It was probably something they taught them in bank teller school: to use people’s real name when doing business with them.
Except for that man who escaped last week, she added. Can you believe they still haven’t caught him? But I bet he’s long gone now.
When we got home, there was a light flashing on the message machine. Frank was standing just inside the doorway.
I didn’t pick up the call, Frank said. But I heard the message. Henry’s father got wind that you were leaving town with him. He said he was coming over. We’d better get out of here.
I ran upstairs. I had wanted to walk through the rooms slowly, one more time, but now we had to go fast. My father was probably on his way over right now.
Henry, my mother called to me. You have to come now. We have to leave.
I looked out the window one more time, down the street across the roofs of the houses. Good-bye, tree. Good-bye, yard.
Now, Henry. I mean it.
Listen to your mother, son. We need to go.
Then we heard a siren coming. Another siren. The sound of car wheels making a fast turn. Our street.
I came back down the stairs. Slower now. Nobody was going anywhere. I knew that now. Overhead, the sound of a helicopter.
My whole life up to then—with the exception of what had taken place with Eleanor—things happened way too slowly, but now it was like we were in a movie, only someone turned it to fast-forward, so it was hard keeping track of the action. Except for my mother. She couldn’t move.
She stood now in the almost-empty living room, holding on to the bag of hamster food. Frank stood next to her, like a man about to face the firing squad. He was holding her hand.
It’s all right, Adele. Don’t be scared.
I don’t understand, she said. How did they find out?
My heart was exploding.
I just wrote Dad a letter so he’d know we went away, I said. I didn’t mention a single thing about Frank. I didn’t think he’d pick up the letter so early. Normally he never gets the mail till dinnertime.
Outside, the sound of brakes screeching to a stop. One of the cars had pulled up on our lawn, the place my mother had tried to start a wildflower garden, only they didn’t come up. A couple of the neighbors who didn’t work—Mrs. Jervis, Mr. Temple—had come out on their front steps to see what was going on.
There was a voice on a bullhorn now. Frank Chambers. We know you’re in there. Come out with your hands up and no one will get hurt.
He stood there with his back very straight, facing the door. Except for that muscle in his neck I’d noticed the day I met him, that had twitched very slightly then too, he could have been one of those people you see in parks sometimes, who dress up and take a pose as if they’re a statue, and people put money in their suitcase. That still. Nothing moving but his eyes.
My mother had wrapped her arms around him. Her hands were on his neck, his chest, his hair. She was moving her fingers over the skin of his face as if he were clay and she was sculpting it. Her fingers on his lips, his eyelids. I can’t let them take you away, she said. Her voice a whisper.
Listen, Adele, he said. I want you to do everything I say here. We don’t have time to discuss this.
There was a piece of rope on the counter that they’d used for tying up the boxes they packed, the things we were supposed to take with us for our new life in Canada. There was a knife left in the drawer, to cut the rope.
Sit in that chair, he told her. His voice was different now. Barely recognizable. Put your hands behind your back. Your feet in front of you. You too, Henry.
He wound the first piece of rope around her right wrist. As he tied, I could see her hand shaking. She was crying now, but he didn’t look at her face. He was concentrating on one thing, the knot. When he had formed it, he made a quick, firm tug, tight enough you could see it pulling at the skin on her hand. Any other time, if he’d hurt her in any way, he would have rubbed his finger over the place, but he seemed not to notice, or if he did, to care.
He moved on then to her other hand. Then her feet. To tie those properly, he had to take her shoes off. There was the red polish on her toes. The place, on her ankle, I’d seen him kissing her one time.
We could hear a police radio outside, men on walkie-talkies, the helicopter directly overhead. Three minutes, the voice said on the bullhorn . Come out with your hands up.
Sit, Henry, Frank said.
The way he said it, you would never know we’d played catch. Never know this was a person who had sat on the step with me once, teaching me a card trick. He was winding the rope around my chest now. No time for individual knots, just one tight loop around my middle, yanked hard enough to force the air out of me. Still, it was just a single knot he made, a single knot he had time for. This would come out later, when some reporter ha
d raised the question we knew was coming, as to whether my mother had been cooperating with Frank. Consider how inadequate the restraints had been on her son, someone had observed. And how, when the two of them went to the bank—victims? perpetrators?—Frank wasn’t even with them.
She took that money out of her own free will, they said. Didn’t this prove the woman was involved?
But he’d tied her up. There was that. And me too, in a fashion.
More vehicles were screeching down our road. That voice on the bullhorn again. We don’t want to have to use the tear gas. No time for anything now. This is your last chance to exit the building peacefully, Chambers, the voice called out. By then, Frank was already heading to the door. One foot in front of the other. He did not look back.
As instructed, he had his hands above his head. He was still limping from the injury, but he moved with steady deliberation out the door, down the steps, to the lawn where they were waiting for him with the handcuffs.
We couldn’t see what happened after that, though soon after, a couple of police officers burst in the door and untied us. A woman officer gave my mother a glass of water and told her there was an ambulance waiting. The woman told my mother she was probably in shock, even if she didn’t know it.
Don’t be scared, sonny, one of the men told me. Your mom’s OK. We’ve got the guy in custody now. He won’t be able to do anything to you and your mom anymore.
My mother was sitting in her chair, still, with her shoes off. She was rubbing her wrists, as if she missed the rope. Where did freedom get you when you thought about it?
Rain was still coming down, though less heavily than before. Just a gentle drizzle. Across the street, I saw Mrs. Jervis taking photographs, and Mr. Temple being interviewed by a reporter. The helicopter had landed in the flat space in the back of our yard, where Frank and I had played catch, the place he had talked about for our Rhode Island Reds, and where, as of this morning, the body of Joe the hamster lay buried.
Labor Day Page 17
