Dangerous Boys
Page 8
I quickly dressed, and strode down the hall to Mom’s room.
‘Good morning!’ My voice sounded bright and metallically cheerful. I yanked back the curtains and pulled the covers from her sleeping body. ‘Time to get up!’
Mom squinted against the light, cringing back. ‘I’m just going to sleep a little more . . . ’ she murmured, but I gritted my teeth.
‘No, Mom, you have to go to work today.’
I turned away from her limp body and focused on easier tasks: finding clean underwear in the dresser, pulling down a skirt and blouse from the closet. I laid them out on the chair, then went into the bathroom to get the shower started: a bright mist of steam and hot water.
‘Come on,’ I said loudly, returning to the bedroom. ‘You’re going to be late.’
Mom slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there a moment. ‘I really don’t feel . . . ’ she whispered softly, hunched over like a reluctant child.
I remembered when I was small, the war Mom would wage trying to get me to kindergarten. I didn’t like having to leave home, the bright foreign classroom, or the crowds of noisy, bawling kids. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t stay playing with my train-set on the living-room floor, and helping Mom with lunch, smearing peanut butter and jelly thickly on to slices of bread. ‘I’ll make you a special breakfast,’ Mom would coo, steering me out of bed in the morning. ‘And you can wear your favourite red socks.’
Now, I tried to fix that same beseeching smile on my face. ‘A shower will feel good, won’t it?’ I took Mom’s hand and led her to the bathroom. ‘Use some of that rose body wash, it smells great. And I’ll make eggs for us, with cheese, the way you like.’
Mom wavered in the doorway.
‘And some coffee,’ I added, desperate. ‘By the time you come downstairs, I’ll have everything ready.’
Mom turned to me and, for a terrible moment, I thought I’d lost. That there was nothing to drag her out of the listless slump, no matter what I promised. Then Mom’s face creased with the ghost of a smile. ‘A shower would be nice,’ she said slowly, as if every word was an effort. ‘And maybe some toast.’
‘Whatever you want,’ I told her, eager. ‘Just ask.’
When Mom finally came downstairs, I could have wept with relief. She was back. She wore the simple blouse and skirt, her wet hair pulled back in a braid, panty-hose and pumps on her feet. With makeup, she looked normal: colour in her cheeks, mascara and lipstick. Her eyes still flickered around the room, uncertain, but, looking at her, I would never have guessed the truth.
Hope rose in my chest, a flutter, winged and ready to take flight. Mom would be OK now. She just needed to snap out of it, to get back to her normal routine.
‘Eggs!’ I declared, shovelling half the pan on to a plate. I pushed it in front of her with a fork and some buttered toast. ‘They’re not as good as yours, but I did my best.’
‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ Mom blinked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. She went to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. ‘I don’t know if I have time though, I need to be in by nine.’
‘I’ll make it a sandwich,’ I said quickly, pulling the plate back. ‘So you can take it with you. Remember, you used to do that for me?’
Mom smiled. ‘Of course I remember. You would insist on taking every last bite with you, you didn’t want to waste a thing. I blame that fourth-grade teacher of yours, what was her name? She made you watch that documentary on famines in Africa, and you came home crying. What was she thinking?’
It was the longest sentence she’d spoken in weeks.
I watched her move around the kitchen, finding her purse and keys, and pouring another dash of coffee into a travel thermos. Her movements were slow, but deliberate, as if her body was remembering what it meant to stretch and move.
But she was moving. That was something, it had to be.
Mom turned back to me. ‘Are you going to wrap that? I have to run.’
I blinked back to life. ‘Yes, here.’ I quickly assembled the breakfast sandwich and wrapped it in foil. ‘Have a good day!’
‘You too, sweetheart.’ Mom darted back and kissed me on the forehead. ‘Ride safe.’
It was a perfect fall day, blue-skied and crisp. I didn’t have time for my usual morning run, so I dressed in my favourite striped knitted sweater and rode the long way into work, pumping hard on the pedals, swooping through the outskirts of the neighbourhoods, feeling the stretch in my limbs and the burst of chilled air in my lungs.
I felt free again, the dark weight of the past few months lifting as the blocks melted behind me in a fast blur of red and gold and olive green. Relief beat through me with every heartbeat, a mantra I could cling to.
Mom was OK. We were going to be OK.
My flight was already booked. I had an email from my roommate, a science major from New Jersey, and a catalogue full of freshman classes I’d marked down to take. We were closer now, I was closer.
We were going to be OK.
At the diner, I hummed along with the jukebox, helping Loretta to open up. I lifted the chairs down from the tops of the tables and set them right with a clatter, and the two of us fell into our regular rhythm, setting out pastries fresh-delivered, filling pitchers with iced water and restocking the napkin dispensers.
‘You look happy,’ Loretta noted, giving me a knowing smile. ‘I’ll bet it has something to do with that boy.’
‘No,’ I protested, straightening up. ‘I’m just in a good mood, that’s all.’
‘Mmmhmm,’ Loretta smirked. Her dark eyes were full of laughter as she pointed her index finger at me and wagged. ‘Don’t think I haven’t seen him in here, every day like clockwork. You know he asked me for your shifts.’
I stopped. ‘He did?’
‘Wanted to know when you worked, so he’d be sure he didn’t miss you.’ Loretta paused to select a cherry Danish and take a bite. ‘He’s sweet on you, that’s for sure.’
‘It’s nothing,’ I shrugged off her comments, but even as I was wiping down the counter, my phone buzzed with a new text.
Had a great time last night. C u at lunch. xo
Ethan.
He’d been tracking my movements. He’d asked about my schedule.
I wondered what to reply, but soon the diner was buzzing with the steady stream of morning regulars and the text was forgotten. I served and wiped and poured all morning, until the crowd thinned and I could take up my usual spot behind the counter, slipping into daydreams of the life waiting for me, just a few more days away.
‘Good morning!’ My voice sounded bright and metallically cheerful. I yanked back the curtains and pulled the covers from her sleeping body. ‘Time to get up!’
Mom squinted against the light, cringing back. ‘I’m just going to sleep a little more . . . ’ she murmured, but I gritted my teeth.
‘No, Mom, you have to go to work today.’
I turned away from her limp body and focused on easier tasks: finding clean underwear in the dresser, pulling down a skirt and blouse from the closet. I laid them out on the chair, then went into the bathroom to get the shower started: a bright mist of steam and hot water.
‘Come on,’ I said loudly, returning to the bedroom. ‘You’re going to be late.’
Mom slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there a moment. ‘I really don’t feel . . . ’ she whispered softly, hunched over like a reluctant child.
I remembered when I was small, the war Mom would wage trying to get me to kindergarten. I didn’t like having to leave home, the bright foreign classroom, or the crowds of noisy, bawling kids. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t stay playing with my train-set on the living-room floor, and helping Mom with lunch, smearing peanut butter and jelly thickly on to slices of bread. ‘I’ll make you a special breakfast,’ Mom would coo, steering me out of bed in the morning. ‘And you can wear your favourite red socks.’
Now, I tried to fix that same beseeching smile on my face. ‘A shower will feel good, won’t it?’ I took Mom’s hand and led her to the bathroom. ‘Use some of that rose body wash, it smells great. And I’ll make eggs for us, with cheese, the way you like.’
Mom wavered in the doorway.
‘And some coffee,’ I added, desperate. ‘By the time you come downstairs, I’ll have everything ready.’
Mom turned to me and, for a terrible moment, I thought I’d lost. That there was nothing to drag her out of the listless slump, no matter what I promised. Then Mom’s face creased with the ghost of a smile. ‘A shower would be nice,’ she said slowly, as if every word was an effort. ‘And maybe some toast.’
‘Whatever you want,’ I told her, eager. ‘Just ask.’
When Mom finally came downstairs, I could have wept with relief. She was back. She wore the simple blouse and skirt, her wet hair pulled back in a braid, panty-hose and pumps on her feet. With makeup, she looked normal: colour in her cheeks, mascara and lipstick. Her eyes still flickered around the room, uncertain, but, looking at her, I would never have guessed the truth.
Hope rose in my chest, a flutter, winged and ready to take flight. Mom would be OK now. She just needed to snap out of it, to get back to her normal routine.
‘Eggs!’ I declared, shovelling half the pan on to a plate. I pushed it in front of her with a fork and some buttered toast. ‘They’re not as good as yours, but I did my best.’
‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ Mom blinked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. She went to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. ‘I don’t know if I have time though, I need to be in by nine.’
‘I’ll make it a sandwich,’ I said quickly, pulling the plate back. ‘So you can take it with you. Remember, you used to do that for me?’
Mom smiled. ‘Of course I remember. You would insist on taking every last bite with you, you didn’t want to waste a thing. I blame that fourth-grade teacher of yours, what was her name? She made you watch that documentary on famines in Africa, and you came home crying. What was she thinking?’
It was the longest sentence she’d spoken in weeks.
I watched her move around the kitchen, finding her purse and keys, and pouring another dash of coffee into a travel thermos. Her movements were slow, but deliberate, as if her body was remembering what it meant to stretch and move.
But she was moving. That was something, it had to be.
Mom turned back to me. ‘Are you going to wrap that? I have to run.’
I blinked back to life. ‘Yes, here.’ I quickly assembled the breakfast sandwich and wrapped it in foil. ‘Have a good day!’
‘You too, sweetheart.’ Mom darted back and kissed me on the forehead. ‘Ride safe.’
It was a perfect fall day, blue-skied and crisp. I didn’t have time for my usual morning run, so I dressed in my favourite striped knitted sweater and rode the long way into work, pumping hard on the pedals, swooping through the outskirts of the neighbourhoods, feeling the stretch in my limbs and the burst of chilled air in my lungs.
I felt free again, the dark weight of the past few months lifting as the blocks melted behind me in a fast blur of red and gold and olive green. Relief beat through me with every heartbeat, a mantra I could cling to.
Mom was OK. We were going to be OK.
My flight was already booked. I had an email from my roommate, a science major from New Jersey, and a catalogue full of freshman classes I’d marked down to take. We were closer now, I was closer.
We were going to be OK.
At the diner, I hummed along with the jukebox, helping Loretta to open up. I lifted the chairs down from the tops of the tables and set them right with a clatter, and the two of us fell into our regular rhythm, setting out pastries fresh-delivered, filling pitchers with iced water and restocking the napkin dispensers.
‘You look happy,’ Loretta noted, giving me a knowing smile. ‘I’ll bet it has something to do with that boy.’
‘No,’ I protested, straightening up. ‘I’m just in a good mood, that’s all.’
‘Mmmhmm,’ Loretta smirked. Her dark eyes were full of laughter as she pointed her index finger at me and wagged. ‘Don’t think I haven’t seen him in here, every day like clockwork. You know he asked me for your shifts.’
I stopped. ‘He did?’
‘Wanted to know when you worked, so he’d be sure he didn’t miss you.’ Loretta paused to select a cherry Danish and take a bite. ‘He’s sweet on you, that’s for sure.’
‘It’s nothing,’ I shrugged off her comments, but even as I was wiping down the counter, my phone buzzed with a new text.
Had a great time last night. C u at lunch. xo
Ethan.
He’d been tracking my movements. He’d asked about my schedule.
I wondered what to reply, but soon the diner was buzzing with the steady stream of morning regulars and the text was forgotten. I served and wiped and poured all morning, until the crowd thinned and I could take up my usual spot behind the counter, slipping into daydreams of the life waiting for me, just a few more days away.
