Read Online Don't Worry About the Kids by Jay Neugeboren - Free Book Online Page B

was afraid when she stayed in it by herself sometimes. I tried hard to remember what things had been like when Father was there, but I couldn’t. I went into Mother’s room and took out her box of photos again and looked at the pictures of him, but that didn’t help either. Not even when I found a picture of him with his arms around some other guys in sweatshirts, and a football on the ground in front of them.
    But looking at the pictures of him, and seeing the way he smiled, reminded me of Mother being alone with Dr. Hunter, and when I saw that picture in my head, for the first time I asked myself if she could actually enjoy going out with him. Then I closed the box of photos and went downstairs to watch television.
    I must have fallen asleep on the living room couch, because the next thing I knew, Mother was sitting next to me, stroking my forehead with her fingertips. The television set was still on.
    â€œHi, Eddie,” she said. She bent over and kissed me. She held me for a long time, pressing her lips against my forehead in a very gentle way. Then she sat up.
    â€œDid you have a good time tonight?” I asked.
    She seemed surprised that I should ask her, but when she answered me I saw that I’d said the right thing. “Thrilling,” she whispered. “I talked about irregular French verbs, and he told me about his eating club at Princeton.”
    â€œHis what?” I asked.
    â€œNever mind,” she said, laughing. “At any rate, there was one interesting thing that occurred tonight. I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation, and about how much, when you get angry, you remind me of your father. You made good sense, you know…” I looked away from her then. She stood up, turned off the television, and sat down across from me, letting her shoes drop to the rug. “All right,” she said. “Let me ask you something, Eddie. What would you think of our leaving the Fowler School and moving somewhere else? Maybe back to New York City, where—”
    â€œDo you really mean it?” I exclaimed. My face must have registered how happy I was at the idea, and when she smiled and said that she did mean it, I tried to check myself, to hold back my enthusiasm. “Well, don’t do it because of me,” I said.
    â€œYou?” she laughed. “If we do it—and I’m not promising anything yet—we’ll do it for the two of us.” She leaned forward, and bit her lower lip before she spoke again. “I think we could both benefit by giving ourselves the chance to meet new people, don’t you?”
    â€œI suppose,” I said, trying not to appear too excited. I didn’t fool her, of course, and soon I stopped pretending and we were both talking about what it would be like to live in a place like Manhattan and of all the things we might do there together, and all the interesting people we might meet.
    When she spoke about selling our house, though, I began to feel sad, and when she began talking about my going away to college someday and beginning a life of my own, what I wanted to do was to cry out that I would never leave her. Never! I didn’t say anything, though. Because I guess I knew she was right about my leaving her someday, and what I was hoping was that by the time I did she would be married again. But I knew that she might not be. I guess she knew it too, even though you never would have guessed it from the sweet way she kept smiling at me.

Romeo and Julio
    J ULIO LAY ON HIS SIDE , as if, Tony thought, he had been folded into position like a paper swan. An aide gave Julio an injection, then wrapped him in a straitjacket. Patients swarmed around, chattering like birds, shuffling in carpet slippers, bare feet, broken shoes. They asked Tony for money, for golf lessons, for candy bars, for skate keys.
    Tony imagined that Julio’s skin was made of glass, that he could see through to the skeleton below. Julio