The Devil's Demeanor (6 page)

Homeroom was
little more than a little manufactured shack on the other side of the parking
lot. As Don took his assigned seat next to Nick, he noticed a girl across the
room, staring at him. She was wearing a purple sweater over a white T-shirt.
Her short black hair was done up in braids with purple burettes.

Don knew who
she was because he paid attention to roll call in the mornings. Her name was
Monica Harris, and he suddenly realized she was the girl who lived behind his
house. Well, not in the backyard, but their backyards connected.

As the homeroom
teacher called the roll, Don repeated the bus number over and over. The last
thing he wanted was to forget which bus would take him home. The driver, a
bitter old man whose name Don didn’t know, was always yelling at the kids.

Don didn’t want
to get on the man’s bad side.

As the day wore
on, Don found himself watching the clock, eagerly anticipating returning home
so he could play with his toys and watch cartoons. He and Nick weren’t allowed
to play too much during the week because it interfered with homework, and
Nick’s mom was pretty strict.

Besides, Don
was grateful for the brief time he had to himself after school. Ethan was in
daycare and Mom didn’t get off of work until five. Maybe Don could even sneak a
soda from the fridge. His mom had forbidden him from drinking more than one a
day, but he doubted she knew how many they had, so one wouldn’t be missed.

When school finally
let out, Don ran out into the bus area, looking for his transportation. What
was the number? As he quickly made his way along the row of yellow buses, he
located one numbered “31” and quickly got on. He was breathing hard as he took
a seat close to the front, wondering why he felt uneasy. He didn’t recognize a
single person, and the driver was a woman. After nearly five minutes, he
realized he was on the wrong bus.

He jumped from
his seat just as the driver began closing the door. He made it out onto the
sidewalk and ran to the front of the row, knowing none of the buses behind him
were 13. The buses near the front started taking off, and he panicked.

Finally, he
located his bus and pounded on the door just as it started to move. The bus
quickly halted and for a moment, the driver stared at him with a look that
could melt ice. Then, he opened the door. Don walked up the steps and stared
back at the driver, who had dark wrinkled skin and bad teeth. White beard
stubble stuck out on his cheeks.

“Take your seat,
damn it!” he shouted in a thick Southern accent, and Don sat next to a boy in
the third row. He already hated the driver and didn’t like sitting that close
to him, but it couldn’t be helped—all the other seats were taken.

Gazing out the
window as they left the school parking lot calmed Don a bit; the scenery was
beautiful. The bus turned left onto Windsor Meadow Road and chugged up a very
steep hill. A small grassy mountain separated the main road, and Don caught the
oncoming traffic on the other side just before the grassy landmark cut off his
view.

The school he
attended may not have been all that nice to look at—it was no Woodcrest—but the
area in which it was located was pleasing. It was hard for Don to believe he
had always lived right down the street from this valley and never knew it.

After the bus
dropped him and Nick off at the end of the street, they said goodbye to one
another and headed to their respective houses. Since Don lived at the very end
of the street, it took him longer and he was out of breath again.

Maybe he would
skip that soda after all.

He unlocked the
door with the key he prayed he would never lose, and walked into the living
room on his right. Before settling down on the couch, he turned on the
window-mounted air conditioner and basked in its icy goodness.

He thought
about calling Grandpa but could think of nothing to tell him about Mom and
Ethan. They hadn’t really done anything strange in a while. Don still wanted to
talk to him, to talk to someone.

He never got
the chance to talk to Grandpa again, however.

In November of
’89, William Scott passed away in his sleep. The funeral had been held in
Destin, and Don cried. He hadn’t been that close with his grandfather, but
still felt an incredible loss. He no longer had anyone to confide in about his
mother and brother, about the curse that may have been afflicting them.

He was alone.

*
 
*
 
*

The Nineties,
Don’s favorite decade, was full of change, some good and some bad. Dad came to
Georgia to pick up Don and Ethan for the summer, then drove them all the way
back to New Haven, Connecticut, where he now lived.

The
sixteen-hour trip had been grand for Don. He lay on the cushy couch-bed in the
van most of the trip and looked out through the blinds at the road, the trees,
the tunnels. The air conditioner blew cold air all the way to the back of the
van, and music played softly from the speakers above him, making him drowsy.
“For the Longest Time” played twice during the trip.

They passed
through New York and Dad promised they would officially visit the city during
the summer. This was the first time Don had visited northern U.S.A. that he
could actually remember.

After what had
been the longest road trip of his life, his dad finally approached a large
apartment complex located on a hill. Dad drove to the building on the opposite
side of the entrance and parked right in front of a small rock wall.

He helped get
the suitcases out of the back of the van, then escorted his children to the
building. The apartment had a certain smell Don would never forget, and
whenever he would smell it again in the future, would automatically think of
this place. It was an old, electrical smell, not completely unpleasant. Just
sterile.

A laundry room
was on the right, elevators on the left. Don didn’t know how many floors the
place had, but he had seen the building from the outside well enough to know it
had many. Once they got to the end of the hall, they turned left and went down
another hall. At the very end, on the left, was Dad’s apartment. It was only one
bedroom, and Dad had told Don and Ethan they would have to sleep on the couch,
which unfolded into a bed.

When Dad opened
the door, the TV and lights were already on. The TV was a big, wood-paneled
thing that sat on the floor by the patio. He walked past the small kitchen
directly to the left, still carrying the suitcases in his arms. “Honey, I’m
home,” he called.

“About time,” a
voice snapped back.

Don slowly made
his way to the living room—the kitchen wall had been blocking his view—and saw
a woman sitting on the couch across from the TV. She was wearing a long, plain
nightgown and glasses. Her hair was done in black-and-copper curls. When she
smiled, her lips, covered in dark red lipstick, parted to reveal startling
white teeth.

She stood up
and approached the kids. “I’m Yvonne. It’s nice to meet you.”

Don
automatically didn’t like her.

He didn’t
know
her.

He stared at
Dad, waiting for an explanation.

“She’s my
girlfriend,” Dad finally said.

Don stood
there, next to Ethan, wondering why his dad hadn’t brought Agatha with him to
Connecticut. Don then did the dumbest thing: He asked.

Dad, who had
been smiling proudly, frowned. He looked at Yvonne, then back to his kids.
“Well, son, Agatha died last year.”

Don asked no
more questions.

*
 
*
 
*

As summer wore
on, Connecticut lost its exotic appeal. During the week, his dad worked—where
he worked, Don didn’t know—and Yvonne took summer classes at a community
college. Don guessed she was in her mid twenties, whereas Dad was in his
forties. She also worked in a department store, where she took the kids a few
times to get a jumpstart on school supplies, including clothes.

Don didn’t like
the store; it was so depressingly empty, and he couldn’t imagine why anyone
would want to work there.

Luckily, the
family headed back down to Florida in late June to spend time with Dad’s
sister, Aunt Lydia. She and her family lived out in a rural area in Cocoa, and
they promised lots of fireworks for Independence Day.

Everyone stood
out on the back porch, watching the sun go down. The huge field that was Aunt
Lydia’s backyard went from orange to gray as more relatives arrived. Grandma
came with uncles Nate and Billy.

It was another
family reunion, though there was no beach house. The adults grilled hamburgers
and hot dogs while the children played. Jabari and Quinton joined Don, Ethan,
Nina and Candice in Candice’s bedroom (Candice and Nina had separate rooms) as
they played with her toys. A little pink cash register seemed very popular.

Don wanted to
play with it but Candice snapped at him, saying it was Ethan’s turn. Don
stormed out and walked into the guest room across the hall. Almost all of the
adults were outside, preparing the fireworks and food, but some were inside,
watching TV and having loud conversations Don didn’t care to hear. He covered
his ears as he sat against the wall by the door. The lights in the room were
off, and he felt grateful to be alone and invisible.

He hated
Candice so much for letting the little monster play with her toys. After all,
Ethan was just pretending to be normal—something he started doing after meeting
Dad’s new girlfriend—and he had everyone wrapped around his three-year-old
finger. Don was the good one. He was the
normal
one. How dare Candice
favor Ethan over him.

There was a
notebook next to him on the floor, along with a pencil. He grabbed them both
and wrote something angrily on the paper. Moments later, he strolled back into
Candice’s room and left the paper at the end of her bed, where the other kids
were playing on the floor.

Then Don busied
himself with another toy, away from the group. Soon somebody would find the
note.

Don was
suddenly struck by a pillow to the back of the head. He spun around and saw
Candice standing there with the paper clutched in her right hand.

“I’m telling!”
she roared at him, then raced out into the living room.

Panic overcame
him. He’d never thought for one second she would tell on him. How could he be
so stupid?

A few seconds
later, Dad and Aunt Lydia came into the bedroom. “Did you write this?” Dad
asked loudly, flashing the note, which read:
Candice is a hore!

“I didn’t write
it,” Don wept. The tears had come so fast, it was as if someone had flipped a
switch. “I swear I didn’t!”

“Candice says
you did,” Aunt Lydia added.

“I swear I
didn’t!” Don repeated as he cried. He was so embarrassed by his actions, denial
seemed his only outlet. He howled as tears rolled down his chubby cheeks. The
other kids left him there, on the side of Candice’s bed, left the crybaby to
cry his little heart out.

All except
Ethan.

Yvonne, who
appeared behind Dad, looked at the note in his hand and said, “He didn’t even
spell it right.”

Don only barely
heard it over his howling. He hid his face in shame, realizing perhaps he
wasn’t that good of a person. Not that good at all.

*
 
*
 
*

An hour later,
the fireworks began. Blue ones, purple ones, orange ones; big and loud, tiny
and shrill. Don got some pleasure out of them, though the incident with the
note was still fresh in his mind.

The way Candice
had looked at him after finding the note, her eyes wide and her mouth round in
shock; the anger and disappointment in his father’s face upon learning his son
had written a hateful note to his cousin; the humiliation of crying like a baby
and denying full-out he, Don, had written the note, knowing no one believed
him, but not being able to help himself. He just could not admit he did it
after seeing the reaction to it.

His dad had
given him a good talking to after Don finally stopped crying and walked into
the living room.

“Do you know
why I’m upset with you?” Dad had asked.

Don nodded.

“Where did you
learn this word?”

“I don’t know,”
Don replied, though he thought of the fight between Mom and Agatha in the
parking lot.

“It’s a very
bad word and I don’t ever want to hear you say it or write it down. Do you
understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

Don knew what
that meant. “Yes,
sir
.”

“Good boy.”
Patrick Scott patted his son on the back. “Go play. And don’t ever say anything
bad about your cousins again. We’re guests in someone else’s house; it’s very
rude to insult them in their own home.”

“Yes, sir.”

Don never
forgot his father’s words.

*
 
*
 
*

Instead of
taking the kids back to Connecticut, Dad dropped them off in Augusta. Yvonne
stayed in the van while he took the suitcases into the house. Don saw his mom
stare out at the van from the front door and he
knew
she could see Dad’s
new girlfriend in the front seat.

“I need to talk
to you about something,” Dad said to Mom. “It’s about the kids.”

Mom stood
there, listening.

Dad ran his
hands through his thick black hair. “I’ve been thinking about maybe having the
kids come and live with me for a while.”

Mom was already
shaking her head. “That is absolutely out of the question.”

“Don’t fight me
on this, Hilda. Can we at least discuss it?”

“Why would I
want to discuss it?”

“You know why.”

Don walked to
the playroom in the back of the house, but he could still hear his parents
arguing. The white-tile floor and big windows letting in the sun did little to
brighten his mood at the moment.