“What about your girlfriend? Take her down to the park with you.”
“Carol’s not my girlfriend, Mom.”
“Well, whatever she is. Goodness sakes, Bobby, I wasn’t suggest-ing the two of you were going to run off and elope.”
“She and some other girls slept over Angie’s house last night. Carol says when they sleep over they stay up and hen-party practically all night long. I bet they’re still in bed, or eating breakfast for lunch.”
“Then go to the park by yourself. You’re making me nervous. With the TV off on Saturday morning I keep thinking you’re dead.” She came into his room and plucked the book out of his hands. Bobby watched with a kind of numb fascination as she thumbed through the pages, reading random snatches here and there. Suppose she spotted the part where the boys talked about sticking their spears up the wild pig’s ass (only they were English and said “arse,” which sounded even dirtier to Bobby)? What would she make of it? He didn’t know. All his life they had lived together, it had been just the two of them for most of it, and he still couldn’t predict how she’d react to any given situation.
“Is this the one Brattigan gave you?”
“Yeah.”
“As a birthday present?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s it about?”
“Boys marooned on an island. Their ship gets sunk. I think it’s supposed to be after World War III or something. The guy who wrote it never says for sure.”
“So it’s science fiction.”
“Yeah,” Bobby said. He felt a little giddy. He thought
She handed the book back and walked over to his window.
“Bobby?” Not looking back at him, at least not at first. She was wearing an old shirt and her Saturday pants. The bright noonlight shone through the shirt; he could see her sides and noticed for the first time how thin she was, as if she was forgetting to eat or some-thing. “What, Mom?”
“Has Mr. Brattigan given you any other presents?”
“It’s
She frowned at her reflection in the window . . . or more likely it was his reflection she was frowning at. “Don’t correct me, Bobby-O. Has he?”
Bobby considered. A few rootbeers, sometimes a tuna sandwich or a cruller from the bakery where Sully’s mom worked, but no pres-ents. Just the book, which was one of the best presents he had ever gotten. “Jeepers, no, why would he?”
“I don’t know. But then, I don’t know why a man you just met would give you a birthday present in the first place.” She sighed, folded her arms under her small sharp breasts, and went on looking out Bobby’s window. “He told me he used to work in a state job up in Hartford but now he’s retired. Is that what he told you?”
“Something like that.” In fact, Ted had never told Bobby anything about his working life, and asking had never crossed Bobby’s mind.
“What kind of state job? What department? Health and Welfare? Transportation? Office of the Comptroller?”
Bobby shook his head. What in heck was a comptroller?
“I bet it was education,” she said meditatively. “He talks like someone who used to be a teacher. Doesn’t he?”
“Sort of, yeah.”
“Does he have hobbies?”
“I don’t know.” There was reading, of course; two of the three bags which had so offended his mother were full of paperback books, most of which looked
The fact that Bobby knew nothing of the new man’s pastimes for some reason seemed to ease her mind. She shrugged, and when she spoke again it seemed to be to herself rather than to Bobby. “Shoot, it’s only a book. And a paperback, at that.”
“He said he might have a job for me, but so far he hasn’t come up with anything.”
She turned around fast. “Any job he offers you, any chores he asks you to do, you talk to me about it first. Got that?”
“Sure, got it.” Her intensity surprised him and made him a little uneasy.
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
“
He dutifully crossed his heart and said, “I promise my mother in the name of God.”
That usually finished things, but this time she didn’t look satisfied.
“Has he ever . . . does he ever . . .” There she stopped, looking uncharacteristically flustered. Kids sometimes
