21

Fex woke on Saturday, still weak with shame. He lay flat on his belly, his face smashed into the bedclothes, and wished he could smother himself in them and never get up and face the world.

With horrible clarity he remembered Tara’s face when the lights had gone on, how she’d sounded when she spat out, “What is this?”

But then he smelled bacon cooking, and that made things better. Funny how the smell of bacon cooking always did. Bacon was the only thing he could think of that lived up to its promise. Even roast beef didn’t, he thought.

From the stillness in the room, he knew that Jerry had left. Left him alone. Why not? He’d been snotty to Jerry last night, acting as if what had happened had been his fault. He’d try to make it up to him. How he didn’t know, but he’d try. Jerry was a good kid and didn’t deserve the treatment he’d gotten.

When he went downstairs, the rest had gone. Except for his mother. “Mom, I’m sitting for Charlie today,” Fex said. “All day. They’re going to a wedding.”

“Dad said you came home early last night. Everything all right? Was it fun?” His mother had been taking a bath when he got in.

“Fine,” Fex said. “It was fine.” Why did everyone ask him if everything was all right, if he was all right? He must look like a first-class wimp. Wimpy O’Toole, they’d call him in later life. Fex would be forgotten.

He stared at his mother. Her face was shiny, her hair untidy. Suddenly he thought of something Mr. Palinkas had said. “Mom,” Fex said, “are you glad to see me?”

She looked surprised. “Now, you mean?” she asked.

“No, I mean are you always glad to see me? When I come home from school, when I come down for breakfast, all the time.” He studied her face. He would know if she lied to him.

“Fex.” She shook her head. “Of course I am. I love you. You’re my child and I love you.” She smiled at him across the table but didn’t touch him. Which was a good thing. He didn’t want her to touch him. He only wanted to know the answer. She was telling him the truth. He could tell.

“I’m off,” he said. “If you want me I’m at Soderstroms’.”

Mr. Soderstrom was standing on the stoop, watch in hand, when Fex arrived. “Good boy!” he shouted. “Right on time! For all her talk about ten-sharp departure, Mrs. S. is still in her boudoir, getting herself doozied up for the event. You know women. I can get myself together in a trice but it takes Mrs. S. a trifle longer. Oh, a trifle longer.”

Mr. Soderstrom was resplendent in a navy blue blazer with brass buttons, gray flannel slacks, and white shoes. One thing about having such a big beard, Fex thought, was that for all anyone knew, he could have on a dirty shirt and no tie underneath that beard. No one would be the wiser.

“You’re pretty doozied up yourself,” Fex told him.

Mr. Soderstrom looked pleased. “I dress for the occasion,” he said grandly. “Keep up appearances.”

Fex asked where Charlie was hiding.

“Out in the sandbox, running a small war. Waiting for you. Bought him a fishing rod. Thought you might take him fishing. He’d like that. Watch the river, though, Fex. Keep an eye on him. Oh, there you are, my dear.” Mr. Soderstrom beamed. “You look ravishing, simply ravishing. Put all the other ladies to shame, won’t she?” he asked Fex.

Fex smiled, not knowing what to say. He settled on, “Hello, Mrs. Soderstrom.”

She narrowed her eyes and looked at him from across the room. She needed glasses, Fex figured. His grandmother looked like that when she was too vain to wear her glasses.

“Fex?” Mrs. Soderstrom said. She wasn’t sure who he was.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, sounding like some phony hoked-up cowboy.

She didn’t answer. She was too busy studying her image in the mirror.

“You don’t think the earrings are too much?” she asked.

“The perfect touch!” Mr. Soderstrom exclaimed.

She smoothed her dress across her stomach and looked sideways at herself. “I’ve gained weight,” she said in a way that indicated that she held Mr. Soderstrom directly responsible for her extra pounds.

He took her arm in a masterful fashion. “You are a vision,” he said firmly. “Now let’s be on our way.”

Mrs. Soderstrom moistened her lips and smiled in Fex’s direction. “I boiled some eggs,” she said. “For egg salad sandwiches. You know how to make egg salad sandwiches?”

“Sure. Mash ’em with a fork and add mayonnaise,” Fex said.

“Make sure Charlie goes to the bathroom even if he says he doesn’t have to,” she told Fex. “You’re sure about the earrings?”

Mr. Soderstrom opened the door and gave her a gentle push toward it. “Watch the steps, my dear, with those high heels.” He turned and winked at Fex. “Should be home about four, five at the latest. Take good care of the boy.”

“I will.” Would they never leave? “Have a good time.”

He watched as Mr. Soderstrom helped his wife into the car, tucking up the hem of her dress carefully so it wouldn’t get caught in the door. He treated her, Fex thought, as if she were made of something breakable. As the car pulled out, he could hear Mrs. Soderstrom giving her husband directions on where to turn, what route to take. Mrs. S. was a bossy lady, he decided. Thank God she wasn’t his mother.

Shortly before eleven Fex and Charlie ate their egg salad sandwiches outside. It was sort of early for lunch but Charlie claimed he was hungry.

“Those are probably the best egg salad sandwiches you have ever eaten,” Fex told Charlie. “Or ever will.” Charlie smiled in agreement. He looked sleepy.

“How about a little shut-eye?” Fex suggested.

“It’s still morning,” Charlie said indignantly. “I don’t shut eyes in the morning. I’m too old for that.”

“O.K. then, I’ll tell you a story.”

“That would be good,” Charlie said, settling in Fex’s lap. Fex told him the same old tale he’d made up, about good monsters and bad monsters and the continuing battle they fought. The good monsters always won. Charlie liked that part.

When Fex finished, Charlie stayed where he was for a while, thinking things over. “I don’t think it’s fair,” he said at last. “The way the good ones always win. That’s not fair.”

“O.K. Next time I’ll have the bad ones win. How’s that?” Fex said.

“That’d be nice,” Charlie agreed. “Now let’s go fishing.”

They stood on the riverbank and gazed into its dark depths. The water, normally clear to the bottom, was turgid and black. They watched it bungle its angry way over the rocks, rushing, pushing its way downstream.

“I never saw it like this,” Fex said. “Not ever. And I’ve lived here since before you were born, Charlie.”

Charlie did not look impressed by this impressive statement. He squatted by the river’s edge. “I can’t see anything,” he said. “No fish, nothing. It’s too dark inside the water.”

Fex squatted beside him. “Hey!” someone shouted. Fex looked up.

A gang, led by Barney, approached. “If it isn’t Double-Dare O’Toole!” he cried, grinning, looking around to make sure his followers joined in the fun. “How’s it going, Double-Dare O’Toole?” he shouted.

Doesn’t he ever know when to quit? Fex thought.

“Come on, Charlie,” Fex urged, “let’s go see what’s on the tube. Let’s catch a couple of cartoons.”

Charlie didn’t stir. He stayed where he was, looking at the big kids loping across the grass. This was fun, like a party.

Fex stood his ground. “Clear out,” he said.

The mob nudged one another and laughed. “Make us,” one of them said.

Fex put out his hand. If necessary, he’d drag the kid inside to safety until these guys took off. “Come on, Charlie,” he said, his voice cracking. “Let’s go.”

“Why don’t you go for a swim, Fex?” Barney said, mocking him. “Suppose I double-dare you? How about that?” He turned to his troops for approval. They gave it. “Yeah!” they cried. “Yeah! Yeah!”

“I double-dare you to go for a swim right now, O’Toole!”

Charlie stayed where he was, squatting by the water, watching, his smile as bright as ever.

“I’m not falling for any more of that crap,” Fex said.

“O.K.,” Barney said slowly, distinctly, “how about you, Charlie? I dare you, Charlie. You go for a swim.”

Fex stepped backward, keeping Barney in his sights.

He heard Charlie say, “O.K.,” heard a splash. Charlie had jumped into the boiling current. He’d been to the Y for swimming lessons. He knew what he was doing.

The water surged over his head. All Fex could see was Charlie’s bright red shirt. In the dark water it stood out like a beacon. Then he saw Charlie’s legs waving in the air as he was carried bouncing over the rocks.

Fex jumped in, keeping the red shirt in the center of his terrified vision. He fought the powerful rush of water as it picked him up, drove him along, down, and farther down.

The shirt. The red shirt. If you lose that, you lose Charlie, a voice screamed inside Fex’s head. You lose everything. You lose Charlie. With an immense effort he kept his head up and his arms out, ready to grab and hold on. Red shirt. Red shirt. Ahead was blackness, the terrible opaque blackness of the water. It seemed to Fex that he saw a spot of color. Using his arms, his feet, his legs, his heart, he fought his way toward it. He reached out, almost had it, and then it was gone. Again he reached out, his arms and heart straining. He touched something, grabbed hold, held on. His heart was going to burst. He lifted what he’d caught, pulled, tugged, lifted again.

Then there were two men beside him, helping him. Two tremendous men. They must be giants, they were so huge. They lifted up the red spot, and it was Charlie. They carried him and Fex out of the raging current and brought them to the bank of the river.

“My God, my God!” someone said. That was all Fex heard. He was surrounded by a wall of legs. All he could see were legs. Thousands of legs. Noisy legs.

“It’s all right,” one of the men said. “I think we got him in time.” They bent over Charlie, breathing air into his little red mouth. Fex put his head in his hands and vomited. Someone held his head.

I think we got him in time. That’s what the man said. Fex looked up, dazed. He saw Barney standing on the fringe of the crowd, mouth open, eyes bugging out. He struggled to get up. He wanted to beat Barney to a pulp. His legs wouldn’t support him. You’ve killed him, a voice in his head shouted. Barney, I’m talking to you. And then another voice said, You know you might’ve been killed, don’t you? Only fools accept dares to do things that might result in injury or death. It was his father, talking to him, Fex.

He lay back and closed his eyes. It wasn’t Barney, it was me. If Charlie had died, I would’ve been responsible. I’m the big hotshot double-dare guy, the guy who never turns down a double-dare. He smelled the river on himself. It was my fault, not Barney’s. Never again. Injury or death. He couldn’t stop crying. Or maybe it was the river water seeping out of his eyes.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” he heard a familiar voice murmur. Arms took him in, held him. It was his father. It was the first time in years, since he’d been very small, that he could remember his father holding him this way.

He heard someone crying. Very loudly. It was Charlie. Charlie didn’t cry often. When he did, he really let go. It was a sweet sound. Fex put his head against his father’s chest and closed his eyes.