him. “Do this again, I’ll call the social worker in the middle of the goddamned night!” he snarled, that temper flare lighting up the darkened room. “Jesus, kid. Go the fuck back to bed!”
Casey turned around and bolted, slammed his side of the bathroom door shut, and made sure it was locked from his room. He lay in his bed, shivering, until dawn, held awake by embarrassment and humiliation.
T HE next morning, Joe greeted him with pancakes and a grunted good morning. He asked about Casey’s schoolwork, and he asked for Casey’s help making a shopping list for Thanksgiving dinner. He wanted to know if Casey wanted a haircut, since Joe was going into town, and he wanted Casey’s opinion on how best to get his transcripts. He was kind, personal, and involved in Casey’s life, just like he had been for the past two weeks.
He didn’t once mention what he and Sharon had been doing in the room before she left, and he didn’t once mention what Casey had done afterward. It was like it didn’t happen.
Casey decided that, for the time being, he could live with that.
Shakedown
~Joe
T HEY spent Christmas and Thanksgiving quietly enough. Casey helped Joe cook both dinners, and they both waited for the next morning to do cleanup. Joe bought Casey his own Walkman for Christmas and took him to town to buy music. (And then counted himself very virtuous indeed, because the kid’s music? Really? George Michael and Madonna? Gross!)
The kid’s little attempt at seduction was not even discussed between them. Joe thought it was better that way. He had to give the kid points for trying, but really? Sixteen? Joe had some standards.
And he had to admit, Casey met them. Yeah, he was feisty, and he tended to do shit without thinking, but by the time Christmas was over, not only had he taken to feeding the outside cats, he’d adopted a trio of kittens and brought them inside. After the first day of walking inside and seeing that kid cuddling a little orange fuzzball to his cheek and talking to it like it was human—“Hey, furr-burf, stop that. No, I don’t want my nose bit. No. I said no. Yeah, well, licking’s okay. Go ahead. Good for the pores. Who needs Clearasil when you’ve got kitten tongue? Oh yeah, right there, keep going. I’ll go put some milk on my forehead, we’ll clear that little blackhead problem right up!”—Joe went and bought a cat box for the bathroom, and suddenly the little fuckers couldn’t run under his feet enough. (He also bought some Clearasil, for which Casey expressed profound gratitude.)
But that was okay. Between Casey and Nick, Jay, and Jordan (because, according to the kid, those were the only three characters he could stand from the damned book), the house was a little less lonely. (Although Joe did notice that Nick was a girl cat, like Jordan. When he asked Casey about this, Casey replied that he’d always figured Gatsby was giving it to Nick anyway—this way, the cats could do something about it. Joe was planning on getting the cats fixed, but he put it off when he heard this. Anything so Casey could see a happy ending.)
But eventually they did have to deal with the paperwork thing when enrolling Casey in school, and a social worker did need to get called in. Joe could hardly blame Casey, either—the kid had kept his nose clean, had worked hard, apparently had been a model prisoner at the continuation school. (Given what Casey said about his fellow inmates, this wasn’t far off. He claimed to have spent a half an hour during a “science” class searching a local field for psilocybin mushrooms. He had a small baggie full of regular run-of-the-mill fungus to prove it.) But eventually the authorities figured out the bogus social security number wasn’t his and that was how the transcripts he’d doctored to say Casey Daniels didn’t pass muster.
So here Joe was, looking at the fortyish social worker with the newly minted tatas and the overly full lips and
Casey turned around and bolted, slammed his side of the bathroom door shut, and made sure it was locked from his room. He lay in his bed, shivering, until dawn, held awake by embarrassment and humiliation.
T HE next morning, Joe greeted him with pancakes and a grunted good morning. He asked about Casey’s schoolwork, and he asked for Casey’s help making a shopping list for Thanksgiving dinner. He wanted to know if Casey wanted a haircut, since Joe was going into town, and he wanted Casey’s opinion on how best to get his transcripts. He was kind, personal, and involved in Casey’s life, just like he had been for the past two weeks.
He didn’t once mention what he and Sharon had been doing in the room before she left, and he didn’t once mention what Casey had done afterward. It was like it didn’t happen.
Casey decided that, for the time being, he could live with that.
Shakedown
~Joe
T HEY spent Christmas and Thanksgiving quietly enough. Casey helped Joe cook both dinners, and they both waited for the next morning to do cleanup. Joe bought Casey his own Walkman for Christmas and took him to town to buy music. (And then counted himself very virtuous indeed, because the kid’s music? Really? George Michael and Madonna? Gross!)
The kid’s little attempt at seduction was not even discussed between them. Joe thought it was better that way. He had to give the kid points for trying, but really? Sixteen? Joe had some standards.
And he had to admit, Casey met them. Yeah, he was feisty, and he tended to do shit without thinking, but by the time Christmas was over, not only had he taken to feeding the outside cats, he’d adopted a trio of kittens and brought them inside. After the first day of walking inside and seeing that kid cuddling a little orange fuzzball to his cheek and talking to it like it was human—“Hey, furr-burf, stop that. No, I don’t want my nose bit. No. I said no. Yeah, well, licking’s okay. Go ahead. Good for the pores. Who needs Clearasil when you’ve got kitten tongue? Oh yeah, right there, keep going. I’ll go put some milk on my forehead, we’ll clear that little blackhead problem right up!”—Joe went and bought a cat box for the bathroom, and suddenly the little fuckers couldn’t run under his feet enough. (He also bought some Clearasil, for which Casey expressed profound gratitude.)
But that was okay. Between Casey and Nick, Jay, and Jordan (because, according to the kid, those were the only three characters he could stand from the damned book), the house was a little less lonely. (Although Joe did notice that Nick was a girl cat, like Jordan. When he asked Casey about this, Casey replied that he’d always figured Gatsby was giving it to Nick anyway—this way, the cats could do something about it. Joe was planning on getting the cats fixed, but he put it off when he heard this. Anything so Casey could see a happy ending.)
But eventually they did have to deal with the paperwork thing when enrolling Casey in school, and a social worker did need to get called in. Joe could hardly blame Casey, either—the kid had kept his nose clean, had worked hard, apparently had been a model prisoner at the continuation school. (Given what Casey said about his fellow inmates, this wasn’t far off. He claimed to have spent a half an hour during a “science” class searching a local field for psilocybin mushrooms. He had a small baggie full of regular run-of-the-mill fungus to prove it.) But eventually the authorities figured out the bogus social security number wasn’t his and that was how the transcripts he’d doctored to say Casey Daniels didn’t pass muster.
So here Joe was, looking at the fortyish social worker with the newly minted tatas and the overly full lips and
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