Evolution (11 page)

“You’ve told lies about that boy.
I know you’re capable of it. I’ve turned a blind eye to the way you’ve treated him, but no more. Do you hear me?”

Instead, she retrieved her cane, rose to her feet, tossed the magazine onto the coffee table, and shuffled out of the room.
Richard watched her go; he didn’t try to stop her.

A gnarled hand touched his arm.
“If she won’t do it, I’ll apologize for her. Do you think I should go up there now?”

“Thank you, but no.
Not now.” The back of his throat constricted, and the hand on his arm tightened slightly. “I’ve failed him. Dammit, Grandfather, I’ve failed.”

#

Ten minutes later, Richard was back in the kitchen. Doris was gone, but Curtis still sat at the table, his dinner dishes no longer in sight.

Richard retrieved his coat from the back of the chair.

“Everything all right now, sir?”

Richard shook his head. “I let things go too far. Part of me says I need to get Jeff out of this house, but I know if I do he’ll have even less structure than he has now. I don’t want to make things worse; as if that’s possible.” He shrugged into his coat. “I’d appreciate it if you looked out for him. I’d be willing to make it worth your while.”

Curtis shook his head.
“No, sir. I can’t take your money. If I’d’a been paying closer attention, I’d’a found some way to tell you the boy was in trouble. I feels responsible, sir.”

Richard shook his head.
“He’s
my
responsibility.” He glanced toward the darkened hallway and the staircase beyond. “It’s just ... I wasn’t expecting it to be so damned labor intensive. I made the commitment to the hospital before I knew I’d have to be responsible for Jeff. I can’t abandon either of them, and it seems like both are suffering. Curtis, I don’t know what to do.”

“It be okay, Mr. Richard,” the old man said, patting his arm paternally.
“You go back to work now. I’ll think of something.”

With no solution at hand, Richard could only nod.

#

Curtis climbed the stairs, his rheumatism causing his knees to creak in protest.
He shuffled down the hallway and paused at the far door on the left side of the hall. He knocked twice. No answer. He knocked again.

“I told you to go away,” came Jeff’s angry voice.
The door was yanked open, and he stared, blinking up at Curtis. “Oh, sorry.”

“Get yer coat, boy.
I’m taking you to MacDonalds.”

#

The snowy night made for a sparse crowd at the Williamsville McDonalds. The night crew had already blocked off a good portion of the seating area where they’d swabbed tables and mopped the floor.

“Sit,” Curtis ordered, and Jeff plunked down at the first available table.
This was stupid. He wasn’t hungry and he wasn’t going to eat. Richard had put Curtis up to bringing him here—bribed him, probably. The Alperts always tried to buy their way out of situations. Not that Jeff had ever seen any of them do it, but wealthy people were all the same. Eager to crush the little guy. And Richard, being at least eight inches taller than Jeff, definitely qualified as big.

Curtis arrived with a brown plastic tray, but the only things on it were two Styrofoam cups.
Curtis sat down, passing one of the cups to Jeff, taking the other for himself. He unzipped his coat and took off his knit cap, setting it on the table. “I always like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter’s night.”

“It’s almost spring,” Jeff said.

“Maybe by the calendar—but Mother Nature don’t go by man-made deadlines.” He removed the plastic cover from his cup. The steam curled upward.

Jeff stared at his own cup.
Hot chocolate wasn’t food, but Curtis was employed by the Alperts—that meant it was their money that paid for the cocoa. He pushed the drink aside.

Curtis paid him no attention and picked up his cup, blowing on it to cool it.
“This here ain’t the best hot chocolate, but it ain’t too bad, either.” He took a small sip. “Ahh, good. Try some.”

Jeff shook his head.

“I know what you’re thinkin’. But the money that paid for this came from winning with a straight flush last Saturday night. Pot was worth about forty bucks.”

Jeff looked from Curtis back to the chocolate.
It smelled pretty good. Still.... “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

Curtis’s eyes narrowed.
“Got no reason to, Jeffrey.”

Jeff studied the cup for a long moment.
He removed the cap and sniffed at the foamy brown liquid before taking a tentative sip.

It tasted wonderful.

He put it back on the table. He didn’t want to look too eager.

“You know, I think you got a lot of pride.
That ain’t necessarily a bad thing. You don’t want people doin’ for you. You think it makes you look weak.”

Jeff didn’t comment.

“It don’t feel good to be beholding to others. I know that feeling.” Curtis took another sip of cocoa.

“So what would you do?
I gotta live there. Richard’s got papers that say so.”

Curtis shrugged, held his cup up to eye level and examined it before taking another swig.
“I’d get me a job, then I could pay my own way.”

Jeff snorted.
“I’m not even sixteen. Who’d hire me?”

“My friend Joe Miller has a car wash up on Main Street.
He’s looking for a rag boy.”

“Rag boy?”

“Yeah. Someone who’ll dry off the windshields and wet spots after the cars come out of the dryer.”

“Don’t you have to be sixteen to get a job?”

“Not if you get a parent or guardian to sign your working papers.”

Jeff shook his head.
“Richard would never sign.”

“He might if someone could convince him they were going to try to eat again.”

“Did he tell you—?”

Curtis shook his head.
“I been around the block a few times, boy. Not much gets by me.”

Jeff huddled into his jacket, his voice small.
“I want to eat. I just ... lost interest.”

“You got to start out small. Like drinking a cup of hot chocolate.”
Curtis took a deep swallow. “Better with whipped cream from a can.”

Jeff nodded and took another sip of cocoa.
It did taste okay. More than that, it tasted good. Really good! He allowed himself a deeper swallow. “How much does a rag boy make?”

“Minimum wage.
But lots’a people tip. It’s the tips that make the job worth doing, especially this time a year. People feel sorry seeing a boy working in the cold and wet.”

“When do you think I could start?”

“Why don’t we go visit Joe and you ask him?”

#

“A job? What are you, crazy?” Richard cringed at the sharpness in his tone. It was close to eleven o’clock on a school night as he looked around the crowded Emergency waiting room to see if the people in chairs were all staring at him.

Jeff looked from Richard to Curtis.
“I
told
you,” he muttered.

“Why don’t we all sit down and talk about this,” Curtis said, but despite the hour there weren’t three empty chairs in one spot.

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” Richard asked.

“No,” Jeff said, belligerently.
“You always make me wait. Not this time. Why? Why can’t I get a job?”

Richard shook his head.
“Not here. Come on,” he said, and led them to a side corridor. They followed him down it to a small conference room. He switched on the light and ushered them into the uncomfortable office chairs. Jeff slumped, looking lost in the winter jacket that was miles too big for him, arms crossed across his thin chest, his expression defiant.

“I’ve got ten minutes,” Richard started.
“That’s all, to explain to you why—”

“You just can’t stand to see me do something I want to do for a change.”

“Working in a car wash? Why in hell would you want to do that?”

“Because I don’t want to be beholding to you all the time.”

Richard sighed and tried to regain his temper. “Jeff, you haven’t got the stamina. Maybe in a couple of months—”

“No, now!”

“No!” Richard answered with equal force.

Jeff turned to Curtis.
“I told you he wouldn’t sign for me. Well, I don’t need his signature. I’ll forge it.”

“And then we’d both be in trouble.
Your principal already hinted that she can have a social worker check up on us because I didn’t know what’s going on with you. Is that what you want? To be put in a foster home?”

“Can they do that?” Curtis asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t care about me.
You never have,” Jeff accused.

His words hit a little too close to home.
“I’m not the one who passed out twice in gym class and didn’t tell about it,” Richard countered.

“Now, now, now,” Curtis said, hands held out to placate.
“There’s gots to be a compromise here.”

Richard shook his head.
“No, there’s no compromising when it comes to Jeff’s health.”

“What would it take for you to sign those papers?” Curtis asked.

“For one thing,” Richard began, pointing his right index finger practically in Jeff’s face. “He’d have to start eating again.”

“He says he’ll do that.”

“Oh, yeah?” Richard countered, sizing the kid up. “I can’t just take his word because I can’t be with him day in and day out to check up on him.” He turned, speaking to the kid. “If you want a job this bad, you’re going to have to work for it. You show me you’re eating by gaining weight, and then we’ll talk about it.”

“How much?”

“Weight?”

Jeff nodded.

Richard sighed.
“Five pounds. You gain five pounds, and then we’ll talk about it.”

“By the time I gain that much weight, I’ll already be sixteen.”

“And then you won’t need my signature. But nobody’s going to hire you if they think you’re going to keel over and get hurt.
You get hurt, they get sued, and goddamn it, if that happens I’d take them to the cleaners. I’ve got my own money, and I’ve got Grandfather’s law firm behind me, and they’re the best in the city.”

Worry etched deeply into Curtis’s face.
He turned to Jeff. “He’s right, boy. We can’t let Joe Miller get sued if you got hurt.”

“I’d be wiping down wet cars?
How can I possibly get hurt?”

It was Richard’s turn to fold his arms across his chest.
“Five pounds. You’ve lost at least twelve. I’m not even asking you to gain back half of it. That’s my compromise. Take it or leave it.”

He’d effectively boxed the kid into a corner.

“Okay,” Jeff said grudgingly.

“And you can’t gain the weight by just eating junk food. You have to eat real food. Healthy stuff, or the deal’s off.”

“I will not eat
their
food.”

No need to ask who
they
were.

“I’m not asking you to.
I will buy your food. This is money I earned. It’s not from a trust fund that came from them; it’s what I earn working here at the hospital.”

Jeff crossed his arms over his chest once again.
“No deal.”

“Then it’s a real Catch-22, isn’t it?
Where are you going to get money to buy the food you need to get a job so you don’t have to depend on me or anybody else?”

“You told me last year that my mom left me some money.”

“Yeah, a hundred and forty seven bucks. Are you sure this is how you want to spend it?”

Jeff thought it over for a few moments.
“Yes.”

It was just one more rejection for Richard.
But then, didn’t he deserve it? “Okay. I’ll give you the money tomorrow after my shift.” Then he had an idea on how to check up on the kid. “Maybe you’d like to take me out to dinner.”

Jeff looked defiant. “I could do that.”

“Fine.” Richard turned for the corridor. “I’ll see you tomorrow at five. But first, you’ve got to weigh in. There’s a scale in the ER. Get your butt off that chair and let’s go.”

#

Richard skidded the little lead weight across the scale’s sectioned bar and watched the balance lever bob up and down before it finally settled on a number.

“That’s it.
Five and one half pounds in three weeks. High Five!” he called, and Jeff raised a jubilant hand to smack his—hard.

Jeff stepped off the scale, grabbed his jacket and pulled out the working papers and a pen.
“Now pay up,” he said, shoving them toward Richard.

He had already read them, so putting his John Hancock on the dotted line was a no-brainer.
Yet, he felt a twinge of sadness. He’d enjoyed the times the kid had come to the hospital to be weighed. Afterwards, they’d usually gone to the cafeteria where Richard had downed a cup of hospital swill and the kid ate a fruit cup. Healthy food, as he pointed out to Richard. Now those times would come to an end.