What They Always Tell Us (15 page)

For the Sunday dinner Mom makes pork chops, roasted new potatoes, asparagus, and a salad, plus corn bread. For dessert, she has made a chocolaty Coca-Cola cake. Henry and his mother show up right on time. Under her winter coat she is wearing slacks and a royal blue blouse; she smells of a flowery perfume, and her face is made up to give her a healthy glow. She looks nice up close—a small woman the same age as some of his younger teachers, probably in her thirties, with dirty blond hair cut in a stylish fashion. Henry, meanwhile, has blond hair now. Not that peroxide, almost whitish blond, but more like yellow. He wears black pants and a blue cardigan over a white polo and green sneakers.

“I’m so glad y’all could make it,” his mother says, noticing Henry’s wild hair but masking her surprise with a smile.

“Here,” Henry says, handing Mom a bottle of white wine that he has been holding.

“Oh, well, thank you,” she says.

“Mom bought it, but I picked it out. I liked the bottle.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s a wonderful wine,” she says, smiling at Mrs. Burns, who giggles nervously. The two of them then head to the kitchen, because Mrs. Burns—who says they should call her Laura—insists on helping get the food ready.

James, Alex, and Henry, meanwhile, park themselves in the living room. Dad has been watching
60 Minutes,
but now that Henry is here, he focuses on him.

“And you’re at Verner Elementary, Henry?”

“Yes, sir. I’m a fourth grader. Next year I’ll be a fifth grader.”

“Wonderful,” Dad says. “Do you like it at Verner?”

“Not really,” he says, very matter-of-fact.

Dad thinks this is so funny and laughs, but James can tell that Henry isn’t trying to be funny. After Dad ends his laughing fit, he says, “A man I work with, his daughter is at Verner. Jennifer Goodwin, do you know her?”

Henry nods. “Yes, I do. She’s okay.”

Again Dad laughs. Maybe he’s just nervous or not used to kids anymore? “So, do you like your teachers, at least?”

“Dad,” Alex says, “stop grilling Henry about school.”

James is a little surprised at Alex’s assertiveness, and so is Dad, because he looks at Alex with a confused smile on his face, like he can’t believe his ears.

“My teachers are okay,” Henry replies. “Yes, I like them.”

James can look at Henry and see he has a hard time at school. The goofy hair, always a new color, plus the mismatched clothes. He’s also, well, weird, the way he speaks in clipped sentences, the way he stares at you so pointedly. Surely he has it rough. After all, kids are mean, and they don’t get much better as they get older. Hell, maybe it will get
worse
for him. All of a sudden James feels oppressed by Henry’s sad existence, almost suffocated by it. And with Alex right here, too, it’s like the whole room is flooded with rejection.

But then Henry looks at him and smiles, revealing his set of slightly crooked teeth. James can’t really say why, but the feeling of oppression vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

Mom does most of the talking during dinner. Or, rather, she does all of the
asking.
She asks Mrs. Burns question after question, like she is interrogating her on a witness stand, though with much more cheer and friendliness than a prosecutor.

Where did she grow up? (Virginia.) Did she go to college? (Yes, briefly, at a small college in Virginia.) Where were they before they moved to Tuscaloosa? (Georgia, then Florida. Before that, Virginia, then Tennessee.)

“I’m afraid we’ve had a nomadic life,” she says, laughing, then looking at Henry.

“Mom says a change of scenery is a good thing,” Henry says, then nibbles on an asparagus stem.

“Well,” she says, looking at Mom and Dad in turn, “I grew up in Virginia and lived there my whole life, even for college, and I, well—I just didn’t like being stuck in one place.”

James can certainly understand
that.

“And then Henry came along,” she says, giggling again. “So that’s why I dropped out of school. It seemed like a good time to get away, make a new start. Nothing has really tied us to one place ever since.”

James can sense that there’s more to this story. Something is missing. Or many things are missing. Crucial details. Like how she said “and then Henry came along.” Like he was dropped at her doorstep or something, like a newspaper.

“And what kind of work do you do, Laura?” Dad asks.

“Oh, secretarial work. I used to do transcription, too. When Henry was little. I could do that from home. And in college towns, I would type students’ papers for them.”

Dad nods, and Mom says, “Oh, how interesting.”

“Yeah, it was. I sort of got my own college education just by reading those papers. Read about all kinds of things. The Cold War, Vietnam, ancient Rome. It was fun work, I must say. I may put an ad in the paper, since the university is here.”

“Why’d you move to Tuscaloosa?” James asks. It seems like a reasonable question, but he notices Mrs. Burns sort of struggle with the answer: her eyes squinch and she looks up, as if she is thinking up a good reason.

“Oh, well, it seems like a nice place. And I’ve always liked college towns. And, well”—she giggles—“I don’t know, really.”

“Mom says we’ll probably stay here,” Henry says.

“Oh, good,” Dad says. “It’s a wonderful place to raise your children.”

Yeah right,
James thinks.
A real great place.
As if his own child, Alex, didn’t try to off himself. Is his father just saying that, or does he believe it? He looks at his mother, but she doesn’t seem to have registered the comment.

“Alex and James, do you boys like it here?” Henry’s mom asks.

Alex has been quiet for most of the meal, more so than usual, just eating his food and sipping his water, like a machine. But before James can answer, Alex speaks. “Yeah, I do. I mean, it’s not the greatest place in the world. But I like it. It’s home, you know? No matter what, it will always be home.”

James is stunned into silence. His parents are both staring at Alex, pleasantly surprised by his statement. Hell, James is surprised. How could
Alex
like it here?

“Well, I hope we can stay,” Mrs. Burns says, breaking the silence before taking a sip of her wine. James eyes her, and she smiles at him with clenched lips.

If you guys want to stay here, fine,
he thinks,
but I’m so out of here.

“So, how’s Alex doing on the team?” James asks Nathen. It’s a Friday night a few weeks later, and they are at a University of Alabama basketball game at Coleman Coliseum. Nathen’s parents get discounted tickets, so here they are during halftime, in the large auditorium, midcourt, in seats halfway up, just above the rowdy student section. Big crimson banners hang from the high ceiling, announcing all the championship victories for both the men’s and women’s teams.

“He’s doing really well,” Nathen says. “Coach R isn’t being too rough on him, and the other guys seem to like him. It’s intense, but he’s learning.” Nathen nods. “Yeah, he’s doing great.”

“Cool. That’s great.”

Alex has been on the team for two weeks. Most days he comes home just as it gets dark out, exhausted but also, James notices, strangely buoyant. Not that he is chattier with James—they rarely talk other than at the dinner table. But James hears him talking with his parents, going on and on about the team and training and this and that, sounding eager and excited. And their parents, in turn, sound excited, too.

“You guys don’t talk much, huh?” Nathen says, as if reading his mind.

“Not really. I mean, we do. But not like we used to.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. I mean, ever since he did that crazy shit, I just feel weird around him. Like if I say the wrong thing or something, he might, like, I don’t know….” He stares off at the action on the court. Some middle-aged guy has missed his big chance to win some prize on the court, and a cheerleader is patting him on the back. When James looks back at Nathen, he asks, “Does he talk to you?”

“A little. Mostly about running and stuff.”

James feels little tinglings of jealousy, but he knows that is silly.

“I like him a lot,” Nathen says.

James just nods. Why shouldn’t he be cool with the two of them being friends? It’s girly to get possessive of a friend anyway.

After the game’s over, when they’re stuck in the postgame traffic jam, James remembers that there’s a party tonight at George Thirkell’s house. Every weekend, it seems, someone’s parents are out of town. “You wanna go to George’s party?” he asks.

Nathen turns the radio to the local college station, and the lead singer of a band called Wing Ding sings acoustically about how some girl broke his heart. “Man, you tennis boys are always throwing parties,” he says, smiling. “I don’t know. You want to go?”

“I don’t know.”

Nathen is quiet for a minute, then asks, “You think Tyler will be there?”

“Probably. Why?”

“Honestly? I’m not too fond of that kid.”

“Yeah. I mean, he’s my teammate, but he gets on my nerves.”

“Uh, yeah, no shit. Plus, he’s been a real jerk to Alex, it seems like.”

“Yeah,” James says, and a surge of guilt rises up in him. Here’s Nathen, a guy who barely knows Alex, taking a stand for him. Which is much more than James has done. But he wipes the guilt away like a smudge. Alex brought it on himself, after all. Besides, James has got five more months of school to go, and he needs to focus on college and graduation and tennis. He has enough on his plate without having to worry about all the kids who are being mean to his brother.

“I guess we can just skip it, then,” James says.

“There’ll be other parties.”

Yep, James thinks. More parties. More of the same old shit.

Nathen finally clears the campus traffic and heads across the river on McFarland, up the hill toward their neighborhoods. A lot of the trees are bare and skeletal, now that winter has made up its mind to be winter. Homes are lit up with the glow of lamps and televisions.

“Just think,” Nathen says, “next year we’ll both be somewhere else on a night like this. You’ll be scoring the ladies at Duke, and I’ll be living the Ivy League life.” He starts laughing, and James joins in, because though it’s all quite possible, and though he thinks about it all the time—this future life in college and beyond—he still feels bound to this city, to this life, like things will never change.

The next night, James goes to see another movie with Clare. It’s
not
a date, he tells his parents before he heads out. Everyone thinks they’re dating again, and it’s annoying always having to explain the situation.

He picks her up at her house, which is near the hospital in a nice neighborhood tucked away behind a busy part of town. He rings the door and she answers right away, not even giving him a chance to say hello to her parents, which is fine with him. Her hair is in a ponytail and she is wearing a white knee-length wool coat over jeans and a sweater. She clearly didn’t get dolled up for the occasion, but neither did James.

“I can’t believe you’re dragging me to this movie,” she says.

“Dragging? Whatever,” he says, smiling. They’re going to see a movie about an undercover cop infiltrating the Mafia. It’ll be bloody and tense. “You picked last time, remember? I had to see that Julia Roberts crap.”

“It wasn’t crap! It was good.”

“It was crap. Thank God she’s good-looking, because her movies stink.”

“You’re a jerk,” she says, laughing. “Just because it was about love and all that, and not about blood and guts. Boys are all the same.”

“Boys?” he says. He mocks a tough-sounding accent: “I ain’t no boy.”

“Oh, I forgot, you’re a
man.
” She laughs.

He feels himself blush, suddenly remembering her old college-age boyfriend. Of course he seems like a boy to
her.

“Anyway, this one will be good. I’ll pay.”

“Okay. But it’s—”

“Not a date. I
know
!” He meant to sound like he was laughing it off, but when Clare is quiet for a minute he realizes he sounded testy, like he is mad it
isn’t
a date.