William brings up his plan at the dinner table, after the plates have been served, but before Mother has picked up her fork. So, he says, fiddling with his napkin, more nervous than he thought he’d be, I want to stay here this summer. Bobby Nelson and I are going to run a lawn-mowing business. That way I can keep on with my air shifts, even pick up a few more hours each day. He doesn’t dare look up or meet anyone’s eyes, so he keeps his head down, his eyes fixed on his mashed potatoes.
Willie, Gerald says, what are you talking about? You’re coming to Maine. Like always. William looks across the table and glares at him. He knew Gerald would react first. The others are taking it in, deciding how to respond. He wonders what Bea thinks. Oh, no, Mother says, and William looks at her just enough to see her looking steadily at Father, you can’t stay here for the summer. She reaches over and pats his hand. Honestly, William, what are you thinking? We go to Maine as a family. It’s our vacation. Our family vacation. He steals another look at her, and she’s still looking at Father. Ethan, she says, say something. Talk some sense into this boy of yours.
William looks from his mother to his father. Father takes off his glasses and cleans them with his napkin, first one lens and then the other. The room is as silent as it’s ever been. Father seems intent on getting his glasses as clean as possible before speaking. He dips his napkin into his water glass and scrubs at an invisible spot. Father, Gerald says, tell William he can’t stay here. We’ve already talked about sleeping most nights in the tents in the forest. Right, Bea? Back me up! Beatrix shakes her head but says nothing. She’s looking down into her lap.
Still Father works on his glasses. Still he says nothing. William clears his throat. Bobby talked to his parents already, he says. David’s room is empty since he left for Europe. They’d be happy to have me.
Father looks down the table first at Mother and then turns his gaze to William, looking over the top of his glasses. No, he says quietly. This is not an option. But Father, William replies, his voice higher than he would like it to be. I want to make money this summer. I want to keep working for the war effort. Going to Maine is just, it’s just, I don’t know, frivolous. Oh, honestly, Mother says. You’re just a boy. Stop trying to grow up so quickly. I’m not a boy anymore, Mother. I’m turning fifteen this summer. In three years I can enlist. Going to Maine is frivolous, he repeats. It’s a waste of time. He stands up and pushes his chair back. You don’t understand, he says. You never understand. He tries not to cry. I’m not hungry. May I be excused, please.
Mother looks at him, and he can see the exhaustion in her eyes as he pushes his chair in. Yes, she says. No, Father says. Sit down at the table and finish your dinner. Let him go, Mother says. Leave him be. There’s an edge to her voice, a hardness, that William’s rarely heard before. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Father shaking his head but saying nothing more. Gerald is quiet for once. Bea finally looks up at him and he can’t read the expression on her face. Is it disappointment? William walks out of the dining room and heads up to his room.
Later, Mother brings him his dinner on the blue wooden tray with the legs that fold out. The tray that she’s always used when they’ve been sick in bed. Oh, my dear, she says, sitting on the spare bed. I wish you were more content to just let things be. Enjoy what you have. But, Mother, he says. What will I do all summer in Maine? You can mow lawns there, she replies. Plenty of folks in town. And I can find chores for you to do that I’ll pay you for. He nods, subdued. I bet you there are things you can do up there to help with the war effort, too. Lots of things to do near the ocean, after all. She kisses the top of his head as she stands to leave. He sees the tears in her eyes.
She’s almost at the door when he says, without even thinking, Why does Father always say no to whatever I suggest. Why does he always come down so hard on me? She turns and shrugs. It’s the way he is, William, she says. You need to remember all the ways you two are alike. It’s what causes you to butt up against each other, of course, but try, sometimes, to see things his way. He’d love to help you with your homework. He’d love to play chess. William almost rolls his eyes. Never, he thinks. I know, he says. Thanks for bringing up dinner. She shuts the door quietly behind her.