“What's that doing here?”

“I… I was just looking at it,” she said, turning away from him, so he wouldn't see her expression. Jim always knew when she was lying to him, which she rarely did.

“You shouldn't go in his room,” he said firmly. “It'll just upset you.”

“Sometimes it feels right to just sit there, with his things, and remember him,” she said quietly, and he shook his head as he walked into the bathroom to put on his pajamas. He was a fairly modest man, but she had always liked that about him. In the days before he drank too much there had been a lot she had liked about him. And for some reason, in the last two days, those memories had come to mind more and more often. It was as though she was not seeing who he was, but remembering who he had been.

And when he came out of the bathroom, Jim reminded her to put the jacket away the next day, and leave it in Johnny's closet. “Don't let the kids play with it,” he admonished her, “they'll just lose it. And it meant a lot to him.”

“I know that. I promised him I'd save it for Bobby,” she said, not thinking how it sounded.

“When did you promise him that?” He looked puzzled.

“A long time ago. When he first got it.”

“Oh,” Jim nodded, satisfied with her explanation. He hated even seeing it there. It just reminded them of everything they had lost and would never have again. If he could have, he would have put it back in Johnny's room then, but he didn't want to go in there.

Jim got into bed next to her, and turned off the light, and the house was silent around them. Alice couldn't help wondering where Johnny was, if he had disappeared again to wherever he went these days between the times he spent chatting with her, or if he was still in his room, going through his papers, and rummaging in his desk. And she smiled, as she lay next to Jim, thinking of their son, and she was surprised when Jim put an arm around her. It was so rare that he was amorous with her anymore. Most of the time, he drank too much to even think about it, although he still did occasionally. But the opportunities were rare. More often than not, when the kids were in bed, he was passed out in his chair downstairs. It was something Alice accepted. Their love life was yet another casualty of their life and broken years.

“Don't get sick again, Alice,” he said, in the same tone he had used when he talked to her earlier on the couch, filled with tenderness and worry, and love for her.

“I won't. I promise.” He nodded, and then turned over on his side, and went to sleep, snoring softly, as she watched him, wondering if life would ever be the same again. It seemed unlikely that it would.





Chapter 6


For the next few days Johnny came and went, going back and forth between his own house and the Adamses'. He seemed to be spending a lot of time watching Becky, and he looked unhappy late one afternoon when he came home to his mother.

“Where have you been?” She sounded like the mother of any teenager, and he laughed at the question when he walked in.

“I was at Becky's. The kids were all going wild and driving her crazy.”

“I don't suppose you helped her with them,” his mother teased.

“I would have if I could, Mom.” He had always been good with them, and he liked them. “All I could do was keep an eye on them, and make sure none of them got a book of matches and burned down the house. They're a handful. She stayed home from work today to help her mom out. Two of them had the flu and couldn't go to school. But it sure isn't much of a life for Becky. She needs more than just that in her life. At least when I was around she got to go out and have some fun sometimes. She never goes anywhere now, Mom.”

“I know. I keep telling Pam that. They both need to get out more.”

“I'm not sure they can afford to,” Johnny said honestly. But much as he hated to see her move on, he knew that Becky needed a boyfriend. There was nothing he could do about it, but he realized that at eighteen, she had a right to more than the life she was leading. Her siblings were as much her responsibility as her mother's. Sometimes more, because her mother worked longer hours. It saddened him that Becky never had fun anymore.

“I offered to baby-sit for her. Charlie could help me.”

“If you can drag her off of the basketball court once in a while, which I doubt, sometime between basketball and baseball season. Why don't we try to get Dad to one of her games, Mom?”

“I have,” she said unhappily. “He won't go. He never has. You know as well as I do, he thinks it's stupid for girls to play sports.”

Johnny looked instantly annoyed. “She's a fantastic athlete, better than I was. He'd see that if he'd ever go to watch her.”

“Well, he won't,” Alice said, closing the subject. She had said it to Jim hundreds of times herself, but he said he wasn't going to waste his time, watching a bunch of girls play boys' sports, badly. It was useless to discuss it further with him, and Alice knew it. She had tried for years.

“He's the one who's missing out, as much as she is,” Johnny said, looking frustrated.

“I go. That's something.” But they both knew it wasn't what Charlotte wanted, or not all of it at least. She wanted her father's attention and approval, and so far she had never won it. Alice worried about what it would mean to her later, when she looked back and remembered that her father had never seen her win a single game, hit a home run, or win a trophy. And she had nearly as many as Johnny, including an award for MVP in the league for her last baseball season. Her picture had even been in the local paper. And Jim hadn't even mentioned it to her. But if Bobby had been able to play he'd have noticed, and told all his friends.

Johnny came with her to pick Bobby up at school again that day, and he and his mother chatted all the way there in the car. And Bobby seemed in better spirits when he got in. He turned and stared straight at Johnny in the backseat, and then turned around and looked out the window as they drove home, and his mother chatted with him. She always acted as though she expected him to answer her, but wasn't upset when he didn't.

And once they got home, she gave him milk and cookies. Johnny had gone upstairs, back to his room, to put away his jacket. And a few minutes later, Bobby rushed upstairs, and Alice stayed in the kitchen to slice some vegetables for dinner. She had promised to make Charlotte's favorite dinner, of southern fried chicken, and mashed potatoes, with the zucchini fritters she loved.

Charlotte came home late that afternoon, and she went outside almost immediately to shoot some baskets, just as Johnny had done at her age, and after a while Alice was chilly, and went upstairs to get a sweater. She could hear sounds coming from Bobby's room. He was playing one of his talking tapes that she had bought for him, to inspire him, but the program had never worked. It had been a nice thought though. She poked her head into the room and blew him a kiss, and she saw Johnny sitting on the window seat, watching Bobby and saying nothing. And Alice winked at him, before going back downstairs to the kitchen. She had almost finished making dinner when Johnny came back downstairs and looked longingly at a plate of cookies. But no matter how normal he looked to her, he could not eat them. There were some things he didn't do, and few he missed as much as her cookies and apple pie.

“Is Bobby okay?” she asked, looking distracted, as she put the last touches on the zucchini fritters.

“He's fine,” Johnny said matter-of-factly, as he hopped up on one of the kitchen counters. He was swinging his feet just the way Bobby would have. “He sees me,” he said, and then waited for his mother's reaction to what he'd said.

“Who sees you?” she asked, putting something back in the refrigerator, and taking something else out.

“Bobby,” Johnny said, and then grinned as she came out of the refrigerator in rapid reverse, and stared at him.

“How do you know?”

“I can tell. Besides, he touched me,” he said as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You let him? See you, I mean? Are you supposed to do that?”

“I don't know. I didn't think anyone could except you, Mom. But he does.” He looked happy about it.

“Did you scare him?” she asked, looking worried.

“Of course not. Why would he be scared of me? Did he look scared to you when you walked into the room a few minutes ago?”

“No, he didn't.” At least he couldn't tell anyone. Maybe that was why “they” had let Bobby see him too. “What did you tell him?”

“That I came back for a visit, and I can't stay. But I'll be here for a little while, pretty much what I told you. It's the truth. He was happy to see me. God, I love him, Mom.” Johnny had always been wonderful with him. He had been thirteen the summer Jim had had the accident with him, and Johnny had been devastated when he thought Bobby wouldn't survive. And forever after, he had been his great defender. “I talked to him for a long time about wanting to come to see him because I never said good-bye.” Alice's eyes filled with tears as she listened, and then she smiled at the son she loved so much. She loved all her children, but she knew more than ever now how much she loved this one.

“It must have been you I heard when I went upstairs. I thought it was one of the tapes I bought him. You'd better watch out that Charlie and Dad don't hear you talking to him.” If they could. He nodded then, as Bobby wandered into the kitchen. And he grinned broadly when he saw Johnny with his mom.

“This is pretty exciting, Bobby, isn't it?” she said softly, and he nodded, looking from one to the other. “But we can't tell anyone,” not that he could have, or would have anyway. But it touched her heart to see that his eyes were dancing. “Do you suppose the whole family will get to see you eventually?” Alice asked Johnny. “We all missed you. Dad and Charlotte did too.”