The Leap Year Boy (29 page)

“Well, you’re not supposed to rub it. Mom used to say if you rub something, that makes it hurt worse.” He made a double jump. “King me.”

“I have to tell Daddy something.”

“What?”

“You promise not to tell if I tell you?”

“What?”

“It’s about Hannah. Benjamin, what’s blood money?”

Although he was in the top five of his class and an avid reader, he’d never come across that particular phrase. “I don’t know, but it sounds bad, like the money was covered in blood, like in a bank robbery maybe. Where’d you get that?”

Alex explained how he’d explored Hannah’s desk and how he found the story of Florence Carson Home, except the story wasn’t about Florence or the home but about Male Child, and Hannah was in it, and a deputy. “That’s why I want to talk to Daddy, but I wanted to ask you first. What’s adoption?”

Chapter 23

The aunts wanted her to wear the belted, sailor-collared tunic she’d worn for her sweet sixteen party, but Hannah wouldn’t hear of it, telling them in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t a little girl anymore and they damn well knew it. She wanted to get a tight-fitting red hobble skirt, which the aunts flatly refused to buy for her. Finally, they compromised on a white, long-sleeved dress with lace trim and a red sash, and a wide-brimmed hat with a matching ribbon. Hannah made them leave her room as she continued to get ready. She splashed perfume behind her ears and knees, put lipstick in her purse and tied the sash as tightly as she could.

A thunderstorm the previous night had broken the heat and humidity, and for a summer’s day in Pittsburgh, the sky was remarkably clear. The rain had washed the soot from the leaf lettuce and tomatoes Lillie had picked that morning to put on the chicken salad sandwiches. She rinsed grapes and red plums and wrapped slices of pound cake in cloth napkins and added hardboiled eggs and a mason jar of iced tea with sugar and lemon.

She wiped her hands on her apron. “You don’t think he’ll bring liquor, do you?

Belle thought for a moment. “If he does, I’ll kill him.”

*

Abe watched Alex skip off with Delia, and not without a pang of guilt, since he’d offered no explanation of how he was going to spend the day—she hadn’t asked—but then, what was it he felt guilty about? He hadn’t lied to her, and he wasn’t married to her, either, so spending time with Hannah wasn’t cheating, exactly. He wasn’t using Delia, either. Hell, she was the one that offered to take the boy for the day.

He stewed over Arthur’s letter as he sipped coffee warmed over from Saturday’s pot. The boy had somehow gone and done it, lied about his age and enlisted in the service without his consent or advice. The war talk at The Wheel, the enthusiasm for blood, had been unsettling. He hoped the damn thing would be over before America went into it. He stropped his razor harder and harder.

Today would be the first time he’d be alone with Hannah, and he wondered which Hannah would show up—the pleasant, contrite, reassuring one or the hot and wild one. He wouldn’t mind a little of both.

He inspected his shirt, one of two white ones he owned. No spots, and not so wrinkled that he’d have to take out the damn iron. Sundays the trolleys ran infrequently, so he needed to give himself plenty of time to get to her house by noon. But he couldn’t leave too early. What if he came to the trolley stop and Alex and Delia were still waiting? There would be no explaining that one.

Benjamin stood at the open bathroom door. “Are you gonna be long?”

Abe splashed water on his face. He caught his son’s reflection in the mirror and it was as if he were seeing him for the first time in a year. He was stunned at how much his middle boy looked like Irene—the same blue eyes, the reddish hair, only the nose was like his own, and he thought, how long had it been since he and the boys visited Irene’s grave? Wasn’t that supposed to be what a widower should do on Sundays? He wiped his face with a worn towel. “Almost done.”

Benjamin yawned. “Where are you going?”

“I thought I told you.”

“Oh yeah, Hannah. Dad, I really gotta go.”

“So go.”

As Benjamin urinated with his back toward his father, he said, “Did Alex talk to you this morning?”

Abe stopped in the hallway. “Talk to me? What do you mean, talk to me? He talks all the time.”

“I mean, he was trying to explain something to me last night, but he really wanted to talk to you. Something about a story with a male child and adoption and blood money. I couldn’t figure out what he was saying.”

“Wait a minute. He didn’t say nothing to me about that, but Delia got here early and I was half asleep when they left.”

Benjamin scratched the skinny adolescent hairs emerging from his upper lip. “Something about Hannah and adoption, I think that’s what he said.”

*

In 1895, Pittsburgh political boss Christopher Lyman Magee donated $100,000 for the establishment of a new Pittsburgh Zoo, free to the public, to be located in the Highland Park section of the city. It may have been because of his love of wild animals, which, if true, was generally unknown at the time. More likely, his beneficence was due to his love for the people, especially the people that were paying customers on the trolleys owned by his company, whose lines not coincidentally terminated next to the zoo’s main entrance.

As they rode to the zoo, Alex peppered Delia with his knowledge of all things wild, from aardvarks, which were not part of the collection, to Asian elephants, which were, to zebras, which were as well. Delia took it all in, nodding her head at what seemed to be the appropriate times, thinking, this little thing can talk a mile a minute.

He yanked at Delia’s arm as soon as the trolley stopped, pointing to the entrance, adorned with hissing gargoyles. The looming statuaries stopped Alex in his tracks. “What’s that, Delia?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know what you call it, but I wouldn’t want to meet one in a dark alley. That’s a joke, kiddo.”

Hand in hand, they made their way through the swarms of people; working folks mingling with the well-to-do, forgetting for at least one afternoon the gulf that lay between them, both classes marveling equally at a monkey eating a banana or a water buffalo behind thick steel bars relieving itself against a concrete wall. Alex pushed toward the elephants, reminding Delia that she had promised to take him to see them first, and Delia said to herself, whatever he wants.

Twenty yards away, the smell of elephant dung hit her in the face. Delia pulled her scarf over her nose and mouth, but Alex scooted ahead like a water bug, through and around people toward the massive iron bars that kept the captives from the captive audience. Delia watched as he leaned in as close as possible to the biggest elephant, and she thought, that monster could hoist him up and into its mouth before you could blink.

Alex waved his arms and right hand at a huge bull and held out a piece of toast he’d pocketed from breakfast. However, either the elephant didn’t see it or wasn’t much for toast. It seemed to prefer tossing trunk loads of straw mixed with dung over its back.

A short, stout woman tapped Delia on the elbow. “Excuse me.”

Without wavering her eyes from Alex, she said, “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but that little boy there, the one waving at the elephants, is he yours?”

He will be, she thought. “Yeah. What of it?”

“Oh nothing. He’s very cute, but well, it’s none of my business.”

Delia faced the woman. “What?”

“Well, not to pry, but is something wrong with his arms?”

“His arms?”

The woman faltered. “I mean, because they seem very long.”

Delia smiled. “Now let me ask you a question. Is there something wrong with your ass?”

“What?”

“Because it seems very fat.”

“Well, I didn’t mean…”

“You didn’t mean what?”

The woman backed away and into the crowd.

To the left of the elephant enclosure was a refreshment stand with popcorn, crackerjack and cotton candy. Delia bought Alex a treat—several, in fact. If the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, the same logic surely would apply to a little boy, even more so. As she approached the stand, she caught a glimpse of what looked like a familiar figure: a burly man with a dark hat, a goatee and pince-nez, wearing a black frock coat, carry a dark satchel. However, before she could call out to him he sped off toward the rhinoceros enclosure, coat tails flapping.

*

Lindenwood Grove was a pleasant three-acre parklet less than a half-mile from the house on Black Street, and since the weather was fine, Abe and Hannah decided to walk there rather than wait for a trolley. Hannah gave Abe a glowing report on Alex, how attentive he was to his garden—the way he named his vegetables was precious—how helpful he was to her and her aunts, picking up after himself and offering to dry the dishes; how delightful it was to see him roll on the floor with the dog; and guess what, the aunts had begun to teach him to say his blessings in Hebrew, and wouldn’t it be nice if Abe did that, too, providing he knew them, which she was sure he did.

Abe indulged her semi-manic monologue, concentrating on the descriptions of his son’s behavior, and all in all it sounded as if the boy was greatly benefiting from Hannah’s tutelage, and blossoming in her family’s care, and so he considered himself a lucky son of a bitch that he’d met her that day in the synagogue, for surely his boy was receiving better care than he could ever give him, better even than his mother-in-law and her Jesus hocus-pocus.

They found an empty picnic bench shaded by oak and linden trees. Hannah spread the tablecloth and placed sandwiches, the eggs and the iced tea jug on the table. She poured two glasses and proposed a toast. “Here’s to us and Alex, together.”

Abe muttered his agreement.

“Can I ask you a question, Abe?”

He was focused on her full lips. “Sure, go ahead.”

She gripped his arm and asked, “Do you believe in fate?”

“Fate?”

“Yes. Fate.”

Well, he thought, he believed in hard work and standing up for yourself. He believed that you made your own luck, but sometimes, no matter what you did, life came around and kicked you in the ass when you least expected it, like when Irene got The Dip and Ida died in the fire. Who could have called that one? “Yeah, maybe, but I’m not so sure. I think mostly you make your own way in this world, but sometimes things happen and you don’t know why they happen, but what you’re saying is, maybe some things was meant to happen for some reason.” Boy, if the guys at The Wheel could hear him now they’d laugh him out of the place. “Right?”

“I knew you’d understand, I just knew it. Couldn’t it be that fate has brought you and me and Alex together?”

It sounded like as good a reason as any. “Yeah, I guess maybe.”

“Maybe? It’s not maybe. For the longest time I wished for a child and a husband, but I didn’t know how to ask God for it. My father once told me we’re not supposed to ask God for anything, just praise his name, but I wanted to so much.”

Abe took a gulp of iced tea and entertained the idea of adding something stronger. Nearby, a little girl screamed, “Higher, higher,” as her mother and father pushed her on the swing.

Hannah put her arm though his. She pointed to the little girl. “Isn’t she lovely? And so happy. That could be us, Abe, you and me pushing Alex, couldn’t it, Abe? Couldn’t it? Alex would be so happy swinging up to the sky. I can see his laughing face right now. I know he wants a mommy. He told me all about his mother.”

“He did?” he snapped. “What did he say about Irene?”

Hannah looked lost, as if she were an actress in the middle of her lines and missed a cue. “Wait. What?”

“I said, what did Alex say about his mother?”

“Well he…no, what he said was, he wants a new mommy, that he wants me to be his mommy now, that’s what he said.”

“He did?” Abe scratched his head. First she brings up Irene and now this, but wait…was
that
what the boy was trying to tell him earlier that morning, something about adoption? He couldn’t remember exactly, there was too much commotion, what with Benjamin yelling that the pancakes were ready and Delia showing up early, and then they left. Was Alex telling Hannah he wanted her to adopt him? That made no sense—how did the boy even know what the word meant? Still, he was smart as a whip, so maybe he read something and put two and two together. You never knew with that kid. “You know, Hannah, come to think of it, Benjamin comes to me this morning and says Alex was telling him something about adoption, like in a story he read. I didn’t pay it no mind at the time. You think that’s what he meant?”

Hannah blanched. She sat down on the bench and put her head between her hands. Her feet began to bounce.

Abe sat next to her. Now what was wrong with her? This girl was up and down more than a yoyo. “Hannah? Christ, you’re white as a ghost. You sick or something?”

She waved her hand back and forth, but he couldn’t tell if she meant she was all right or not all right. He thought he heard little whimpers coming from her, but with the girl on the swing screaming and laughing, he couldn’t be sure.

He fingered the flask in his coat pocket. He’d intended to wait and see how the day went, and if they were in the mood, offer her a nip from his flask. Now that she’d turned so pale and shaky, withdrawn into herself, maybe a little nip of rye might do her some good, perk her up.

He put his arm around her shoulders and felt her cringe. As evenly as he could, he said, “You feeling a little faint? I could give you a little rye in your iced tea, maybe it would make you feel better, perk you up. I mean, if it’s not your stomach.”

She pressed her head against his shoulder. “What?”

He took the cap off the flask. “A little sip of whiskey, maybe it’ll perk you up.”

“I’m not allowed.”

Abe thought, allowed, who allows her? He took a quick swig.

Seventy yards away, from behind a maple tree, Belle handed Lillie her opera glasses, the ones they’d shared the night before at a performance of
Aida
. “I knew he’d do it. Go ahead, see for yourself.”