Payback (12 page)

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Da says to Joanna. “I didn't know Benny but I hear he was a fine boy.”

Joanna smiles. “Please come in and sit down.”

Me and Annie and Rico stay and talk to Mango. Da and Joanna head into the kitchen.

I scratch Mango's silky ear and he pushes his nose into my hand.

“You did a grand job, Mango. You went after that feller something fierce. I'll never forget the way you kept coming back at him. Me and Annie and Rico are going to make you a special medal.”

“That's a lovely idea,” says Annie. “Isn't it, Rico?”

Rico's not sure what a medal is but he grins and nods.

I hear Da say in the kitchen, “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about this man who attacked my son?”

I move closer to the kitchen door.

“His name is Carlos Escobar. He is Rico's father. I met him many years ago, here in North Vancouver. I was alone. Benny's father had been killed in an accident. Benny was quite small when I met Carlos. Then I had Rico. Very soon after that, Carlos left Canada. He didn't like it here and wanted to go back to his own country.

“Carlos asked me to go with him, but I didn't
want that. He is a good man — he means well and has a kind heart — but Benny and I could never live with his uncontrollable rages. Besides, Carlos and Benny did not get along. Carlos wrote me many times asking me to bring just Rico with me. We could have a good life together, he said. But I didn't answer his letters. His last letter threatened to come and take Rico away from me if I did not do as he asked. Then the letters stopped. I heard nothing more from him.”

“Until now.”

“Yes. I knew he would never give up his son, and that he would come back for him one day. So I moved and changed my name to Mason, my mother's name before she married. My mistake was staying in North Vancouver. I should have moved to a place far away where he could never find me.”

A long silence follows. Then she speaks again.

“If he had taken Rico away I would have lost both my sons. And that would be the end of me.”

Early the next morning Da goes up to his and Ma's room and starts emptying Ma's closet of coats, sweaters, shirts, skirts, dresses and shoes — everything — into boxes.

I know what he's doing because he's left the bedroom door open and I'm not blind. I can see the pile of empty cardboard liquor store boxes stacked against the wall.

“What are you doing, Da?”

He stops and looks at me. “It's time to move on, Charley. I'm taking your mother's things over to the Salvation Army tomorrow. There's lots of poor people can use them. Want to give me a hand?”

“Does Annie know you're doing this?”

“She knows. She's keeping a few things.”

I start helping, packing clothing into boxes. I
decide to keep one of her sweaters, the black and gray one. The smell of Ma hasn't faded a bit.

“Let it all go, Charley.”

It's Ma, leaning against the wall near the double mirrored doors of her closet, watching Da moving back and forth, his arms full of clothes. She's wearing her Dublin grubs: faded pink T-shirt, baggy gray sweatpants, slippers. She looks the way she looked when she was working in our old kitchen, before we came to Canada.

“Aw, Ma. I hate to see all your stuff going.”

“I know, Charley. But your da's right. It's time for you to move on. There's a whole life waiting for you to live.” She smiles and waves a hand at the boxes and the sweater I'm holding in my hands. “So let everything go, okay?”

“I don't know, Ma. Things won't be the same.”

“Nothing ever stays the same, Charley.”

“I know, Ma. It's just that your sweaters and stuff made me feel like you're here with me.”

“I am always here with you, Charley.”

I look at her. Then I drop her sweater into a box.

“Goodbye, Charley.”

My throat is so swollen I can hardly say it.

“Goodbye, Ma.”

“That just about does it,” says Da from inside the closet, empty except for Annie's keepers.

I walk in and take one last lungful of air. It's a big deep one — a last breath to keep for the rest of my life.

Then we leave and I close the doors.

••••

Da went to work this morning, back to the island, and me and Annie are skipping school at Aunt Maeve's. Da said it was okay. He called the two schools, explaining our absence. We're still recovering from Friday's madness. Crazy Uncle Rufus is taking a day off work so he can be with us.

The sky is black and the rain is coming down so hard I can hear it hissing in the gutters, drumming on the roof, drumming on my head.

Aunt Maeve and Annie watch from the kitchen window.

“How will I know I'm done, Uncle Rufus?” I shout over the noise of the rain.

Crazy Uncle Rufus doesn't answer. He just smiles.

Me and Crazy Uncle Rufus are standing in the back yard in our underpants. I can feel the grass between my toes and the rain on my skin and on my bruised face, head, shoulders, chest, and I'm looking up at the black sky with my eyes closed, tasting the lashing rain on my tongue and swollen lip.

It's cold out here but it feels good.

We stand in the back yard for a long time.

Until we're done.

Then Crazy Uncle Rufus gives me a wink, and we go inside.

••••

At school the other kids see my mess of a face, but they don't say very much except stuff like, “What does the other guy look like?”

Only a few more days left before the Christmas vacation.

Dill Pickles is preparing us for a new unit starting after Christmas. She's working with our science teachers and having us sign up for Save Our Planet projects. We can work in pairs if we want.

Could be interesting. We'll get class time in the library for research and we can pick a topic like ecology, acid rain, climate change, ancient forests, whales, genetic engineering and a bunch of stuff like that. The topics and project guide are listed on the overhead and I'm copying them into my notebook.

When the bell goes at the end of the period, I've pretty well made up my mind to do something on Pacific rainforests, because I love all the trees here.

I close my notebook, but I feel like I forgot something.

I open the book again and stare at the pages of notes. They seem okay. Date assignment due, format — video, essay, story, drama or other presentation — length, margins. The usual stuff. I haven't forgotten anything.

Then I notice there are no screaming heads.

••••

At lunch time in the cafeteria I find myself a vacant table. I don't want to talk to anyone. But Danny Whelan ambles over and sits opposite.

He opens up his lunch bag.

“You got a partner for Dill Pickles' Save Our Planet project?”

I shake my head.

“Do you want one?”

I nod. It's an effort to talk.

“Would you like to do Pacific rainforests?” I manage to say.

Danny smiles. “Sounds good.”

We eat our lunches. For me it's difficult.

Danny says, “I notice you live not too far from me.”

“Yeah?”

“I see you and your kid sister go by my place all the time.”

“Yeah?”

“Junk food is good for bruises.” He holds out a bag of potato chips. “Help yourself.”

I reach over. “Thanks.”

“Take a few.”

I take a few.

We're quiet for a bit while I try to chew.

Then Danny says, “I heard someone ask what the other guy looks like.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

He smiles. “What
does
the other guy look like, Charley?”

I shrug. “Long story.” I grin, then wince. “Remind me to tell you about it some time.”