Authors: T. Greenwood
Grace (3 page)
Elsbeth closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Waiting.
“I just wanted to let you know that Trevor will be staying after school with us again today.”
“What happened?” she asked. She could hear Mrs. Cross sigh on the other end of the line.
“There was an altercation.”
“A fight?”
“More of a
confrontation
really.”
confrontation
really.”
“What does that mean? Is he hurt?”
“No one is hurt. Mr. Douglas, our custodian, was, thankfully, able to stop the boys before it got physical.”
“So it was an
argument?
” Elsbeth asked. Mrs. Cross drove her crazy.
argument?
” Elsbeth asked. Mrs. Cross drove her crazy.
“Mrs. Kennedy, Trevor’s behavior is becoming disruptive. This is the third time this month that he’s served detention. If this had escalated into a fight, if anyone had gotten hurt, he’d be facing suspension.”
“But no one was hurt?” she repeated.
“No. Thankfully, not this time.”
Elsbeth, exasperated, stood up. She could hear Gracy stirring in the other room.
“You may pick him up from the office at four o’clock,” Mrs. Cross said.
She nodded and hung up the phone, looked at the glossy redheaded model smiling at her. Mocking her.
She didn’t know what was going on with Trevor lately. He’d always had a hard time at school, with other kids. But he’d never been violent before: always more apt to flee than fight. And Principal Cross was new this year; she didn’t know Trevor, hadn’t seen what he’d been through since kindergarten. All she saw was this big kid always on the verge of a brawl.
Quietly she went to the room that Gracy and Trevor shared, and Gracy smiled up at her from her soft nest of blankets and pillows. Elsbeth sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair. There was a sleepy seed in the corner of her eye that Elsbeth delicately extracted with one pale pink fingernail.
“Hi, Mumma,” Gracy said sleepily.
“Hi, baby. Did you have sweet dreams?”
Gracy nodded. “I’m still sleepy.”
“Okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”
She never said it out loud, but she worried that she loved Gracy more than she loved Trevor. It was one of those truths that made her feel ashamed. What kind of mother admits that? What kind of mother even thinks something like that? But even when Trevor was just a baby, she remembered feeling like he didn’t belong to her. Like she didn’t belong to him. With his white-blond hair and skin, his ice-colored eyes, he certainly didn’t look like her. It was like Kurt had made him all by himself, as though she’d had nothing at all to do with it. Even after nine and a half months of carrying him around in her belly, there were times when she would watch him playing or sleeping and she had to remind herself that he was her son. Her
child
.
child
.
Of course, she was only seventeen when he was born. Nobody should be having babies at seventeen. She hadn’t even put away her baby
dolls
yet when she was seventeen; when Kurt used to sneak into her room at night, she’d turn them all face-down on her dresser so they wouldn’t see what they were doing. She was still just a girl when she got pregnant. So for a long time, she thought maybe it was just because she was such a young mother. Maybe she resented Trevor for the loss of her freedom, blamed him for all the things she had to give up: for the prom she didn’t go to, the pep rallies, the bonfires, her position as first chair flute in the band. For all the other summers she might have spent drinking wine coolers and swimming naked at the lake.
dolls
yet when she was seventeen; when Kurt used to sneak into her room at night, she’d turn them all face-down on her dresser so they wouldn’t see what they were doing. She was still just a girl when she got pregnant. So for a long time, she thought maybe it was just because she was such a young mother. Maybe she resented Trevor for the loss of her freedom, blamed him for all the things she had to give up: for the prom she didn’t go to, the pep rallies, the bonfires, her position as first chair flute in the band. For all the other summers she might have spent drinking wine coolers and swimming naked at the lake.
But as he got older, she realized it wasn’t as simple as that. Trevor wasn’t like the other children. At the playground the other mothers sometimes shook their heads at Trevor, whispered when they thought she wasn’t looking. He didn’t look like the other little boys, and he didn’t behave like they did either. For one thing, he was so sensitive. He’d cry about just about anything. If something was too loud, if he didn’t want to leave, when someone refused to play with him. He threw tantrums,
big
tantrums. Those times, she’d scoop him up in her arms and walk away from the huddled mothers, wincing as he kicked her thighs, scratched her arms, and sobbed into her hair. But despite feeling protective, angry at these women with their well-behaved toddlers, she couldn’t help feeling a little bitter too. Angry at him for being such a crybaby. And she realized what she was feeling was
shame
. She was ashamed of her own son. It made her feel awful.
big
tantrums. Those times, she’d scoop him up in her arms and walk away from the huddled mothers, wincing as he kicked her thighs, scratched her arms, and sobbed into her hair. But despite feeling protective, angry at these women with their well-behaved toddlers, she couldn’t help feeling a little bitter too. Angry at him for being such a crybaby. And she realized what she was feeling was
shame
. She was ashamed of her own son. It made her feel awful.
And then seven years and two miscarriages later, Gracy was born, and she knew for sure that while there might be something wrong with Trevor, there was something far worse wrong with
her
. Because the minute Gracy was born, she remembered feeling a whole new kind of love. Not love like she felt for her mother, for her grandpa. Not even the kind of crazy love she used to feel for Kurt. But a love so big it felt like something liquid. Something that soaked her; she felt heavy with it. A
mother’s
love.
her
. Because the minute Gracy was born, she remembered feeling a whole new kind of love. Not love like she felt for her mother, for her grandpa. Not even the kind of crazy love she used to feel for Kurt. But a love so big it felt like something liquid. Something that soaked her; she felt heavy with it. A
mother’s
love.
Gracy was a beautiful baby: eyes as big and dark as Junior Mints. Her hair, like Elsbeth’s, was the color and thickness of molasses. She almost never cried, and when she did it wasn’t because she was angry or frustrated. She never threw her body across the room and into closed doors, never tore her own hair out like Trevor did at that age. She cooed and smiled and didn’t shrink away from Elsbeth’s touch. (That’s what killed her more than anything, the way Trevor retracted from her. It made her feel found out, accused.) Grace was just that, just the smallest bit of grace. Elsbeth’s sweet reward for the agony that was Trevor. Her mercy.
Now that Trevor was older and things seemed to be getting worse rather than better, she didn’t know what to do. She tried so hard to be a good mother. To make Trevor feel loved and special. But it felt false, like she was pretending, and she worried that he could sense this. That maybe she was even to
blame
for his problems, that she had failed him in some terrible way.
blame
for his problems, that she had failed him in some terrible way.
Of course, she would never admit that she felt this way. It was her secret. Kurt didn’t know how hard she worked just to get through some days with Trevor, how exhausting it was. Thank God for Kurt. Kurt who was patient and kind. Kurt whose love was always equal. Elsbeth knew that Kurt never had such terrible thoughts. At least Trevor had his daddy. Always. She knew she needed to call Kurt, let him know what had happened. What had
almost
happened. Jesus, that woman infuriated her. She’d send Kurt to get him. Kurt would know what to do.
almost
happened. Jesus, that woman infuriated her. She’d send Kurt to get him. Kurt would know what to do.
W
hen Elsbeth called, Kurt was out in the yard looking for a ’92 Camry hubcap. He was pretty sure they had one, but it wasn’t showing up in the system. He searched through the shiny stack, like a haphazard pile of fallen spaceships, but couldn’t find the one he was looking for. The customer was a lady, and he could tell she was watching the time. She was one of those coffee-break shoppers. Thinks she can show up at three in the afternoon, find what she needs, and make it back to work without anybody noticing she’s gone. She was teetering on a pair of scuffed black high heels, scrunching up her nose at the smell, as Kurt sorted through the heap.
hen Elsbeth called, Kurt was out in the yard looking for a ’92 Camry hubcap. He was pretty sure they had one, but it wasn’t showing up in the system. He searched through the shiny stack, like a haphazard pile of fallen spaceships, but couldn’t find the one he was looking for. The customer was a lady, and he could tell she was watching the time. She was one of those coffee-break shoppers. Thinks she can show up at three in the afternoon, find what she needs, and make it back to work without anybody noticing she’s gone. She was teetering on a pair of scuffed black high heels, scrunching up her nose at the smell, as Kurt sorted through the heap.
Beal came out to the cap pile, carrying the chirping cell phone like it was on fire. “It’s Elsbeth,” Beal said, breathless, holding the phone, which had ceased its song.
There were a billion reasons Elsbeth might be calling (something she needed him to pick up at the store on his way home, a question about where to find the hammer or Phillips head or WD-40), but today Kurt’s first thought was of Trevor. Of
what did he do now?
As Beal handed him the phone and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his shirt, Kurt felt a knot grow in his gut.
what did he do now?
As Beal handed him the phone and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his shirt, Kurt felt a knot grow in his gut.
“Thanks,” he said, looking at the screen that announced the presence of a new message.
The lady put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot, glanced at her watch. At this rate, she’d be lucky to make it back to her office without somebody figuring out she’d been gone.
“I’m real sorry, ma’am. Why don’t you leave your number with Beal here and we’ll give you a call as soon as we find the cap you need,” Kurt offered.
“Maybe you didn’t understand when I said I needed it
today,
” she said, like she was talking to a four-year-old. “I’m showing a client a house in an hour, and I can’t be driving around town without a hubcap. It’s not professional.”
today,
” she said, like she was talking to a four-year-old. “I’m showing a client a house in an hour, and I can’t be driving around town without a hubcap. It’s not professional.”
He wanted to listen to Elsbeth’s message, but this lady with her high heels and impatience was their first customer of the day, possibly their
only
customer of the day the way things had been going lately. They couldn’t afford to lose her business, even if it was just a forty-dollar hubcap.
only
customer of the day the way things had been going lately. They couldn’t afford to lose her business, even if it was just a forty-dollar hubcap.
“Beal, see if you can find this young lady’s cap for me?” Kurt asked.
“No problem,” Beal said.
“Beal here will help you find exactly what you’re looking for,” Kurt offered, and the woman scowled.
He listened to the message as he made his way back to the shop through the maze of car carcasses, waiting until he was out of their earshot to call Elsbeth back. He leaned against the yellow husk of a 1979 Mercedes and hit the speed dial.
“Hey, baby,” Elsbeth’s voice said. The thick, gravelly sweetness of her voice could still make his knees go soft. “Did you get my message? Trevor’s in detention again and Gracy’s still napping. Would you mind picking him up at school at four?”
“What did he do?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Another fight, I guess. She said the janitor stopped it before anybody got hurt. Can you get him?”
“Yeah. I’ll go.” He glanced at the scratched face of his watch. He had about twenty minutes. Beal could close up the shop. Hopefully he’d find that damned hubcap before the lady gave up.
As he made his way to the shop to grab his truck keys, he surveyed the sea of glass and chrome. He’d been working at the salvage yard since high school. Back when he still had plans to go to college, he’d helped Pop out every summer, socking away any money he made for his tuition. But then, after Billy took off, and later when Pop keeled over at the A&P, the stroke leaving his whole right side paralyzed, Kurt knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d taken over the yard and been here ever since. He’d married Elsbeth, Trevor was born, and then Gracy. He had a family, and he really didn’t have a choice but to keep the business going, unless he sold the yard. Not that he hadn’t thought about it. Not that he hadn’t been tempted. But the sad fact was that he had grown up among this wreckage. These hollowed-out skeletons of Caddies and station wagons and Volkswagen buses had been his playground as a kid. Getting rid of the salvage yard would have been like selling off his own childhood.
And the yard had actually been a lucrative business until last year. But now people were driving their cars into the ground rather than scrapping them when things started to break. It also seemed like everybody was finding what they needed to keep them running on eBay. And the folks who used to drop stuff off were trying to make a profit off it themselves, selling parts on craigslist or out of their own garages. He’d stopped looking at the books; he knew that as soon as he did, he’d have to cut back Beal’s hours, maybe even let him go, and Beal’s wife was just about to have twins. Despite everything, Kurt loved the yard, and it pained him that the business was going to shit. He used to think he’d pass it on to Trevor someday when he was grown.
Trevor
. Ever since the episode last month, the new principal seemed to have it out for Trevor. He was always coming home with pink slips, warnings about his behavior, signed in that curlicue handwriting that looked more like it belonged to a teenage girl than a school principal. The times they’d been called into the office, Mrs. Cross hardly said anything, just shook her blond head, like he and Elsbeth should know better. Like they were at fault for his bad behavior.
. Ever since the episode last month, the new principal seemed to have it out for Trevor. He was always coming home with pink slips, warnings about his behavior, signed in that curlicue handwriting that looked more like it belonged to a teenage girl than a school principal. The times they’d been called into the office, Mrs. Cross hardly said anything, just shook her blond head, like he and Elsbeth should know better. Like they were at fault for his bad behavior.
Not that Kurt
didn’t
blame himself. Of course he did. Trevor was his son. He was the one who had raised him. But ever since Trevor was just a little boy, he’d had a hard time with other kids. He’d been pushed around and made fun of for one thing or another, off and on for twelve years. Up until this year it was the
other
kids whose parents were getting the pink slips and fancy handwriting and calls from the school. They’d been to the school counselor a hundred times, but she insisted that there was nothing wrong with Trevor. He was a good student, sensitive but well-behaved; it was the other boys who were the problem. The school did what they could, but Kurt knew how devious kids could be, how much they could do when the teachers weren’t looking. And lately, Trevor refused to talk about it. But Kurt could still see it in his eyes. He’d seen it in his brother Billy’s eyes when he was a kid. Trevor didn’t have a single friend, and Kurt knew exactly how to read the pain of his loneliness. He didn’t know what to do for him, didn’t know how to make that sorrow go away.
didn’t
blame himself. Of course he did. Trevor was his son. He was the one who had raised him. But ever since Trevor was just a little boy, he’d had a hard time with other kids. He’d been pushed around and made fun of for one thing or another, off and on for twelve years. Up until this year it was the
other
kids whose parents were getting the pink slips and fancy handwriting and calls from the school. They’d been to the school counselor a hundred times, but she insisted that there was nothing wrong with Trevor. He was a good student, sensitive but well-behaved; it was the other boys who were the problem. The school did what they could, but Kurt knew how devious kids could be, how much they could do when the teachers weren’t looking. And lately, Trevor refused to talk about it. But Kurt could still see it in his eyes. He’d seen it in his brother Billy’s eyes when he was a kid. Trevor didn’t have a single friend, and Kurt knew exactly how to read the pain of his loneliness. He didn’t know what to do for him, didn’t know how to make that sorrow go away.
But this fighting business was new. It was like something shifted inside Trevor since he turned twelve. First off, he grew seven inches. Went from being the shortest kid in the class to the tallest in just one summer. He also put on about thirty pounds. A thin line of hair started to grow above his lip. He went from
boy
to
man
in about thirty seconds flat, except for his voice, which remained that of a little boy. Kurt knew this was part of the problem: something else that set him apart from the other boys.
boy
to
man
in about thirty seconds flat, except for his voice, which remained that of a little boy. Kurt knew this was part of the problem: something else that set him apart from the other boys.
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