The Sitter Page 2

  “Come with me, little man,” Steven says, “Let's have another shot at pinball.” I hand Kevin his soda, and he and his dad walk over to the nearby arcade machines. Leo sits down and smiles at me, his chocolate-colored eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “You have a cigarette for me, Leo?” I ask. My voice is still shaking.

  “Absolutely not,” Bertie says, waving a hand at Leo. “What's wrong? Has something happened here?”

  “Nothing,” I say. I reach into Leo's shirt pocket for his crumpled pack of Camels. I shake my head at Bertie and put a cigarette into my mouth. “Not tonight, Bertie,” I say as Leo kindly supplies a light. “I'll be good another night. There was this lunatic,” I say. “Some guy made up like a monster...he was advertising a freak show. For a minute I thought he was real, and I flipped out. Lost it completely.”

  “Well, I'll be damned,” Bertie says, frowning. “What a stupid thing for him to do!” She looks around like she's going to take out after him, and I have to smile. “At least you're here, Luv, and that's better than home under the covers.” She pats my arm.

  “I'm not at all sure about that,” I murmur, thinking about those protective covers. I run a hand through my hair.

  “Kevin's having fun, I think,” Leo says, lighting up a smoke of his own. I like Leo. I have never seen him in a bad mood. He is a boyish, handsome fellow a few inches shorter than the strapping Bertie. He has large brown eyes and thick, caramel-colored hair he keeps trimmed short. His mustache is a surprising fiery red. Huge black rimmed glasses give him a bookish, scholarly appearance.

  “I hope so,” I say. “He's been doing a lot of crying at pre-school. Steven thinks he misses...Larry.” I can hardly say the name. “And Stevie of course.”

  “Larry Cutler,” Bertie says, shaking her head and making a face. “Bad news, that one.”

  I nod. “Steven keeps suggesting we let Kevin spend some 'supervised' time with Larry; can you imagine? Says he shouldn't lose Larry as well as his big brother.” I toss my head, my anger rising. “As if I'd let that-” Tears again--whether of rage or grief, they are never far.

  Later, in another weak moment, Kevin and Steven talk me into checking out the 'Barrel Racers' attraction. Pleading fatigue, I try to decline, but Steven insists. He makes a 'Family-Happening' out of it. He lifts Kevin up into an over the shoulder fireman's carry and I follow behind climbing the flimsy, encircling stairs up the side of an ugly edifice that looks like a giant barrel. A loud hissing and buzzing sound comes from inside the thing. It sounds like a giant hornet's nest. It is dark now and bright neon light spills out over the structure above us.

  Just ahead of me, Kevin's eyes are huge as he looks down at me. He's obviously scared...just like his mother. I try to take his hand, but I can't reach him. I want to snatch him from his father and carry him back down to the safety of the ground where Bertie and Leo wait.

  At last we reach the top. The noise is deafening. It tears at me. Kevin's hands come up to his ears and I see him start to cry. Again I reach for him, but Steven carries him off around the narrow walkway that circles the rim. Hands fluttering at my own ears, I look down through the wired safety fence, into the screeching din. Motorcycles. Two of them, their motors screaming. They chase each other around in too narrow circles, climbing to the top. The drivers wear shiny black leather, their helmets gleaming. Their face plates give them a mindless, robotic look.

  Each driver carries a torch, its flames streaming out behind his cycle. I watch as they rise, following each other up the curved wooden sides toward the top where I stand, rooted in horror. I breathe in the stench of burning oil. Nothing but a wire mesh covers the top of the structure. No real protection. One small miscue--just one--and they will fly right out over the top...

  Frantic, I look around for Kevin and Steven. Oh, God, where are they? I can't see them. I see Larry Cutler, though. Clear as day he is, opposite me, across the chasm of racket. He leans casually against the rim railing, smiling at me. Larry looks comfortable, right at home--at home in Hell.

  Silence then. It almost knocks me over. It's as if I had been leaning into the noise and now I'm about to fall. Clutching at the railing, I see the two drivers at the top now, waving at the crowd. I hear enthusiastic applause from those around me.

  “Mommy, Mommy, wasn't that great?”

  My family appears, and Kevin is beaming down at me from atop his father's shoulders. I try for a happy grin, but feel it crumble into the grimace of tears as I press my face against Stevens's chest. I hug them both. A moment later, I look around for Larry. He is gone.

  At home, after this endless day, I sit on the bath mat hugging my knees, watching Steven bathe Kevin. With his fair hair and hazel eyes, he favors me--at least at this point in his life. He is so dear to me. Since Stevie, painfully so.

  I close my eyes. The thought that never lets me rest, that always pounds away at me, comes yet again. Had I not sent my Stevie off into the care of Larry Cutler that day... My hands close into fists as I vow to be Kevin's caregiver and protector forever and ever--whatever the price.

  Standing Kevin up in the tub, Steven gently soaps the boy's shoulders and back. The sight of those beautifully square little shoulders--so fragile, yet heroic--moves me to tears. I cover my eyes with my hands. I feel Steven touch my arm and look up to see Kevin grinning at me. He stands before me--a beautiful present wrapped up in his fluffy Lion King towel. Steven smiles down at me, and, for a moment, I can almost imagine we are whole, undamaged--that there isn't a gaping rip in the fabric of our family. An aching hole.

  Kevin blurs again, his image watery. I reach for him, gather him into my arms and hug him to me. I rise and carry him off to bed.

  I stand at the sinks in our bathroom thinking idly of candles. Candlelight would soften the stark, bloodless image that stares out at me from the mirrored wall above the gleaming basins. Pitiless vanity lights drain my skin of color, except for several red-brown freckles that are sprinkled across my nose. Those freckles, I realize now, look exactly like drops of dried blood.

  I shower, slip into a clean cotton gown and stand at the basin, brushing my hair dry.

  “I want to try Kevin at pre-school again tomorrow,” Steven says. He's in his walk-in closet, shedding clothes.

  “But you told me he's been crying there.”

  “Yeah, but he's got to start adjusting. I told Miss Canon to call if he got upset again, and I'd come--”

  “My God, Steven, it's only been a scant three weeks!”

  “I know how long it's been.”

  I am awash with guilt. I know I've been no mother to Kevin since Stevie. It's difficult to 'mother' from the fetal position. Steven works at home and in the last three weeks he has become father and mother, and something of a homemaker as well.

  “I saw Larry Cutler at the carnival tonight,” Steven says as he tosses his clothes into the hamper. “He looked terrible.”

  “Good.” Good the son of a bitch looked terrible! I hate Larry Cutler with a passion. I hate his lethal carelessness. I can't stand it that Larry Cutler draws air in and out of his body...while Stevie...

  Steven is watching me, I see, his forehead etched with concern. “I hate him,” I say.

  “I know. Me too.” He sighs and rubs his knuckles into his temples. “But that may be a luxury we can't afford.”

  Steven looks tired. His thick, dark brows are drawn toward each other in perpetual anguish now, and his generous lips have tightened into a lean line--almost a grimace. His eyes are always bloodshot these days, and his sideburns are much greyer. Standing there in his rumpled silk boxers, his shoulders slumped and his arms hanging listlessly at his sides--he looks like an old man. I try not to compare him with the man my Steven had been...before.

  “What do you mean a luxury we can't afford?”

  Steven walks to his basin and begins to splash water onto his face. “Kevin misses Larry, I think. As well as Stevie.”

  “Well, maybe so, but he was fine today, wasn't he?�
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  “We can't take him to a carnival everyday, Jeannie.”

  “I'm better...than I've been...you know? I think he should stay home with me for a while. I could help him--”

  “I know you're better,” Steven says, his voice flat. He starts to brush his teeth. “But I'd like to give pre-school another try tomorrow. We'll see how he gets along.” He looks over at me, frowning. “I don't want to have Larry around any more than you do. But...hell, think about it, Jeannie.”

  “I wish you wouldn't tell me to think about something the way you do, Steven. You say it like 'thinking' will be a new concept to me.” He continues brushing his teeth. “That's all I've been doing you know,” I say. “Thinking about it.”

  “Before the accident,” he begins, then pauses. “See, that's the word you...we tend to forget. 'Accident.' What happened to Stevie was a horrible, tragic accident. Before--“

  “So incredibly thoughtless,” I say, spitting out my words. “Larry was criminally careless, Steven. Where the hell was he anyway? How could--”

  Steven comes to me and puts an arm around my shoulders. He pulls me to him. We stand like that for a moment and I begin to calm. He pushes me back a little, and slides his hands onto my arms. “We have to think about Kevin, right? I'm trying to tell you what I think has to be done. For Kevin.”

  Suddenly so tired I can no longer stand, I push back from him and walk slowly into our bedroom.

  “I'm listening.” I sit down at the small table near our bed. He follows and stands behind me, hands on my shoulders.

  “Before this happened, Stevie and Larry were a really big part of Kevin's life--a major part. There was always Stevie, of course, but in the last two years, there was Larry too. A lot of Larry.”

  “I know,” I say. “But I'm so much better now; I know I can--”

  “Of course you can, Jeannie,” he says, his voice soothing now, like oil. He begins to massage my neck and shoulders. “But you're not Kevin's brother and you're not his pal. Kevin's world has been...well, it's been gutted. Now, with Stevie gone...”

  I tune out then, a handy habit I have recently acquired. Kevin's pal--that phrase jangles in my head. No way in hell will Larry be Kevin's 'pal'! I'll find another pal for Kevin, many pals.

  “...I just don't see how we can take Larry out of his life too.”

  My husband is always very logical. Sometimes I hate that about him. Tonight his logic is a terrible weight, and it's pulling me down.

  “What exactly is it, Steven, that you want?”

  His fingers pause in their massage. “Well, we might let Larry come over sometime--when we're both here, of course, and just for a little while. We could allow Kevin to spend a little time with him...like he used to.”

  “But we don't want Kevin to get used to Larry again, do we? Wouldn't it be better to have Kevin go without Larry cold turkey?”

  “He's too young to go cold turkey, Babe.” He takes his hands from my shoulders and starts to pace around the room. I hear him suck in a deep breath. “I'm very concerned that the only company Kevin has now is us. The kids at summer pre-school are new to him, Jeannie, and I know he feels alone. I think that and the loss of his brother is why he's crying so much.”

  “We just sent him back to school too soon, Steven, He'll get better.”

  “Yeah, well, you don't pick him up at school after one of those crying jags, so you don't see the shape he's--”

  “Steven...I...don't...want...Larry...here!” I speak loudly, punching every word for emphasis. “I don't know how you--”

  “Larry blames himself too.” Steven says, his tone reproving, “For what happened. I'm sure you know that. He's destroyed, really devastated. Sometimes...I actually feel sorry for the boy.”

  I stare at him in disbelief as he strides back and forth.

  “Steven, of course I understand that Larry Cutler probably wants to tell me how sorry he is and all that heart warming sensitive stuff. HOWEVER...I don't want him anywhere near Kevin. ANYWHERE! Why don't you get that?”

  “I get it Babe, but how would you feel if you were responsible for a death? He loved Stevie too, Jeannie. He's truly suffering. You haven't seen him lately.” His tone became accusing. “I mean really looked at him.”

  “But, why?” I ask. “Why would I want to look at the killer of our son?”

  He sighs, his face filled with compassion.

  When did this man become so damned 'good'?

  “I know it's hard...but...well, we talked some tonight...and he told me he wants to come by and see you. He wants to talk to you.” I start to stand but he restrains me firmly with both hands on my shoulders. He puts his head down close to mine, his mouth at my ear. “I told him 'okay,'”

  Hot blood rushes into my head; I think I will surely faint. “You WHAT?” No way! I can't possibly see Larry Cutler! How could he-- “How could you tell him that?”

  His hands go to my arms, holding me down in my chair. “I'm asking you to think of someone other than yourself for a minute, Jeannie.”

  I haul myself up out of his grasp, and stride to the large window of our bedroom. I stare out into the darkness, breathing deeply. I hear my husband's reasonable and patient voice behind me.

  “Is it going to kill you to let Larry talk with you for a little while? To tell you how sorry he is?”

  “It might.” I give up--I'm too tired to argue. “When?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon...2:00. Before I pick Kevin up from pre-school.”

  “All right,” I say softly. But I know nothing will ever be 'all right' again.

  Wednesday, July 5th

  Larry is late. He doesn't show up until 2:30, so I'll have to rush him along to be sure he leaves before Steven and Kevin get home. His face looks scrubbed to the point of pain and his thick, dark hair is combed straight back. It glistens with some sort of oil or gel. His dark eyes are narrowed as if squinting into the sun and his heavy black brows are drawn almost together in a frown. Larry's suffering is obvious and, though I fight it, a faint empathy trickles into me. It has always been that way between Larry and me. When he started sitting for us, Steven and the boys were quickly delighted with him. Not me. And at that time I couldn't have said why. My initial dislike became ongoing, but was tempered by the knowledge that my family was crazy about him.

  Is he simply too handsome, I wonder now as I stand in the doorway looking him over. Are those huge dark eyes of his a bit too innocent? I have always felt an alien vibe coming from Larry--nothing I could really zero in on--that put me off, disconcerted me. Now and again, however, I had surprised myself with feelings toward him that could be called faintly maternal. A time or two in the past I had even given in to some weird cosmic pull and given him a somewhat caring hug. He'd always had a hungry look to him.

  Now, however, I am filled with a silent, pulsing anger as I stand back to allow him in. Head down, he slowly walks past me into the entry. He moves awkwardly, like an unfamiliar tenant in his own body.

  Larry has dressed for the occasion, I see, in neatly pressed black denim pants and a long-sleeved blue cotton shirt. His belt is black leather with a large silver buckle, and his tennis shoes are so white they have to be new. He stops and looks back at me, questioning. Not about to take his arm, I nod toward the living room. The sun is coming in through the wooden blinds lighting the room, that warm, lovely room that now seems obscene in its beauty. It is too pretty, too comfortable.

  It should be draped in black.

  Indicating the uncomfortable gondola chair for Larry, I settle myself on the leather couch and try to relax. Larry sits down carefully, as if he might be too heavy for the chair. He puts his feet together and his hands on his knees, clutching them. He looks like a soldier sitting there on the edge of his seat, his back ramrod straight. I see his knees begin to shake.

  “How are you, Larry.” I say, trying to be at least somewhat civil. My belly tightens; my entire body clenches as I wait for him to say something. But he says nothing. He sits rigid, st
aring down at the carpet. The tragedy has given his face a lean look. His cheek bones are more pronounced now. Always a handsome boy, his face has now acquired an anguished, sculptured look. It seems unnatural on one so young. I know he must be feeling painful guilt. Like me. We were both remiss in the care of Stevie.

  For God's sake, Larry, say something! Anything!

  Nothing. He simply sits. I realize then that he is weeping. Tears roll down his face and begin to drip off his chin onto his shirt, staining it dark.

  Ah, Larry. So sad. Unbearably sad.

  In horrific disbelief I watch my hand uncoil itself and reach out toward his knee. Before the insanity of my gesture registers, I become aware of his knee beneath my touch. Hard, lifeless--like a mannequin. His hand rushes toward mine and I pull it back, but not in time.

  “Jeannie,” he begins--and I do so regret having told him in the past to 'please, call me 'Jeannie'. “It happened so fast”. His voice is loud in the quiet room, jarring. I jerk my hand free.

  “I looked up and he wasn't there anymore. He'd fallen in. Off the rocks. I got right to him in the water,” Larry rushes on. “But I was too late. I couldn't get him to breathe.”

  “Shut up Larry, please.” I stand and stare down at him, my hands curling into fists. I can't possibly listen to him. I can't hear any more. This visit was a dreadful idea--I should never have consented to it. I'm suddenly aware that too much time has gone by. Kevin will probably be arriving home soon. “Please go, Larry.”

  I know I'm handling this very badly, but I'm unable to stop. I gesture to him to leave. He rubs at his face, then looks up at me for a moment. He rises slowly, like an old man. He starts out of the room. I follow him into the entry, grateful for his exit.

  Just as he gets to the front door, however, Steven comes in. He is carrying Kevin, who is crying.

  “What's wrong?” I rush toward them. Ahead of me, I see Larry reach out and put his hand on Kevin's head. A cramping, visceral hate surges into my belly and it's all I can do to keep from snatching Kevin from his father and racing up the stairs with him. The minute Larry's hand touches his head, Kevin calms and begins to hiccup. Steven continues to hold him as Larry ruffles his hair. I stand rigid beside them.