The Struggles of Johnny Cannon (6 page)

Just when I reckoned maybe it was time to stop looking at them, Bob snatched a paper out of Eddie's hand and ripped it to pieces. Then he wagged his finger in Eddie's face. All that time, Eddie didn't say much of nothing, just hung his head in shame.

Bob got right in Eddie's face, still screaming. It was almost enough to make me feel sorry for that mole rat. Almost.

Finally, Eddie reached out and pushed his pa away. I didn't blame him none on that, Bob had the worst coffee breath of anyone in town. Still, it ain't right to lay a hand on your own pa. I almost got mad at Eddie for it.

Then Bob punched Eddie in the face.

Just about everybody that was walking around stopped and stared at that, Eddie was holding on to his jaw like it was about to fall off, and my own jaw was halfway to the carpet. Bob must have only then realized all them folks was watching, 'cause he grabbed Eddie and dragged him into his shop.

I wondered if the beating was over or if it was just getting started.

Right then the nurse came out and told Pa that the doctor wanted to speak to us back where he'd just gotten done examining Sora.

We went through the hallways to the room where Sora was sitting on the doctor bed and the doctor was standing next to her, chatting with her. When we came in, he gave us both a smile while he patted Sora's hand.

“Well, I have good news, certainly,” the doctor said. “The baby is very healthy, maybe a tad underweight, but overall very strong and healthy.”

Pa grinned. “Of course it is. It's Tommy's baby. It's going to be as strong as an ox.”

I tried to not think about what Willie'd said, about maybe it wasn't Tommy's baby. I didn't want to spoil the mood.

“There is some concern about Mommy, though,” the doctor went on. “She's very underweight for this stage of her pregnancy.”

“Really?” I asked. “ 'Cause she looks as ripe as a Thanksgiving turkey to me.” I meant it as a compliment, but it didn't seem like anybody took it that way.

The doctor cleared his throat.

“Anyway, she's malnourished. And, from the stories she told me about her home life, she doesn't have a good support system to go back to. I would recommend that you spend the time between now and her delivery making sure she gets a lot of good food and fluids.”

“Her home life?” Pa said.

“She didn't tell you?” the doctor said. He looked at Sora and she looked away. “When her family found out she was pregnant, they kicked her out. She's been homeless for the last four months.”

Pa shook his head in disbelief.

“Why would anyone willingly push away their own child?” he asked, then he went and gave her a hug. “Well, you're my daughter now.”

She started crying and that made him start crying. The doctor nodded and smiled and tried to hide that his eyes was watering too.

But it was like Willie's voice was in my head. What if? I tried to ignore it so I could get as sappy as they was, but it just came across that I had to go to the bathroom.

The doctor gave us some vitamins to give her so she could keep growing the baby real good. He also gave us a list of all the food she needed to be eating. Oh, and he gave us a bill.

Pa paid the bill and we all three headed out to the truck. He handed me the list.

“You know our kitchen better than I do. How much of this do we got?”

I didn't even have to look. Our pantry only had potato chips and peanut butter, and I didn't reckon any of that was on the list. Feeding menfolk is a whole heck of a lot easier than feeding a woman with a baby in her belly. We needed to go grocery shopping.

Going grocery shopping with Pa was always my least favorite chore, mainly 'cause Pa didn't never have no plan when he went for groceries. He'd sort of get an idea in his head while he was looking at noodles that he might like pasta one night, then head over to get some sauce and reckon chili might be better. Then, when he was picking up some onions, he'd change his mind again and we'd have a basket chock full of ingredients to make three quarters of five different meals.

Even though we had a list from the doctor, this time wasn't no different. Well, it was a little different, 'cause Pa kept asking Sora what she thought of things, and she kept saying she didn't have no opinion about nothing, whatever we thought was best. Which was pretty dadgum frustrating, especially when he asked her about macaroni. 'Cause who doesn't have an opinion about macaroni?

“Well, dagnab it,” I said, “what kind of food
do
you like? There ain't a whole lot I know how to cook.”

She cast a sheepish glance to Pa and said, nearly as quiet as a church mouse, “I don't mind cooking.”

Now, why hadn't I thought of that before? She was a girl, after all. Even though she was pregnant, cooking was part of her programming.

Pa jumped on that idea like a barn cat onto a cricket and made me put away all them groceries we'd already picked out, including the three bags of potato chips I'd wrangled. Then we followed her around the store and she took to picking out the weirdest ingredients I'd ever seen someone put in a basket. Things like cabbage and ginger and scallions and just about everything else that I never would have picked as fit for eating in that store.

Then we went down the baby aisle and Pa got the darn fool idea in his head that we ought to start buying stuff for the little tadpole before it was even born. I was just about to finally put my foot down when somebody yelled at us.

“Johnny!” It was Martha. She was there with her ma. As soon as she saw Sora was with us, she dragged Mrs. Macker down the aisle and introduced her.

“Oh dear, Martha was right,” Mrs. Macker said, “you're as skinny as a rail.”

It was like I was the only one that saw her belly. Was folks just getting blinded by the fact she was Korean or something? 'Cause that would be racist.

“Good afternoon,” Pa said, 'cause he believed in keeping the Southern in hospitality. “How's old Gary doing?”

“Still in Montgomery,” Mrs. Macker said with a sigh. “He told me last night that the men working on the project just aren't getting it, so he'll have to stay another few weeks.”

“Montgomery ain't that far from here,” he said. “Why don't he just commute?”

“I don't know,” she said, and her face made it look like she wasn't too happy with her own answer. “You should ask him that question.”

Pa must have sensed the awkwardness, 'cause he cleared his throat like he only did when things was getting dangerously close to being about feelings.

“Now, you know a lot more than I do on this subject,” he said. “What should we start stocking up on so my grandbaby has everything it needs?”

That was the first time I'd heard him call it his grandbaby. It was actually kind of nice, to tell the truth. Mrs. Macker seemed relieved that the subject had changed too.

“Formula,” Mrs. Macker said. “Lots of formula. Your little bundle is going to be hungry.”

Sora touched her chest. “I thought—”

“Usually they give you a shot of Delestrogen to dry them up, since formula is more consistent with the vitamins and minerals your baby needs,” Mrs. Macker said. All of a sudden she seemed less like Martha's mom and more like a doctor or something. “As I used to always warn young mothers, there are some side effects, like nausea, headaches, swelling, and changes in your menstr—”

“Mom!” Martha said, her face as red as a tomato. I was glad she'd stopped her, 'cause my ears was burning.

“Sorry, old habits from a life before my own baby was born,” Mrs. Macker said, and patted Martha's hair, then she went back to being a mom. “You'll also need to get some diapers. After all, as much as they eat, that's how much they—”

“Can I go look at the comic books?” I asked.

Pa nodded. He was real intent on listening as they was discussing which diapers was best and all that jazz, and I hurried to get away from there. It had only just struck me that there was going to be an actual crying, pooping baby in our house. And that thought terrified me something fierce.

I went to the rack and looked to find a comic I hadn't read yet. Which was practically impossible 'cause I read them every single day. So I picked up one I'd already read and tried to see how good I remembered it.

I got to the fourth page when Sheriff Tatum arrived, and it didn't look like he was there to buy milk or anything. He was looking for Sam, the grocer. They went and started talking in the corner, which was just a few feet from me. And, since the comic book wasn't very interesting at all, I aimed my ears at listening to them.

“Okay, tell me what's missing,” Sheriff Tatum said, and he opened his notebook to scribble in.

“Two dozen cans of baked beans, a case of hot dogs, three packs of bread, and a box of cigarettes.”

“And it was all stolen this morning?”

“Yes sir,” Sam said. He wiped his forehead with his apron. “The truck came in from Montgomery and while I was paying the driver, somebody took it.”

Sheriff Tatum grabbed an apple off one of the racks and started eating it. Sam scrunched up his eyebrows but didn't say nothing, 'cause you can't never say nothing to the sheriff.

“Sounds like a vagrant,” Sheriff Tatum said. “Probably already moved on, if I had to guess. But I'll go looking in the woods and see what I can stir up.”

“Will you let me know what you find?”

“If there is anything, sure.” Sheriff Tatum put his notebook back in his pocket. “Otherwise, well, I wouldn't want to waste your time.”

“But—”

I didn't get to listen no more 'cause Pa started hollering for me. He and Sora was in the checkout line with two baskets and a buggy full of stuff. I went over to see what he wanted.

“I ain't got enough cash for all this,” Pa said.

“If you're aiming to put it all back, you can do that yourself,” I said.

He laughed. “No, just run out and get the spare cash from the truck.”

He kept a couple of fifties under the seat, in case of emergency. I never thought grocery shopping would be an emergency, but I reckon things change when there's a baby on the way. I went out to get the money.

I went around the block to where we was parked and fished out the two fifties. I started back to the grocery store, but then I saw someone sitting in the alley next to Gorman's Auto Shop. It was Eddie, and from the looks of it, he was crying.

And you can't un-see things, no matter how hard you try. I learned that lesson when my grandma walked through the house in just her underwear. Try as you might, some things will stay with you till the day you die.

And, when it comes to folks crying in alleys, once you've spied it, it's on you to do something about it.

After a few seconds of debating, I remembered that he'd helped get me out of hot water in school, so I went over to where he was and tapped him with my foot. Maybe it was a little harder than I intended, but it's the thought that counts.

“What?” Eddie said, rubbing his leg.

“You all right?” I asked. I noticed that his jaw was sprouting up a real nice bruise from where Bob had socked him.

He sniffed real hard, wiped his eyes, and made his voice sound as tough as he could.

“I'm fine.”

I reckoned that was the end of that, so I turned to walk away. Then something in my gut stopped me. Maybe it was my conscience. Or the potato chips I'd had for breakfast. Either way, I turned back to him.

“You know, there's a lot of things you deserve, since you're such a nasty person,” I said to him. “Getting tarred and feathered, boiled in oil, run out of town wearing a dress, just a whole mess of stuff.” Then I took a deep breath, 'cause the next thing I was going to say was going to take a lot out of me. “But you sure as heck didn't deserve to get punched in the face by your pa. No kid does.”

He nodded.

“Thanks.”

“Don't mention it,” I said. “Ever.”

I went to walk off, feeling right good about myself. But then he must have felt something in his own gut too, 'cause he stopped me.

“Johnny?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever wished you wasn't related to your own dad?”

Now, Eddie probably thought he was talking about Pa, and the answer to that question was no, I hadn't never wished that. But I knew the truth, that my real father was that scoundrel Captain Morris. And there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't look in the mirror and hate every part of me that came down from him.

“Sometimes,” I said.

“What do you do about it?”

I had to think about that for a bit.

“Ain't much you
can
do about it. Blood's blood.”

He looked down at the ground again and I got scared he was fixing to cry.

“But,” I said, “just 'cause you got a polecat's blood in your veins don't mean you got to smell like him. Remember that.”

He grinned and seemed a little relieved by that.

“Thanks,” he said. He sat quiet for a second, then he looked at me real funny. “Remember back when we used to hang out?”

“Yeah,” I said. Once upon a time he'd been the only friend I had, back before me and Willie got close and such.

“Whatever happened?”

“Life changes,” I said. “People change.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It stinks. 'Cause things don't ever change for the better.”

There wasn't no arguing with that. In fact, for the first time in a long time, I remembered how much him and me was alike. Which was a problem.

I kicked him in the leg again just to keep the universe balanced. That was better. I turned and ran off.

I got back to the grocery store, we got it all paid for, and then we loaded up the truck and headed home. When we got there, the other two Caballeros were waiting for us on our porch. And Short-Guy, of course. Or, to keep with the theme,
hombre pequeño
. Which Carlos told me means Short-Guy.