Chapter 46 Samson
When I return home from school she is searching in the gas locker with a flashlight.
“You all right, Mom? What are you doing down there?”
“Have you seen my black shoe, Sammy? Have you seen my shoe?”
She shouldn’t say these things. They’ll take her away again and I can’t have that. Never again.
“I don’t think it’ll be in the gas locker, Mom.”
I lean down and take her by the arm.
“What are you doing?”
Her hair is falling over her face.
“Come inside for a cup of coffee, Mom. I’ll make it. Talk with me. Ask me questions about class and football like you used to. About my grades.”
She looks suspicious. Her eye is twitching again.
I boil water on the stove until it whistles.
She looks confused.
“Are you feeling all right, Mom? How was the interview?”
She scratches her temple. “Fine, love. It was OK, the usual questions, you know. They said they’ll let me know. They have my résumé. Fingers crossed.”
“You’ll be awesome. I’ll come visit you.”
“You don’t need to come all the way to the big town,” she says, taking a mug of coffee from me. “It’s a long way, Sammy. Almost an hour on the bus.”
“When I’ve got money, I’ll come and take you out for a pizza or ice cream. We can find you some new shoes, maybe.”
“You got another paper route, Sam?”
“No. Not yet.”
I can’t help smiling.
“What are you smirking at?”
“Dad’s taking me up to the yard tomorrow. A real job. Just Saturdays to begin with, and the foreman says I’ll have to do probation, but it’s decent money. Almost what Dad earns.”
Mom looks unsteady. She frowns and stares at me and then she takes a sip of coffee and says, “Very good. That’s what you want, is it?”
“Just Saturdays for now.”
“You’ll still have time for your assignments? Studying for your tests? You’ve got a good life ahead of you, Sammy, a real future someplace. You know that, don’t you?”
“One day a week, Mom. That’s all it is.”
“You can go anyplace in the world if you study hard. Remember that.”
“I know.”
She nods and mutters something under her breath. “My baby boy.”
“Don’t call me that.”
She sniffs. “Sammy, love?”
“Yeah?”
“How would you feel about, I don’t know, maybe me and you going away for a while? Not far, just having a short break?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, like we talked about before. Me and you going someplace different. Life’s been hard on you recently with me going into St. Mary’s and Mr. Turner passing.”
“And Amber.”
“Of course. Amber, as well. I’m sorry.”
“I know you are.”
“Maybe we could get away, the two of us. Bit of an adventure, nothing too exotic, but some hiking perhaps, see a different town, a national park, or look at other high schools, maybe.”
“Other high schools?”
“Just looking. We can put our money together. Go on a trip.”
What is she talking about? Has she stopped taking her medication?
“I don’t know what you mean, Mom.”
She takes a deep breath and another gulp of coffee. “Don’t worry. Just me and you. Some special time, you know.”
“I’m not moving anyplace else.”
She coughs. Puts her hand flat against her chest.
“Wrong hole,” she says, covering her mouth with her other hand. “Coffee went down the wrong hole.”
I pat her shoulder. She’s lost weight. “Are you OK, Mom?”
She nods.
“Because school’s going real well for me now. You always wanted that and now it’s happening. They don’t screw with me. No gum in my hair or wet clothes. Nothing like before. I’m making proper friends. I fit in now. I’m getting normal.”
“You’ve always been normal.”
“You know what I mean. I’m happier. And I’ve got…”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on.”
“It’s just… there’s this girl.”
She smiles. Her eyes twinkle. “A girl, really? Tell me more.”
I smile too. Can’t stop. “It’s nothing.”
“Does this girl have a name?”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Come on.”
“Please. It’s no big deal.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“Jennifer.”
“Lovely name. Classic. Pretty.”
“Mom, please. Don’t.”
“You’re dating?”
“Please.” I sense my cheeks redden. “We’re just seeing each other sometimes. That’s all. I like her.”
“I’m happy for you. She’s the lucky one if you ask me.”
She places her hand down on mine.
“I know you’re angry about Dad shaving my head. I should have checked with you first.”
“It’s not that.”
“We didn’t plan it out or anything. We weren’t scheming behind your back.”
“Sammy, love. It’s just. Your father isn’t always the man you think he is.”
I pull back a fraction. “What do you mean?”
“Your dad is…” She sighs. “I know you love him. But he can be, I don’t know how to say it, he’s not always… safe, Sammy.”
“He’s a real man, Mom. That’s all. Real men can’t always be safe.”
“I worry,” she says, raising her eyebrows.
“You don’t need to worry,” I say, smiling, kissing her on the cheek.
When Dad gets home with groceries, they hardly say a word to each other the rest of the night. She looks everywhere for her missing shoe. The next day Dad hands me a brown paper bag after breakfast.
“What’s inside?” I ask.
“Open it and find out.”
Inside is a black T-shirt. Adidas. New.
“For me?”
“Who else?”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I put it on and we walk to work together. It takes forty minutes from where we’re moored up. The air is cool and the sunlight comes and goes as brilliant white clouds scroll across the sky. We don’t talk much.
“Temporary job. Construction site’s got problems. They’re running late on plot three. Struggle to get good men in. Keep your head down, do what you’re told, and don’t hurt yourself, all right?”
I work eight hours. One break in the morning.
The other men drink coffee and all but two smoke cigarettes.
At lunch they sit in the break shack eating and reading newspapers.
The air is filled with smoke and hard, wrinkled faces and laughter.
Rough hands. They ask me if I’ve got a girlfriend and if I have naked photos of her.
One electrician tries to tip me off the bench but a big scaffolder called Shaun looks at him and he stops.
Walking home, the light fading, I have never been more tired in my life. I wore gloves all day but you wouldn’t know it to look at my fingers. My back aches and my legs ache. I’ve dug holes and moved pea gravel and sand in barrows. I helped clean out garbage from a half-built condo.
When we reach the towpath Dad stops me. He licks the tip of his finger and pulls out his leather billfold from his back pocket. He peels off four ten-dollar bills and hands them over to me.
“I’m not taking a cent of this, Samson. That’s yours. Don’t give it to me or your mother. Cash in hand, best way. You’ve worked a man’s day, so you earn a man’s wage.”
I look at the money. The four bills.
“For real?”
He nods. “Honest money. Real money. How does it feel?”
“Magic.”
“That’s all yours. You can do with it what you want. Buy whatever you like.”
We set off walking again. I can see our boat in the distance, the silhouette of Mom in the kitchen window, smoke rising vertically from the metal chimney.
Life’s turning around.
It’s turning sweet.