Deviation, Breaking the Pattern #1

by P.D. Workman

CHAPTER TWELVE

  HENRY SAT ON A bench, waiting. He had a small knapsack at his feet with his few possessions in it at his feet. The time crept by. There was a clock on the wall and the hands crawled so slowly he thought it was going to start going backwards.

  At last, Clint came in. He nodded at Henry.

  “Hey, kid.”

  He went up to the desk and signed some papers to get Henry released. He motioned to Henry to come when he was done, and Henry walked with him out to the car.

  “Bet you’re glad to get out of there,” Clint commented.

  “Yeah. I can’t believe I’m finally going home. It seems like forever.”

  Neither had anything else to say most of the way home. Henry stared out the window, thinking and reflecting over the chaos of the past few weeks. The silence between him and Clint was awkward. Clint was not a talkative man, and he and Henry didn’t really have a relationship. They dealt with each other because they lived in the same house, but there was no father-son bond there. Not like with Frank. No one was like Frank.

  “Is Ma home yet?” Henry questioned.

  “No. She’s still at the clinic. But once you’ve been home for a bit, she’ll be back.”

  “And Bobby?”

  “I got the address. You can go get him.”

  “Okay.”

  They were silent again. They got out of the car at the house. When they got in, Clint spoke without turning around.

  “The address is by the phone.”

  Henry put his knapsack in his room and looked in the kitchen at the pad beside the phone. There was a scribbled phone number and address by the name “Bobby”. There was also a number with “Marty” beside it that made Henry frown. He ignored it for the moment and called the number by Bobby’s name.

  “Hi, it’s Henry Thomas. Bobby’s brother.”

  “Oh, hi. You’re home,” the woman’s voice was cautious.

  “Yeah. Is it okay if I come by for Bobby?”

  “I guess. Right now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay… I’ll get his things together.”

  Henry hung up and walked over there. He knocked and let himself in. The woman from playgroup walked out from the back hall.

  “I guess you’re Henry. I’m Cheryl.”

  “Hi.”

  He half-waved, not knowing if he should shake her hand or something. Bobby toddled out from the hallway behind her.

  “He’s walking,” Henry said in surprise.

  “Yes, for about a week. Pretty unsteady still.”

  Bobby looked at Henry without recognition. He held onto Cheryl’s leg and hid his face shyly. Henry’s heart sank.

  “He doesn’t know me,” he said.

  “Give him a little bit of time,” Cheryl advised. “A few weeks is a long time for a baby. He’ll figure out who you are after a while.”

  She seemed jumpy, nervous about him, like he was going to grab Bobby and haul him out kicking and screaming.

  “Can I hang out here for a bit? Until he’s ready?” Henry requested.

  “Sure,” she smiled in relief. They sat down in the living room. “So is your mom back home?”

  “No, but probably she’ll be back soon. She… kind of depends on me. Once she knows I’m home, she’ll be back.”

  There was silence for a moment. Cheryl was awkward.

  “She always talks very highly about you. She says that you’re really smart, and responsible. Really good with Bobby.”

  Henry shrugged. It might all be true, but he didn’t feel very good about himself these days. The compliment was empty. Henry watched Bobby still hiding behind Cheryl.

  “Hey, Squirt. How are you doing? You want to come home?”

  Bobby sucked on his finger, watching Henry intently with big eyes.

  “We’ll go for a walk. Maybe stop at the park, at the slide. You’d like to go on the slide, huh?”

  Bobby wasn’t sure.

  “Has he eaten?” Henry questioned, just filling the silence.

  “He had some macaroni for lunch. Probably be hungry again around four, after his afternoon nap.”

  “Yeah. He wakes up hungry,” Henry agreed. “How long have you been looking after him?”

  “A couple weeks.”

  “Sorry about that. This business at juvie… some things are out of your control, you know?”

  “I guess so. People can be falsely accused, even convicted…” she trailed off, and shrugged.

  “Yeah.”

  Bobby leaned forward, looking at Henry intently. Henry winked. Bobby looked surprised. He reached towards Henry.

  “Ha!”

  Henry grinned.

  “Yeah. You know me now? You remember Henry?”

  “Ha-ry,” Bobby reached out both pudgy arms. Henry took Bobby in his arms and cuddled him. Bobby crowed and patted Henry’s cheek happily, singing “Ha, Ha, Ha!” excitedly at the top of his voice.

  Cheryl smiled.

  “There you go. Now he remembers.”

  “Yeah. That’s better.”

  Henry gathered up Bobby’s things, said a couple of meaningless good-byes and thank-yous to Cheryl, and took Bobby home.

  Henry had just finished putting Bobby down to bed the next evening when Clint got home.

  “Hey, Clint?” he called, going into the kitchen to meet him.

  “What?” Clint snapped.

  Great. Henry took a step back and shifted his weight, trying to decide what to do. Clint was drunk, and Henry did his best to have nothing to do with Clint when he was drunk.

  “What do you want?” Clint demanded.

  “I just… I just wondered about the note by the phone. Marty. Is that someone Mom’s supposed to call?”

  Looking in the fridge, Clint shook his head.

  “No. That’s for you. Some kid from school or something. He said call between two and four.” Clint settled on a beer and closed the fridge. “Is that it?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Henry retreated to his room and shut the door. He lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Marty. Between two and four. Visiting hours at juvie. How did Marty get his number, and what did he want from Henry?

  Henry didn’t call Marty back for a few days, but eventually he had to. It was bothering him too much. He had a deep, aching dread in the pit of his stomach all the time, and he couldn’t distract himself, or sleep or eat to make it go away.

  Clint wasn’t home during the day, and Dorry wasn’t back from the clinic yet. Henry waited until Bobby went to sleep for his afternoon nap, and then summoned up the courage to pick up the phone and dial. A gruff guard answered.

  “Juvenile detention,” he snapped.

  “I… I need to talk to one of the inmates,” Henry stammered nervously.

  “Which one?”

  “Umm, John Martin.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Joe,” Henry lied.

  “Joe what?” the guard demanded.

  “Uh—Johnson,” Henry offered, his voice cracking.

  “Try your real name now,” the man suggested, sounding almost bored.

  For a minute, Henry couldn’t say anything. He considered whether he should just hang up the phone. He hadn’t thought about them taking his name down when he called. He didn’t really want to be on the record as having called Marty.

  “Henry Thomas,” he admitted finally, with a small sigh of defeat.

  “Hold the line,” the guard directed.

  Henry swallowed and waited. It was a long, anxious wait. It was nearly half an hour before the line was picked up again, and Henry had started to consider just hanging up. No one was going to answer. They’d forgotten him. Then there was a click on the line, and Marty’s voice. Laconic, friendly.

  “Hey, Specs. I was starting to wonder if the rumor you got out was wrong!”

  Henry didn’t know what to say about that. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  “How’d you know?” he asked stiffly.

&nb
sp; “Prison grapevine’s faster than the six o’clock news. How’d you get released?”

  “Someone else confessed to the murder I was arrested for.”

  “That was lucky. And they didn’t hold you responsible for your part in the coup?” Marty pressed.

  “I got a good lawyer, clean record, told them I didn’t take part…” Henry trailed off.

  “And you had co-operated with them regaining control,” Marty finished for him.

  Henry’s heart stopped. He couldn’t think of what to say. He didn’t know how Marty could possibly know. Or was it just a bluff?

  Marty’s low chuckle came down the line.

  “Who else would it be?” he questioned. “You think I don’t know my own men? I’d been locked in a cell with most of them for more than a year. I know how they’re going to respond. And I know how a naive kid who’s never been up the river is going to respond too.”

  “I’m—sorry,” Henry apologized.

  His heart was pounding and his face flushed with heat. Anyone looking at him now would know that he was guilty. He tried to slow his breathing down, and pulled his shirt away from his body.

  “No sweat,” Marty said breezily. “We got what we set out to get. An investigation into the conditions in juvie. And a transfer out of there.”

  “But you’re somewhere worse—higher security.”

  “Higher security ain’t always worse. They keep in line, follow the rules. Not like before,” Marty explained.

  Henry had only gotten a sense of what things had been like in juvie before he got there, from some of the comments that the other boy had made. Guards that abused the boys. Administrative “mistakes”. Foul food.

  “Oh,” Henry said lamely. “Well, good.”

  “So you wanna know what I called you for?” Marty teased.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I need someone on the outside to do some things for me.”

  “I can’t do anything…” Henry protested.

  “Nothin’ big, Specs. Just a few little errands.”

  Henry started to argue, and Marty cut him off.

  “You want me to change my story,” Marty challenged him, “and tell them which one of my boys killed that guard?”

  “No,” Henry said quickly. He gulped, and set his jaw, nodding slightly, steeling himself. “I’ll do what you want.”

  Henry was nervous driving the car. He had a learner’s license, but he wasn’t supposed to be driving by himself. And Bobby was in a seatbelt when he should be in a baby seat. There’d be trouble if anyone saw him. He parked at the far end of the parking lot where he didn’t have to worry about accidentally dinging other cars, and after unbuckling Bobby, he walked to the admitting entrance. There was a short line-up, and he tried to keep Bobby entertained so that he would not try to get away the whole time.

  “I’m here to pick up my Mom,” he told the receptionist, once he got to the front of the line. “Dorry Thomas.”

  “Go have a seat and the doctor will see to you.”

  Henry waited. There were some toys there for little kids. At least you didn’t have to worry about them being contaminated with infectious viruses here like at the pediatrician’s office. Bobby immediately toddled over to a bright red train and played contentedly, banging it around on the floor. Henry was watching Bobby when the doctor came out and didn’t see him at first.

  “Henry?”

  Henry looked up. He got up quickly, and shook hands with the doctor.

  “I think I’ve met you before, haven’t I, Henry?”

  “Yeah,” Henry agreed, pursing his lips. “Last time, maybe.”

  “Sure. So you’re back home and settled, and your Mom has stabilized again and should be able to function at home.”

  “Is she okay?” Henry questioned. “Was it bad this time? Clint didn’t really want to talk about it.”

  “I think he saw the warning signs and got her in earlier than usual. She was in bad shape, but not as bad as she could be.”

  “Poor Ma,” Henry sighed. “What is she on this time?”

  The doctor carefully outlined each of the medications that she was to take and how often she was to take each.

  “Do any of them take away her appetite?” Henry asked. “‘Cause I’ve been worried about her weight.”

  “I don’t think so. The depression itself takes it away more than anything. I was going to ask you about her eating habits.”

  “She only eats when I check up on her, and sometimes not even then. She says she’s just not hungry. I try to get her special foods I know she really likes, but money’s pretty tight.”

  “Keep an eye on it. I want to know if she loses any more. And will you make sure she gets to her group sessions?”

  “Yeah. What day?”

  “Wednesday afternoon.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re a good kid. Come on, we’ll go get her.”

  Henry picked up Bobby, who started to kick in protest at being taken from the toys. Henry got a foot in the ribs, winced, and just about dropped the baby, catching his breath sharply.

  “Are you okay?” the doctor questioned, touching his arm in concern.

  Henry nodded, moving stiffly.

  “I just hurt myself, he hit a tender spot.”

  Before Henry realized what he was doing, the doctor reached over and pulled Henry’s t-shirt up a few inches, displaying Henry’s newest bruises. Henry pulled away from him, letting the t-shirt fall back down into position.

  “Just hurt myself,” he murmured.

  “In a fight?” the doctor tried to meet his eyes.

  “Yeah. It’s nothing, okay? Hardly even hurts.”

  The doctor was silent for a moment.

  “Let’s get your Mom,” he said finally, deciding not to pursue it.

  He led Henry to the small hospital room where Dorry had spent the last few weeks. She sat listlessly on the gray, flat bed, waiting. She stood up when they walked in. Henry gave her a little squeeze. Gently. She looked frail and brittle, birdlike.

  “Hey, Ma. How’re you feeling?” he asked quietly.

  “Oh, you know. I’m doing better now,” she said without enthusiasm.

  “Good.”

  “You got Bobby back already,” she noted.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you tell Cheryl thank you for taking him?”

  “Of course I did.”

  She said goodbye to the doctor. Henry took her bag from her and led the way to the car.

  “Do you want to drive?” he offered.

  “Oh no, hon’. You drive.”

  “Okay.”

  Dorry started worrying the minute they got home.

  “What are we going to do about your school?” she questioned, her voice rising in pitch. “You can’t go back to where everybody knows what happened, and where that girl’s friends all go.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Ma,” he reassured her. “I’ll work it out. You don’t have to do anything.”

  “You can’t do it all by yourself—” she insisted.

  “Sure I can. I’ll find another school and get transferred. Don’t worry about it.”

  She hesitated, brows drawn down, shaking her head.

  “Okay,” she said eventually. She was silent for a few minutes, then looked at his face, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Are you okay?” she inquired. “Are you really home for good? They aren’t going to send you back there?”

  “I’m home for good. That’s all over,” he soothed.

  “I don’t want to lose you like that.”

  He caught her hands and held them still, trying to convey a sense of calm to her. To get her to slow down and relax.

  “I know, ma. I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take care of you.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to take care of me,” she protested. “Just… don’t go away for a long time.”

  Henry nodded. He went to the kitchen to see if he could find something that would tempt he
r to eat.

  Starting at a new school in the middle of the year was never much fun. And he had to bus it now, which meant he had either less time with Bobby, or had to be late getting to school. The first day he had to meet with the principal, so he left early. He had a feeling he’d be gathering tardies after that. Bobby couldn’t be left alone with Dorry for that long.

  The principal didn’t keep him waiting, but invited him in immediately. He was a short man, balding, red cheeked, fussily dressed. He motioned Henry to a chair and sat down behind his desk.

  “So, Henry. You’ll be picking up in the middle, so you be sure to get help if you need it.”

  “Yeah, I will,” Henry agreed.

  “I notice that your marks have dropped quite a bit this year…”

  “I’ve had some things going on.”

  “That’s a real warning sign for us. We’ll be keeping a close eye on you.”

  “I’m not on drugs or anything,” Henry assured him.

  “I hope not. We try to keep the school clean.”

  “You know I’ve had some trouble,” Henry said baldly. “You don’t have to pretend you haven’t at least heard rumors.”

  The principal’s face cleared.

  “I’m glad you’re willing to have it out in the open,” he approved, relieved. “You were in jail.”

  “Yeah. But I was never convicted,” Henry pointed out. “Never went to trial. They released me when someone else confessed.”

  “You had some other trouble too. Fights, trouble getting along with other students…”

  “I never started anything. I never caused any trouble.” Henry spread his hands. “Look, I’m a geek, right? People like to pick on us.”

  The principal sat back and considered him, rubbing his chin.

  “You seem like a decent kid,” he observed. “But appearances can be deceiving. If you are the cause of any trouble here, you will not be welcome,” he warned sternly.

  Henry wondered if something about his outward appearance had changed. He’d never before had any trouble convincing school teachers that he really was a good kid, trying hard, and just getting into trouble because of bullies or inexplicable coincidences. Was the warning just because he had been in juvie? Or did the principal think that he saw something else in Henry’s face? Something that made him think that Henry might be hiding something.

  “I’m a good student,” he assured. “I won’t cause any trouble.”

  “Just as long as that’s understood. Now, you have your books and schedule?”

  Henry nodded.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Okay. Let’s get you a locker.”

  > > >

  Henry checked the address again. He had the number right, but there was no one home. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to wait around, or try again, or what. He decided to wait for a while, at least. He didn’t want to get in Marty’s bad books.

  A girl with red hair came up the stairs and down the hall, watching Henry warily. It became apparent that she lived at the apartment that Henry was camped in front of.

  “Who are you?” she questioned.

  “I must have the wrong place. I was looking for the Martin place.”

  She was nice looking, though with a bit too much make-up, and wearing tight clothes that distracted Henry when he tried to look at her face and have a natural conversation.

  “This is it,” the red-head told him. “But John’s in juvie, he ain’t here.”

  “I know. I was supposed to see his mom.”

  “She’s still working. What do you want to see her for?”

  “Are you his sister?” Henry questioned. They didn’t look at all alike.

  “Brilliant. Yeah. What do you want?” she demanded.

  Henry was unsure how to handle it. Was he supposed to talk to her? Confide in her? Or was it a secret?

  “I have something for her. Your mom.”

  “Something from John?”

  “Yes. He asked me to bring it.”

  “Dirty money?” she guessed.

  Henry shifted.

  “Money,” he agreed.

  She snorted.

  “Well, tell him to keep it. She doesn’t need his money.”

  “He said to give it to his Ma,” Henry protested. “I gotta do what he said.”

  “I’m taking care of her. Stay away from here.”

  Henry was desperate.

  “Just take it. I don’t care what you do with it. Throw it away. Mail it to him. I said I’d deliver it.”

  “Tell John that Sandy threw you out on your ear. He won’t argue with that.”

  She succeeded in looking more stubborn than tough. Henry tried to imagine Sandy and Marty growing up as kids, but had trouble with it. He put his hands in his pockets, considering her.

  “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

  “You were in trouble the second you started talking to John.”

  Sandy was probably right. Henry was looking for a way to prolong the conversation with her, finding he was enjoying the exchange. She was nice to look at, reasonably personable. She wasn’t chasing him or hanging on him, but she wasn’t running away from him in fear or disgust, either. It seemed like all of the girls at school were at one end of the spectrum or the other, with no one just talking to him and treating him normally.

  “How far apart are you guys in age?” he queried.

  “He’s seventeen, I’m fourteen.”

  “Me too,” Henry offered with a smile.

  Sandy shrugged.

  “You’re not my type,” she said flatly.

  Henry was stung. He knew he was nerdy, but he was used to the attention he’d had lately. He moved away from Sandy.

  “At least tell your mom Marty was thinking of her,” he suggested.

  “Yeah, right.”

  Henry put Bobby down tiredly and looked around the kitchen, arching his back and rolling his shoulders. It was late, and he’d better get something cooking before Clint got home. He had homework to do if he was going to catch up at school too.

  Unfortunately, Clint got home tired and hungry before Henry was ready for him.

  “When’s dinner?” he demanded grumpily.

  “Soon.”

  “Where’s your Ma?”

  “Still at group, I guess. I haven’t seen her.”

  Clint looked at the dishes that were out.

  “What’s taking so long?”

  “It’ll be done soon,” Henry said impatiently.

  “Don’t take that tone with me. I expect you to take care of things around here.”

  “It takes longer to get home from school now,” Henry said, trying to explain why he was so behind.

  “Well, it ain’t my fault you got in trouble at the old one.”

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  “You really think anyone believes that?” Clint questioned. “Sure, the cops let you go, because they didn’t have much of a choice. But everyone knows you were involved.”

  Henry was shocked. His jaw dropped and he shook his head in disbelief.

  “You think I did it?” he demanded incredulously.

  Clint took a beer out of the fridge and pulled the tab before taking a drink. He licked his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Where there’s smoke there’s fire,” he said. “People don’t just get arrested for murder when they’re not guilty of something. I been there, I know.”

  Henry swallowed.

  “You’ve been there?” he repeated. He’d always thought Clint stupid and crude, but generally a law-abiding citizen.

  Clint shrugged.

  “Same as you, they didn’t have any proof and had to let me go.”

  “Who—” Henry stopped, realizing it was probably unwise to ask.

  “My girlfriend’s kid,” Clint said evenly. At Henry’s look of horror, he burst into laughter. “It’s a joke, kid. I’m kidding. Hurry up and get dinner on the table.”

  He walked away in
to the living room to turn on the TV, chuckling and snorting at his joke. Henry stared after him. He was joking about how much of what he had said? Just that last shot about the girlfriend’s son, or the whole thing? Henry didn’t know what to think.

  Henry managed to get a hold of Marty on the weekend to discuss the errands with him.

  “I took the money for your mom by,” he explained, “but your sister was there.”

  “My sister?” Marty said blankly. “Oh—Sandy? What’s she doing there?”

  “Isn’t she your sister?” Henry questioned, not understanding.

  “Yeah. Sort of. But she doesn’t live with Ma any more than I do.”

  “Where does she live?” Henry asked.

  “With her old man, her dad. He ain’t mine. She works for him, unless he’s in jail or something.”

  “Maybe he is in jail, and that’s why she was at your mom’s.”

  “Yeah, probably. So what’d sweet Sandy tell you?”

  “She wouldn’t let me give the money to your ma. Told me she was taking care of her.”

  “Huh. Sounds like she’s still working.”

  “What does she do?” Henry asked curiously.

  “Specs, a shorter list would be what doesn’t she do,” Marty laughed. “She’s got her finger in just about as many pies as me. Mostly street corners and p-notes right now.”

  Street corners Henry could guess at. Especially with the tight, revealing clothing she had been wearing. Sandy was a prostitute.

  “P-notes?” he repeated.

  “Funny money. She passes counterfeit cash.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re so naive, Specs. It’s funny.” Marty’s amusement carried down the line. Henry’s face got warm, a little embarrassed.

  “Yeah. So what do you want me to do about it?”

  “Hang onto the dough for now. Check back in a couple weeks and see if Sandy’s still hanging around. As long as Mom’s being looked after, I don’t much care whose money it is.”

  “I can’t keep that kind of money around here,” Henry warned. “If my mom found it…”

  “You worry too much. Your mom’s not gonna find anything. You find somewhere she doesn’t go and hide it there,” Marty instructed firmly.

  “Okay,” Henry said meekly. “I’ll try to find somewhere.”

  After Henry got off the phone, he looked around for a hiding place. He discounted his room. It was too empty, anything out of place would be immediately noticed. He went down to the basement, which was dark and musty and full of old bags of clothes and broken junk. It didn’t take long to find a hiding place there, and he squirreled the wad of cash away and went back upstairs. He grinned to himself, heart thumping from the thrill of an illicit secret, and went about his chores.