Read Online Sam's Legacy by Jay Neugeboren - Free Book Online

can in his left palm, through the bag. The bag in his right hand—boxes mostly, cold cereal probably—was lighter. Sam hurried, but Ben managed to stay ahead of him, by half a block. On his block, the line of people in front of the rummage shop was as long as it had been when he’d left. The cop twirled his billy club, the leather strap stretching from his wrist. Sam had—a mistake—cut diagonally across the street and had to decide now whether to backtrack to the corner and go around the line, or to try to cut through. He saw Ben, in front of the door, waiting.
    A woman nodded to him, stepped back. “Let the boy go through—he lives here. I seen him working in the store.”
    Sam mumbled a thank you. “Man, that boy got himself a real load.” It was a man’s voice. Ben was holding the door open for him. Sam moved into the dark hallway and mounted the stairs.
    Ben unlocked the door and they entered their apartment. Sam put the bags down on the kitchen table—the tear in the bag, he saw, was where the can of peaches had been, but it was only two inches long. He’d been in no danger. “Are you out of your mind?” he said to Ben, his hands on his hips. He was breathing hard, but he wasn’t winded. His mind was clear.
    â€œCalm yourself,” Ben said. “Here. Let me put the dairy products and frozen food away. Then we’ll talk.” He went to the refrigerator, opened the door, and put a bag of groceries on top of the stove. “You can empty things onto the table, I’ll do the rest. Believe me, Sam, I appreciate your coming. I know I could pay one of the boys, but—”
    Sam tore his jacket off, moved toward his father. “Listen, cut the small talk, and don’t tell me not to get my balls in an uproar. What the fuck are you trying to do to me? You just tell me that!”
    Ben rearranged things in the refrigerator, making room. “To you?—nothing. Your touch is as good as it always was. I have great confidence in you, Sam. When I’m gone, I know you’ll get by. I didn’t, in truth, expect you to beat me, but…”
    Sam stepped around the coffee table, in front of his sofa-bed. Ben stood, put his hand up, stopping Sam in his tracks. Ben’s eyes danced. “I saw you there, you know, looking for me, before—”
    â€œAnd you went ahead anyway—?” Sam felt some sweat trickle down the small of his back.
    Ben’s eyes flickered; he seemed to realize for the first time that he was still wearing his raincoat. He touched the pockets. “Oh that,” he said, as if he hadn’t understood until now what Sam was angry about. “Don’t let it bother you, sonny boy. I’ve been doing that for years—ever since I went on social security. It’s nothing to worry about, believe me.” He smiled, and Sam saw the kindness in his father’s eyes. “I’m sorry you found out. You have your own things—your worries—to think about, I’m sure.”
    â€œNot so fast,” Sam said, as Ben turned away from him and put the butter onto the top shelf of the refrigerator.
    Ben looked at him, steadily, then sighed. “I should have mentioned it before this, not to alarm you.” He closed the refrigerator door and walked to Sam, taking his son by the arm, leading him to the kitchen table. “Sit,” he said. “Sit,” he repeated, pressing Sam’s arm. Sam sat. Ben pushed the shopping bags to one side of the table, stroked his chin, then came to Sam again, putting his hand on his son’s shoulder, touching Sam’s neck with his fingers. “All right. I’ll explain: prices rising the way they have, a retired man like myself, living on what amounts to virtually a fixed income—I know you chip in with your share and, believe me, I’m grateful for all you’ve done, I can never say how much—but it’s really, the