Hello Loved Ones (5 page)

“Mom!” whined Nell. “I just re-potted that!”

“One of you kids open the door,” he said. He pressed his forehead against the glass so his skin looked like a piece of stretched-out Silly Putty. “Lenny. Come on, son. I came home just to see you.”

Lenny started forward, forgetting the spilled pop and broken glass. They could have a real ball game tomorrow. He’d invite Willie and Mark, and the new kid from down the street.

“Don’t you move!” his mother said. Lenny stopped. “I told your father I was going to start locking it.” She looked toward the patch of skin on the window. “And I said no more drinking.”

Dad’s eyes floated up, looking watery and unreal. “Please,” he said. “It’s nearly nine. I want to listen to Cronkite.”

“You want a newsflash? You’re not getting in this house, not now, not ever. This is the last straw.”

“It’s past nine anyway,” Nell said. There was silence. Dad’s face disappeared. They waited.

Then he spoke, his voice in a sing-song. “I’ve got chicken cutlets.”

“Mmm. Yummy.” Sally clapped her hands together.

“What happened to sloppy joes?” Lenny asked, disappointed that Dad had forgotten. If he forgot that then he probably forgot about the bat he’d given him. He probably had no intention of playing ball with him tomorrow. The fact that Lenny was turning eight might have slipped his mind, too. Most likely he didn’t even remember he had a son. Lenny who?

“Get back to your rooms, all of you,” Mom said. “I’ll clean this pop up myself.”

But they didn’t go. They watched the window. They heard the door creak as Dad shifted his weight against it.

“
Let. Me. In
,” Dad said, angry now.

With a sigh Mom went to the door, but only to pull the curtain shut. Just then Dad said “Dammit!” and rapped his fist hard on the window, breaking it. A shard of glass, thin and pointy as an icicle, fell onto Mom’s bare foot and stuck there, straight up. Blood squirted with remarkable force, spraying a fan of red specks across the floor and wall. She cried out. So did Lenny and Sally, but not Nell.

“Hit a vein,” Nell said. She rushed to Mom, kneeling over her foot. The blood pulsed out again before Nell pulled the glass out and pushed her thumb over the cut.

“Throw a rag over, Lenny,” she said, but Lenny was afraid to move. Now there was more glass on the floor, plus the blood and purple soda pop. Mom leaned back heavily on the counter.

“Lenny!” Nell said.

He took a giant step to the sink, grabbed a rag, and turned to throw it. Dad was already reaching through the broken window and fumbling open the lock. He staggered in and grabbed Mom’s arm.

“Damn you Prudy,” he said, pressing his thumb into her arm until her mouth opened in a silent gasp.
Oh no.
It was a mean drunk. Please, not a mean one. If only Lenny had known! But the mean ones hardly ever happened. Lenny could only remember two, maybe three times before when Dad had come home and gone sulking straight into the bedroom. Then the shouting would begin, but it was always hidden away, and Lenny could run out back and throw the tennis ball against the garage if it was daytime, or put his pillow over his head and his transistor radio, full static, against his ear if it was at night.

“Lenny! Give that here,” demanded Nell, because Lenny still held tight to the rag. He felt slow and clumsy. Not like Nell, who looked steady and calm. She even seemed unaware of Dad right behind her, his nails digging into Mom’s arm. Did she realize Dad was on a mean one? How could she not notice the loose cuffs of his shirt, or the dirt caked on his shoes, or his smell? Lenny tossed the rag into Nell’s hand. Maybe he was overreacting. But there was glass everywhere, by the icebox, by the door, and blood and grape soda and who would take care of cleaning this up? Lenny pushed Sally into the living room, away from the mess, and opened the hall closet to get the broom. Before he could get it there was Nell, already grabbing it, so there was nothing for Lenny to do but watch as his mother eased herself into a chair and Nell started to sweep.

“Where’d you go, Dad?” Lenny asked. He wanted to distract him so he’d let go of Mom’s arm. It worked. Dad groaned as he scraped a chair back and sat down heavily.

“Had some business. Unexpected stuff. You understand.”

“You kids get back to bed,” Mom said, holding the rag to her foot. There was a perfect circle of red where the blood had soaked through.

“Need a Band-Aid, Mommy?” Sally asked, her voice wavering tearfully.

“Thanks honey, but we don’t have any. I’ll be fine.”

“Are we going to eat?” she asked, pointing to the cutlets.

“We had our supper,” Mom said.

“Mayonnaise sandwiches. Yuck. I’m still hungry.”

“Fry up this chicken then,” said Dad, throwing the butcher’s package on the table. “We may as well eat again. It’s Lenny’s birthday, after all.”

“Tomorrow,” Lenny said, but no one listened.

Mom’s eyes were narrow and mean. “I’m not cooking.”

Lenny held his breath but Dad only sighed and rubbed his face. Maybe it wasn’t a mean drunk, after all. Dad just seemed tired.

“Cook the chicken,” he said. Reasonable-like.

“I could eat a decent supper,” Lenny said quickly. It didn’t feel right, expecting Mom to cook with her foot hurt, but she must know that he was asking for
her
, for all of them. If Dad
was
in a mean mood, the best thing was to act as normal as possible.

“I’m going to bed.” Mom started to get up.

“Yeah. It’s bedtime, not suppertime,” Nell said.

But they could pretend. “Hey, we could find some candles,” Lenny said. “Make like a midnight birthday celebration.”

“You better put something over that window,” Mom said, standing.

“Sit down,” Dad said, still friendly sounding.

Mom walked out.

“Prudy, get back here!” Dad yelled, his face reddening. “And cook the goddamn chicken!”

“Cook it yourself!”

“Prudy! Get the
fuck
in here!”

Mom reappeared. “Watch your mouth,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “You come tooling up with those expensive shoes and act like we should all be happy to see you. You’re nothing but an overgrown child, and I’ve got enough children to take care of.”

Dad shoved the chicken on the floor. “I paid good money for this! I put this roof over your heads, and if I want a pair of new shoes, which, by the way, were
on sale
, and which I need for my
profession
, then…”

“Oh, save it.” She disappeared down the hall. Dad jumped to his feet and went after her. They heard the bedroom door slam.

“You dumb head,” Lenny said to Nell.

“Shut up and help me.” Nell dropped to her knees and started wiping up the blood.

The sight of it made Lenny sick. “I’ll put Sally in bed,” he said.

“There’s lots of it,” Sally said, staring. Lenny had to take her hand and pull her down the hall. They passed their parents’ closed door and Lenny heard the sound of drawers being slammed.

“You’re not afraid of blood, are you?” he asked.

“Are you?” Sally said.

“Naw. It’s messy, that’s all.” He put her in bed and threw her baby quilt over her, the one with silly looking cows all over it. Snoring, sleepy cows with long curling eyelashes and the words
dream a little dream
.

“I don’t like messy things,” she said.

“Then why are you always playing in the mud?”

“That’s different. That’s brown.”

Lenny nodded as if it made perfect sense. “Go to sleep.”

She shook her head. “Too loud.”

He went to his room and grabbed his transistor radio. He hated to wear down the batteries, but he brought it to Sally’s room and laid it on her pillow. She grabbed it earnestly and put it to her ear.

Lenny went back to his room and picked up his Slugger. He sat on his bed listening. He could hear Dad’s voice. Something something
don’t you
something
if you ever
. Then his mom, loud.
Stay. Away. From. Me.
There was a flurry of noise and a snarling, achy cry, like a cat being thrown against a wall. Lenny stood up. Why didn’t Dad stop? Mom was already hurt. That blood, and the way it shot out of her foot. He’d never seen that before. She’d probably have to have a tetanus shot. Or was that only when you stepped on a nail? What if her foot got full of gangrene and had to be amputated? Then she’d be in a wheelchair and Lenny would spend the rest of his life pushing her around. He’d have to, since all this was his fault. He should have said something,
anything
, to make Dad go away. Make him go sleep it off, just like Mom said. Except Lenny didn’t want him to go away.

He went to the doorway. Nell was standing in the hall, the broom in her hand. They looked at each other.

“It’s her own fault,” Lenny whispered. He didn’t mean it. Mom did her best to provide for them, working 10 hours a day at the factory, taking in laundry from the rich folks who lived on Lake Macatawa, plus showing up at church for every single service, singing “I’ve Got a Mansion Just Over the Hilltop” in her clear, unfaltering way. All this, while Lenny tormented his sisters, threw spitballs at girls in school, never knew his Bible verses, and even stole bubble gum from the downtown Woolworth’s. If anyone deserved punishment, it was Lenny. Come on, hit
me
! he wanted to yell at his father. But Dad never hit them, only Mom.

“What are we going to do?” Nell asked. It scared him, hearing that. She was always the one taking charge.

“He’ll probably pass out soon,” Lenny said.

Then they heard it. A sickening thud, like a body hitting a wall. The bed creaking. A muffled cry.
Help
. Mom calling for help.

“Do something!” Nell said. “Make him stop!”

“
You
do something!”

“No, you. He likes you.”

Lenny felt a rush of pleasure. Dad liked him. So couldn’t Lenny just open the door,
hey Dad, what’s up?
Couldn’t he say something a man might say, like
we got ourselves a big day tomorrow, breaking in the new bat and all. How about getting some sleep?

He still had his bat in his hand. He could carry it in, just to show Dad, just to remind him of their plans tomorrow. And if Dad didn’t listen, if he didn’t stop whatever it was he was doing, then Lenny would have the bat to....well, to what?

“Hurry!” Nell cried.

Lenny lifted the bat. It was heavy, unbelievably heavy. He stepped toward the closed door, tripping over the leg of his pajamas. He hiked them with one hand, and reached for the knob. Nell cowered behind him as he eased open the door. There was Dad, on his knees on the bed, his pants unbuckled. He had one hand on Mom’s throat. She was thrashing, kicking at him. Dad’s hand was raised. There was a bottle of vodka on the dresser.

“Stop, Dad,” Lenny croaked.

Dad turned. His hair, always so neatly slicked back, was flopping over his eyes. “Get out!” he said.

“Lenny,” Mom whispered. Her head was smashed sideways into the pillow. She looked at him with one eye. “Put the bat down.”

“Why’d you have to mention the shoes?” Lenny asked.

“Put the bat down.”

Lenny looked at the bat. He had it in both hands. A good strong grip. Mom thought he was going to use it. Why else would she tell him to put it down? He stepped forward, trying not to notice his dad’s unzipped trousers, the contorted legs of his mom, or the way her dress was bunched up, binding her arms like a straightjacket. Dad’s hand came down across his mom’s face.

“Shut up!” Dad leaned over, grabbed the table lamp and flung it against the wall above the bed.

Nell screamed and Mom let out a long wail as pieces of the lamp fell down around her.

“Look what you made me do! You think I like this?” He pushed on Mom’s throat. “Huh?
Do
you? You think I want my kids seeing this?”

Nell was sobbing, “Stop! Please stop!”

She pushed Lenny hard and he raised the bat. He had to do something. Mom couldn’t breath. He started to cry, and then he swung. It was more like a practice swing than a bases loaded, full count kind of swing. It was more of a poke. The bat landed in the soft part of his father’s side, just between the ribs and the hip, so there was not the crack Lenny feared. It sounded quiet, dull.

His dad fell sideways off the bed, landing on his rear end on the floor. He looked up, surprised. Mom scrambled off the bed.

“Jesus Christ!” Dad stared at Lenny, dazed. “You’ve been practicing your swing. I didn’t mean on
me.
”

“Why are you doing that?” Lenny asked. He tensed, ready to run if Dad came after him, but Dad only struggled to his hands and knees. He seemed unable to go any farther.