A Face in Every Window

  "Get out of here, O'Brien." Larry panted. His eyes looked wild.

  "You've got the house," I said. "You win. It's all yours, Larry. But I need someplace to go and I'm going here. I'll just take this little cabin." I tapped the table.

  He lunged at me and swiped my hand off his table. "Get out of here! I'm not kidding."

  "Neither am I." I grinned. I could feel myself grinning and I couldn't help it. I hadn't meant to smile. I wanted to look tough, to feel tough, but I felt scared, shaken. I didn't feel in control at all anymore. Larry's eyes burned with a strange light, an anger, and I could feel mine burning, too, but my burning spoke of fear, my grin, alarm. I clenched my fists but kept them down by my side, and took a prepared stance, one foot in front of the other.

  Larry saw this and cocked his head to one side. "Hey, look, we were just kidding around in there."

  "Yeah, I know. You like doing that, don't you?"

  Larry shrugged. "You're an easy target, O'Brien."

  "Yeah? Give me your best punch and let's see who the easy target is, because I'm not leaving this cabin. My cabin. My mother, my house. Your parents didn't want you, remember? Your whole family didn't want you, did they? Your father—"

  Larry rammed his fist into my stomach, taking me by surprise and knocking the wind out of me. I fell back against the table and tried to suck in some air. I felt a wave of panic come over me. I couldn't breathe. I grabbed on to the table and Larry stood watching, his chest heaving, but a look of concern spread over his face.

  "Hey. Hey, I didn't mean it. Are you okay?" He reached out for me and I took my first good breath and doubled over. "You keep away from me," I said. "I'm not moving. This is my cabin." And I thought to myself, It's all I have—but even then I knew it, too, belonged to Larry.

  Chapter Twenty

  I GUESS LARRY felt bad about knocking the wind out of me, because he left me in the cabin—but not before he'd checked his table for damage from my fall against it. I wished the whole thing would have collapsed, but it was too sturdy. He gave me another warning about staying away from the table, a less belligerent one, and then left.

  I lowered myself onto the floor and leaned my back against the wall. I closed my eyes and cursed, first at Larry, then at the cabin and the house and all of New Hope, and then at my mother, and finally at Dr. Mike. Somehow, it all came down to the whole thing being his fault. He'd encouraged Mam to enter the contest in the first place. He'd encouraged Mam to sell Grandma Mary's house. And there he was in Switzerland with Mam while I sat on the floor of a cold cabin. I'd never hated a person the way I hated Dr. Mike. I hated Larry and his buddies and the way they teased me, but they were all a part of this Dr. Mike thing, too. They wouldn't be here if Dr. Mike hadn't come along. If I had any guts at all, I really would kill him.

  I crawled onto the sleeping bag and lay down on my back. "If I had any guts at all," I said to the ceiling.

  I don't know how long I lay there daydreaming. The back of my mind registered the workers getting in their cars and leaving, and then the leprechaun saying good-bye to Aunt Colleen and leaving. I heard Aunt Colleen calling to Pap, trying to coax him down off the roof before she left, but she didn't succeed and she drove away. Before too long, day had turned into night, and I was still working on my plan to get rid of Dr. Mike.

  Then I heard Jerusha calling to Pap and my mind snapped back to the present. Pap needed to be inside. It was cold out. Too cold to stay still without more cover than he had. I'd had to climb into Bobbi's sleeping bag with my down coat on to keep from freezing.

  I listened to Jerusha's coaxing and felt guilty about what I'd said to her when I shoved the casserole at her that afternoon.

  I listened awhile longer and I knew that the way Jerusha was going at it, Pap would never go inside. I climbed out of my sleeping bag and went to see if I could help.

  I stepped out of the cabin and looked up at the lighted figures on the roof. I knew Pap was sitting behind them, but I couldn't see him, and I supposed Jerusha had climbed out the window and sat beside him because I couldn't see her, either.

  I called up to Pap and felt foolish because I knew it looked as if I were talking to the Nativity set.

  "Pap," I said, "I know I'm not yer mam or anything, but see, Grandma Mary said to me that it was time for you to go inside now because Mam won't be coming tonight."

  I felt bad lying to him, pulling a Larry stunt, but I figured it was better than his getting frostbite.

  Jerusha stood up then and turned toward the window.

  "You don't have to leave," I called up to her.

  "Yeah, I got things to do," she said, and then she stepped through the window and disappeared.

  I cleared my throat. "Pap? Are you up there?"

  "Yup, I'm here, but you know what? It's cold." Pap spoke through chattering teeth.

  "Grandma Mary is angry that you're still up there. 'She says you're acting stupid."

  "Hey, down there, I'm not stupid and yer me own boy, remember, and I'm not stupid."

  "Then how come you're sitting up there waiting for Mam when you know you should be taking a hot shower and eating a big dinner and going to bed?"

  "'Cause I need to talk to her, is why. Where is she, James Patrick?"

  Pap's whining voice coming from behind the Virgin Mary sounded so pitiful to me.

  "Pap, she's in Switzerland, remember? What do you need to talk to her about? Could you maybe tell me?"

  "Maybe."

  "I'm listening, Pap."

  "I feel funny, James Patrick." Pap's voice was quiet and slow, his chattering had stopped.

  I stepped closer to the porch, then, seeing even less than before, stepped back again. I felt ashamed of my unwillingness to go inside and climb out onto the roof with him, but I didn't want to run into anyone in the house.

  "How funny, Pap? Sick-in-the-body funny, or funny-in-your-thoughts?"

  "Yeah, funny in my thoughts, 'cause like, are you still me little boy down there?"

  "Of course I am, Pap. I'll always be your boy."

  "But, see, you got taller than me. James Patrick, you're taller than me now."

  "I know, Pap, but I'm still your boy. I'm just growing up, but you'll always be older than I am."

  "James Patrick?"

  "Yeah, Pap, I'm here." I shifted to my right, trying to see Pap's shadow between the plastic figures.

  "James Patrick, that's a good thing. Don't you think? Don't you think it's a good thing you'll always be me boy?"

  I smiled. "Yeah, it's good. It's a sure thing."

  "I like that," he said.

  "Yeah, me, too," I replied. And I did. It had never occurred to me before. I'd never noticed the steadiness of our relationship. I'd never seen the order in it, the perfection of this single thing. I'd looked everywhere for some bit of stability, and here it existed with Pap. I would always be his son, he would always be my father. The thought comforted me and the comfort surprised me. I tucked my hands in the pocket of my coat and hunched up my shoulders.

  "James Patrick, down there, I want to know, will Erin always be me wife?"

  I shivered. "Yeah, sure, Pap," I said, hoping I sounded more certain than I felt. This thought, too, had never occurred to me. I couldn't see beyond the affair itself, and I couldn't really see that. I hadn't allowed myself to believe that Mam was doing anything more than going to operas and museums with Dr. Mike. I'd accused her, but inside I held tight to the hope that I was just overreacting, as she herself had said to me. Now here was Pap, knowing in a way that the rest of us couldn't, that his relationship with Mam was in trouble. He understood from some feeling he had inside that he could lose Mam, and only he dared to see beyond the facts to the unthinkable: that they might not always be together.

  "How come she's not here, James Patrick? How come she's with Mike now?" Pap called down to me.

  "She's taking a vacation, Pap. You know what a vacation is, don't you?"

  "Sure." Pap raised his hand and slapped it back do
wn on his thigh. I saw the hand flap above the Virgin Mary's head and heard the slap.

  "It's okay. Pap? Everything's okay. But while Mam's away you've got to take care of me and everybody. You're the father around here, and a father takes care of his children."

  Pap stood up, coming out from behind the figures. "Yeah, but I forget. Am I everybody's father?"

  "Not really. Just mine. You're just my father, Pap."

  Pap nodded. "Good, 'cause I can take care of you okay."

  "You sure can, Pap, and you know what I need? I need some food. I'm starving." I twisted around to the cabin and twisted back. "I'm living out in the cabin now, but I don't have any food out there. Could you go in and bring some out for me?"

  "Yup. I can do that, and I'm hungry, too, so I'll have some food, too."

  "Yeah, but Pap, don't forget about me. Go in and get enough for both of us and we'll have a picnic outside in the cabin, okay? I'll try to find Grandma Mary's old kerosene heater and that old lamp of hers."

  Pap scooted to the window and stuck his leg through. "Okay, James Patrick, okay."

  I waded through all of Pap's junk in the garage, hunting for the lamp and the heater and finally for some kerosene. At last I found all three and hauled them to the cabin. I got the lamp going first and looked around at the cabin walls, hoping I wouldn't set such a tinderbox on fire. I started up the heater and then checked my watch. Pap had been gone a long time. I decided he wasn't coming and climbed back into my sleeping bag. I wished I had had the foresight to bring a pillow and mat down with me. The cabin floor felt hard against my back, especially my tailbone, and I knew I couldn't rest my head on my arms all night.

  Then I heard Pap calling to me. "Here I come, James Patrick." I scrambled out of the bag and peered out the window. I could see him jogging down the slope with a stack of blankets in his arms, but no food. I felt glad for the blankets but disappointed about the food. I sat back down on the sleeping bag.

  Pap banged open the cabin door and stepped inside.

  "Jerusha said that I should bring you these blankets 'cause it's going to be freezing tonight."

  "Thanks, Pap. I've got the old heater going, though, see?"

  Pap glanced at the heater and dropped his load of blankets.

  "Yeah, I remember that, I do. That's mine from when I was a wee lad." Pap got down on his knees and held his hands up near the heater.

  I got up and closed the cabin door and heard my stomach growl. "Pap, what about dinner? Did you forget?"

  Pap turned and smiled at me. He started to say something, but he got interrupted by a knock on the door.

  "What?" I said in an unwelcoming tone.

  Jerusha said, "I brought you your dinner."

  "Oh. Oh, sorry, come in." I grabbed the door and opened it for her and she stepped inside with a tray loaded down with my chili con carne casserole, steaming hot, a Thermos, and some rolls wrapped in plastic.

  "Here's dinner," she said, clomping across the floor in a pair of heavy hiking boots and setting the tray down on Larry's table.

  I thought I should say something about not using the table, suggesting that she set it on the floor, but what were tables for, anyway?

  Jerusha slipped out of the pack she had on her back, swung it around in front of her, and pulled silverware and plates and cups out of it. She set these on the table, too.

  I didn't know what to say. I felt ashamed of what I'd said to her earlier, how I'd always treated her. To try to make it up to her I said, "Why don't you join us? You brought plenty. I mean, thanks for bringing all this."

  Jerusha turned around to face me. She smiled and her brown eyes looked bright and sparkling beneath her bangs.

  "I'm glad you offered," she said to me, digging her hand back into her pack. "I happened to bring an extra set of silverware, and"—she paused for effect—"my own plate. Tah-dah!"

  "Hey, all right!" I said. "This is my lucky day. Jerusha eats off her own plate, alert the media."

  "Tah-dah!" Pap said, lifting his arms in the air.

  Jerusha bent down and picked up one of the blankets. "Come on, help me spread this out."

  Pap and I both took ends of the blanket, and the three of us spread it out on the floor. Then we set the food and the rest of the things on top and sat down to eat.

  While Jerusha served our plates I said, "So, look, I'm sorry about what I said in the kitchen this afternoon. I don't know why I said that I didn't mean it. I mean, you're not ugly at all" I could feel myself blushing when I said this.

  "Jerusha is tah-dah!" Pap said, enjoying the word.

  I nodded. "Yeah, you're tah-dah."

  Jerusha laughed. Then she shrugged her shoulders. "I look at it this way. You gave me the casserole."

  "I did, didn't I?"

  She handed me my plate.

  "Anyway," she added, "you needed someone to take your anger out on, so you chose me."

  "Yeah, but why didn't I choose Larry or Harold, someone who was giving it to me? Why didn't I give it back to them? You weren't even saying anything."

  Jerusha handed Pap his plate of food and took up her own. "Look," she said, "there were six or seven of them in there. It was an uneven fight. You chose me because I was the safest one. You knew I wouldn't fight back."

  I took a bite of my chili and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good—I mean, that's right. I didn't mean it, but yeah, you were safe." I nodded again. "You were easy pickins. That's what Larry said to me. I'm easy pickins. I'm safe."

  "Exactly." Jerusha nodded and her whole upper body bobbed up and down. "You know, this is really good," Jerusha said, loading up another forkful of the chili.

  "Yeah," Pap said. "It's me mam's dinner. I miss it, James Patrick."

  I smiled and took another bite. It was good. It was the best thing I'd eaten in a long time. I knew if I closed my eyes I'd be back home, sitting at the old kitchen table with Grandma Mary across from me.

  We ate in silence for a while and I thought about Jerusha. She was the only one out of all of them who didn't get into fights with any of the others. Everyone else seemed to be feuding with someone, but Jerusha managed to stay out of it.

  "Doesn't anything ever bother you?" I asked her.

  She looked up surprised. "Yes," she said, yanking off a piece of her roll with her teeth. She shrugged. "I just don't have to take my frustrations out on other people."

  I looked down at my plate of food. "Maybe that's because nobody picks on you."

  "You did, this afternoon," she said, still chewing on her mouth full of bread.

  I looked up. "Oh, right, I forgot for a second."

  "See, I thought about it, how everyone's always trying to razz you, and I knew your feelings were hurt. I knew you weren't really wanting to hurt me personally, just someone."

  "Yeah, but you shouldn't just let people walk all over you. You should have given it to me."

  "What good would that do? Anyway, I don't let people walk all over me."

  "You let me," I said.

  "You think so? I've practically got you eating out of my hands." Jerusha grinned and tossed me another roll.

  I laughed. She was right. She'd made friends with the enemy, bringing me the food and sending Pap down with the blankets—but Larry and the others, that was different I couldn't let Larry just take over the whole place. I had to at least put up a good fight No casserole would settle our differences.

  Pap held out his plate. "I'm finished with that much, but I want some more."

  I grabbed the serving spoon and dug into the casserole dish. I scooped out another helping for each of us; checked Jerusha's plate, expecting to see it still full, and was surprised to find it almost empty.

  She held out her plate and I scooped some more chili onto it She took the plate and hunched over it. "You're a good cook, JP, you should do more of it"

  "And I can make soda bread with raisins," Pap said.

  I nodded. "It's good, too. We'll have to cook you up a real special dinner one of the
se days."

  "With a chocolate cake," Pap said.

  "All right, that's a deal," Jerusha said, taking a sip of the peppermint tea she'd brought us in the Thermos.

  I thought again about what Jerusha had said. I thought about making a dinner for everyone, the whole crew. Would they say they hated it just to make fun of me? Would Larry get angry and think I was taking over the kitchen—his kitchen?

  I shook my head. "We're all fighting over the stupidest stuff. Maybe we're all just bored. You know? Nobody's doing much of anything around here. It's just a lot of posturing and posing. Larry and his scarf and English accent and..." I stopped. I'd forgotten about Jerusha and her suits and ties.

  "We're all just trying to find our way, JP, that's all. Even you. Even Pap and your mother. You need to give people a break, give yourself a break." Jerusha took another sip of tea and set her cup down and looked at me. "I look at this house as the great incubator, and all of us—your mother, Larry, Harold, Bobbi, all of us—we're all eggs waiting to hatch. We're trying out different ideas, trying on different hats to see which one fits. That's why I took a year off from college. I wanted time to figure out what I really want to do with my life. It's great how your mother has opened her house to all of us. JP, it's great that she's willing to share all this with us."

  I set my plate down on the blanket. "I guess so. I just wish she'd be a bit more picky about who she lets in."

  Jerusha shook her head and set her plate down across from mine. "Then it's too predictable. Predictable gets boring."

  "Then I guess I'm boring," I said, hoping Jerusha would contradict me.

  Instead she nodded with her upper body and took another sip of her tea. "On the outside you are, because you're holding it all in, playing it safe. No one with a brain like yours, though, could be boring on the inside. You just have to let more of that out."

  "I'm interesting," Pap said. "Lots of people say I'm very interesting because I'm different, is what they say."

  Jerusha leaned forward and tapped Pap's leg. "You're the most interesting person I've ever met, Pap," she said, and I found myself wishing she'd touched my leg and said those words to me.

  "I know that already," Pap said.