She narrowed her eyes slightly and flicked her gaze toward Jeffrey. “Like I had a choice.”
He dropped his sea bag on the floor next to her chair. “You always got a choice, Cora. Hell, I could’ve chosen not to come home when they gave me leave.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Because this is my family. Now, how about a drink and a little boom-boom for the sailor long-time gone?”
She pressed her lips together, glancing over Jeffrey. He followed her gaze, then nodded knowingly. “Oh, yeah. Well, then how about the drink now and the boom-boom later?”
“It’s in the kitchen,” his mother said.
His daddy cocked his head at her. “Then go and get it,” he said in a low voice.
She paused, glancing back and forth between him and Jeffrey. Then she sighed, turned and left the room.
Jeffrey watched the exchange, astounded. His daddy turned toward him, saw his expression and tipped him another wink. “Sometimes ya gotta put a woman in her place, boy,” he said with a grin. “Deep down inside, that’s what really want, anyway.”
His daddy removed his Navy Pea Coat and tossed it onto the small couch. Then he sat down in the chair and eyed Jeffrey for a few long moments. The sounds of clinking glasses drifted in from the kitchen. Jeffrey squirmed under his gaze.
“How old are you now, boy?” he asked.
“Seven,” Jeffrey told him.
“Seven, sir,” his daddy corrected him, shaking his head. “Didn’t your mother teach you any respect?”
“No,” Jeffrey answered without thinking. When his daddy’s eyes narrowed at him, he added, “sir.”
His daddy laughed darkly. “Well, at least you’re honest, kiddo. But you look about as fucked up as a soup sandwich, you know that?”
Jeffrey blanched at the profanity. His mind worked frantically to understand what a soup sandwich was. He felt his lip quivering and put his hand over it.
His mother came back into the room with a single water glass. She held it out to his daddy. The man ignored her for a moment, studying Jeffrey closely. Then he turned to his mother. “Jesus, Cora. The kid’s a mess. What’ve you been doing with him?”
“I’ve been doing the best I’m able to do, Stan,” she replied evenly. “Here’s your drink.”
“The best you can?” He shook his head and took the drink from her hand. “That’s a pretty piss-poor excuse, you ask me.”
His mother said nothing.
His daddy took a large drink from the glass. After he swallowed, his face contracted in a grimace. “Vodka? Good Christ, that’s a whore’s drink. Don’t you have any whiskey in the house?”
“I drink vodka,” she answered quietly.
“Like I said, a whore’s drink.” He took another sip. “Damn. It doesn’t get any better as you go, either.” He lifted his chin in her direction. “Go to the liquor store and get a bottle of whiskey. Get the good stuff. Jack Daniels.”
“I don’t have any money,” she whispered.
His daddy catapulted from the chair and struck her with the back of his hand. She yelped and fell back onto the couch atop his coat. “Don’t start out by giving me lip, bitch,” he growled at her. “Just because I’ve been gone a while doesn’t mean I’m not still the man around here.”
Jeffrey stared on in shock while his mother pulled herself up into a sitting position, holding her cheek.
“I’m…sorry,” she said quietly, avoiding her husband’s gaze.
“Goddamn right you are.” He sat back down in the chair and took another pull from the water glass. Then he asked, “Why don’t you have any money? My checks should be coming regular.”
“It gets used up,” she said.
“On what?” He jerked a thumb toward Jeffrey. “Ballet lessons for him?”
“Food,” she whispered. “Rent.”
His daddy laughed. “Food and rent? Yeah, maybe, but you manage to have some vodka in the house, too, don’t you, Cora?”
She didn’t answer.
He pulled roll of bills from his pocket and peeled off several, tossing them at her. “Now go get some whiskey. And make it quick.”
She slowly gathered up the money, folded it and slid it into her dress pocket. Then she rose and walked to the door. “Come on, Jeffie,” she said as she slipped on her jacket.
“No, he stays here,” his daddy said. “Christ knows he needs to spend some time with a man. Looks to me like you’ve turned the kid into some kind of queer or something.”
At the word ‘queer’, the kick to the stomach sensation repeated itself, only much harder this time. Jeffrey heard himself whimper, unable to hold the sound inside.
“See?” his daddy said over the rim of his water glass. “He needs some toughening up.”
Jeffrey felt the tears rise up in his eyes. At the same time, his cheeks grew hot. His stomach roiled.
This wasn’t supposed to be how it went. His daddy was supposed love him and hug him and fix everything. He wasn’t supposed to be mean. He wasn’t supposed to laugh at him and call him the same names the kids at school did.
“Ah, Jesus, now he’s going to cry.” His daddy shook his head. “This just proves my point. What are you, three?” He waved his drink at Jeffrey. “You got a room of your own?” he asked.
Jeffrey nodded dumbly, tears rolling down his fiery cheeks.
“Then go there. Get out of my sight until you decide to be a man and not some kind of little crybaby.”
Jeffrey fled to his room. He leapt onto his bed, buried his face into the lumpy, thin pillow and cried. Vaguely, in the distance, he heard the door open and close and then it was silent except for his tears. His sobs racked his chest, tearing at his little lungs. He was aware of a giant pain in his chest, but it wasn’t until his tears slowed down a little that he realized what it was. He’d heard of it, but never experienced it until now. His heart was breaking.
A while later, his mother returned, but she didn’t come to him. More than anything, that was what he wanted right then. He wanted her to come to his door, sit on his bed and gather him up in her arms. He wanted to press his face between her breasts and finish his crying there instead of the poor excuse of a pillow on his bed. She would stroke his hair and comfort him and tell him how it was just the two of them against the world and how she would make his daddy go back to the ship or make him stop being mean and she would stop being mean and then everything would be all right.
Instead, he was left alone to cry into his flat pillow.
Eventually, his sobs ran out. He lay on the bed, curled up into a fetal ball. His cheeks remained hot, but the salty tears were drying. As they dried, he felt a tightness on the skin of his cheeks. Every once in a while, he gave a little hitch.
In the small apartment, he could hear their voices carry.
“This is the first leave you’ve had in two years?” his mother asked, her voice stronger than before but still a pale imitation of what he was used to.
“First one that was long enough to come home,” his daddy answered.
“Your ship was in port just this Spring.”
“So?”
“Why didn’t you come then? If your family is so important?”
“You want another goddamn smack?” he snapped at her.
“No,” she said. “I just want to know-”
“I was in the fucking brig, all right?”
It was silent for a few moments, then she asked, “That’s why one less stripe? You were demoted?”
“I lost two stripes,” he said, a tinge of pride in his voice. “I’ve earned one back since.”
“That explains why the check got smaller.”
“Are you starving?” he barked at her.
“No.”
“No, I didn’t think so. You’ve got enough for this shithole apartment and for food and your precious vodka, so I’d say I’m providing pretty goddamn well.”
It was silent again for a little while, then he could hear them talking in lowered voices. After that, there was the rustle and clinking of items being moved. He could hear the chair slide on the kitchen floor. His mother yelped. It was quiet some more. Then came some more noises he didn’t understand, sounds that he was pretty sure his mother and his daddy were making with their voices, but they weren’t words. He thought about going into the kitchen to see if they were all right, but he stayed put. He didn’t know who he wanted to see less at that moment, so he decided he didn’t want to see either one of them.