The Sitter Read online

  “I know.”

  “Just look down, that's all the kid had to do!”

  “I know,” I say again. “I get mad at him too. I think our anger is probably very normal. A phase we have to go through.” I take a sip of my cooling coffee. “Maybe we should go to a group or something.”

  He looks at me, questioning.

  “A support group kind of thing. There probably is one for the parents of children--”

  Steven slides his chair back with a harsh, grating sound. “For Christ's sake, Jeannie!” He stands and grabs his coffee, spilling some onto the table. He walks to the sink and turns to face me.

  “Well,” I begin, thinking how quickly Steven's moods change these days, “Maybe--”

  “That what we need all right, sitting around with a bunch of strangers moaning about...what, fate? The breaks?” He drains the mug and slams it onto the counter. He glares at me. “I don't think so, Jeannie.” His voice is heavy with sarcasm. He strides out of the kitchen.

  That night we lie as strangers, not touching, both naked in the warm summer night. Steven's breath is light. I know he is awake. I remember when crawling into bed together had been a delight, whether we made love or not.

  “Larry called me this afternoon,” Steven says.

  Startled out of my reverie, I say nothing. I feel my body tighten.

  “He asked me if you were ever going to let him baby sit Kevin again.”

  My heart begins to pound.

  “I said I didn't know...and he started to weep.”

  “God damn him!” I cry, my hands turning into fists at my sides. “How dare he jerk us around like that!”

  “What are you talking about?” Steven sits up and swings his feet to the floor. “Larry doesn't have a right to grieve? He doesn't have a right to cry?”

  He sits on the edge of the bed, his back to me. “I guess that's just you, right Jeannie? I guess you're the only one who can do that. You can check out and curl yourself into some kind of grief-ball for weeks on--”

  “Steven, please.” I sit up. “I know he has a right, I know that. It's just...Steven, tell me about it, about what happened that day.”

  He thrusts his fingers into his hair and stands. “Can't you leave it alone?” He begins to pace.

  “Yes, I can. And, I will. After I know what happened. I regret 'checking out' as you put it; I really do. But that's what happened, and now...I've checked back in.”

  Steven takes a chair from the nearby table, brings it to the edge of the bed, and sits down. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  He takes a deep, ragged breath. “By the time I was notified, Stevie was at the morgue. Larry was there with him. At the morgue I identified ...Stevie, and spoke with the medical examiner. He said the cause of death appeared to be drowning, and that it appeared to be accidental.” Steven is calm now as he recites these facts. “He said he had to wait for the autopsy results before he could confirm anything further.”

  “I didn't realize there had been an autopsy,” I say.

  “It's customary, I guess. I spoke to Larry, and he told me how it happened. Larry was teaching Stevie how to cast, and he was practicing off a rocky ledge.”

  I realize my belly is so tight it hurts. My entire body is clenched, protecting me from Steven's words.

  “Larry went to get Stevie a Twinkie from his pack. He told him to stay back from the edge of the rocks because he knew Stevie...couldn't swim.”

  A long pause. “And then?” In the semi-darkness of the room, I see his shoulders move. He is crying. Quickly, I move to the edge of the bed. I reach out and put my hands on his shoulders, trying to pull him back onto the bed with me.

  “No,” he says, his body rigid. “I have to say this. The reason Stevie couldn't swim was because I...never taught him how. You remember? I said, 'no pool'. I said, 'we will not have a pool.' I should have taught him--”

  I move closer and put my arms around his shoulders.

  “I said no pool because of all those horror stories about little children drowning in the family pool.”

  “I know, I know,” I say. “It wasn't your fault, my darling.” I feel his body soften a little and pull him onto the bed. “I remember you telling me--he hit his head on something as he fell...right? You said there was a mark on his forehead.”

  “Yeah.”

  “He must have been unconscious when he hit the water. All the swimming in the world wouldn't have saved our boy, my darling.” We lie on the bed, gently holding each other. It is a long while before I feel his body loosen completely.

  Wednesday, September 6th

  It was early but too warm to sleep. It's fall--chrissake; when's it gonna feel like it? When will this weather break? Larry heard his mother pad past his door on her way to coffee and pastry. Her booze intake had gone up since she'd gone to work for old Emma Brown. Well, who gave a fuck anyway? It kept her mellowed out and pretty much out of his way. His mother didn't give a damn what he did lately, and that was just fine with Larry.

  Kicking the threadbare sheet off the end of his bed, Larry reached for the pack of Camels on the bedside table. He shook one out and lit it.

  It would be awesome to have a quilt for his bed, Larry thought, like the one Stevie had. Not for the warmth, but for the way it would feel against his skin. Stevie's was thick and soft with a geometric pattern of blue and green and white, with little tufts of cotton-like white stuff coming up out of it here and there. Larry must have had a quilt like that when he was little, because he could remember those little white things sprouting up against his bare skin and the snug comfort the quilt gave. He was probably very small because the picture in his head was hazy. It had been more than just comfort, he remembered as he sucked the smoke deep, his other hand cradling his genitals. It had been almost sensual; all mixed up with being happy and safe. With being hugged and cared for.

  Larry hoped to God it was his dad doing the hugging. To think of being held by his mother gave him the shudders. She used to make him stuff though. Pink milkshakes with strawberries in them, warm chocolate chip cookies. And cups of thick chicken soup with wide noodles. Why did she stop? No home cooking now, that's for sure. Lucky to get one hot meal a week. Lots of shit food though--always plenty of chips and cheese.

  He rose, put out his cigarette and took a quick shower. Dressed in gray shorts and a black Nike T-shirt, Larry went to find some breakfast. What a downer this dump was, he thought for about the zillionth time as he walked through the living and dining area to the kitchen. The whole house was depressing. Amazing he hadn't realized this obvious fact until he'd begun watching the Connor kids. Thinking of them brought a knot to his stomach. Get on with it, asshole! Larry yelled silently to himself. Get back to your real family! Somehow.

  “Wha's up, Ma,” he said breezily as he entered the kitchen. She was seated at the small Formica table with chrome legs--a smaller version of the dining area table. It was a big deal to Catherine that the two tables matched.

  She grunted, mouth full of donut, eyes on the newspaper. His mother was wearing that shitty robe again. It was blue and had all those bumps woven into it. Pulled across her body and tied in front, it was much too small and her giant tits were always threatening to pop right out. The really revolting thing was...he always had to look. That bulbous white cleavage of hers was disgusting, but he had to look.

  Larry poured himself a large glass of orange juice and sat down at the table. The open package of powdered sugar donuts had two left. The kitchen was grim, Larry thought, with grubby yellow counters and phony brick trim. As if that wasn't enough, the floor was the same fake brick. Thank God for the sun coming in through the window over the sink; it lightened the gloom.

  Putting a donut on a paper napkin in front of him, Larry took a big swallow of OJ. As usual, his mother was reading the section of the paper he wanted--the sports. She barely knew one sport from another. He suspected she saved that section until she heard him coming and then picked
it up.

  “How's the job hunt coming?” Catherine asked, dusting sugar off her chin with a napkin.

  “Ma, did I have a quilt when I was little?”

  “No.”

  “I didn't? But I thought...I remember one. It had little bits of white stuff coming up out of it.”

  “That was mine.”

  “Yours?” A fluttery feeling came into Larry's belly. “But I remember the feel of it against my...”

  “Well sure, Sweetie-pie,” his mother said, gulping down a slug of coffee. “That's 'cause I used to take you into my bed once in a while.” She gave him a coy smile, pleased by the memory.

  “Yeah but...” Larry's heart kicked into high gear. “Didn't I have clothes on?” He felt cool sweat forming on his upper lip and the flutters in his gut were growing into nausea. Catherine laughed heartily. “Lor-dee Larry, you were a baby! Babies don't always wear clothes.”

  Blood rushed to his face; he knew his cheeks must be red with it. The nausea grew.

  Larry saw his mother's face explode into a blush, and her eyes darkened as she looked away from him. Sickened, he stared at her. Her face was a study in guilt. After a moment, she looked up and met his eyes defiantly.

  “There's nothing wrong with taking a little baby boy into his mama's bed for lord's-sake! What? You think something happened there? Is that what you think?” Her mouth settled into a thin, hard line.

  Larry thought he would puke. What had happened that he didn't remember?

  “That what you think? Answer me, Larry.”

  “No...not really.”

  Catherine drained her cup and glared at him. “What did you say--I didn't quite hear you.”

  “I know nothing happened. Just...surprised me is all. I don't remember that stuff.”

  “Yes, well.” She rose, took her cup to the sink and rinsed it. “I asked about your job. You'll have to find something to take the place of the Connor job. I can't be supporting a grown man, you know.”

  “Ma...sure--I'm looking. I'll get back with the Connors though. Should hear from them soon.”

  She faced him. The line of her lips curled into a faint smile. “They might not take you back, you know. Even though it was an accident.”

  It would be awesome to smack her--to just belt her a good one.

  “They'll take me back,” he told her through clenched teeth.

  “But, if they don't--”

  “Then I'll get another job!” he shouted.

  In his room, Larry lit a cigarette. He sat at his desk waiting for his mother to get out of the kitchen. He needed to call Jeannie or Steven without her listening and the only phone they had was in the kitchen. He had to get back with the Connors! He missed them, needed them. Needed to see Jeannie and talk her into letting him sit with Kevin again. There was even the possibility of doing yard work and maybe running errands for them. Larry felt cut off since Stevie, so alone. The Connors had such order to their lives, such class.

  He slipped a hand down to his privates and cradled his dick and balls protectively. Like they were in danger. What happened back then? What if she did something to me? What if I'm...damaged? Larry prayed to the God he didn't really believe in that his mother did him no real harm. The fact that he was still a virgin loomed large in his mind. He'd come close enough to think he might have a problem. It wasn't that he couldn't get it up; he just couldn't keep it up--not long enough anyway.

  He grabbed the mirror from its cubbyhole. “I'm willing to work, Jeannie,” Larry whispered earnestly to his image. “I'll prove it to you. I can help you, Jeannie. Please, please give me a chance!” Tears welled in his dark eyes. Not bad, he thought--that sincere, suffering look--not bad at all. When he heard Catherine shuffle past his door on her way to her bedroom, he went to the kitchen and dialed the Connor home.

  “Hi Steven? This is Larry Cutler...”

  “How are you Larry?”

  “Okay. Did you talk to Jeannie yet?”

  “You'd better give her some time, Larry. I don't think she's ready...for any contact with you.”

  The flutters surged back into his belly. “Well...” His mind ricocheted around inside his head. Had to be a way! And then he remembered. “I've got something for Kevin!” Too excited, Calm down. “Could I just bring it by?” Larry's palm was sweating onto the silent phone. Come on, man--come on!

  “All right Larry.” Steven said finally. “Make it around 3:00 this afternoon.”

  Steven answered the door, Kevin at his side.

  “Hey, Kiddo,” Larry said to Kevin. He held a new GI Joe comic book behind his back. So happy to see these guys, Larry was afraid he would bust out bawling. Kevin smiled up at him. He looked thin, pale, like he'd been sick. Steven didn't look so good either. No smile. No nothing. Larry's mind flew into panic.

  Aren't they going to ask me in?

  A cold sweat glazed his face and palms. He couldn't even imagine how he'd feel if they didn't let him in. “I've got something for Kevin,” he said to Steven, taking a small step forward. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure,” Kevin said happily, reaching for Larry's hand. Larry felt Kevin's warm fingers grasp his hand and he was crazy-grateful to the little guy. But Steven was hesitating.

  After an awkward moment Steven said, “Well...come on in to the kitchen. I'll get you boys something to drink.”

  Larry clutched Kevin's hand and walked into the entry. He was so emotional he didn't trust himself to speak. I'll make it up to you guys, I swear to God I will. Everything is going to be all right, I promise. He loved this family. Always had--always would.

  After sodas and comics in the kitchen, Larry suggested to Steven that he take Kevin for a walk, maybe to the park. “There might be a softball game going on,” he said, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. He noticed again how much Kevin looked like Jeannie.

  “Oh, yeah!” Kevin said, clapping his hands excitedly.

  But Steven was shaking his head. “I'm afraid not.”

  “But Daddy, why not?” Kevin asked, frowning.

  “It's nap time, Kevin.” He looked at Larry. “And then we have plans.”

  Oh, sure. 'plans', you fuckin' bet! Larry began to chew on the inside of his cheek.

  “But I want to go with La-a-a-r-y!” Kevin wailed.

  Steven rose and picked the little boy up. “Easy there Kev,” he said, and carried him to the doorway. He looked back over his shoulder at Larry. “Sorry son, maybe next week. Give us a call then.” Steven flashed him a quick smile, and Larry was dismissed.

  “But I need to talk to you, Steven,” he said, his heart pounding hard against his ribs. Steven stood in the doorway with a crying Kevin, obviously waiting for Larry to leave. “Can't right now, Larry; Kevin needs a nap.”

  “That's okay.” Larry's mind was skittering. He couldn't think, couldn't find a plan. Larry knew that if he left he might never find his way back in. “I'll...just wait for you. Here. I'll wait right here.”

  Steven stared at him, Kevin snuffling at his neck. After what felt to Larry like an endless amount of time he said quietly, “All right,” and left the room.

  Time slowed for Larry then, seemed to stop entirely as he waited. Motionless, his breath came faint and shallow. He had no idea what he would say to Steven. Looking around, he tried to jar himself into some sort of constructive thought.

  Everything in Jeannie's kitchen was glass, pale wood or stainless steel. The afternoon sun was beating at the windowed wall opposite Larry and, though the glass of the windows was shaded by a thin, pale fabric of some kind, the light that filtered through was bright and hot. It hurt his head and drained his energy. He sat in a stupor at the heavy wooden table in the center of the kitchen, a room bigger than his entire living room.

  Larry knew it was almost over. All his hopeful plans were coming to shit. The game was as good as lost. A faint ache formed behind his right eye and began to pulse.

  Steven returned and sat down next to Larry. “He's all right,” he said. Just tired.” La
rry couldn't think what he was talking about, and then remembered Kevin and the nap.

  “It's Jeannie, isn't it? She hates me.” He stared down, his hands rubbing the smooth wood of the table top.

  Steven sighed. “I told you. Give her some time.” He put a hand on Larry's shoulder.

  “I'm running out of time,” Larry said, wondering where he was going with this. “I hurt too.” A long pause then while Larry tried to come up with something to say. Something significant. Something to stem this damning flow of negativity. “I'm the one who did it,” he said finally.

  Does the truth really set you free?

  “I was in charge that day. It's my fault that it happened.”

  “You can't blame yourself.” Steven muttered, pulling his hand from Larry's shoulder. “Accident. Got to remember that.” He sighed again, rose and walked to the cupboards. He moved slowly, Larry saw--like an old man. Opening a cupboard door, he took a bottle of whiskey out, and selected a glass from another cabinet. It was Glenfiddich scotch, Larry noticed. He poured some into the glass and, with his back to Larry, gulped it down. He turned and stood leaning against the counter, staring at the empty glass in his hand.

  At the sight of this unexpected weakness, a faint sense of power came into Larry. He was reminded of a closely played tennis match when he had to reach back, or down--wherever his strength lay--and pull that strength up and into his game. Or, he might just as well jog off the court and take his shower.

  “I want,” Larry said slowly, “you and Jeannie to allow me...I want you to trust me again. It's so hard without your trust.”

  “Larry, I keep telling you. Jeannie needs time. So do I.”

  Larry sucked in his gut. He was almost dizzy with a new found strength. “I'll wait for her here,” he said in a firm voice. “I'll wait here and we'll talk. I'll make her see. I'll make her trust me again.”

  Steven stared at him, surprised. “Not a good idea,” he said. “You've already talked with her. She doesn't want to see you again, Larry.”

  “Yeah, but that time was...I need to try again.” His head was pounding as if his heart's blood was going to burst right out from his eye, but he didn't care. Larry's thoughts were coming clear to him now. “I'll wait right here,” he said. “For Jeannie. No problem.”