Mama's Boy and Other Dark Tales (21 page)

"You're doing fine, Henry,” said Rebecca. Trying to hide her impatience for him to continue, she kept her voice steady and low. “Take your time. Just go on when you're ready."

With a deep a sigh, Henry continued.

"On the night of my thirteenth birthday, Daddy invited me on one of his stakeouts. Most of the excitement had worn off for me by then, but I still wanted to go. I didn't really have friends anymore, so rather than staying home with Mama, I thought it would be good to get out of the house. Mama could get very ... demanding when Daddy wasn't home.

"I helped Daddy get his gear together, and as I was heading out the door, I heard him and Mama arguing. They hadn't been getting along for some time, but things seemed to be getting worse. I hid on the porch to listen.

"'Where's that boy goin'?’ I heard Mama say.

"'He's going with me tonight, Sue Ann,’ said Daddy.

"'Well, the hell he is. I need him here with me! What am I supposed to do here alone? You ain't never around.'

"'Now don't start that business again. You know I gotta work if you want a roof over your head.’ And with a hush in his voice, he said, ‘And besides, Henry's been spending far too much time with you.'

"Mama went silent for a minute. That almost never happened, but she rallied, full of venom. ‘I don't care what the hell you think. I want that boy home with me!'

"'Not tonight, Sue Ann,’ he said, looking back and shaking his head. ‘No more.'

"I ran down the walkway behind Daddy as Mama screamed through the screen door, ‘Henry, you get your ass back in this house, right now! HEN-RY!'

"I could still hear her hollering all the way down Oak Street as we drove away. I felt liberated by my daddy's defiance, but at the same time, I was worried what Mama was going to do to me later when Daddy wasn't around. And what he meant by, ‘No more.’ Thinking about it gave me a sick feeling in my stomach.

"Daddy and I were both quiet that night. We sat in the car and he let me take a few stakeout pictures with his camera, and he told me about a new recording device the department was using for phone taps. But it felt awkward after the argument with Mama, so we both kept quiet, trying to avoid the whole mess. We were packing up and getting ready to go home when Daddy stopped and looked at me. I thought he was going to say something, but he just stared.

"I was getting nervous, so I fumbled with some film cases and asked, ‘So is that it, Daddy? Ready to go?'

"He took a deep breath and said, ‘Son, I'm sorry I haven't been around much. And I'm so sorry I haven't been there ... when you needed me.’ He looked stricken.

"I didn't know what to say, and the sick feeling in my stomach knotted into a sharp pain. I tried not to let Daddy see that I was scared.

"'Everything's okay, Daddy,’ I said. ‘Ready to go?’ I wanted out of the car. I knew what he meant, and he knew that I knew it. Mama had warned me time and again that if Daddy found out about us, he would leave us and we'd be homeless in the streets. How did he know? Mama would never believe that I didn't tell him. I started to shake.

"'It's all right, son. It's over.’ He reached out and touched my shoulder. I don't remember him ever touching me like that before. I shuddered and pulled away, feeling a sudden rush of anger.

"'Don't touch me! I don't know what you're talking about. Just shut up! Shut up!’ All the tension and the years of lying caused something inside me to snap. I had never spoken to my daddy that way. I could see the anger boiling up into his face, but he clamped his jaw tight struggling to stay in control.

"'Now, Henry. I know what's been going on between you and your mama. It's not right, boy, and it's got to stop.'

"'I don't know what you're talking about!’ My heart was pounding in my chest, and the ringing in my ears sounded like alarms going off.

"'Your mama promised me she stopped that perverted shit a long time ago. Hell, Henry, we had to move because of it. The neighbors were talking, and my job was at stake,’ he said, almost pleading. ‘When the boys stopped coming around, I wanted to believe it was over.'

"I was petrified, feeling caged in, and Daddy just kept going on and on, like he couldn't stop himself.

"'I saw it, Henry, with my own eyes. I came home early and the two of you were so busy fucking you didn't hear me come in. I saw my own wife on top of you, boy!’ His face was red and tears were welling in his eyes. ‘My own wife, Henry!’ He slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

"I pulled the handle and flung the car door open, and I just started running. I ran even harder when I heard Daddy calling after me.

"'Henry! Where the hell are you going? Henry!’ he shouted. ‘I'm sorry, son. Come back!'

"I just kept running, crossing the tidy yards and the side streets. I jumped fences and ran until I thought my chest would explode. My world was coming apart, and my mind felt like it had shattered. Exhausted and stumbling, I blacked out. Sometime in the night, I dreamed dark dreams of my mother whispering my name, telling me I was more of a man than my father could ever be. Then I woke up at the park in the Little League dugout to the sound of lawn mowers and the smell of cut grass.

"My head ached, and I realized that my nose had been bleeding—my shirt was splattered with dried blood. I figured it happened when I blacked out and fell. I splashed water on my face from the drinking fountain and wiped my hands on the grass. I didn't know what else to do, so I headed home. It was a long walk and I figured Daddy would be gone when I got there, just like Mama always warned. When I came around the corner to Oak Street, I was shocked to see police cruisers with flashing lights in front of my house. Before I got to the front door, a police officer stopped me and asked for my name.

"'I'm Henry, sir. This is my house.'

"'Henry? Oh ... your father spoke of you often. We worked down at the station together.’ He put his hand on my shoulder and turned me away from the door.

"
Worked?
‘Where's my father?’ I said. A deep dread tightened in my chest.

"'You need to calm down, son,’ he said. ‘There's been an accident.’ I tried to run for the door, but the cop grabbed me by the shirt. ‘You can't go in there right now.'

"'Where's my father?’ I screamed, trying to wrench myself free.

"The cop jerked me hard toward him and looked me square in the eye. ‘Your father's been shot, Henry!’ he just blurted it out. Then he tried to compose himself., ‘And I'm sorry, son, but he didn't make it.'

"My mind was swimming, ‘Shot ... didn't make it?'

"'What happened?’ My eyes started watering.

"'Seems he was getting ready to clean his service revolver and it discharged,’ said the cop.

"
That could never happen! Not as careful as my daddy was with his guns.

"The cop looked away for a moment, and I broke for the door. I didn't believe it. Daddy couldn't have shot himself. I busted in through the screen door and saw the detectives with their white gloves moving around my daddy's easy chair. He was slumped there like usual, as if he were sleeping, but his face was gone—only bloody meat and bone remained. His shirt was stained dark red down the front; the back of his easy chair was wet with blood and ruined bits of skin and hair.

"'Henry! Henry!’ Mama was hysterical, screaming my name. Something inside me froze, and it hardened and died in that moment. I knew Mama was responsible for my daddy's death. And I thought about all those years she warned me and badgered me and swore me to secrecy about our ‘special lovin’ so Daddy wouldn't leave, and now he was dead—and it was her fault. The grief and shock and fear all turned to rage. I despised her. I thought I could have killed her barehanded, right then and there.

"'Henry, my baby,’ she sobbed. She was sitting in a chair just beyond the kitchen door, her red hair falling around her shoulders. Calling to me, her arms open, she pleaded, ‘Henry, please come here, baby.'

"Like a robot, I walked to my mother. I let her wrap her slender arms around me and run her fingers through my hair. Laying her head on my young shoulder, she said, ‘Henry, I need you, baby. You're the man of the house now.'

"She wept ugly lying tears, and still, I let her touch me."

I'm not sleeping; no appetite to speak of. And lunch with Rob was difficult today. But no matter what, I've got to stay focused on Henry...

Fashionably rumpled, the young doctor set his lunch tray down on a table in the cafeteria and stepped around to hold the chair for Rebecca.

"Thanks for accepting my invitation. I know it's not Bookbinders, but I've been trying to catch up with you since you started work."

"I'm sorry I haven't called, Rob. I've been preoccupied with my case work."

"So I hear. Making quite a name for yourself already. But you know the saying, all work and no play.” He raised his eyebrows and grinned.

"I know, and the fact is, I owe you big for this job."

"No way,” he said. “You got the job on your own merit. I just helped to put a little bug in Director Daddy's ear. No need to thank me ... but then again,” he said with a wink.

"You're incorrigible, Robert. You never give up."

"Well, you're one to talk. I've never seen anyone pursue a position with such determination. Why the hell you wanted to work here is beyond me."

"It's for my mother, Rob."

"Yeah, I know the story. But my grades sucked, and my father's the boss. That's why I'm here. But you? With your residency recommendations, you could have worked almost anywhere."

Rebecca shrugged. “Here I can make a difference."

He leaned forward with serious eyes. “If you really want to make a difference, Becky ... then stop breaking my heart and have dinner with me.” A silly grin spread across his face; he looked hopeful.

"Soon, Rob, but not right now. I have to get back to work. I've got a patient at one.” She stood up with her tray.

"You just got here! And you haven't eaten a thing."

"I know, but duty calls. I promise we'll do dinner soon.” Rebecca turned away, disposed of her untouched food, and headed back to work.

"Henry, I have a surprise for you today,” said Rebecca.

"Maybe you should call me Frank."

"I promised I'd keep your secret. In fact, all of our work together is completely confidential,” she said. “It's just between you and me. So, for the purposes of our work, I think it's best to call you Henry. Don't you agree?"

"No.” He scratched at the lone wisp of hair on his scar-riddled scalp.

"Oh, come on. It'll be fun. Besides, I brought Henry a present. I can't give it to Frank.” She tilted her head and gave him a smile.

"What present?” he asked.

"First, are you in? Is it Henry, or Frank?"

He rolled his lashless eyes. “Okay, it's Henry."

Rebecca opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a leather pouch, handing it to Henry.

"Here, they're yours."

"What is it?"

"Go on, open it,” she said.

Henry unfastened the flap, and the pouch rolled open. It was slotted with the tools of a professional clay artist: the wire trimmer, the needle tool, the clay knife, and shaping tools.

"You've been doing such beautiful work, I thought it was time you had some proper tools."

Henry fondled the knife.

"But, of course, you can only use them during our sessions. I'm bending the rules for you, Henry. I trust you won't let me down."

"Thank you.” Henry smiled with childlike gratitude.

"Well, let's get to it, shall we? Might as well give your tools a test drive today."

She retrieved Henry's sculpture from the cabinet, along with the spray bottle. With new enthusiasm, Henry began work immediately. Orbs for the eyes were his first order of business.

"Henry, last week you were telling me about your trip to Blue Bell. You checked the map, and were on your way to the estate."

He thought for a moment. “Yeah, once we hit the Skippack Pike there were just a few turns before I found the road that lead to the estate. Two large stone pillars marked the entrance—RUTT was carved in fancy letters. When I got out to open the rusty entry gate, I realized just how much I still missed my daddy. I knew I'd rather have him than the estate. With the thought of his death, my old anger at Mama flared up inside me. I hated her, and I hated myself because I let her get away with murder. But most of all, I hated myself for letting her touch me again, letting her take me to bed, their bed, the very night of my father's death. After the police left that night, I cried in her arms, despising her and loving her all at once. And standing there at the gate of the Rutt estate, I knew both those feelings were still true.

"Back in the van, I drove along the washed out drive leading up to the estate. The lawyers warned me, but it was worse than I imagined. The old mansion sitting at the top of the hill was in sad shape. The setting sun illuminated broken windows with shutters hanging crooked off their hinges. Faded paint peeled like bark and overgrown hedges and weeds choked what must have once been a gardeners dream.

"As the van bumped slowly up the long driveway, Mama stirred from her sleep. I braced myself for her opinion of the rundown estate. One particularly bad pothole in the road jostled her around in the seat; she woke up at once with a frown already plastered on her face.

"'Where in god's name are you takin’ me, Henry?’ she said. Then she looked up—her frown turned to disgust. ‘What in the hell is that supposed to be? Those Rutt bastards did this to me on purpose! It's a sick joke, I tell ya'. They hated me from day one.'

"She stopped ranting about the Rutts when she caught herself saying more than she meant to. To cover her tracks she shifted her aim to me.

"'What in the hell do you think you're doing, bringing me to this dump? You just turn this piece of shit truck back around and take me some place nice. This just proves what I've said all along, Henry. You don't care about nobody but yourself or you would never bring your own mama to a shit hole like this!'

"I pulled up in front of the big wraparound porch. I could see that the boards were warped from the weather, but I wanted to take a look; I needed to take a look. This had been my daddy's boyhood home.