"Every day?" asked DeAnne. "That doesn't sound like much of a restriction to me."
"Why don't we talk about it ourselves later," said Step. "We'll start with an hour a day and go from there.
All right, Stevie?"
"Even today?" he asked.
"Today is still off- limits," said DeAnne.
"Why not say this," said Step. "No computer after school for sure, and then your mom and I will talk it over and decide about later tonight."
DeAnne looked at him, her face full of exasperation, but Step remained expressionless, insisting on holding her to the bargain that they never play good-parent, bad-parent in front of the children-though in fact he had just violated the bargain himself.
Actually, the bargain included an unspoken agreement that if one parent felt very, very strongly, the parent who felt less strongly about it would go along. And even though DeAnne clearly thought that she should have been given precedence, the very fact that Step had insisted anyway told her that maybe she should back off.
So she did.
In the meantime, Stevie had calmed down a lot, though his eyes were still red-rimmed, his face white.
"Do you think you can still go to school today?" asked Step.
He nodded.
"Stevie, have you made any friends at school this year?"
He shrugged.
"I mean, do the kids talk to you?"
He shrugged, then nodded.
"Stevie, do you ever have fun?"
Stevie just looked at him. "Sure," he finally said.
"I mean, besides with the computer?"
When Stevie didn't answer, DeAnne interrupted. "If we're going to get either of you boys to school on time, we've got to go now. And then your father and I are going to have a long discussion."
They had the discussion, but it wasn't rancorous. Step explained his thinking, DeAnne agreed with him, and they decided that limiting Stevie to an hour a day would help him taper off without giving him the stress of quitting the game and losing his friends all at once.
"The funniest thing," said DeAnne. "You know when he said, 'You're not the only one with work to do?' or whatever it was he said?"
"Yeah, I didn't know whether to be delighted to see him showing so much emotion or appalled that for the first time in his life he was yelling at his father."
"Do you know what went through my mind when he said that?" said DeAnne. "I thought, 'Wist ye not that I must be about my father's business?"'
Step just looked at her. And then said, "Do you know what that reminds me of?"
She shook her head.
"Lee Weeks," Step said. "First he thinks he's God, and then you think you're the virgin Mary."
"I wasn't joking."
"I was hoping you were," said Step.
"Maybe he's doing something really serious, Step. Maybe he's got a clearer vision of the world than we have. I mean, we already know that in some ways he does understand more than we do, and he always has."
"I know," said Step. "But we're talking about computer games here."
"We're talking about Stevie being aware of evil in the world. Have you forgotten that he knew the names?"
"The serial killer hasn't done anything since that article."
"But the boys he killed are still dead," said DeAnne. "And Stevie is still playing with imaginary friends that have their names. How do we know what is or is not important? When the boy Jesus stood there talking to the learned men in the temple, that was more important than Joseph's carpentry and more important than Mary's worry about him."
"Maybe you're right," said Step. "But nevertheless, Mary worried about him, and Joseph still kept doing his carpentry, because that was their job. And when they came and got Jesus from the temple, he went with them.
He didn't stand there and cry and scream at them. I mean, I know we believe in likening the scrip tures to ourselves, DeAnne, but it can be carried too far."
"You're right," she said. "I was just telling you what went through my mind."
The last phone call from Lee Weeks came on the twenty-sixth of October, a Wednesday night. It was the second day of the invasion of Grenada, and Step had stopped working the whole day, watching the news. At one in the morning Step was still up, sitting in the family room flipping the TV back and forth between news broadcasts and stupid old movies. When the phone rang Step thought either someone had died or someone in Utah was calling and had forgotten the time difference again.
"The war is on," said Lee.
"Hi, Lee," said Step.
"I saved the quarter you sent me. I picked it up from the sidewalk where you left it."
Please, thought Step. Please just don't call me again.
"They saw me pick something up on my walk, and they strip-searched me, but I swallowed it."
"You swallowed a quarter?"
"I knew I'd get it back, and when I did, I'd call you. I found it on the day they blew up the U.S. Marines. I knew that God was through with the world, and then you sent me the quarter and I thought, I am prepared. And now when war is raging over the face of the earth, I got the quarter back."
"Where are you calling me from?" asked Step.
"The payphone in the waiting area. I don't have long to talk, because the attendants will find out I'm not in bed pretty soon. That's why you'll have to act quickly. Is the submarine ready?"
"Lee, I don't have a submarine."
"No!" he shouted. "No! No!"
Step almost shushed him, but then he realized, if Lee is in an institution somewhere and he's hiding, having him yell into the phone will help them find him.
After a moment, though, Lee stopped shouting. "She put me here," he said. "But God is getting impatient.
He is tired of the way I keep falling asleep, but I can't help it. I can't help it." He started to cry.
"Lee, it's all right, really. Everything's going to be all right."
"Step, you're my only friend. You're the only one who ever understood the glorious being inside my humble body."
"That's still true, Lee. You're trapped inside a body that isn't working right. It keeps giving you a distorted version of reality."
"I tried to see the truth," said Lee. "But I didn't see enough, did I? I didn't measure up. So you're going to leave without me, and I'll be here for the day after. But I'm not afraid. I'd rather die than live on, knowing that I didn't have what it took to he saved."
"Lee, you didn't fail a test. You just have to take the medication they give you."
"That's what you have to say to the ones who fail. I understand that, Step. You could have burned me up when you saw how weak I was. But I'm not as weak as they think. I got even with them. This is so beautiful, you're going to love this! You want to know what I did?"
"Sure," said Step.
"I didn't wash the quarter." Lee burst out laughing, long and hard. "I didn't ... wash ... the quarter!"
There was a flurry of noises. Lee stopped laughing and said, quite cheerily, "Ta-ta for now!"
The line went dead.
14: Christmas Eve
This is what Stevie bought with his Christmas money: For Robbie, a Go-Bot, since Robbie was called Robot sometimes and he liked vehicles and the Go-Bot turned from one into the other whenever you wanted.
For Betsy, two blue ribbon bow clips for her hair, because she was so proud of how long it was but it always got into her eyes. For Zap, a cassette tape of songs for Mormon children, sold by Dolores LeSueur's daughter, Janet, the Bright Music distributor in Steuben, on the day when she came over to the house to make a combined sales call and visiting- teaching visit for the Relief Society.
For Jack, a Hot Wheels race car because he was so fast. For Scotty, a deck of cards because he bragged about what a good poker player he was. For David, a small fake-ceramic dog because he liked dogs. For Roddy, a harmonica because he liked songs. For Peter, a ball of string because he liked kites. For Van, a Star Wars button because it was his favorite movie. For Sandy, a squirt gun because he was such a good aim.