A Death On The Wolf (27 page)

“
You don’t have much left,” I said to Frankie as we finished folding and sorting everything.

Frankie was sitting on the floor across from me folding the last pair of socks. “Yeah,” he said.

“
Are you living here now, Frankie?” my sister asked without looking up from her coloring book.

I could tell Frankie didn’t know what to say, so I answered. “For awhile,” I told her.

“
Baby girl,” Daddy said from the doorway, “it’s past your bedtime. Go brush your teeth and get ready for bed.”

“
Will you read me a story, Daddy?” my sister asked.

“
Yes, if you hurry. Run along, now.”

In a flash my sister was out of the room and Daddy came over and took her place at my desk. “This is a mess, isn’t it?” he said and motioned to the clothes on the floor. “So what’s he got there?”

I gave Daddy a quick inventory: Three undershirts (Frankie wore the sleeveless kind), two pair of underwear, five pair of socks, one pair of jeans, two tee shirts (one red, one green), and his dress shoes. When this was all in a heap on the floor it looked like a lot; once folded and counted, it didn’t. Most of Frankie’s clothes were now a pile of ashes in his front yard.

“
Don’t you think it’s all gonna need washing?” my father asked.

“
It didn’t get dirty,” Frankie said.

“
Smell it,” Daddy said.

I picked up one of the folded tee shirts and held it to my nose. It had the foul smell of that fire. “It smells like smoke,” I said.

“
You might as well take it all in the laundry room to be washed,” Daddy said to me. “And tomorrow, I want you and Frankie to clean out your mother’s sewing room. We’ll make that Frankie’s bedroom.”

“
There’s no bed in there,” I said.

“
I know that. You two just get it cleaned out. I’ll worry about the bed.” The room Daddy was talking about was originally intended to serve as a child’s nursery when this house was built by my grandparents in the 1920s. It had been my mother’s sewing room as long as I could remember, and when she died, it more or less became a catch-all junk room. It had a small closet and was just large enough for a twin bed and maybe Frankie’s dresser.

“
What do you want us to do with all that stuff in there?” I asked.

“
Most of it can be thrown away, but anything you’re unsure of, put it in the living room and I’ll go through it.”

“
Do you think I’m gonna be here long enough to need my own room?” Frankie asked.

Daddy sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Yes, son, I do. When we went to get your clothes and I saw that fire and your things strewn over the front yard, that settled it, and the sheriff agrees with me. Your father needs help, Frankie, and until he gets it, I don’t think you’re safe around him. I’m going to meet with Preston Marks tomorrow to see what I need to do to get legal custody of you.”

“
Oh, man,” Frankie said, but his voice was devoid of any emotion. “Daddy’s never been like this before,” he added. “I mean, he gets drunk almost every night and he hits me sometimes, but he’s never flipped out like this. It’s my fault.”

“
Whoa,” Daddy said, holding up his hand. “What you did yesterday was beyond stupid, but your dad reacting the way he did was not your fault, so just get that out of your head right now. What he did to you last night, and what he did today—that’s his fault. Period. Understand?”

Frankie gave a slight smile. “Yes, sir. Thanks, Mr. Lem. And thanks for letting me stay here.”

“
You’re welcome, son. Let’s get one of the ground rules out of the way while I’m thinking about it: we all work around here, and it’ll be the same for you. I’ll give you five dollars a week allowance, but you’ve got to earn it. I know that’s probably less than what your dad was paying you to work on the dairy farm, but it’s what Nelson gets. Does that sound fair?”

“
Yes, sir,” Frankie said. “More than fair. Daddy never paid me anything.”

I looked at Frankie. “You told me your dad pays you twenty-five dollars a week for working on the farm.”

“
That’s what he told me he was paying me, but he never gives me any money. He always says he’s putting it in the bank for me. I always have to go to Mama when I want some money, and she hardly ever has any except for groceries because that’s all Daddy will give her.”

Now I knew why Frankie never had any money and was always mooching off me and never paying me back.

Daddy pulled out his wallet and handed Frankie and me each a five dollar bill. “This week’s allowance,” he said.

Frankie tried to give his back. “Nelson already gave me ten dollars this morning, Mr. Lem.”

“
That was combat pay,” Daddy said with a wink.

“
Well, I haven’t earned this yet,” Frankie said, still holding the money out to my father.

Daddy stood up. “Yes you have, son,” he said. “You’ve got a good heart, Frankie. Just don’t do anything to make me regret letting you live with us.”

“
I won’t,” Frankie said.

“
Good. And I guess you all need to go clothes shopping tomorrow.” Daddy pointed to the clothes in the floor then looked at me. “Take him to Peterson’s in town, Nelson. We’ve got an account there. You want Charity to go with you?”

“
We can handle it,” I answered.

“
Okay. I’m going and put Sash to bed and then get a shower. You guys need to do the same when I’m done. Somebody in here forgot to put deodorant on this morning.”

I quickly pointed to Frankie because I knew it wasn’t me. He just shot me a cold stare which made Daddy chuckle as he left the room.

“
What do you think your dad meant?” Frankie asked.

“
Maybe he meant you earned it for helping us move your stuff—I don’t know.”

“
No, I’m talking about what he said about me doing something to make him regret letting me live here.”

I stood up and picked up the clothes I’d folded and set them on the bed. “Daddy said you’ve got a good heart. What he didn’t say is that it’s your head that needs some work.”

Frankie got up off the floor and brought his stack of folded clothes over to the bed. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“
It means if you keep doing stupid things like you did yesterday, he’s gonna regret letting you live here.”

“
Oh.”

— — —

The next morning Frankie and I went to Peterson’s department store in town and spent over $50 on clothes for him. We got just the basic stuff: undershirts, underwear, pajamas, socks, some new sneakers, two pair of jeans, two pair of khaki shorts, plus dress slacks and shirt for church. The one item we splurged on was a blue Izod Lacoste polo shirt. I knew Frankie liked my Izod shirts and when I saw him eyeing the Izod display at the store I figured Daddy wouldn’t mind. We also went to the drugstore and got Frankie a toothbrush and other toiletries. When we got back to the house just before lunch, a delivery van from Wheaton’s Furniture and Appliance was in our driveway.

“
Are y’all getting some new furniture?” Frankie asked as I pulled up beside the van.

I set the handbrake and shut off the engine. “Not that I know of,” I replied.

Frankie grabbed the bags from the backseat and we headed for the house. Just as we got to the back porch, the delivery man came out along with Aunt Charity.

“
What’d we get?” I asked my aunt.

“
It’s a bed for Francis,” she replied. “The two of you need to get that room cleaned out before you leave for work, Nelson.”

“
We will,” I said. “Where do you want him to put the bed until we do?”

“
Just have him take it in through the front door and put it in the living room.”

Frankie put the bags from Peterson’s on the back porch and then he and I watched the delivery man pull a long, tall cardboard box from the back of the van. He asked if Frankie and I would carry it in, which we did. Next came the mattress and box springs, which were individually wrapped in heavy plastic. Frankie helped him carry those in.

Aunt Charity had fixed roast beef sandwiches (from leftovers) for lunch and Frankie and I wolfed those down so we could tackle the sewing room and get it converted into his bedroom before I had to leave for work at two o’clock. Daddy had said to throw everything away except what I was unsure of, but once I started going through the boxes and saw Mama’s things, I was sure he’d forgotten some of what was in that room. All those boxes went in the living room for him to go through. The old broken GE vacuum and a bunch of my old toys that were in the closet went in a pile in the backyard to be hauled to the dump, but Aunt Charity intervened and told me to box up the toys for her to take to the Masonic home for kids. Mama’s Singer sewing machine went in the living room. When we finished, between the big box containing the bed, the mattress and box springs, and all the stuff from the sewing room, our living room was nearly impassible.

“
It’s not a very big room,” I said, looking at Frankie’s new bedroom, now spic and span from a top to bottom cleaning.

Frankie had just finished mopping the hardwood floor and was standing there leaning on the mop handle. “It’s not that much smaller than my room at home,” he said.

“
Wait until we get the bed in here and your dresser,” I said.

“
I’m not complaining, man. I still can’t believe your dad is doing all this for me—letting me live here, buying me clothes, a new bed. Who is Preston Marks?”

“
Who?”

“
Preston Marks. Your dad said last night he was going to see Preston Marks about getting custody of me.”

“
Oh. He’s a lawyer. You’ve seen his office in town. It’s right there beside the bank.”

“
So what’s your dad gonna do, sue my dad to get custody of me?”

“
I don’t know how it works,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“
I don’t want my dad to get in trouble.”

I gave Frankie a look of incredulity. “Your dad practically killed you, then he burned all your stuff, and now you don’t want him to get in any trouble? Are you kidding me?” Frankie looked down and I could see I’d hurt him with my cold recitation of the chain of events that had brought us to this point. “I’m sorry,” I said and put my hand on his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“
It’s okay,” he said, his eyes heavy with tears. He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “So what’s that mean if your dad get’s custody of me?”

“
I don’t know. But I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a brother,” I offered. “Guess I’ll find out now.”

Chapter 17

My Brother’s Keeper

I heard the bell ding and looked up to see Daddy’s old Dodge pickup sitting out at the pumps. The Coca-Cola clock hanging over the door to the office said it was five after three, and if my father wasn’t at work, something was up. I had been sweeping up oil-dry in the service bay, so I set the push broom aside and went out there.

“
Where is Frankie?” Daddy asked me as I walked up to the pickup.

“
At the house, I guess. Why?”

Daddy reached over and picked up some papers off the seat and handed them to me. I scanned the legal wording at the top:
In the Chancery Court of Harrison County Mississippi… Second Judicial District…In re Francis John Thompson, Jr.…Ex Parte Emergency Order.

“
What is this?” I asked.

“
It’s an emergency order granting me legal and physical custody of Frankie. Sheriff Posey is supposed to meet me here in a minute and then he’s going and serve this on Frank Thompson.”

“
So does this mean you’re adopting Frankie?” I asked.

Daddy laughed. “No, this is just an order of custody. If Frankie’s dad ever gets his act together, it can be rescinded. I want you to go home and get Frankie and bring him back here. I don’t know how his dad is going to react to this, but if he comes to the house looking for his son, I don’t want Frankie there. I’ve told Charity to take Sachet and Mary Alice shopping and to be at the diner at six. We’ll eat there, so you and Frankie meet us there when you get off work.”

“
If you’re not buying gas, Lem,” Dick yelled from the office door, “get the hell out of here and quit bothering my employee!”

I turned around to look at Dick. He had a big grin on his face. He could see, however, that Daddy wasn’t laughing, so it didn’t last long. Daddy waved him out to the pumps.

“
What’s up?” Dick asked as he stepped up beside me.

“
I need you to let Nelson run home and get Frankie and then I need you to let him stay here out of sight until closing time.”