Toby

She was at the sink, in her yellow rubber gloves, scrubbing the inside of the coffee pot with a Brillo pad, mumbling something. I listened.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners...”

Poor thing.

“Hey, Mom?”

She didn’t look up. “Where have you been? I looked front and back,” she said.

“Had some errands to run, other side of town. Listen—”

“Your bike was still on the patio, why didn’t you take your bike?”

I didn’t answer. I told you about her thinking I know how to ride the thing.

“I don’t want you venturing from the house today,” she said. “You don’t have to stay inside, but I want you to—”

“Ma, listen, okay? This is important.”

She stopped scrubbing and looked at me.

“Something I want to show you.”

She turned off the faucet. She looked suspicious. “What is it.”

I held up my finger for her to wait a second and called out over my shoulder, “Okay, Ralph. You can bring it in now.”

“Toby, what’s going on? Who’s Ralph? What is he bringing in?”

“You’re gonna like this, Mom, a lot, I promise, okay? This is really special.”

Ralph and Lou came walking in carefully, Ralph holding the rock up over his head, a nice effect.

“Mom, these are the Cavaletto children.”

But as soon as she saw the rock, this thing with dirt all over it, she got panicky. That’s how she gets about dirt, she gets panicky. “What is that? What is that?”

“Mom, listen, okay?”

“Get that out of my—”

“Will ya listen?” The whole thing could end right here and I’d be back on the porch again, under that blank blue sky. “Please?” I had my hands together like praying, like begging. “Just listen?”

She gave a sigh, meaning go ahead.

I said, “Ralph, could you step a little closer? You can take your arms down.”

He stepped forward holding the head in front of him, staring at Mom for all he was worth.

“Lou, you too. Stand next to your brother.”

She didn’t even hear. She was in a trance, standing there gaping away. Ralph said, “Lou,” and she went and stood next to him, never taking her eyes off Mom.

All right. All set. Here we go.

“Mom?” I said. “These two kids, these...two little children here, were in the vacant lot this morning looking for empty bottles, empty two-cent pop bottles, so they could buy themselves a little piece of candy—not even a candy bar, just a little red-hot, or maybe one of those...whaddaya call ‘em, they’re round, made of caramel, powdered sugar in the center...”

“Toby, why have you brought a rock into my kitchen?”

“I’m getting there, Mom.”