CHAPTER

14

THE NEXT MORNING Toby stood next to Jamie’s cot and watched her sleep. He said good morning three times in an increasingly louder voice and poked her in the cheek when she didn’t respond. After an eternity of winter gloom, the sun had finally come out, busting through the window and slanting across her eyes, but that didn’t wake her either. When she groaned and rolled toward the wall, he pulled on his boots and jacket, stuck the box with the necklace in it deep in the front pocket of his jeans, and left for town. He was already late for first period but it was just study hall and who cared anyway? It was his mom’s first birthday since she’d come home and he had a present for her.

If he walked fast he could get to the diner in twenty minutes. She worked the breakfast shift every morning, and unless she’d taken it off for her birthday, she’d pour him a cup of coffee like he was one of her regulars and he’d drink it while she shuffled plates of scrambled eggs and toast to her customers. He’d wait for things to get quiet, even if that meant missing his morning classes, and surprise her with the necklace. The scene played out in his head, her surprise, the happy tears in her eyes. He passed on his usual breakfast of two Snickers and a Monster from the 7-Eleven and cut straight through the woods to Main Street.

Most of the storefronts on Main—the hardware store, the Army recruitment center, the pawnshop, the insurance broker, the bank—were still closed, but Mr. Lu’s dry-cleaning and the diner were open.

The bells on the diner’s front door jangled when he stepped inside. Phoebe looked up from pouring Mack’s coffee and, seeing her face, Toby felt a pang of regret as he realized he’d forgotten to buy a birthday card. A sergeant from the recruiting center came in right behind him and it was him that Phoebe attended to first by motioning to an open table by the window and handing him a menu.

Customers always came first. He knew that. Besides, his favorite stool at the end of the counter by the kitchen door was vacant. Even before he sat down, she turned over a cup and filled it for him, said, “Morning,” then went to take the sergeant’s order.

Her eyes and nose were red and puffy, and he wondered if she’d been sad to wake up alone, her first birthday after eight behind bars, and was glad he’d planned it this way. Women were healed in mysterious ways by presents of jewelry from the men in their lives. Despite having never done it himself, he’d seen this fact proven a thousand times on television. He’d never had the chance to create that kind of smile on a woman’s face before today. But she was here now, and he was here, and he’d planned the whole thing himself.

He set the black box on the counter, leaned forward on his elbows, and kept it hidden under his hand. At the right moment he’d reveal the box and watch the surprise spread across her face. While she took a to-go order over the phone, he tore open three packages of sugar and filled his coffee with cream. She stuck the order through the cook’s window and the cook, a guy named Tommy, snagged it, and then Toby’s mom came back to him.

“I got here late and I can’t talk much this morning,” she said, leaning over the counter, her words rushed and low. She set a pamphlet next to his coffee. “This is for you. The recruitment officer comes in here every day. He said you can apply before your eighteenth birthday if you have a parent sign.”

She wasn’t her usual self, but that’s what he’d come here to fix. He pushed the box toward her—she hadn’t noticed it—and said, “Happy birthday, Mom.”

She stared flatly at the box and Toby realized she didn’t understand. She’d gone without for too many years.

“It’s for your birthday. Open it.”

He flinched when she seemed to recoil, to step away from the box and straighten her back. “What is that?” She wiped her hands on her apron and glanced sideways down the counter.

He slid the box toward her. She didn’t take it, so he opened it for her. “Happy birthday,” he said again, more as an explanation than anything.

She frowned.

“How did you afford that?” Phoebe was still talking in that low rush, but people were noticing now. Mack peered down the counter. The necklace was too simple. He should’ve known she’d want something nicer, bigger, better. A tiny silver cross on a thin chain. How could he be so stupid? Mack turned back to his newspaper.

“Let me put it on you,” Toby said, but Phoebe snagged the box and shoved it in her apron pocket.

“I’ll put it on later. Let me get you something to eat.”

His face reflected hers now and his mood went tumbling toward that empty feeling he couldn’t name but hated anyway. He saw a string hanging around her neck. A string, when she could have worn this necklace. “I’m not really hungry,” he said, knowing that empty feeling would be with him the rest of the day.

Tommy slammed the cook’s bell and called, “Order up.” Phoebe went to the pass-through and grabbed the steaming plates.

Toby’s eyes felt hot as he sat there at the counter, trying to recover. The pamphlet showed a picture of a soldier driving a tank across the desert. He knew what happened to those guys. They came home as heroes, smiling in their uniforms and prosthetics like they were still whole men, but what did the uniform matter when they’d been blown up by cowards who dressed like women and hid behind children? And how could she want him to leave, especially after she’d just come back?

She returned to refill his coffee cup, but it was still full. “Don’t you need to get to school?”

“You don’t like it.”

“I like it, honey.” She reached over and touched the back of his hand. “I just don’t want to get it dirty while I work. I’ll put it on later, okay? After I get home.”

She unfolded the pamphlet and spread it on the counter. “John, over by the window, gave me this. He said for you to come talk to him at the recruitment center.”

Inside there were more pictures of soldiers, men and women, a guy walking through a crowd of dancing kids.

“Have you thought about what you’ll do after graduation?” she asked.

“I’m working with Loyal.”

“Loyal? That’s not a career. You should join the Army and learn a real trade.”

“And get blown up.”

“Shhh, Toby.” She glanced toward the window. “You could have a life, get out of Blind River for a few years, come back, and build your own family.”

“I don’t want a family.” How could she say this to him? She wanted him to leave? All those years spent waiting for her to come home. All those years wondering what she could possibly have done that they’d taken her from him, her child, and locked her away. He’d cried so hard that first year, believing that she’d be home soon, not understanding, not accepting, just waiting and waiting for her to come back before finally getting it, getting that she wasn’t ever coming home. And when he grew tired of crying he’d started hitting things, then people. Hitting Jamie, hitting kids at school, hitting anything he wanted whether it meant a broken knuckle or not. Hitting was better than crying. He knew that much. But he wouldn’t hit his mother even though right now it seemed like she deserved it. Instead, he picked up the brochure, ripped it in half, and walked out the door.

He walked down Main cussing and rubbing the corners of his eyes, his nose that had started to drip. Snow crunched beneath his boots. He cut across the soccer field with its frozen brown grass, bent and dead from the winter. She’d been gone most of his life and he’d been fine without her. Bitch. Most mothers took care of their kids; most mothers didn’t steal shit and go to prison. He pushed open the school door and instantly wondered why he’d come. But he knew why. Inside these walls were people and what he needed right now was someone to hit. He stopped and turned to leave, but the second-period bell sounded and the halls filled with kids, so he put his head down and pulled his collar up around his chin and tried to cruise past the front office. Ms. Hollins and Coach Palmer stepped out of their weekly staff meeting just as he, fists clenched in his pockets, rounded the corner.

“Hold up there, Elders,” Palmer said, and put his hand on Toby’s shoulder. “School started an hour ago.”

Toby flinched and pushed the man’s hand away. “Keep your hands off, faggot.”

“Whoa. In my office now, Toby,” Ms. Hollins said, pointing in Toby’s face. “You need to cool down.”

“No!” Toby yelled. He didn’t want to be here. Not for one minute. He hated this place, hated these people. He turned to back toward the doors, but Coach grabbed his arm. Toby wheeled on him, came around swinging his fist at no one, at anyone, at everyone, at nothing and everything, at the first thing stupid enough to stand still and let him connect.