“But it could be very important,” Isobel persisted. “This could head off trouble down the line. The teen-age years are very vulnerable ones, especially for a boy like Jake. Depressed children can act out in very damaging ways. Think about those terrible school shootings-”
“Oh, God, not the Columbine thing again. Jake’s nothing like those two lunatics, nothing at all like them.”
“I agree,” said Isobel promptly. “But if he goes untreated, he could end up in that kind of hidden anger that took hold of those boys. He might not go on a rampage, but he could do something desperate.” She pressed on the screen. “Let me explain it to you, so you can make up your mind what you want to do.”
“I’ve already made up my mind what I want to do. It’s you who’s having trouble getting the message.” She really wanted a cigarette right now, and more than that she wanted this Isobel Matthews to go away. Then she had a sudden inspiration. “Besides, Jake will be spending six months back east with my sister Judith, and that would fu-screw up any therapy, wouldn’t it? Maybe, if he’s still having trouble when he gets back, we can talk about it again.” She reached for the front door, prepared to close it on Isobel.
“Here,” said Isobel, holding out her card. “If you change your mind, call me. I want to help you, Missus Sparges, and your son.”
“If you want to help, go away,” said Esther, ignoring the card and shutting the door with what she intended to be finality.
“Esther, honey, that kid of yours is bad news-what have I been telling you all along?” Uncle Bob was stretched out on the sofa, a six-ounce glass of tequila in one hand and an open Negra Modelo on the coffee table beside him.
“They’re just picking on him because he’s not like the other kids in his class,” said Esther, with a conciliatory smile. “You know what teachers are like these days: anyone a little bit different they want on Ritalin or some kind of drug. They all seem to want cookie-cutter kids in class.”
“They’re right in Jake’s case; he needs something,” said Bob with an angry chuckle. “Think about it. The kid’s always skulking around. And the games he plays!”
Esther knew better than to defend her boy too vigorously, so she looked down at her shoes. “I’m going to call Judith again; see if I can talk some sense into her, you know?”
“Judith!” he scoffed. “She’s not gonna do you any favors, honey. You know how she is. She’s jealous that you got a man and she doesn’t.”
“I gotta try, for Jake’s sake.”
Bob grew sulky. “Well, if you’re gonna be stubborn about it-I just wanted to spare you some disappointment when your sister says no again.” He propped himself on his elbow and drank a mouthful of tequila and chased it with a generous swig of Negra Modelo. “When’s dinner?”
“Half an hour. It’s in the Crock-Pot. Can’t you smell it?”
“Hard to tell. They’re redecorating the fourth floor and all I can smell is paint.” He finished off his tequila and frowned at Esther. “So, are you going to get your begging out of the way?”
“After dinner,” said Esther. “And keep your voice down. Jake’s in his room. I don’t want him to overhear us.”
“Fat chance. That kid is lost in a book or playing his video games.” He gave her an accusatory stare. “You bought him that PlayStation gizmo. You know we can’t afford it.”
“I paid for it out of my tip money,” she said sullenly.
“Oh, crap!” He sat up, his face darkening. He stabbed an accusatory finger in her direction. “You think you’re doing him a favor? That he’s grateful to you for it? He should have had to work to earn the money himself.”
“Bob, he’s nine.” Esther could hear herself whine and felt ashamed.
“Nine, nineteen, no difference. He can run errands, cut lawns, do odd chores, all kinds of things. That way he’ll know the value of his things.” He sneered at her. “You make nine sound like he’s just learning to talk. Keep coddling him like this and you’ll turn him into a faggot. Wouldn’t Judith like that?”
“He’s a kid, Bob. He needs to spend his time studying and learning. Jake’s bright and very imaginative, and he likes trying things out. That’s what kids do. That’s their job.” Esther reached to take away Bob’s beer, but she was a fraction of a second too late, for Bob anticipated her move and threw the beer at her, cursing her as he did. The bottle struck her shoulder; Esther screamed and shouted obscenities. She rushed toward the kitchen door and slammed it closed as Bob struggled up from the sofa, calling down maledictions on her and her boy as he hurried toward the closed door.
“You bitch!” Bob roared.
Esther shrieked as Bob kicked at the kitchen door. “Don’t you wreck my house, Bob!”
“You gotta learn sense, woman! That kid is weird!” Bob bellowed, kicking harder and yelling when he hurt his ankle. “You gotta draw a line with him! He’s gotta know what’s real and what isn’t.”
Down the hall Jake was listening and becoming more disheartened by the second. He guessed dinner would be late, if at all, and he was hungry, but not hungry enough to take on Mom and Uncle Bob when they got like this. He pulled a Kit Kat bar out of his school satchel and unwrapped it, biting into it slowly to get the most out of it. What he really wanted was some of the pot roast he could smell all the way from the kitchen, but that was out of the question. He glanced at the clock: 6:48. Mom and Uncle Bob would be at it for another hour or so-it was their usual pattern-and then another hour of resentful silence, and then, for some reason that made no sense to Jake, they would end up making energetic love. “Well,” he said quietly, “the pot roast probably won’t be ruined. The Crock-Pot cooks real slow, Mom says.”
“Esther, you gotta listen to reason!” Uncle Bob shouted.
“Leave me alone!” was her answer.
Slowly Jake finished the Kit Kat bar and opened one of his windows. Then he picked up his school satchel and climbed out onto the lid of the garbage can, jumped down, and started walking in the direction of Diogenes I. Vlamos Park. It was almost sunset and he could find a place in the bushes where he wouldn’t be noticed. He reckoned that three hours should be about right.
When it got dark Jake left the thicket of bamboo where he had been hiding, and he made his way over near the playground. Little as he wanted to admit it, he was hoping he might find Ben wandering about in the park; he wanted so much to see the big dog again and to make the most of the companionship the animal provided. He kept away from the well-lit swings and instead went over to the jungle gym, where there were more shadows and he would not be as readily seen. He climbed up into the bars and sat watching the traffic through the trees, trying to keep from feeling sorry for himself; he wished he’d brought his PlayStation and a couple of games. He knew it was useless for his mom to call Aunt Judith. She wouldn’t want to take him. No one wanted to take him. Desolate and alone, he did his best not to think at all. After a while, he began to doze, and as he dozed, he thought he saw Ben coming, and he smiled. Only it wasn’t really Ben, it was a tall, angular man with a long head wearing a kind of parka with a fur collar. He held the cloth with the strange writing on it in one hand; he offered it to Jake.
“Wouldn’t you like to be one of the pack, Jake? Have a place where you’d always be wanted?” the man-dog asked. “Have somewhere you’d always belong? Wouldn’t it be good to have friends and comrades?”
Muzzily Jake answered, “Not… gonna happen.”
“It will if you’ll let it,” said man-dog Ben. “Put on the… collar; tie it loosely around your neck and wait a little while.”
“Why?” Jake asked, feeling a bit more awake, but certain he was still dreaming.
Ben didn’t answer his question, but asked one of his own. “How much do you know about wolves, Jake? Not Hollywood wolves, the real animals?”