I rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, and then headed up to my room to put on some dry socks. And wait. I had almost five hours to wait. And then after that, Mrs. Alpert’s time of tyranny would finally be over.
The thought made me smile.
#
“Damn, I wish I could stay and watch the show,” Robbie Baldwin said and opened the trunk of his father’s Ford. “I gotta be home in fifteen minutes or I’ll be grounded—again.”
“Just leave it on the sidewalk, and I’ll truck it around to the back of the house,” I said as we started pulling out boxes and bags of stuff. The biggest thing of all was the plastic pumpkin. “What did you bring that for?”
“It’s part of the costume,” he said. “Hey, this stuff has to be back in the Drama Club locker by seven-thirty tomorrow morning or I’ll be in trouble, and I ain’t taking detention alone—I’ll rat you out in a second.”
“Don’t worry. You just show up here by six tomorrow and pick me up. I’ll help you carry it all back into the school. Nobody has to know a thing.”
He shoved the trunk shut. “Six tomorrow,” he said, got in the car, started it, and drove off, not turning on his lights until he was down half a block.
Thirty minutes before, I’d crept down the stairs and let myself out the front door—not wanting to disturb Curtis, whose room was closest to the butler’s pantry and the back door. It had taken me longer to sneak the extension ladder out of the garage and get it ready. The stupid thing didn’t want to go beyond about twelve feet, and I worried that Curtis would hear me bashing it with a hammer, but eventually it did stretch out to its full height and I took it out back and laid it down in the grass to wait.
The sky had cleared, bringing with it a cold wind and a gleaming half-moon. Good. When the time came, I wanted to be completely visible.
It was damn cold in that dank garage, so I tried on the costume. The sleeves were a long longer on my arms than the guy who’d worn it in the play. I didn’t need the pants anyway, and struggled into the rest of the outfit, shoved up the sleeves and found that my arms were restricted. How the hell was I going to climb a ladder when I could barely move my arms? It looked like I’d wasted twenty bucks. But then I had another bright idea. Yeah, it could still work, but first, I made a few modifications.
Curtis didn’t turn off his light until after eleven, and I waited another twenty minutes to make sure everyone in the house was asleep before I grabbed the prop and headed for the backyard and set up the ladder.
The grass was still slick and, as I climbed, my wet sneakers slipped on the rungs. I held onto the ladder with my right hand and the prop with the left, forcing myself to move slower. I’d be lucky if I not only pulled off this stunt, but didn’t kill myself in the process.
Once I was at the right height, I struggled to put the big plastic pumpkin on my head. The eyeholes I’d cut didn’t exactly line up with my own, but it would have to do. I was starting to get cold feet—literally and figuratively.
Taking a breath, I inched over on the rung so that I was half on and half off the ladder, steadying myself by planting my left foot against the house. And then I started tapping on the window. Quietly.
After about thirty seconds, I tapped harder.
Another thirty seconds went by. How long was this going to take? Had the old lady gone to the can to take a leak?
In desperation, I banged on the window, hoping like hell I didn’t break the damn thing. All I could see was my own reflection on the glass. And then suddenly the curtains were pulled back and I heard a hair-raising scream.
Startled, I nearly fell off the ladder.
The screaming continued.
Lights went on in the next room.
It was time for me to vamoose.
I stepped on the next rung down, and slipped, grabbed onto the ladder, and nearly fell. Wrenching the pumpkin off my head, I dropped it to the ground, and stepped down again and again, but in my haste, felt the ladder jerk to one side and I fell backward with the ladder falling on top of me.
All the lights in the house were suddenly on, and I heard shouting from the side yard nearest the driveway. Holy shit! I hadn’t counted on this. My left foot seemed to be tangled around one of the rungs and I couldn’t shake it loose.
The backyard light came on and Curtis ran around the side of the house. “Who’s out there—I’m calling the cops!”
“Curtis, no!” I hollered.
“Jeffrey! Is that you?”
“Yeah. Help me out of here, will you?”
Curtis stood over me, his hands on his hips, dressed in pajamas, bathrobe, and slippers. “Boy, what have you gone and done?”
I laughed. “Just having a little fun.”
He looked at me sternly. He was not laughing. “You done given that poor lady a heart attack.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I said, as Curtis pulled the ladder off of me. “I just wanted to scare her—to stop her from bugging me.”
He shook his head. “Boy, you’re in real trouble now.”
#
Richard closed the door to his grandmother’s bedroom and let out a long breath. Still dressed in his hospital scrubs, he considered his next move. Should he be a bastard and punish the kid for nearly scaring his grandmother to death—and if she hadn’t been such a crabby old cuss, the scare might just have ended her life—or should he let the kid off the hook?
No doubt about it, when he’d been called home after his pager had gone off, the old lady had been practically hysterical. Since then, Curtis had plied her with sherry, but her heart rate had definitely accelerated when she’d recounted the story to Richard. Still, he was pretty sure her histrionics were more dramatic than detrimental to her health. After fifteen minutes of soothing talk, she seemed quite fine. He also hoped she now understood that baiting a lonely, unhappy kid was just as unacceptable as his retaliation. Time would tell.
Now he had to decide what punishment to dole out to Jeff. Wasn’t that what a good parent did when a child stepped out of line? But the problem was a big part of him admired how the kid had dealt with the situation.
For the second night in a row, Richard crossed the darkened hallway and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Jeff said.
Richard opened the door.
The kid sat on his bed, his head bowed, still dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing when they’d last met. Only now, they were damp, and grass- and mud-stained.
“I guess you know why I’m here,” Richard started, gravely.
Jeff said nothing.
“I’m very disappointed in you.”
Still no reaction.
“After last night’s discussion, I thought we’d agreed you’d—” he paused, “behave.”
“I thought after last night she might behave,” Jeff said, still staring at the carpeted floor.
“Do you have any idea what it means for me to have to leave the hospital? There are people whose lives depend on me, but instead I have to come home to referee some petty shit between you and my grandmother.”
“Hey, I’m just a kid. She’s a grownup … unless maybe she’s senile, ’cause she sure doesn’t act like an adult.”
No, Richard had to admit, she sure doesn’t.
“My grandmother has a serious heart condition. A scare like that could have sent her into cardiac arrest. Why on earth would you pull such a stunt?”
“She hid my coat. She hid all the umbrellas. She made me walk to school in a downpour in forty-degree weather.”
“She could have died,” Richard reiterated.
“She’ll outlive us all,” Jeff countered bitterly.
The old lady was stubborn enough to do just that.
“Tell me exactly what you did, and what you thought it would accomplish?”
The kid let out a long breath. “I borrowed a costume from the school’s drama club. They’re doing a play—The Headless Horseman. Only, the stupid costume was too big for me. I couldn’t move
my arms and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to climb the ladder.”
“Go on,” Richard prompted when the kid fell silent.
“So … I stuck the pumpkin on my head and banged on her window.”
Richard nodded. “You know if she’d died, you could have been charged with her death. You could have gone to reform school, if not jail.”
“Yeah, well … at least I wouldn’t be here anymore.”
“Is it really that bad living here?” Richard asked impatiently.
Jeff looked up at him, his eyes damp with unshed tears. “Yes.”
Oh, God.
The kid looked away, his mouth drooping.
Richard wasn’t sure how to counter that response. He struggled to come up with a reply. “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” he said at last. “Deep down you had to know that pulling this stunt would only get you into more trouble.”
“What have I got to lose?” Jeff asked, looking up at Richard with those puppy-dog brown eyes.
Not much, Richard admitted to himself.
“Your mom—”
“Our mom,” Jeff countered.
“Our mom,” Richard corrected himself, “asked me to take care of you. I admit, this isn’t the best situation, but I’m just a single guy with an incredibly responsible job. I’m involved in life-and-death situations every day. I didn’t sign up for this—and I know you sure as hell didn’t, either. But we’re stuck with the situation. I know it’s hard, but I’m asking you to cut the old girl some slack. She is old. She’s not nice, but I don’t think you really want to hurt her or anybody else. I’ve spoken to her. She’s promised she won’t bug you again. Can I have the same promise from you?”
“I’ll behave,” Jeff agreed, “as long as she does.”
Richard nodded. “I can’t ask for anything more. And for God’s sake, tell me when you’ve got a problem. I can’t read minds, you know.”
Jeff shrugged.
“Okay, I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”
“If you’re here.”
Richard studied the boy—the half-brother who was nothing like him—and turned away, opening the bathroom door, closing it and crossing the room to exit to his own bedroom, and then closed that door, too.
He stood in the dark for long moments thinking about what his grandmother and Jeff had told him about the night’s events. Then he turned on the bedside lamp, drew back the spread on his double bed, grabbed one of his pillows and pressed it against his face to muffle the sound as laughed his head off.
***
THE FIRST NOEL
Curtis Johnson noticed something different about the boy that morning. A brightness in his muddy brown eyes, and just the hint of a smile on his lips.
“Merry Christmas Eve,” he said as he commandeered a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter.
“Same to you, Curtis.”
“Finish your breakfast,” Helen growled at the boy.
Jeffrey scowled at the plump white woman dressed in chef’s attire—the uniform she was required to wear. He shoveled the last mouthful of oatmeal into his mouth and let the spoon clank against the heavy china bowl. Curtis knew the boy didn’t like the sticky gray goo, but Mrs. Alpert insisted that Jeffrey eat whatever food was put before him. And he did it without complaint, albeit with disdain.
“You can wipe the table off, too,” Helen commanded from her post at the counter, where she was already working on appetizers for the elderly Alperts’ Christmas Eve repast.
“What’re you doing tonight, Curtis?” the boy asked, taking his bowl to the sink, letting the warm water run, and filling it to soak.
“Going to my oldest son’s house for dinner, then to church. How about you?”
“Richard said we’re going to dinner at some fancy restaurant, and then later we could go to a movie—my pick. Then we’ll go to midnight mass. Tomorrow we’re going to open presents and maybe play some basketball—that is, if we don’t get snow. He said we’d spend the whole day together.”
The look of joyful anticipation in the boy’s eyes had been a long time coming. It had taken months for the brothers to begin to bond, but now they played one-on-one out in the drive at least once a week, and sometimes went out for a burger. As the boy had no other family, it was good to see him enthused about spending time with his older brother—his guardian. “Sounds like fun. But I’m surprised you’re going to church. Mr. Richard never did that before.”
“We’re going to my mom’s church. It’s kind of a tradition. I think she’d like that.”
Curtis nodded.
“Yeah. I thought this Christmas might suck, but ... I think it’s going to be pretty good,” the boy said, his voice bordering on husky. He didn’t often show any hint of emotion.
“It’s sure going to be a Merry Christmas this year,” Curtis agreed.
Helen looked up from her work and glared at the boy. “I thought I told you to wipe the table.”
#
Richard Alpert slammed down the phone with a mixture of triumph and regret. Triumph because he’d just been handed the keys to the ER—the resident in charge for the next twenty-four hours, something he’d been angling for for months. Regret because he’d made promises to Jeff for their first Christmas together. Being a physician meant accepting certain sacrifices. And it wasn’t as though the kid was ... well, a kid any more. At fifteen, Jeff hovered on the edge of manhood. He’d just have to understand.
The ghost of a smile returned to Richard’s lips. If he could prove his mettle to old Dr. Issacson, show he was the best, knew the most, could handle personnel and patients, he’d be in a prime position to call the shots on his next assignment. Maybe stop pulling the night shift; maybe settle into a schedule that gave him regular hours. That would be better for everyone. For him, for Jeff, and for his non-existent social life.
Now to tell the family. First up, his grandmother. In comparison, telling Jeff would be a piece of cake.
He pulled down his sweater, straightened it, and headed for the master bedroom, which also doubled as his formidable grandmother’s sitting room. He tapped three times on the heavy oak door and waited.
“Come in.”
Richard ducked his head inside the door. “Grandmother?”
“Oh, darling Richard, come in my boy, come in.” The old toad of a woman sat in a gold brocade wing chair, moving her swollen ankles propped on a matching ottoman to give him room to sit.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked, and settled at her feet.
“Oh ... better. I’m sure if I rest a bit more I’ll be fit to entertain the Bensons tonight.” She cocked her head toward him, her eyes growing sad as she reached for his hand. “I do wish you were going to be here. But you will join us tomorrow morning before we leave for Toronto, and that will be enough.”
Richard looked away.
“You did say you’d be here, Richard.” Her voice had hardened.
“Grandmother, I’ve been called into work at the hospital. I probably won’t be back before you have to leave tomorrow morning.”
She raised one gray eyebrow. “But what about your promises to the boy?” After almost a year she still couldn’t bring herself to call his younger half-brother by his given name.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint Jeff, too.”
“Oh, dear,” she said solicitously, but there was a trace of a smirk lingering around her lined mouth. “And he was so looking forward to it.”
#
In the past, holidays hadn’t held much meaning for Jeff and his mother. There was never much money, and nothing much to celebrate. Holidays at the Alpert’s home weren’t all that much different.
Fourth of July they’d left for the mountains. Bliss! Well, almost. Helen was only gone for one of those weeks. Curtis had done the honors in the kitchen and barbequed almost every night. His steaks and pork chops were good—really good. He should have opened his own restaurant. Labor Day had been like any other. Bo
ring.
The first real holiday at the Alperts’ wasn’t much of a holiday at all. Sometimes when eavesdropping, you heard things you didn’t want to know—but as Jeff was nearly invisible to the staff—they spoke without regard to his feelings. It seemed that in years past, the elderly Alperts had hosted a lavish Thanksgiving affair for Mr. Alpert’s lawyer buddies and their wives. This year, they didn’t want to acknowledge Richard’s half-sibling so had opted to dine with friends with the excuse that hosting a large dinner was taxing. Ha! The old lady didn’t lift a finger to help prepare any meals, but just approved menus and, he heard, hired people to cater such affairs.
When the big day rolled around, Richard had to work, and with everyone gone Jeff watched football on the big TV in the living room all day. Richard had made sure there was deli turkey and cranberry sauce, and really the day hadn’t been much different than any other Thanksgiving. If his mother was in a good mood, she’d roast a chicken, but most Thanksgivings she’d drink too much, pass out, and it was peanut butter and jelly for their holiday feast.
At least the Alperts had a color TV.
But Christmas was supposed to be different. The house was decorated to the nines with holiday greenery, a huge tree in the living room with loads of twinkling lights, and Mrs. Alpert’s snow globe collection was taken down from the attic and spread around the house. Of course, Jeff was told “Don’t touch!” but when no one was looking, he gave them all a shake, making sure to leave a few fingerprints.
Seated at the kitchen table, Jeff studied the newspaper movie listing in front of him. He’d love to see the latest James Bond film, but would Richard prefer something a little more sophisticated? He ran his finger down the column of type and pondered the plethora of ads. This was supposed to be his evening. But maybe if he picked something Richard liked, they’d do this again. Maybe even once a month. That would be okay. That might even be cool.
Richard burst into the kitchen, shrugging into his navy pea jacket, and headed for the door.
“Hey, kid, something’s come up. We’re going to have to change our plans for tonight.”
“Where are you going?” Jeff asked.
Evolution Page 5
