A Plague Year (30 page)

Arthur came walking up. He got into the driver’s seat and called through the window to me, “Can you believe these people are driving
my
car?”

Jimmy muttered, “It’s all we got left.”

We hung out for a minute, listening to Cody’s heavy breathing in the back. Finally, Arthur pointed toward the school and asked me, “Did you know that Warren played football here?”

“I saw that on his jacket.”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. He was a star. He was the quarterback.”

“Really?” I asked. “What about you, Jimmy?”

“What?”

“Did you play?”

“Nah. I was a stoner back then, too.”

I asked, “What’s Warren doing now?” Both Arthur and Jimmy clammed up. “I mean for work.”

Jimmy mumbled, “He’s got a plan. Warren always has a plan. He’s buying materials now.”

Arthur snapped, “Jimmy!”

Jimmy looked puzzled. “What? We can talk in front of Tom.”

“No, we can’t. This is none of Tom’s business.”

My heart was suddenly up near my throat. “What kind of materials are you talking about?”

Arthur pounded the steering wheel. “Dammit, Jimmy! You see? You can’t talk in front of Tom.”

Jimmy muttered, “Forget what I said, Tom. He’s got a plan to pay off some bills. That’s all I know.”

I stood there for a full minute, letting Arthur simmer down. I remembered my promise to Warren. Since Arthur was already angry, I figured it was as good a time as any to ask, “What about you, Arthur? Do you have a plan?”

Arthur didn’t move for several seconds. Then he spit out the window. He replied coldly, “You never mind about me. You go study your college prep book. Get ready to go to Florida, or wherever the hell you think you’re going.”

“I don’t know where I’m going. I know I’m going to college, but I don’t know where.”

“Well, I know I am
not
, so I guess that’s the plan.” Arthur turned his face away. I knew our conversation was over.

Jimmy, though, looked up at me. He said quietly, like I should have known this already, “Arthur’s signing up with the marines.”

I said, “Okay. Yeah. That’s a solid plan. I’ll see you guys later,” and headed back over to the Battlin’ Coal Miner.

I stood there for fifteen minutes, waiting for everyone else to come out. I tried looking at the mountains again, but they didn’t interest me. I felt a cold wind whipping up all around, and I watched a dark cloud cover the sun.

I found myself thinking about Warren, and what his plan was, and why he might need three tanks of propane.

When I started down the stairs this morning, I saw Lilly leaning out of the front door. Apparently, someone was on the other side, because I heard her say, “Sure I know you. You’re in the counseling group.”

A boy’s voice said, “Right.”

I came up behind Lilly and looked out. It was Mikeszabo. When he saw me he explained, probably for the second time, “I’m collecting clothes and blankets for the homeless.”

Lilly turned and squeezed past me. I heard her run back up the stairs.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “No. No time. I’m only halfway through your block.” He looked to his left, away from the sun. “I try to hit one block every morning—before school, or church, or whatever.”

I saw a Hefty trash bag behind him. It was the thirty-gallon drawstring size, and it was almost tipping over. I asked, “Did you collect a lot today?”

Mikeszabo looked surprised. “Yeah. I collect a lot every day.” He leaned toward me, lowering his voice. “Hey. Did you hear about Mike Murphy?”

“No. What?”

He lowered it even more. “It’s bad, man. He was found dead yesterday.”

“No! No way!”

“Yeah. The Weavers used to stop over there sometimes, you know, to see if anybody needed help. Well, Mr. Weaver couldn’t get nobody to answer the door yesterday, so he called the cops.
They found the whole family laid out on the floor—all three of them.”

I was having a hard time processing this. I shook my head and tried to paraphrase, “Mikemurphy, and his dad, and his mom are all dead?”

“Yup.”

“Dead of what?”

His surprised look returned. “Of smoking meth! I guess that’s
all
they’ve been doin’ at their house for a long time.”

“Man! That’s horrible.”

“I know. And it really makes you think. My dad and mom are in jail, but at least they’re alive. Maybe they were the lucky ones. They got busted in time.”

“Poor Mikemurphy.”

Mikeszabo looked away again, down the street. He whispered, “Yeah. Poor Mike Murphy. Poor Dad and Mom. Poor everybody.”

Lilly came back down behind me. She had taken the wool blanket off of her bed. Mikeszabo stepped back and opened the Hefty bag for her. Lilly folded the blanket into squares in midair. Then she leaned out and stuffed it into the bag.

Mikeszabo said, “Thank you,” then added, “I’ll see you guys at the church.”

I asked, “Aren’t you going to school?”

“Nah. There’s no reason to.” He set off for next door, hoisting the black bag over his shoulder like Santa Claus.

Mikeszabo was right about school. This was the Friday before Christmas break. That meant that all the tests at school had been taken; all the grades had been recorded. There was no reason in the world to be at Haven Junior/Senior High. It was obvious the
moment Mom dropped us off. No one but the Battlin’ Coal Miner was standing outside.

Lilly threw up her hands. “This is ridiculous! There is nobody here. I could be sleeping.”

Mom answered automatically, “It’s a school day. That means you go to school.”

“But there’s nobody here!”

“Of course people are here.”

“Where? Do you see anybody?”

“They are all inside.”

I thought,
Mikemurphy sure isn’t here
.

Lilly held up an angry index finger. “I will go to one class. One. If nobody is there, I am calling you, and you are coming back to pick me up.”

Mom, to my surprise, conceded. “All right. But you’ll see—people are here. It’s a normal school day.”

I thought,
A normal day? Not in a plague year
. As it turned out, though, Mom was partially right. There
were
teachers and students inside, just not very many.

I entered my first-period class, sat down next to Ben Gibbons, and looked around. Mikeszabo (I guess I can just call him Mike now) was not there, of course. He was collecting clothes for the needy. Jenny was not there, either. (I would later learn that the Weavers were making Christmas baskets for the needy. I thought,
Damn! I could be doing that, too
.)

Coach Malloy was there, in body at least. He was seated behind his desk, with his nose stuck in a
Sports Illustrated
magazine. (Maybe he should have been reading
Strawberry Preserves
magazine.) When the bell rang, he announced, “It’s a free period. You can all do homework.”

Ben raised his hand. “It’s the last day of the semester, Coach. Nobody has any homework.”

The coach lowered the magazine and looked at him. He growled, “Okay, so it’s just a free period, then.”

The TV blipped to life. Mrs. Cantwell addressed us as if it were a regular day. She made a very solid pitch for Mike’s clothing project. “The Student Council is collecting warm clothes for the homeless and the needy. That is becoming a big problem here in our community.

“I know that, historically, when the town of Blackwater has faced a problem, the people have come together and solved it. I remember my grandmother telling me about the Great Depression, back in the 1930s. People with only two blankets to their name gave one to people with no blanket at all. That’s how we do things here. We all pull together, and we all get by, so please give generously.”

Mrs. Cantwell would normally have been followed by Wendy Lyle reading the news, but there was no Wendy Lyle because her father had withdrawn her, and there was no news because it was the last day of the semester.

The Pledge of Allegiance came on, so the coach rose out of his seat. We did, too. We remained standing for the national anthem. Then we all sat down, and most of the kids went to sleep.

Ben and I did not, though. We stared at each other for a moment. I finally said, “How’s the play going?”

“Good.” He added, “That Chris guy sucks, though.”

“Does he?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have the time, you know? Between the play and work.”

Ben looked surprised. “Chris doesn’t work.”

“Yes, he does. At the bowling alley.”

“Not anymore. He got fired.”

It was my turn to be surprised. “Why?”

“For stealing the shoe money! People would pay two bucks for shoe rental, and he’d put it in his pocket.”

“How do you know that?”

“He
told
us about it. It’s like he didn’t care who knew it.”

“Huh. Well, how’s Wendy Lyle? She’s good, right?”

Ben’s eyes lit up. “She’s great. She’s a great actress.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Then Ben lowered his voice. “I like what we’re doing with the counseling group. You know? At the new place.”

“The church basement?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Me, too. It’s better away from school.”

“Definitely. That way, parents can come. And siblings. And anybody who is, you know, messed up. I’m trying to get my mom to come. And my sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yeah.”

“Does she go to Haven?”

“No. She’s older. She went to high school in Pittsburgh. Then she joined the army. Then she got kicked out.”

“Whoa. For what?”

Ben shrugged and said, “I don’t know,” in such a way that I believed him.

“What’s she doing now?”

“She’s at home.” He added, “My dad was in the army. He joined up when he was eighteen, and he retired when he was thirty-six.”

“That’s a sweet deal.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“What’s he doing now?”

Ben looked puzzled. “I just told you. He’s retired.”

“Oh. Okay. How about your mom?”

“She’s at home. They’re all at home.”

“Really? So, you’re the only one who gets up and goes out in the morning?”

He thought for a moment. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

I remembered what Wendy had told me, that Ben was a “designated patient.” Then I remembered Catherine Lyle’s ethical rules. But I decided to ask him anyway. “Do any of them have problems?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you have that pica disorder, right?”

“Right. I eat—”

“Yeah, yeah. How do you know about that?”

“Uh, I got diagnosed at school, back in Pittsburgh, by a social worker.”

“Are you the only one in your family with a disorder?”

Ben looked offended. “Yeah. Like I said, I got diagnosed. Nobody else in my family got diagnosed.”

“Okay. Sorry. Well, I hope they do come to the meetings.”

Ben eyed me suspiciously. Had I crossed a line? If so, I decided to keep going. I told him, “My mom will be coming. She’s hoping to get some help from the group.”

“Help for what?”

“She had a problem with prescription pills.”

His eyes widened. “Really? Your mom?”

“Yeah. I hope my dad will come, too. He used to go to AA meetings all the time. Do you know what those are?”

“Sure.”

“And my sister had a problem with pot last summer. I hope she’ll keep coming, too.”

Ben leaned back and exhaled. “Wow, Tom. I had no idea.”

“Nobody does. You heard Jenny talk about her father’s problem. And hell, Mike’s parents are both in jail.”

“Right.”

“Everybody acts like everything is okay at home, Ben. But that’s not true. You know?”

Ben looked really grateful. He answered huskily, “Yeah.”

Mrs. Cantwell appeared in the doorway. She spotted the coach behind
Sports Illustrated
and snapped, “Coach Malloy!”

He dropped the magazine and jumped to his feet.

Mrs. Cantwell directed a withering stare at him. I noticed a group of kids clustered behind her in the hall. She said, “We have numerous teachers calling in sick today. I will be placing some students in your classroom for supervision.” She added, “I fully expect you to supervise them.”

Coach Malloy gulped and nodded. Mrs. Cantwell stepped aside, and ten kids shuffled into the classroom. They all took seats, put their heads down, and slept.

I continued to chat with Ben for the rest of first period. He wasn’t as strange as I had thought. I believe he
is
being used as a designated patient. (Of course, that’s just my uneducated opinion. I am not a mental-health professional. Or a famous professor. In a field.)

The bell finally rang. I don’t know where those extra kids went for second period. I don’t know where Ben went, either. Home, most likely. I entered Mr. Proctor’s room by myself and stopped in my tracks. Bizarrely, a sub was sitting at his desk, a sub who I knew.

Aunt Robin!

How weird was that? She looked incredibly out of place. She had on a pair of black pants and a very tight white blouse, like something she might wear for karaoke night at the Drunken Monkey. She had teased her hair up for the occasion.