Pork Page 12

  “You misunderstand, Mrs. Walthurst. I’m saying that sometimes it’s easier for our children to talk about their problems to strangers than to their parents or teachers.”

  ***

  After detention, Steven headed to Bob’s as usual and started washing cars with gusto. His mind kept drifting to the scene in Mrs. Thatcher’s office. Judge Watterson was every bit as manipulative as his momma had said. His blood was boiling. How could they point the finger at him despite his explanation? Mrs. Thatcher had already decided he was to blame before she even listened to him, that’s how. And Butch’s stellar performance had sealed the deal. The adult world was treacherous and full of lies, Steven decided.

  “Whoa, buddy! The paint’s gonna chip off if you keep that up. What’s the matter, kid?” Fenton asked. Steven had been rubbing at the same spot for ten minutes, but he stopped and wiped his forehead when he heard Fenton’s voice.

  “Do you know how to build stuff, Fenton?”

  Fenton looked a little confused and adjusted his stance. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  “Would you please help me build something?”

  “Well, what do you have in mind?”

  “I want to build a small house. Sort of like a tree house, but on the ground. I have some money saved from washing cars. I mean, it’s not a lot, but I can pay you for the wood and stuff.”

  “I see.” Fenton rubbed the three-day old stubble on his chin. “I suppose I don’t mind helpin’ out in the evenings, but you mind me askin’ what you need a grounded tree house for?”

  Steven sighed and wiped his forehead again. “Ground house. I think that’s what I’ll call it,” he said. Fenton continued staring at him. “Did you hear about the tree house that burned down last night?”

  “Yeah. What about it?” Fenton asked, folding his hands across his chest.

  “It was my pa’s. I used to go there after school to finish my homework and just hang out. Now it’s gone.” Steven kicked the dirt under his feet before continuing, “I figured with your help, I could build a place like that again.”

  Fenton puckered his mouth and shifted on his feet, his forehead creased. “Alright, Stevie. I’ll help you out for free if you promise to buy some of the supplies we need.”

  Steven nodded. “Thanks, Fenton. I really appreciate it.”

  ***

  Later that evening, Steven went to the clearing again. He walked over to the charred remains of the house and moved some of the burnt planks. All his possessions gone in a single act of cowardice. He balanced himself on an unsteady piece of wood and spotted his beloved guitar underneath a plank, burnt to crisp. The strings had melted and curled in all directions, and the shiny polish had turned black and somber. Steven pulled a burnt tuning peg off the guitar, dropped his head, and began to cry.

  He didn’t realize Pork was watching him until her hands came around him. She didn’t cry, didn’t apologize, didn’t offer soothing words. She just crouched behind him and laid her head on his back. And it was all he needed to make things right.

  When he went home that evening, he decided it had been a positively long day. He was so tired he could only think of sleep. He wasn’t even interested in having dinner. But when he stepped inside, his momma was pacing the hall. She looked like something was on her mind and he hoped it wasn’t him.

  “You’re late. Where were you?” his momma asked as soon as he stepped in.

  “I went to Bob’s after detention,” Steven said, his voice even.

  “That’s it? You didn’t go anywhere else after that?” His momma raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips.

  “I went to the place where the tree house was.”

  His momma closed his eyes and opened them again. “Stevie, why didn’t you tell me when you found the tree house?”

  “I didn’t want to upset you.” He didn’t dare look his momma in the eyes.

  “Is that where you went every time you said you were going to the library?”

  Steven nodded at his frayed shoes.

  “Why? Why do you go there every day?” She glared. Steven was sure there was a blow coming his way anytime now.

  He decided against telling his momma about Pork. “I just like it there. It’s quiet and I can do my homework better.”

  “Stevie, listen. I don’t want you to go back there again. Ever! I don’t know what you do there, but studying is not it because, according to Mrs. Thatcher, your grades are bad. So obviously something else is going on.” She took a deep breath before adding, “You been doing drugs, Stevie? Is that it?”

  “No.” Steven’s head shot up.

  His momma looked visibly relieved at his response. “Fine. I don’t care if you want to work at Bob’s, but you’ve got to find a way to get those grades up. You hear me?”

  Steven nodded.

  “Mrs. Thatcher also told me you might be needing counseling.”

  “What for?”

  “She says it might help you.”

  “You think I’m crazy?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Why do you send spies after me?” Steven blurted out.

  “What are you talking about?” His momma stared at him, her eyebrows coming together.

  “Why do you have Ferguson following me?”

  “Ferguson?” Steven’s momma looked thoroughly confused. She paused to think about it for a moment. “You mean the fire? I didn’t get Ferguson to follow you. He happened to be there when the tree house caught fire.”

  “You’re lying!” It was the first time he had raised his voice at her. “He’s been following me everywhere. You have him spying on me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Stevie.” She shook her head. “Maybe Mrs. Thatcher was right. Maybe you do need a psychiatrist.”

  “I’m not crazy.”

  “Yeah, well, you have a fine way of showing it! What the hell is going on with you, Stevie? What’s all this about spies, huh?” Her eyeballs were big and round.

  Steven took a deep breath and dropped his head again. “Nothing, momma. I’m sorry.” He stared at his shoes again, trying to calm down. He’d have to think about his momma’s words later. Extreme fatigue was setting in again and he really needed to get some sleep.

  His momma took a deep breath and said, “I have an appointment to meet Dr. Simmons tomorrow. And now I’ll have to work three jobs just to afford a damn counselor for you. What do you think of that?”

  “I don’t want a counselor.”

  “What the hell you expect me to do, then, huh? You want to make me look bad by not getting you a counselor like your principal suggested? And after a fiasco like that in front of that snooty judge?”

  “You looking bad is your own doing, not mine,” he said, still staring at his frayed shoes.

  His momma whirled around and landed a thick slap on his face. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that. I’m your momma.” She glared. “From now on, you’ll go to school in the mornings and you’ll see a counselor after your detention for the next couple of weeks. After that, you’ll come straight home, do your homework, and study.”

  “But what about Bob’s?”

  “I don’t care about Bob’s. You get those grades up. No more going to the tree house.”

  Steven’s brain whirred, and he decided to stick with his current plan. He’d work at Bob’s as usual, but he’d do his homework and study at night. He’d also follow through with the plan with Fenton and keep it from his momma.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying?” she thundered.

  Steven nodded and went to his room without another word.

  ***

  “Hello, Mrs. Walthurst. How are you?” Dr. Simmons asked as Steven’s momma sat down on a couch across from her the following morning. The woman was dressed in a sharp tailored black suit and wore a pearl necklace, making Steven’s momma a little self-conscious of her own six-year-old poly-blend top and brown corduroy skirt.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

&
nbsp; “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Great.” Dr. Simmons crossed her legs, picked up a notepad, and continued, “Mrs. Walthurst, Mrs. Thatcher has told me about Steven and described her concerns. I believe she has also spoken to you,” she said, smiling. Steven’s momma nodded. “Now, I haven’t talked to Steven yet and I don’t know what to expect. But before I can do that, I’ll need two things from you.”

  “What?”

  “First, your consent for me to be Steven’s counselor. Do you agree to appoint me as Steven’s counselor, Mrs. Walthurst?”

  “Well, I don’t really have a choice, and Mrs. Thatcher highly recommends you so—yes.”

  “Thank you. Now, the other thing I need is some background information on Steven. For the most part, I’ll be asking Steven the questions so he can reveal how he feels about things himself. Done correctly, his own account of his life can be most telling. But what I’d like from you is some basic information, such as if he has any brothers and sisters, his medical history, if you’ve moved recently... that kind of thing.”

  “Well, first of all, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with my son. He only punched that kid ’cause the brat burned down my boy’s tree house. He’s just a kid growing up. He’s never been in trouble before, which is why I’m surprised Mrs. Thatcher’s making such a big deal out of this. But I’ll let you talk to him and find out for yourself.” Steven’s momma cocked her head. “Stevie has no brothers or sisters, or cousins or relatives. He had an aunt once, my sister, but she died when he was ten. Most of his free time he says he’s studying, but I don’t know about that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, Mrs. Thatcher says his grades aren’t fantastic.”

  “What about his father?”

  Steven’s momma dropped her gaze and shook her head. “He left us when Steven was six. There was someone else, another woman.”

  Dr. Simmons nodded and wrote something on her notepad. She carried on for ten more minutes, asking more questions, before she finally said, “I think I have what I need to get started, Mrs. Walthurst. Thank you so much for your time. I will get in touch with you after I have had a few sessions with Steven. We may have to revisit some of these questions,” she said, glancing at her notepad. “But for now, I’m ready. I look forward to meeting your son next week.”

  Dr. Simmons rose with a smile, shook Steven’s momma’s hand, and closed the door after her.

  Chapter 12

  “Steven, do you know why you’re here?” Dr. Simmons asked in a soft, soothing voice.

  It was a week later. A white notepad was on her lap and her legs were crossed at the knees. The first thing Steven noticed when he entered her office was the large aquarium in the corner, which made gurgling sounds as the pump turned. He was fascinated by the pretty purple light that made the orange fish seem as if they were glowing. Her office was clean, with minimal papers and files on a sturdy desk next to a wide window overlooking the hills. A plush rug, though not as plush as the one in Sandy’s TV room, was spread in the center of the room. Steven sat on one of the couches bordering the rug and thought about her question.

  “Momma thinks talking to you will help improve my grades,” Steven said, deciding it was a safe answer.

  "What do you think? Do you think talking to me will help you improve your grades?” She gave a pleasant smile. Her hair was like a stream of silver threads, shaped to perfection, hanging just above her shoulders. She wore a maroon blouse and matching skirt, revealing long, smooth legs.

  “Maybe.” He shrugged.

  “Tell me about school, Steven. Do you like going to school?”

  Steven sighed. He had just come out of the nightmare, and going back was the last thing he wanted to do, even in memory.

  “I don’t know. It’s just school. Not much to like. Nothing to tell, really.”

  Dr. Simmons tried a different approach. “What would you like to talk about?”

  “Nothing, I guess.”

  “How are your grades at school?”

  “They’re pretty bad. Except for math.”

  “Do you like math?”

  “It’s okay. If I get the formulas right, I can usually do the problems.”

  “How’s English?”

  He shrugged.

  Dr. Simmons observed Steven’s body language and expression, and scribbled something on her notepad before looking at him again. “Do you have many friends, Steven?”

  Steven thought about this for a minute before replying. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Can you tell me their names?”

  “Well, there’s Sandy, Fenton, Por—” Steven stopped abruptly before blurting out Pork’s name. “And Molly. I know Molly, Sandy’s friend.”

  “I’m sorry. What was the other name you said? I didn’t get the name after Fenton’s,” Dr. Simmons asked.

  Steven’s palms moistened. “Nah. She’s not my friend. I don’t really like her.”

  Dr. Simmons made another note on her notepad. “Would you mind if I spoke to your friends?” she asked kindly, and Steven shrugged.

  The questions went on for about forty minutes, until it was time for Steven to leave. He paused by the door to admire the aquarium before turning his back and closing the door behind him.

  ***

  “To make the perfect tree house, you have to find the perfect tree. But to make the perfect ground house, you need to find the perfect wood,” Fenton said while measuring planks four days later. Steven had gone straight to the clearing after washing cars at Bob’s.

  His momma had started working three jobs, just as she said she would. She was now only home between seven and ten in the mornings, and two and five in the afternoons. And only to sleep. It had become easier than ever to evade his momma’s prying eyes. At least he wouldn’t have to come up with stories on his whereabouts.

  “You’re lucky, kid, ’cause I happen to have the perfect kind of wood required for this project. Hand me the saw,” Fenton said. According to him, he had built a toolshed next to his house a couple of months ago and had some leftover supplies. Out of the kindness of his heart, he had donated them to Steven’s cause.

  Pork was watching them work. She crouched by the creek, clutching Mildred. She had been feeding the bird when they arrived in Fenton’s pickup truck.

  “How long do you think it will take to finish building the ground house, Fenton?”

  “Oh, not long. If we work at it every day, including the weekends, we can complete it in a week or less.”

  That sounded great. Steven was excited to be involved in the building. He wondered how long it had taken his pa to build the tree house. It was good workmanship, he thought, and in the end he decided it must have taken months. He wished it hadn’t burned down, and looked longingly at the spot where it once stood. Fenton had brought his chainsaw and cleared out the debris from the old house and tree stump to make room for his equipment and supplies.

  He said the perfect spot for the perfect ground house would be about ten yards from where the old tree house used to be. It was much farther from the creek and hidden from the dirt path. He measured the area, made markings, and began preparing the planks. Steven helped where he could by handing Fenton his tools, and lifting and carrying things. When it began to turn dark, Fenton moved the planks and covered them with a huge tarp, figuring no one would come by at night. After he left, Steven checked up on Pork and Mildred before heading home.

  ***

  Steven was scheduled to see Dr. Simmons three times a week. It was his most-hated activity, after school. She asked him question after question, none of it making any sense to him. How was it supposed to help him do better in school? Today, for example, she asked if he had a pet when she caught him staring at the aquarium in her office for the third time. Its silent hum was strangely calming, and the fish that lived in there were beyond enchanting to him. Although he didn’t want anyone to know about Pork and Mildred, he accidentally let the fact that he had a b
ird slip.

  “What kind of bird is it?”

  “It’s a sparrow.”

  “Did your momma get it for you?”

  “No.” Steven panicked and immediately regretted divulging that piece of information. “No, I found it in the woods.”

  “Does it have a name?”

  “Mildred.”

  “That’s a nice name. Do you think I can see it sometime?”

  Steven hesitated for a brief moment, but relented in the end. He nodded.

  “How did you find it in the woods, Steven? Did you capture it somehow?”

  “No. I found it. Her wing was cut off so she can’t fly.”

  “That’s a shame, isn’t it? Does your momma take care of it while you go to school?”

  “No.” Steven was beginning to sweat. He really didn’t want to talk about the tree house, but Dr. Simmons was doing a fine job of prodding. “I found a place in the woods and I leave her there. I even made a nest for her so she won’t be uncomfortable.”

  Dr. Simmons leaned forward in her seat. “Such a lovely thing to do,” she said. Steven smiled. “What kind of place is it, Steven?” Dr. Simmons smiled too, and Steven shifted in his chair.

  “Well, it used to be a tree house, but it was destroyed in a fire. I used to hang out there after school. But I’m building another house there now. It should be ready in a few more days.” He could have kicked himself for telling Dr. Simmons all of that. He should have at least kept the new house a secret.

  “That’s excellent, Steven. So Mildred’s in the woods right now?”

  “Yeah.” Steven’s throat had dried up. “Can I have a glass of water, please?”

  “Of course.” She walked to a small fridge in her office and retrieved a bottle of water.

  The cold water felt good as it rolled like silk down Steven’s throat. He wanted to place the bottle on his forehead to cool off, but that would be a sure sign of apprehension, so he stopped himself. Instead, he fidgeted.

  “I’d love to see the house, Steven. Do you think you can take me to it once it’s completed?”

  “Sure.”

  He’d have said anything to appease her by that point. Once it was time to leave, Steven was so sick of the questions that all he wanted to do was wash cars in silence.