Everybody's Son Read online

  “I guess.”

  THEY WERE HALFWAY to the hardware store when David decided to change course. “You know what?” he said. “Let’s go get that ice cream first.”

  “Oh, wow,” Anton said. “You’re in a good mood today, David.”

  David smiled. “I am. And if I were you, I would watch the sarcasm. Because there’s nothing like a sarcastic little shit to ruin my good mood.”

  They looked at each other and giggled. For the past six months they’d fallen into a routine in which, when out of Delores’s earshot, David used mild swear words around Anton. It had brought them even closer, this ritual of male bonding. “Geez. I’m sorry,” Anton said.

  David smacked the boy’s shoulder lightly. “It’s okay. I know you’re not trying to act like a little shit. It’s just that you are . . .

  “. . . a little shit,” they concluded together triumphantly.

  It was a warm day, and they sat on a picnic bench at Izzy’s, enjoying their ice cream cones, shooting the breeze. Apart from the difference in their skin tone, they looked like all the other father-and-son pairs around them, both of them dressed in polo shirts and jeans. The early-afternoon sun hit Anton’s skin, turning it golden, and David felt a lump form in his throat at the sight.

  David cleared his throat. “Hey,” he began. “I’ve got some news for you. And it’s not good news, I’m afraid.” He saw with regret the shadow that crossed Anton’s face. “Though it could be,” he felt compelled to add. “It’s all a matter of how you look at it.”

  The amber in Anton’s eyes flashed, but he went completely still, as if afraid to breathe. The terse stillness of his posture tore at David’s heart. It was easy sometimes to forget what this boy had gone through. “It’s about your mom, Anton,” he said, his voice low and gentle.

  “She dead?”

  “What? No. God, no.”

  The boy appeared to relax a fraction. He turned his head slightly to look at David, his mouth open. “What happened?”

  David gulped. This was not going to be easy. “She’s decided to give up custody of you, Anton,” he said, wincing as he said those words. And after the boy didn’t react, “You understand what that means, right?”

  Anton shook his head. “Nope.”

  “It means she doesn’t feel she can take care of you. So, she’s telling the state”—no, that sounded too cold—“she’s asking us, me and FM, if we’d take care of you.”

  Anton’s lower lip quivered a bit, but he maintained eye contact with David. “For how long?”

  “Well, for a long time. For . . . forever.” David’s eyes began to sting with tears, but Anton’s were clear, even though the boy’s nose was beginning to turn that telltale shade of red.

  “Mam told you this?” The boy’s voice was raw. “That she don’t want to take care of me no more?”

  How effortlessly Anton had slipped into his old way of speech at the mere mention of his mother, David marveled. But there was no time to reflect on this because the question burned like a house on fire between them. David reached out and held Anton’s hand, sticky with the residue of ice cream. “Anton,” he said, his voice husky, “you’re a big boy now. Old enough to understand a few things. Right?” He waited until the boy emitted a faint response. “So you must accept something. Your mom is sick, Anton. She has a drug problem. A disease. You understand? She’s not well. She can’t take care of you, son. And so she asked FM and me to take care of you for her. It’s her way of loving you.” He looked around the patio, filled with laughing, seemingly carefree families, their faces shiny and unburdened, and for a moment he was filled with longing, remembering when his had been one of those families, smug and safe in their good fortune, and he couldn’t have imagined, not in a million years, that he would be sitting across from an orphan—because let’s face it, that’s what he’d done, he’d orphaned Anton—letting his words splinter the light in his eyes. “Anton,” he tried again desperately, “you know that FM and I love you. We will do our best for you, son. We will take care of you, I promise.”

  Anton looked up at him, a faint smile on his face. “I know,” he said. “Thanks.” Then he squinted. “But who will take care of Mam?”

  David sighed. He knew this happened all the time in dysfunctional families, this odd role reversal—the more irresponsible the adults, the more hyper-responsible the kids. “Your mom’s an adult,” he said, almost by rote. “She can take care of herself. It’s not your job, Anton.” He stared at the boy, recognizing the skeptical look on his face, knowing that he had not convinced him. And then, in a moment of inspiration, he said, “God will. God will look after your mom.”

  The boy’s face brightened. “That’s what my mam says.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he had spoken to his mother yesterday, as if the more than two years apart had not occurred.

  “And she’s right.” Giving Anton’s hand a final squeeze, David disengaged his hand from the boy’s. “Well,” he said, making a concerted effort to change the subject, “what do you think? Should we get another round of ice cream?”

  Anton shook his head. “FM said she’s making a big supper, David. We shouldn’t ruin our appetites.”

  The boy’s tone was so earnest and his words so perfectly echoed Delores’s that David had to suppress a smile. He remembered the endless bowls of ice cream that Anton had wanted to consume when he’d first come to them. The self-control that the boy now exhibited—surely that was a sign of something. David felt his body quiver with pride. He didn’t care what anyone believed, even Anton himself. This boy belonged with them. And he was destined for great things. He deserved a better life than his mother ever could have provided.

  “Whatever you say, buddy,” he said. He gazed at Anton’s bowed head as the boy sat staring at the ground. “Do you have more questions for me?”

  Anton was quiet for the longest time before he looked up. “Can I see her? To, you know, say hi?”

  David knew from Anton’s startled expression that the boy had caught the alarm that had flashed in his eyes. It was out of the question to arrange a meeting between Juanita and her son. She might let slip something that would implicate David. Or she might change her mind about signing away her parental rights. As for what the effect of such a meeting would have on Anton—David shook his head to snuff out that worrisome thought. “I’m afraid that’s not a good idea, buddy,” he said, hoping that the boy would not push.

  Anton nodded and David wondered, not for the first time, how much the boy understood. “What else?” David said with a thin smile.

  Anton shrugged. “Nothing, I guess.” Without warning, his face crumbled. “David. How come Mam loves the drugs more than me?”

  David felt the air rush out of his lungs. He looked at Anton helplessly, feeling as though he had never loved this small, lost, and vulnerable boy more than at this moment. “Don’t say that, buddy. Because it’s not true. Your mom—she loves you. She wants you to live with us because . . . she knows we can give you a life that she can’t.” He blinked back the tears forming in his eyes. “Anton. Aren’t you even the least bit happy being with us?” he asked, hating the plaintive note in his voice, noticing the discomfort it produced in the child. You selfish bastard, he chided himself. Instead of consoling the kid, you’re demanding that he console you. He forced a smile on his lips. “Aw, shit. You don’t have to answer that, kiddo.”

  They sat for a moment, not looking at each other. Then David rose from the bench and fished out his car keys. “We should head on out to the hardware store,” he said. “They close early on Sundays.” He waited until Anton came around the picnic table and then put his arm around the boy’s shoulder. “It will work out fine, son,” he whispered as they walked. “You’ll see. It’s gonna be okay.”

  Anton nodded, the expression on his face inscrutable. They rode in silence, a million thoughts scuttling through David’s head. He knew Delores would grill him about whether they’d talked and how the conversation had gone, but the tru
th was, he wasn’t sure. Anton had maintained his composure, had not created a scene, but then, really, had David expected anything less from him? Maybe he would talk to Dee about whether Anton should see a therapist a few times. Although what could a therapist say? The fact was, Juanita had chosen to give up her rights to her son. And yes, David had played a role in nudging her toward that decision, but that was a secret he would take to his grave. And the only way to repay Juanita Vesper for her sacrifice was to be the best father that he knew to this boy riding next to him. David stroked the top of Anton’s head, and the boy, who had been looking out the window, turned toward him inquiringly. “You okay?” David asked.

  The boy shrugged. He looked out the window again, and David noticed the hunched shoulders, his face a profile of sadness.

  I know you’re sad, and I can’t blame you, David thought. But you won’t be for long. I promise. Because Delores and I—we are going to take such good care of you. You’ll see.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Delores was babbling, not making sense on the phone. She was asking David whether Anton was with him, in his chambers. Why would Anton be with him on a workday? How would Anton get to the courthouse, for Christ’s sake? Nothing that she was saying was making sense.

  “Honey. Calm down. I can’t understand. Why isn’t he home? It’s after five. He should’ve been home eons ago.”

  And now her words finally penetrated. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, David. He never went to school. He—”

  “Then he should be home. Why isn’t he—”

  “He didn’t catch the school bus. I spoke to Colin’s mom, and Colin says he wasn’t on the bus this morning.”

  David sat back in his chair, forcing back the panic and nausea that were threatening him. He had already lost one son. If something had happened to Anton . . . He couldn’t finish the thought. I’m not this strong, he thought. Please, God. Don’t test me. Not a second time. I will just lie down and never get out of bed again. Not a second time. If this is punishment for what I did to that woman, then punish me. Me. Not that sweet, innocent boy.

  “David. Answer me. What should we do?”

  “You’ve spoken to the school?”

  “I told you. I’ve talked to the principal. He confirmed with the bus driver. Anton never caught the bus.”

  He felt sick at the image that came before his eyes. “Maybe . . . Do you think he got hit by a car?”

  He could tell from Delores’s voice that she’d had the same vision. “The bus stop’s only a block away. Colin’s mom says she’s been home all day and didn’t hear or see anything. We would’ve heard, David. If something happened in the neighborhood.”

  “The cops would know,” he said dully, sick at the thought of uniformed officers in their house again. Again.

  “I almost called them. But I wanted to check with you first. In case, you know, he showed up there.”

  “I doubt he even knows where I work, Delores,” he said irritably. “He’s never done that before. Why would he come here, for God’s sakes?”

  “Well, he hasn’t been himself. Ever since you gave him the news. You know.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his secretary, Jane, peering into his chambers, her eyebrows raised in inquiry. He gave her an “It’s okay” sign and then said into the phone, “Don’t call the cops yet. I’m coming home.”

  HIS STOMACH DROPPED when he walked into the house a half hour later and saw Delores’s distraught face. He felt his temper flare at an unknown God for inflicting this pain on her. “Dee,” he said, gathering her close. “It’s not what you think, honey. Now let’s just—”

  “How do you know? How do you know it’s not what I think?”

  His hands dropped to his sides and he gazed at her helplessly, a metronome of rage ticking within him at the sheer injustice of their situation and at his inability to protect her from a calamity that he knew he had visited upon her.

  They were still staring at each other silently when the phone rang. David found himself paralyzed, unable to function. Not again. Sweet Jesus, not again. He dully registered that Delores had moved away from him and toward the phone. He heard her say, “Hello?” but it wasn’t until she said, “Anton? Where are you?” that he could breathe once more.

  He shut his eyes, unable to bear the visions that danced around him—Anton in a hospital bed, Anton in the back of a van, kidnapped by a stranger. “What? Oh, honey,” he heard Delores say. “Are you in a safe place? Well, what’s the building number? Okay, don’t you move from there. We’ll be there as soon as we can. We’re leaving now, but it might take us a while to get there, okay? So don’t panic. And Anton, don’t talk to anyone, you hear?”

  She hung up, relief lighting up her face. “Oh, David,” she said, falling into his arms. “I can’t bear this. I can’t ever live through this again.”

  He put his arms around her, rocking her silently. “Where is he? He’s safe, yes?”

  “He’s back there. At his old apartment. In the Roosevelt housing project. He went looking for his mom.”

  David felt his body grow cold. “He ran away from here? To go back there?”

  Delores must have heard something in his voice because she pulled away from him and lifted her face toward him. “Yes, he did. And I can’t blame him. He went to find his mom. Is that so hard for you to understand, David?”

  He understood, he honestly did. And yet it was undeniable—the inexplicable shame that he felt, as if he’d just lost a secret contest that pitted him against a poor, uneducated black woman. Anton had chosen her. Of course he had. But Anton had run away to her—for what? Comfort? To beg her to take him back? Well, who could blame him? As Pappy always used to say, blood seeks blood; blood is thicker than water.

  “David? Are you going to just stand here? Anton’s alone in that awful place. Shouldn’t we go get him?”

  “Yes,” he said woodenly, grabbing his coat keys. All the while thinking that what he really wanted to do was climb into bed and pull the sheets over his eyes until he recovered from the insult Anton had levied at them. He turned toward Delores. “I’ll go get him. You should start on dinner, yes?”

  “I promised him I would go.”

  “Dee. I don’t want you to go to that . . . place. It’s not safe.” He signaled her with his eyes, wanting her to understand. “I’ll be back with him in a jiffy.”

  She looked like she was about to argue, but instead she ran her finger lightly across his cheek. “Don’t say anything to him tonight, okay, David? We can talk to him tomorrow. Just . . . just bring the poor kid home.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  IN THE CAR, he pulled out a map to figure out the shortest way there. As he drove, he thought again of touring the Roosevelt projects with Pappy. Back in Kennedy’s time, Pappy, then a newly minted senator, had been instrumental in the development of the project, the largest in the state and then considered state-of-the-art, with green spaces and redbrick buildings that spread over several city blocks. But by the early eighties, when David had accompanied his father on a tour, the buildings were blighted and crime-infested, and the middle-class businesses and homes that once dotted the surrounding area had long since moved away. David remembered the distaste he had felt as they’d climbed the dark stairwells with their burnt-out lightbulbs and the acidic smell of urine on each landing. He smiled grimly as he remembered what Pappy had said when they’d left: “If I’d known the shithole this place would become, I’d have begged them to name it after Nixon, not Roosevelt.”

  David had told Pappy two days ago, on the phone, the news about the possibility of their adopting Anton. To his surprise, Pappy had been pleased. “He’s a great kid,” he’d said. “I’m just glad the drugs have still left the woman with enough of a conscience to do the right thing. You know what they say—even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

  “Well, it took a little arm-twisting,” David heard himself say.

  “Whatever do you mean?”
>
  “Nothing,” he’d said, suddenly afraid of the senator’s indignation if he ever learned the truth. Pappy, who had a reputation for scrupulous honesty, had served in the Senate with distinction. Residents in the state were still divided about his decision to resign his office in 1985, after Reagan’s landslide victory, because he’d despised the direction in which the country was headed. David remembered Tip O’Neill himself visiting the senator at his home, asking him to reconsider.

  No, Pappy would’ve found it unforgivable, what he’d done to Juanita Vesper, David thought. And the strange thing was, he didn’t really care. He adored his father, admired him, but Pappy had never known what hell looked like, had never felt the lick of hellfire or stared into the void the way he and Delores had after James’s death. The son became older than the father during that time, David thought. That first night when Delores and he had come home after visiting their son at the morgue and gone to bed in their street clothes—David shuddered at the memory. The way Delores had woken up in the middle of the night, sat cross-legged in the middle of their bed, and begun to wail. David knew that if he lived to be ninety, he would remember the ancient sorrow of that wailing; its terrible notes lived under his skin. Pappy had been devastated by the loss of his only grandson, and in some ways, he’d never recovered from the blow, same as them. But Pappy had never lived in the same house as James. Pappy had not made him pancakes for breakfast or taken him shoe shopping or—heavenly Father—shopping for his tuxedo. For the prom.

  David wiped away the tears pouring down his cheeks. It was foolish, what he’d done, pinning all his hopes on Anton, a damaged boy from a damaged home. No wonder it had not occurred to the boy to leave them a note. The first chance he had gotten, he’d made his way home. Home, to that brutal, ugly place whose thumbprints they’d tried so hard to erase from his body. Home to the mother who had discarded him like an old pair of shoes. Anton had obviously believed that she was back there, living in that same apartment where he’d almost roasted to death. A feeling of despair gripped David. He had done everything that he could to win Anton over, and at the first mention of his mother, the boy had fled. How he had even figured out a way to get back to Roosevelt was a mystery. Well, he’d find out soon enough.