Chapter 50 Samson
I start work on my geography assignment and Mom takes a quick shower. I can hear the water hit the linoleum-clad wall behind my head. Less than an inch separating us.
Snow outside.
Dad stands at the gas burner frying Spam slices in the pan. The eggs are spitting.
Cloud types: stratus, cirrus, and cumulus. Half a dozen others.
Then: English lit. Macbeth.
Spanish. Verbs.
The boat smells safe. Toasted bread. Every time I read a word in a textbook that begins with a “J” I dream of Jennifer.
I miss her.
After I clear away my textbooks we sit down together at the dinette.
Dad places our plates, the good ones, the three without chips or cracks.
Three glasses of water. Steam rises from my plate, hitting the arched ceiling.
Forks. He hands out knives as well. Something he never does.
When he brings over a bottle of Worcestershire sauce Mom looks up at him.
“You still like it, don’t you? On eggs?”
“I didn’t know we had any,” she says.
He places the bottle down gently next to her hand.
I wonder if Jennifer likes Worcestershire sauce.
Perfectly cooked eggs with plenty of salt and pepper. Toast with just the right amount of butter. Sweet coffee. The familiar sounds of a small family eating together.
“I saw Phoenix’s caregivers when I got home earlier,” she says.
“Oh, yes,” says Dad. “How’s he doing?”
They’re talking like normal people.
I like it very much.
Mom puts down her fork. “One asked me to keep an eye on him. A close eye. Said he’s stubborn.”
“I keep an eye on Phoenix,” I say. “I look out for him.”
She takes a sip of water. Licks her lips. “I know you do, love.”
The atmosphere on the boat. Like the air after a storm has moved on, after the charge has left.
Quiet solace.
“Still snowing out,” says Dad.
We both look at the window and nod.
He does the dishes and I look at Mom as if to say: What is going on? She looks away.
Does she know I took her things?
Dad brings over apple pie. He puts Safeway’s cream down on the table.
“Is it somebody’s birthday?” I ask.
“Family supper,” says Dad. “Family meal.”
Mom eats her pie, but she looks unsettled. This is a bit weird. I don’t know how to feel about how normal Dad’s acting.
“What’s going on, Dad?”
“What?”
“You know, all this.”
“Eat your pie.”
Dad tells us he’s not writing tonight. Says he needs a break from it to see it more clearly, gain some distance from the characters.
“There’s a play on the radio starting soon,” he says. “Historical. Jane Austen, I think. What do you say?”
“You like that, don’t you, Mom? Dad says it’s Jane Austen.”
She looks tired and wary. She nods.
We sit together on the three folding camp chairs listening to the car radio the boat fitter recessed into a panel of mahogany many years ago. The snow keeps on falling.
I look at their faces. Trying to decipher what has happened, what has changed. Do they both know I moved the jewelry? Is this some charade before they confront me? Do they know I skipped class with Paul?
Mom makes cocoa for us and Dad accepts the offer for once in his life. He tells her it’s better than he remembers. Not too sweet. The wind buffets the boat and the woodstove roars.
Dad doesn’t shave his head tonight.
He doesn’t prepare his writing desk.
We all get ready for bed quietly, uncomfortably, one after the other.
When Mom is flossing her teeth Dad whispers to me, “Tomorrow, after school, can you be home at five? Not before and not after. Can you do that for me, Samson?”
“Why?”
“I want to make things pleasant for your mother. A surprise what with everything she’s been through. Our secret, though, yes? I want to make the boat comfortable. Make it easier on her.”
He’s buying her a fridge.
“I’ll be home at five. And, Dad?”
“What?”
I look at him and he seems uncomfortable with my gaze.
“Thanks.”
“Snow’s still coming down,” Mom says, walking out from the bathroom, her hair brushed back.
We all go to bed.
She comes through five minutes later and tucks me in like she used to. “Good night, my boy. Sleep tight.”
“Mom?”
She strokes my cheek with the back of her hand.
I swallow hard. “Is everything all right?”
“It will be, love. It soon will be.”