Shaking the Sugar Tree Part 40

I lingered rather longer in Fairpark than I should have. Mrs. Humphries would be waiting for me. Reluctantly, I walked to my car, drove home, and walked down the street to fetch Noah, who was in a somber, unhappy mood. His face looked the way I felt. When we got home, he went to his room and quietly shut the door rather than plopping himself down in front of the Xbox as he normally did.

I went to his room, opened the door.

He sat on his bed, crying.

What's wrong? I asked. I asked.

Why didn't Mom love me? he asked, wiping at his eyes, unable to stop himself from crying. he asked, wiping at his eyes, unable to stop himself from crying.

I don't know, I admitted. I admitted.

I'm a good boy, he said. he said.

Yes, you are. You're a very good boy.

I don't understand, Daddy.

He cried silently, embarra.s.sed by his tears because he thought he was too old to cry.

I stood in the doorway and watched him.

"Why, Daddy?" he asked in a strangled voice.

I sat on the bed, put my arm around him, pulling him close.

"Why?" he asked again. "I'm not dumb!"

Ai not dub.

I rubbed a rea.s.suring hand on his back.

"I can speak!" he exclaimed angrily.

Ai ken speck!

He got up suddenly and went to the dresser. I watched nervously, but all he did was stand there with his back to me, leaning against it, his shoulders. .h.i.tching with his sobs. I wanted to go to him, hold him, kiss him, tell him everything would be all right, but I did nothing but sit there. He was going to have to come to terms with this particular problem and there wasn't anything I could do to help.

He cried for a few minutes, sheepish, not wanting me to see him. When the worst had pa.s.sed, he turned around to face me.

Why didn't I-r-o-n M-a-n come to help me? he asked. he asked. He could have done something! He could have done something!

This is a problem you have to take care of by yourself, I said.

I hate her! he exclaimed, his face twisting up in anger. he exclaimed, his face twisting up in anger. I'm glad she's dead! I'm glad she's dead!

No, you're not.

Yes I am!

Then why are you crying?

Because she was so mean!

She was, I agreed. I agreed.

But I'm a good boy....

I know you are.

Why didn't she like me?

I don't know, I said again. I said again. She didn't like me either and she didn't want anything to do with either one of us. But we didn't do anything wrong. Stop blaming yourself. She didn't like me either and she didn't want anything to do with either one of us. But we didn't do anything wrong. Stop blaming yourself.

Aren't you mad at her?

A little bit.

He fell silent.

I got to my feet, went to the door.

If you and J. get married, he signed, he signed, you won't stop loving me, will you? you won't stop loving me, will you?

His face was screwed up with a desperate earnestness.

Why do you keep asking me that? I asked. I asked.

I want to know.

I've already answered you.

You could be lying.

I sighed a bit too heavily. I was tired of this particular conversation. Noah had a deep, abiding insecurity. Nothing I did seemed to make it better.

"Come here," I said, waving my hand at him.

He walked slowly over to me.

I put my hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes for long, long moments. I could see all his fear and insecurity in his eyes, his hesitation, his doubts.

I'm going to answer this question, I signed at last, I signed at last, but I want you to promise me you will never ask me this question again. Do you promise me? but I want you to promise me you will never ask me this question again. Do you promise me?

He nodded.

You're my only child and I will never love anyone as much as I love you. I would cut off my own arms for you. Don't you ever doubt it. I've been there for you since the day you were born and I will always be there for you, and that will never change. Do you understand?

He shrugged.

I shook him by the shoulders to show that his answer wasn't good enough.

Do you understand me? I demanded. I demanded.

He turned away from me and hurried back to his dresser, not looking at me.

I went after him, took him by the arm, and swung him around so he would look at me.

"No!" he exclaimed fearfully, pulling away from me, cringing as though afraid I was going to strike him.

What's wrong with you? I signed. I signed.

I can't stand it!

Stand what?

You want to have a boyfriend because you hate me!

I slowly shook my head.

It's true, he insisted in his stubborn fashion. he insisted in his stubborn fashion.

No, it isn't, I replied. I replied.

I was perfectly aware that he was using the wrong words, as he often did. It was not easy to explain to him all the many nuances of a word like "hate." He wasn't afraid that I would hate him. He was afraid I would stop loving him, or that we would no longer be able to spend so much time together, or that something would somehow change, or that, like his mother, I would abandon him and run off with some new love.

His hands said one thing, his eyes quite another. His eyes said he was jealous and afraid and unsure of where he might stand if there was a man in my life. They said he couldn't cope with the thought that our home would be broken up over some stranger. It was merely another replay of his underlying insecurity about life itself.

I'm lonely, I signed. I signed.

I meant to add an entire conversation about how having someone to love would make me happy, which would make him happy, and that we'd all be happy together, but I fell silent and said nothing further. I didn't have the heart or the energy to fight this battle any further.

You don't have to be afraid, I said. I said. But if you want to, go ahead. I can't stop you. I don't want to argue about this anymore, okay? I'm going to get supper ready. But if you want to, go ahead. I can't stop you. I don't want to argue about this anymore, okay? I'm going to get supper ready.

I left his room, went to the kitchen.

Instead of fixing supper, I sat down at the table and put my face in my hands.

I heard his footsteps as he came to the kitchen, stood behind me. He leaned on me, putting his arms around me, laying his head on the back of my shoulder. He was checking in. He was saying that he was still here, that it was all right, that everything was going to be fine.

58) Paging Jackson

I WORKED WORKED the express lane on the Sat.u.r.day before Noah's birthday, and was in a fairly decent mood until I saw Jackson Ledbetter getting ready to check out. Instead of coming to my lane, he went down to register 5, keeping his eyes averted as though he hadn't seen me. Jalisa checked him out, running his lunch items through her scanner, her back to me. the express lane on the Sat.u.r.day before Noah's birthday, and was in a fairly decent mood until I saw Jackson Ledbetter getting ready to check out. Instead of coming to my lane, he went down to register 5, keeping his eyes averted as though he hadn't seen me. Jalisa checked him out, running his lunch items through her scanner, her back to me.

This made me inexplicably furious.

When I finished with my customer, I picked up the phone and hit the "page" b.u.t.ton: "Jackson Ledbetter, your party is waiting for you at the express lane," I said in the most bored voice I could manage. "Jackson Ledbetter, your party...."

He glanced in my direction.

I raised my eyebrows.

After he paid his bill, he walked slowly in my direction. He was dressed in scrubs. The sight of him stirred up many feelings inside of me. l.u.s.t, of course, and desire, and longing, but also anger and hurt and confusion. I wanted to talk to him, but didn't want to talk to him. I wanted to just look at him. I wanted him to somehow understand how I felt just by looking back at me. I wanted to be mad at him, but I also wanted our problem to be fixed.

He came up to the counter, offering a hesitant smile.

There were no customers waiting for me, just him.

"You have to let someone else check you out?" I asked in a whisper, feeling hurt and jealous.

"You won't return my calls."

"So that means I can't check you out?"

"I didn't think you wanted to."

"I don't," I admitted. "I don't even want to talk to you."

"Then why did you page me?"

"I'm so mad I want to take this phone and bash your pretty teeth in."

"That's a little extreme."

"That's because I love you," I said softly.

He looked uncomfortable.

"You scared me," I said.

"I'm sorry."

"You really, really, really scared me."

"I'm really, really, really sorry."

We regarded each other for long moments.

"G.o.d, you make me so mad I could just kick your G.o.dd.a.m.n Yankee a.s.s all the way back to f.u.c.king Boston," I said.

"I know," he said miserably. "I'm sorry. Let me try again. Please, Wiley, it's killing me."

"I can't go through that again, being involved with an addict. If I'm not enough for you, then this isn't going to work. I don't want my little boy to fall in love with you and you just turn around and break his heart. We're not going to share you with a bunch of drugs."