Hello Loved Ones (6 page)

“Who asked you two to barge in here?” Dad said, breathing hard. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

Mom stumbled to the door, crying. “I’m calling the police,” she said.

Dad was trying to unwind his pants from around his ankles. “Look, I got a little carried away.”

“Nell, call 911. Hurry!” Mom pulled at her dress and her hair. There was blood in the corner of her mouth. She made a quick lunge for Lenny like she was snatching him back from the edge of a cliff. He felt her shaking as she pressed him against her.

“Get out, Richard” she said, sobbing. “We don’t want to see you again, ever.”

Dad made an annoyed sound.

“If I leave now I’m never coming back. I’m fed up with this shit. How much is a man expected to take?”

Mom was squeezing Lenny’s neck. It hurt. “They’ll put you in jail,” she cried. “I swear.”

Dad laughed. “What do you say, Lenny? Think you can stand living here all alone with these hysterical women?”

Mom wiped her hand across her mouth. “He’s survived so far. No thanks to you.”

“Well?” Dad stared at him.

Lenny could go with Dad. They could ride the highways together. They could stay away from girls and there’d be no trouble. There’d be no Nell. No Sally. No Mom.

“Guess you’d better leave,” Lenny said finally. For now. Not forever.

“What’d you say?”

Lenny didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the floor so the only thing he could see was Dad’s stocking feet. Where were the brand new shoes Dad was so proud of? Was he sober enough to put them up after a quick polish, or did he toss them off his feet, one behind the bed, the other in the hamper?

“Gimme back the Slugger then,” Dad said. He held out his hand. Lenny hugged the bat.

“Don’t torture the boy,” Mom said. “Just get out.”

“You’re right. I’m no Indian giver.” Dad leaned down so his face was level with Lenny’s. Lenny saw how his head bobbed, up and down, up and down. Lenny could tap him once and down he’d come.

“You enjoy that bat son. Too bad I won’t be here to have a game with you.”

Nell rushed into the room. “I called. Police are coming.”

Dad threw up his hands. “Great! Respectable salesman gets thrown out of his house after a long stint on the road. That’s rich.”

He stumbled past them in his stocking feet, wearing his T-shirt and wrinkled trousers. He stopped in front of Nell and held out his hand. She hesitated before taking it.

“Have a nice life, young lady,” he said, as he pumped her hand once hard. He grabbed the suitcase that sat unopened by the bedroom door, and bumped his way through the kitchen.

“I know when I’m not wanted,” they heard him mutter. “Sweet dreams, loved ones!”

The door slammed.

“Bye Dad,” Lenny said, but Mom was hugging his head and his words were mushed into her stomach.

They listened, not moving, as the car revved up and peeled out.

“It’s okay,” Mom said, over and over. She pulled a housecoat over her dress and went to wait by the front door. When the officer arrived, she sent him away. Next, she pulled some tools out of the junk drawer and unscrewed a seat from one of the kitchen chairs. She hammered nails through the screw holes in the seat into the wood around the window, covering the hole where the window had been. It didn’t cover it completely, but enough to keep a hand from reaching in.

Lenny and Nell stood watching her. They looked at each other once but it was no good. It made Lenny go all crumbly. He bit the inside of his cheek and rubbed the warm wood of his bat. The part where Dad first handed him the Slugger kept playing in his head. How could things be so good, and go so bad? How could he get that moment back?

When Mom finished, she disappeared down the hall and came back carrying Sally over her shoulder.

“What’d you wake her up for?” Lenny asked.

“Come here,” Mom said. She turned on the living room light and sat on the sofa, gathering all of them to her.

“You kids are all I’ve got.”

And there they sat, waiting. For what, Lenny couldn’t say.

He tried to tell himself that he’d saved his mom. But all he could think of was the way Nell had acted when the glass went into Mom’s foot. Why should she be able to move so fast, when he barely had time to take a breath? Barely had time to stop noticing how Mom’s blood flung itself across the kitchen onto the potato bin—how could blood travel so far?—and here was Nell, already mopping it up. But he’d done something she couldn’t. How would she like to swing a bat and hit another person? How would she like to stand up to Dad? Or live knowing she was the one who made him leave? Dad had asked if Lenny could stand living here with all these girls. What could he stand? He could stand on his head. He could stand a boiled egg on end. He could even stand a raw egg on end with a little salt. He could stand up for Jesus, the way he was taught in Sunday School. Could he stand living all alone? Or live standing on a stone? He nearly giggled like a girl. They were rubbing off on him already.

He could see the clock and when midnight came he was still awake. This was the real nightmare, this sitting. And knowing.
Come back Dad!
He felt like crying, but he’d already had his one good cry, so he was done. He was eight years old now. The man of the house.

It was a warm spring afternoon near the end of Lenny’s senior year. Lenny was walking home swinging his Slugger, feeling mighty fine after a 9-2 win over the Reese Puffer Spartans. It was fucking hi-
larious
the way their third baseman thought he could read Lenny’s windups. The sucker squared up for a line drive and Lenny dropped in the slider to win the game. Ding dong. And that was in addition to the triple he scored.

He sure wished people would call him Slugger. What’d a person have to do to get a nickname around here? He was just
too
talented, that was the problem. If all he did was hit in the runs, then he’d be Slugger. But he was the best pitcher the Holland High Flying Dutchmen had seen in years, too. Not a bad problem to have, considering. He was smiling over this when he ran into a girl from school named Rhoda Raymond. She was sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, her dirty bare legs blocking Lenny’s path.

“Can you stop a minute Lenny?” Rhoda mumbled. She didn’t look up.

“You talking to me?” Rhoda was three years younger than him, the same age as his little sister Sally. He barely knew her.

“‘Course I’m talking to you. You see anyone else around?”

She was bold. Didn’t she know? He was the pitcher of the varsity team. And who was she? Nobody.

“What do you want?”

“Sit down here a minute.”

“I’m in my uniform, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m on the baseball team.”

“It’s already dirty, so what’s the big deal?”

“I’m not sitting on the sidewalk! Stand up if you have something to say.”

Rhoda got to her feet so laboriously Lenny was sorry he’d asked.

“I’ve got something to tell you,” she said, pushing her long brown bangs out of her eyes.

“What would that be?” he asked cautiously.
God, she’s got a crush on me.
Of course he’d attract some slow-witted oddball like Rhoda. Why couldn’t it be one of the pom-pom girls stopping him in the street? He always thought he might snag himself a cheerleader if they had a squad for the baseball team. Why did the football jocks get all the fun?

“I saw your daddy,” Rhoda said.

It took a second to register.
Your daddy.
Those were words that didn’t come his way too often. Besides, only a baby talked like that.

“What do you mean?”

“Your daddy was at my house.”

Lenny shook his head. “My dad doesn’t live around here,” he said. But he had no idea where his dad lived. What if after all these years it turned out he was here all along? What if he watched Lenny play ball? What if he was there today, at the game? Wouldn’t he be impressed! Lenny felt a rush of excitement before he remembered. Oh
right
. This is real life. Not la-la land.

“Maybe he was visiting,” Rhoda said.

“Visiting who? Your mother?” The hair on Lenny’s neck pricked up. Rhoda’s mother was a loose woman. Everyone said so. She and Rhoda lived alone in a shack next to the blueberry fields. She was known to go with the Mexican migrant workers who came to pick the berries. Surely his dad couldn’t sink that low.

Lenny’s dad had always been a salesman. Maybe he happened by Rhoda’s house trying to sell a set of steak knives, or encyclopedias, or a vacuum cleaner, or television set. The possibilities were endless. But what kind of salesman would bother stopping at those shit hole shacks out there?

“I walked in on them,” Rhoda said. “I get these headaches, see, and I’ve got a note to go home whenever I get one. I went in and they were naked on the couch. My mama screamed at me to get out.”

Lenny scoffed. “No offense, but my dad isn’t Mexican. He’s not your mom’s type.”

She shrugged. “So you say.”

There was something about her face. It had a blank, open look. An honest face, you might call it. Or stupid.

“How would you know my dad, anyway? Heck, I wouldn’t know him if he bit me in the ass.”

That was a lie, but he was trying to make a joke of it. Goddamn it, didn’t she know he was giving her an out, a chance to say, you’re right, I don’t know your father from Adam? Rhoda just went on looking at him, but now her chin was going all quavery. One look at that chin and his hope that this was a joke went out the window.

“Go on home, you crybaby.” He gave her a little shove with one arm, not hard, but insistent. His heart was pounding. Could it be? After ten years, could he really be back?

“I thought you’d care,” she sniffed.

“Are you retarded or something? I told you, my dad doesn’t live around here. You didn’t see him at your house. Got it?” Lenny stepped around her and started walking away. He had to remember who he was talking to, Rhoda roach-head Raymond, queen of the lowlifes.

“My mama came out looking for me in the field. She told me he was an old friend. They went to grade school together, she said. Told me his name was Richard Van Sloeten.”

Lenny stopped and looked back at her, taking in her dirt-streaked legs, a crusty scab on her knee, the pitiful look on her face. Why would she say such a thing about her own mother? He got a sinking feeling. The way she looked at him was like she wanted a buddy. Like they shared something. A sickening, sleazy common bond, but a bond all the same. Except that he wasn’t like her and never would be.

“Why are you telling me?”

“He’s around a lot now. Either at my house or at the Torchlight saloon. Thought you might want to know.”

“I don’t. In fact, if I hear that you’re spreading this horseshit around, I’ll pound you good.”

Rhoda wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I don’t like him. I don’t like you neither. You’re just as mean as he is.”

“Get lost!”

Rhoda turned and walked away, her long tangled hair falling down her back. Lenny watched her go. She moved so slowly he wished he could whip at the back of her legs with a stick or a wet towel to get her moving. He’d like to tip her like a cow. He considered chasing her. Instead he yelled “Hey Rhoda!” He meant to flip her off, or raise his bat threateningly over his head. But as she stood looking at him, so patient, so beaten down, he couldn’t do it. She waited, finally tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

Forcing nonchalance, Lenny asked, “Was he drunk? I mean, was this guy drunk?”

Rhoda shrugged her shoulders. “Suppose so.” She looked hopeful for a moment. “Wanna come home with me? Maybe he’ll be there.”

“What’d I just tell you? What are you, crazy?”

She shrugged again. “Just scared,” she said, looking straight at him, with no embarrassment. Lenny was stunned. To admit out loud like that, to a near stranger, that you’re afraid, well, Lenny had never seen that done before. He was a little impressed. Still, she was nothing but white trash. He dropped his eyes and she walked away.

So the bastard was back. So what? It was no concern of his. He’d long since given up on the babyish idea that his dad would show up saying
I’ve missed you
. That he would have some spectacular reason for not coming sooner.
Son, I’m dying. I wanted to spare you seeing me like this. But I couldn’t stay away. Not a moment longer.
Or he’d make a gentle reference to the bad scene that had played out that last day.
I couldn’t come back until I had something to offer you. Something worthy to make up for what I put you through.
He’d hand over the keys to a brand new car.
It took me ten years but I finally saved enough to buy you this car. I love you, son
.

Okay, so maybe Lenny had stayed in the room a few times when Nell was watching her soap opera. He knew how it sounded. Like bullshit. His dad was still a drunk, screwing white trash. Nothing had changed.