Everybody's Son Page 4

  David was nice too, but every time he bought Anton something—like the watch—he looked at him in a burning way, like he wanted something back. Like last night, when he’d mentioned going home to his mam soon and David’s face had grown funny. David was a judge, too, so how come he couldn’t free his mam? Then he could go back home and they could stop buying him clothes and stuff and go to their stupid party by themselves.

  Anton turned onto his side and looked out the window into the dark. When he was little, his mam used to read Goodnight Moon to him every night, as they snuggled in bed together. It was the only book he’d ever owned, and they had kept it until last year, when he’d been invited to a birthday party for a four-year-old kid in the neighborhood, and since there was no money in the house, his mam had made him give the book as a gift. He’d hated her then, but tonight, Anton dug his thumbnail into his index finger as punishment for having been angry with her. When he saw his mam again, he was going to beg her to stop doing the drugs, and he knew that if he asked real nice, she would stop. Because she was a good mom and she loved him.

  Maybe if he had a fever, they’d leave him at home and he wouldn’t have to go to the party. That was the other weird thing about being here—they never left him home alone, not even for ten minutes. In his apartment, he was alone often—when he skipped school or when his mam had to work Saturdays, or when she ran errands to buy bread or milk or drugs. He liked being by himself. He would watch television or play games on his Nintendo Game Boy that Mam had bought him for his birthday. That was back when she still had money, before she started spending most of it on Victor and the drugs.

  Here, they allowed him to watch only an hour of TV. It was just like being in jail. FM even chose what books he could read, and they were not comic books. Where was his Game Boy now? Who had it? His head pounded at the thought of Maurice who lived next door stealing his video game. He hated Maurice.

  Blinking back his angry tears, Anton flung the sheets away from his sweaty body and turned over again. If only he knew how to make his way home, he could run away. He missed his neighborhood, with its noise and excitement. On a warm summer night, he’d fall asleep to the sounds of squealing tires and crying babies and engines gunning and the loud laughter of the young men who gathered on the streets outside his window. This house was as silent as a grave. Probably the dead boy, James, was buried in the basement. Anton shivered at the thought. And nobody in this town looked like him. Except for his old school principal and one other teacher, he hadn’t known any white people. He had never really seen blue eyes up close until David. Looking into his eyes made Anton feel like he was drowning in an icy lake.

  Even the barbershop in town was as quiet as a library, so different from the noisy, teasing, swearing place back home. FM had taken him there two days ago and the man had made a big fuss over never having cut hair like his, until Anton had felt his cheeks flush. In his old neighborhood, nobody even noticed him beyond a casual “Hey, Anton. Wassup, man?” Here, he was stared at wherever they went, like he was in the circus.

  Would there be any black kids at the party? He’d wanted to ask David but had felt embarrassed. He knew how much they wanted him to like them and their house, how they were cooking special foods for him, buying him shoes and stuff, and he was trying to be polite, like his mam always taught him, but he was beginning to get impatient. When was she coming to get him? When were they taking him back home? Every time he tried asking, David’s face got weird. And in any case, it was no use trying to talk to them. Any time he said anything, they were always correcting him. Any time he asked them for something, FM would say, “It’s ‘ask,’ honey, not ‘ax.’” And turned out the word was “impatient,” not “inpatient,” as Anton had always said. And “supposedly,” not “supposably.” Everything he had ever known, it seemed, was wrong.

  He checked his watch again. He’d get up real early in the morning the day of the party and make his way into their kitchen. He knew where FM kept the onions in a hanging basket. He would steal one and return to his bedroom. A kid at school had once told him that if you placed an onion in your armpit for an hour, you’d get a fever. Anton hated being sick, but it would get him out of going to the party. He’d spend the time alone, watching TV and maybe eating some ice cream. He knew where they kept that, too.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  David was so thrilled with how good the boy looked. In his pale blue Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, his new haircut, and brand-new Keds, Anton shimmered. His golden skin shone like copper in the late-July sunlight, and it made him look tanned and fit, as if he had just stepped off a sailboat at the Cape. Less than a month with them and already Anton looked radiant, the picture of good health, so different from the timid, frail kid David had picked up from Children’s Services. Delores was wrong. This kid would be fine at school. No, not just fine. He would thrive. David would make it happen through the sheer force of his will. Anton just needed what all kids needed: Good food. Sunshine. Clean air. Education. Exercise. Discipline. Love. All the things that he and Delores were uniquely qualified to offer. He felt giddy, filled with a sense of possibility, as he looked out on the backyard to where Smithie’s annual summer party was going on full swing.

  David glanced at his watch. Damn Connor for being late, as usual. Anton seemed to be holding his own among the other kids here, but most of the children were either a few years older or younger. Connor’s son, Bradley, was Anton’s age, and David was hoping the two boys would hit it off. If Connor and Jan ever showed up, that is. It was a running joke between them—Connor had landed at Exeter early, a full term before David. For everything else, he had come late.

  Don Smith, the host of the party, came up behind him and smacked him lightly on the back. “You having a good time, David?”

  “As always, Smithie.”

  “Then how come your glass is empty?”

  David grinned. “A little too early to get drunk, don’t you think?”

  “Bullshit. It’s never too early.” He stood next to David and took in the scene before them. “That’s the little boy you took in?”

  “Yup.” Inwardly, he cringed. Don made it sound like they’d adopted a stray.

  “So how’s it working out?”

  “So far, so good.” David was aware that he was being evasive, but he didn’t care to discuss Anton with Don.

  His fears were realized the next second. “Well, bully for you,” Don said. A brief pause and then “My mother, God bless her, always warned me against this sort of thing, y’know, adoption and such. Said you never knew what you were bringing home. Other people’s messes and all that.”

  David felt his temper flare but tamped it down immediately. This is just Smithie being Smithie, he reminded himself. Originally from Oklahoma, Don had built one of the most successful insurance businesses in the state, but he prided himself for his lack of polish. As his business slogan said, “What You See Is What You Get.”

  “Well, we’re just fostering him. But you’re right. It’s not for everybody,” David said vaguely.

  Don nodded. “That’s right. Different strokes for different folks.” His eyes narrowed as he squinted into the backyard. “He’s pretty light-skinned, for being colored. Hell, he could pass for Lebanese or something.”

  This time David didn’t hide his annoyance. “Really, Smithie? Colored? What is this, 1954?”

  Don chuckled. “Relax, David. I’m just a dumb old Okie from Muskogee, you know. I ain’t no blue blood like yourself.”

  Despite himself, David grinned. “Knock it off. I’ve known you too damn long for the I’m-just-a-poor-redneck routine to work.”

  Don poked him in the ribs. “You got my number.” They stood quietly for a minute. “So, changing the subject here. Rumor is that Michaels is going to retire from the appellate court next year. If that happens, the governor will have a seat to fill. What do you think?”

  David glanced at Don. “What do I think about what?”

  “Come on, David. Yo
u haven’t gotten this far by playing coy. You know we all have big plans for you. Want me to put a bug in the governor’s ear? I’m having dinner with him next month.”

  David hesitated. He knew that Don was a big donor to the Democratic Party and was on friendly terms with Richard Tufts, the current governor; and he was too busy a man to waste his time on idle promises. But did David want to move up to the appellate court? He knew what his father would say. Pappy would be incredulous that he was even debating this. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth,” he always said.

  “Let me think about it,” he said.

  “Okay. But don’t think for too long. You know some of your fellow judges would be chomping at the bit for this offer.”

  “I know. I don’t mean to be ungrateful. Thank you, Don.”

  The older man leaned in toward David. “Your father was always a friend of the insurance industry when he was senator. I never forget a favor. And you’re going to go far. Everybody knows that. If I can be a stepping stone, I’d be proud to help.”

  “Thank you,” he said again. It always made him uncomfortable to be compared to Pappy or to be reminded of whom he had helped as senator. Not to mention the expectation that David would follow in his footsteps. David had chosen the legal profession to escape that pressure, believing that he didn’t have the temperament for the deal-making and glad-handing that had come so easily to Harold Coleman. But it was a small state, and many assumed that David would eventually enter the family business. Hell, many residents still had not forgiven his dad for stepping down from the Senate because he had gotten fed up with the partisan bickering during the Reagan years. David knew that they expected him to atone for what they considered to be the senator’s folly by running for office himself someday.

  “Uncle David!”

  He spun around to be greeted by the full force of Bradley Stevens racing down the wooden porch to run smack into him. “Oof,” David grunted. “You almost knocked me over, Brad.”

  Bradley looked up at him with a grin. “Sorry.”

  David rubbed the boy’s back affectionately. “You remember Connor’s son, right?” he said to Don, who nodded. “Where’s your dad?” he asked, but before Bradley could reply, Connor came out of the house, a highball in his hand.

  “Smithie,” he said, putting his arm around the older man. “Sorry we’re a little late.”

  Don glanced approvingly at Connor’s glass. “At least you’re not wasting any time with the libations.” He smiled. “Unlike your prissy girlfriend here.”

  The three men laughed. “So where is he?” Connor asked after a second. “Anton?”

  “Over there.” David pointed with his chin. He glanced around quickly, making sure Delores was still in the house. “Come on,” he said, deciding that it was foolish to not introduce Anton to his best friend. “You and Bradley should meet him.”

  Connor shot David an inquiring glance. “You think that’s a good idea?” he murmured.

  David looked him in the eye. “I do.” He kept eye contact with Connor until the latter finally looked away. “Okay,” Connor said, shrugging.

  “Excuse us for a moment, Smithie,” David said, and the two men stepped off the porch. Bradley followed them across the lawn to where Anton was playing with some younger kids. “Anton,” David called as they approached, and the boy stopped midsentence and ran up to them.

  David stood behind Anton with his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Anton,” he said, “this is my friend Connor.”

  “Hey there,” Connor said, smiling. “This is my son, Bradley.”

  “Hi,” Anton said shyly, keeping his eyes on Brad.

  The two boys stood looking at each other until David gave Brad a nudge. “Anton’s new here. How about you introduce him to your friends?”

  “Sure.” Brad flashed Anton a disarming smile. “Come on.”

  They waited until the boys had run off together before Connor turned to David. “Well, this is a new one for me. Can’t say I’ve ever socialized with the child of someone I’m prosecuting.”

  David shrugged. “What’re you gonna do? Just the luck of the draw that I got him.”

  “Yup. A little awkward, though.”

  Connor was right, of course, but David felt a worm of irritation crawl under his skin. “Well,” he said lightly. “Here we are.”

  But Connor wouldn’t drop it. “Be a bit awkward if someone saw me here with the kid. Or if he—”

  David made a dismissive sound. “Connor. Stop it. You’re sounding just like Dee. She didn’t even want to come today because of you.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Look around you. You’re at a party with sixty other people. I’ve known you since we were twelve. What are we supposed to do? Not be friends because of this situation? As for Anton, don’t worry. He still thinks the president of the United States flies his own plane.”

  Connor smiled. “That’s funny. Okay. Sorry. How’ve you been?”

  “Great. Busy. The boy has kept me on my toes. But he’s a great kid, really.”

  “Glad to hear. I heard from the mother’s lawyer just yesterday. Looks like she’s ready to cop a plea.”

  David felt the flutter in his heart. A plea bargain meant a lesser sentence. Anton was going to get his wish after all. He waited to compose himself before he spoke. “So what’s the deal?”

  Connor shrugged. “Well, we’re offering to drop the drug possession charge. So that leaves only the child endangerment.”

  David did not attempt to hide his disgust. “So that’s, like, what? Six months?”

  “Probably.”

  David curled his upper lip. “Figures.”

  “What?”

  He shook his head and turned to walk away, a sour feeling in his stomach. “Forget it. Just forget it.”

  “David. What’s the matter?”

  He swung back on his heels and turned to face Connor, his face flushed and sweaty. “I’ll tell you what’s the matter. You’re going to uproot Anton from the only chance he’s ever going to have to make something of his life, and put him back in that . . . filth.” He leaned in and jabbed his finger in Connor’s face. “You know what’s going to happen, right? A year from now she’ll do exactly the same thing again. Except this time the boy may be dead.”

  “Wait a minute—”

  “No. You wait a minute. You think six months in the slammer is going to change anything? Straighten her out? You know better’n that.”

  “David. For Christ’s sake. Lower your voice. And get your finger out of my goddamn face.” Connor waited and then continued, “You know how crowded our jails are, better than anyone. Jeez. I don’t get this. You’ve always advocated rehab for first-time offenders and—”

  “It’s different this time, Connor.”

  “What’s different? The fact that you’re fostering the woman’s kid? The entire legal system should change because of this?”

  David’s voice was low but quivering with anger. “Fuck you, Stevens.”

  Connor’s mouth went slack with shock. “I don’t believe this. I just don’t believe it. What the . . .”

  Out of the corner of his eye, David could see people glancing in their direction. He was making a scene, and that was the last thing he wanted. He looked around for Anton and Bradley, but the boys were safely out of earshot. He felt a pang of remorse when he saw the stunned look on his friend’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I truly am.” He swallowed. “I’m just tired. Very tired.” He put his hand on Connor’s shoulder and then turned away before his friend could respond. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

  As he walked back toward the house, he struggled to regain his composure. Delores was right. Coming to the party had been a mistake. He should’ve kept his distance from Connor until the whole legal matter had been resolved. Maybe he wasn’t cut out to be a foster parent after all. During the training sessions, the caseworkers had repeatedly stressed the importance of not getting too attached to their wards, had reminded them t
hat the majority of foster children were returned to their parents. Less than a month in and he had already forgotten this. Which was why Connor’s words had affected him so. Sure, it was a screwed-up legal system that valued parental rights over the welfare of the child. But then who was he to know what was best for Anton? His track record as a father wasn’t exactly great—he had not even been able to keep his only child from being killed.

  Stop it, he said to himself. Get a grip. Find Delores. She’ll know what to do.

  He entered Don’s living room and spotted Delores immediately. She was sitting on the couch with Connor’s wife, Jan, who looked up as he walked in. “Hey, handsome,” she said, grinning. “We were just talking about you. Seen my husband yet?”

  David had no choice but to go up to them and dutifully kiss Jan on the cheek. “Yeah, he’s outside.”

  “So what’re you doing in here?” Jan seemed to notice something was amiss. “Hey. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just been in the sun too long,” he lied. He glanced at Delores, who was shooting him a skeptical look. “Can I talk to you for a second, honey?”

  Delores rose to her feet immediately. “Sure.”

  They found a relatively quiet spot in one of the bedrooms. “What’s the matter?” Delores asked. “You look awful.”

  He shook his head and found himself on the verge of tears. “I don’t know.” He stared out the window for a second. “I just had a nasty exchange with Connor. I was rude to him, I’m afraid.”

  “About Anton?” she asked sharply.

  “Yes.”

  She sighed. But she was too much of a class act to say “I told you so.”

  “The mother wants to plea-bargain. She’ll be out in about six months.”