The Wayward Gifted - Broken Point (5 page)

Headlights moved along the drive,
flickering through the brush, and making their way towards the house. “Get out
of my house,” Olivia said opening the front door and ushering the stranger onto
the porch. “You need to leave.” As she approached the door, Steuart saw the
woman drop an envelope onto the carpet.
 
Olivia, too busy watching the stranger, noticed
nothing.

With her face in the shadows, the woman
turned back and spoke, “Even you know that you’re wrong.” She turned, and made
eye contact with Steuart.

Fearful, Steuart remained still. He tried
not to blink. The woman looked away, looked at Olivia, and then got into the
cab. Steuart watched the car as it exited the driveway. He listened as his
mother closed and locked the front door. He continued to hide, but began
feeling calmer with his focus now shifted from the stranger to the envelope. Steuart
waited curiously for his opportunity.

Olivia turned, watching to make certain
the car was gone. “This house needs an alarm.” She checked the lock and secured
the deadbolt. She looked towards the drive and let out a deep sigh. She turned
and leaned against the door, not noticing the envelope that laid mere inches
from her feet. Closing her eyes, she sighed again. “Why do these things always
happen to me?”

Steuart continued watching the
envelope. He waited for his mother to walk up the stairs. Instead, humming an
unrecognizable melody, she stepped across the thing and moved towards the
kitchen. Steuart remained quiet in the study as he waited for just the right
moment. He watched and listened until his mother opened the refrigerator.
Feeling safe, he dashed silently into the hallway, dove onto the floor and
scooped up the envelope. The refrigerator door closed. Quickly, tucking the
envelope into the back elastic of his pajama bottoms, he began walking up the
stairs—too late.

Olivia rounded the corner, making her
way towards the staircase. Thinking fast, Steuart did a one-eighty as his
mother approached the bottom step and began her climb. Now midway up, her son was
stepping down. “What are you doing up?” she asked. “You’ll be a pill tomorrow.
Come on now. You need to be in bed.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“I have no desire to spend my day
driving with a cranky, difficult child in my car. Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

Steuart persisted. His heart raced.
“I’m thirsty. I need something to drink.”

“You don’t need anything.”

“I
want
something to drink.”

Olivia reached down, put one hand on
Steuart’s head and the other on his bottom. He held his breath as she pivoted
him in the opposite direction. “You should be dreaming. Let’s go.”

Steuart turned. He backed against the
wall and looked up at his mother. “I can’t sleep. I heard a noise.”

“I don’t know what you think you heard,
but we’re safe.”

“I need to check things out.”

“There’s no reason to be scared. It’s
too late for a young man your age to be awake.”

“I’m going to the kitchen. I’m
thirsty.” Steuart was sweating.

“You have water in your room.”

“I prefer a little glass of milk. Care
to join me Mother dear?”

“No, thank you. Go ahead. Just make it
quick.”

“I won’t take long.” Steuart looked
down at his feet and silently prayed,
please
make her leave—make her go to bed.

Olivia climbed one step before stopping
again. She turned around and looked down at her son. “No funny business.
Understand?”

Steuart nodded, “I understand.” He cleared
his throat, “No funny business.”

Olivia smiled and extended her arms,
“Step up here. Mother needs a hug.” Steuart’s heart pounded. He nervously stepped
up. “Don’t stay up long. I’m quite serious. Tomorrow will be an exhausting day
for all of us.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Alright then, I’ll see you in the
morning.” Olivia released her son and started up the stairs towards her room.
Steuart continued walking towards the bottom step until his mother stopped
again and called to him in a sharp, insistent voice, “Steuart James.”

Steuart froze. He half turned, and
looked up. “Ma’am?” he whispered.

“Steuart James, turn around now. I want
you to turn around and look at me.”

Steuart stopped.

Olivia repeated herself. “Are you
listening to me? I want you to turn around and look at me. Come on. Look at me.”

Certain that his mother knew about the
envelope, Steuart worried that his heart was about to explode. Looking towards
the wall he whispered, “Why?” Steuart knew not to question his mother.

“Turn around Steuart James. Look at me
now. What in the world is wrong with you? You know better than to ask me
why
.”

Steuart slowly turned and faced his
mother.

“Look at me.”

He looked up at Olivia. She stared down
at her son. Certain of his mother’s parental x-ray abilities, Steuart accepted
that she could read clear through his body and into his soul. His heart beat harder.
It raced faster and faster. He felt hot. He felt clammy. Stars twinkled in
front of his eyes as he briefly thought he blacked out. His breathing
quickened. Even with his backside turned away, Steuart knew for certain that
his mother could see the envelope through his clothing. Life as he knew it was
coming to an end—forever.

Steuart had a brief fantasy and
imagined himself on a large gurney being taken out to an ambulance after a
massive heart attack. His mother ran behind the paramedics crying and pleading
for his forgiveness,
If only I had known
how fragile you were, Steuart, Steuart, oh, my little darling Steuart, I would
never have been such a terrible, awful, overbearing parent. Steuart! Come back
to me. I beg your forgiveness. I love you Steuart. Stay with me. Don’t leave
me. We don’t have to move.”

“Steuart—Steuart James DuBoise,” Olivia
yanked her son into reality. She had just called him by all three names. No
doubt, he was done for.

“Ma’am?” His voice was barely audible.

“Are you listening to me? Steuart
James, are you listening—are you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m listening.” He felt
pain in his heart as he prayed for the ability to travel through time and leave
this moment forever. He reached behind his back and readied to hand over the
envelope. Prepared to accept his fate, Steuart looked up at his mother and
stood tall.

Olivia stared at Steuart.

“Stay out of the cookies.”

“What?”

“Don’t you dare
what
me, mister. You know better than that. I don’t care how late
it is or how tired you are. You know how to behave. And if you can’t be
appropriate, be quiet—I’ll tell you what to do. Your grandmother lets you
get away with too much. When I get you to Maybell we’re going to have a long
discussion about manners and proper behavior.”

Steuart looked off in the distance.
“I’m sorry, Mother.”

“What should you have said?”

“Ma’am, I should have said ma’am.”

“That’s better. Remember, exhaustion is
never an excuse for being rude or disrespectful. Did you hear what I said to
you?”

Steuart nodded and whispered softly, “
Same yam
.”

“I said
stay out of the cookies.
”

“Yes ma’am, stay out of the cookies.”

Olivia turned and walked up the stairs.
Steuart didn’t budge. He stood in the same spot and silently counted until he
heard his mother’s bedroom door open and close. He imagined jumping from the ambulance,
running into his mother’s arms, and offering forgiveness.
It’s okay, Mother. You can’t help yourself.

Relieved, Steuart sighed as he
continued leaning against the wall.

Several minutes later, and certain that
his mother was not about to return, he left the stairs and walked into the
kitchen. He pulled the step stool from the pantry and carefully carried it
across the floor. He placed the stool next to the cabinet and shelves before
climbing up and putting his knees onto the counter. He took a short, clear
glass from the shelf and set it onto the countertop as he stepped down to open
the refrigerator. He pulled out a carton of milk, stepped back up and poured
his glass—half full. He closed the milk jug, stepped down and returned it
to the refrigerator, moved the stool back into the pantry, closed the door and
walked partially out of the kitchen before turning around and going back.

Quietly, Steuart placed his milk onto
the counter, opened the pantry and this time carried the stool to the opposite
side of the kitchen where he stepped up, reached for the paper towels and tore
off a square. He laid it on the counter and gently pressed it flat with both
hands before reaching across for the cookie jar and silently helping himself to
just one cookie. Using extra caution, Steuart avoided leaving crumbs on the
counter. With his glass in one hand, cookie and paper towel in the other, he
stepped down and tiptoed up the stairs with the envelope in his pants.

Back in his room, Steuart laid his milk
and cookie on the nightstand, removed the envelope from his pants and placed it
on his pillow. He walked to the door, closed and carefully locked it before
climbing back into bed where he reached into the drawer of his nightstand and
pulled out a tiny red flashlight. Comfortably munching his cookie and sipping
his milk, Steuart paused briefly to consider another story.

This
time he became a grown man and a great politician. He had both the power and
wealth allowing him to purchase Point Taken—the grand old antebellum house
which belonged to his grandmother—the place he called home. Immediately,
he appointed his mother as the Right, Good, and Appropriate Global Ambassador—a
lifetime position.

 
Olivia traveled from town to town as an
official representative, knocking on doors and meeting everyone. She had the
mundane and arduous task of querying each individual as she compiled a
worldwide birthday wish list. This information was entered into a central
database that fed back to Steuart’s main office where a staff worked diligently
processing requests twenty-four hours a day.

Olivia’s
job kept her busy enough with little time to do anything other than work. She
stayed in contact with the family through weekly mail and visited home once or
twice each year. Steuart lived out his days with Ida, Sam, Frank, Caffey and
their four new Old English Sheepdogs; Bear, Pal, Buddy and Sis. Life was
perfect.

The cookie was gone. Steuart took one
last sip of milk. “It’s time,” he said, preparing for the information. He
raised and lowered his eyebrows several times. He looked at the envelope, smelled
the thing and examined it from both sides using his flashlight. Carefully, he
opened the back flap, reached inside and pulled out a card. It was heavy and
flat. Printed on the front in black ink was a name: Laurel Ivy Hood. He flipped
the card. It was blank. “Blank,” he whispered. Disappointed, Steuart wondered,
who is this person? Why was she arguing with
my Mother?
He checked the envelope to make sure he hadn’t missed something
important. He looked at the card once more and then closed his eyes. Steuart
sighed, “All this work for nothing.” He held the card in his hands, curled up
next to Sparky, and yawned.
Justly muck.
Steuart
finally slept.

THREE

The
following morning Sam, Steuart, Ida, and Olivia watched as workers quickly
loaded boxes and a few items into a large moving van.
The truck was ready right away. “Why
aren’t we taking our furniture?” Steuart asked his mother.

“Because we have all new furniture
waiting for us at our wonderful new house. Isn’t that fabulous?”

“Why do we need new furniture? I want
my
furniture. I want
my
things. Why did we need such a big truck
if we’re not taking our furniture?”

“It’s not our furniture. It belongs to
your grandmother.”

“I want my
furniture.”

“I just told you that it’s not our
furniture.”

“You’re making us leave our home. You
can at least let us take our furniture.”

“Our home is waiting for us in Maybell
with our new furniture.”

“I don’t want to go to that stupid
place. I want my bed. I want my chair. I want my desk. I want my room.”

 
“Steuart,” Olivia shook her head, “That
is not possible. We are moving. We are moving into a new house, and we are
going to have all new furniture. It will be beautiful.”

“Why the giant truck?”

“We’re not the only people moving.”

“I want my things.”