David cleared his throat. “Hey,” he began. “I’ve got some news for you. And it’s not good news, I’m afraid.” He saw with regret the shadow that crossed Anton’s face. “Though it could be,” he felt compelled to add. “It’s all a matter of how you look at it.”
The amber in Anton’s eyes flashed, but he went completely still, as if afraid to breathe. The terse stillness of his posture tore at David’s heart. It was easy sometimes to forget what this boy had gone through. “It’s about your mom, Anton,” he said, his voice low and gentle.
“She dead?”
“What? No. God, no.”
The boy appeared to relax a fraction. He turned his head slightly to look at David, his mouth open. “What happened?”
David gulped. This was not going to be easy. “She’s decided to give up custody of you, Anton,” he said, wincing as he said those words. And after the boy didn’t react, “You understand what that means, right?”
Anton shook his head. “Nope.”
“It means she doesn’t feel she can take care of you. So, she’s telling the state”—no, that sounded too cold—“she’s asking us, me and FM, if we’d take care of you.”
Anton’s lower lip quivered a bit, but he maintained eye contact with David. “For how long?”
“Well, for a long time. For . . . forever.” David’s eyes began to sting with tears, but Anton’s were clear, even though the boy’s nose was beginning to turn that telltale shade of red.
“Mam told you this?” The boy’s voice was raw. “That she don’t want to take care of me no more?”
How effortlessly Anton had slipped into his old way of speech at the mere mention of his mother, David marveled. But there was no time to reflect on this because the question burned like a house on fire between them. David reached out and held Anton’s hand, sticky with the residue of ice cream. “Anton,” he said, his voice husky, “you’re a big boy now. Old enough to understand a few things. Right?” He waited until the boy emitted a faint response. “So you must accept something. Your mom is sick, Anton. She has a drug problem. A disease. You understand? She’s not well. She can’t take care of you, son. And so she asked FM and me to take care of you for her. It’s her way of loving you.” He looked around the patio, filled with laughing, seemingly carefree families, their faces shiny and unburdened, and for a moment he was filled with longing, remembering when his had been one of those families, smug and safe in their good fortune, and he couldn’t have imagined, not in a million years, that he would be sitting across from an orphan—because let’s face it, that’s what he’d done, he’d orphaned Anton—letting his words splinter the light in his eyes. “Anton,” he tried again desperately, “you know that FM and I love you. We will do our best for you, son. We will take care of you, I promise.”
Anton looked up at him, a faint smile on his face. “I know,” he said. “Thanks.” Then he squinted. “But who will take care of Mam?”
David sighed. He knew this happened all the time in dysfunctional families, this odd role reversal—the more irresponsible the adults, the more hyper-responsible the kids. “Your mom’s an adult,” he said, almost by rote. “She can take care of herself. It’s not your job, Anton.” He stared at the boy, recognizing the skeptical look on his face, knowing that he had not convinced him. And then, in a moment of inspiration, he said, “God will. God will look after your mom.”
The boy’s face brightened. “That’s what my mam says.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he had spoken to his mother yesterday, as if the more than two years apart had not occurred.
“And she’s right.” Giving Anton’s hand a final squeeze, David disengaged his hand from the boy’s. “Well,” he said, making a concerted effort to change the subject, “what do you think? Should we get another round of ice cream?”
Anton shook his head. “FM said she’s making a big supper, David. We shouldn’t ruin our appetites.”
The boy’s tone was so earnest and his words so perfectly echoed Delores’s that David had to suppress a smile. He remembered the endless bowls of ice cream that Anton had wanted to consume when he’d first come to them. The self-control that the boy now exhibited—surely that was a sign of something. David felt his body quiver with pride. He didn’t care what anyone believed, even Anton himself. This boy belonged with them. And he was destined for great things. He deserved a better life than his mother ever could have provided.
“Whatever you say, buddy,” he said. He gazed at Anton’s bowed head as the boy sat staring at the ground. “Do you have more questions for me?”
Anton was quiet for the longest time before he looked up. “Can I see her? To, you know, say hi?”
David knew from Anton’s startled expression that the boy had caught the alarm that had flashed in his eyes. It was out of the question to arrange a meeting between Juanita and her son. She might let slip something that would implicate David. Or she might change her mind about signing away her parental rights. As for what the effect of such a meeting would have on Anton—David shook his head to snuff out that worrisome thought. “I’m afraid that’s not a good idea, buddy,” he said, hoping that the boy would not push.
Anton nodded and David wondered, not for the first time, how much the boy understood. “What else?” David said with a thin smile.
Anton shrugged. “Nothing, I guess.” Without warning, his face crumbled. “David. How come Mam loves the drugs more than me?”
David felt the air rush out of his lungs. He looked at Anton helplessly, feeling as though he had never loved this small, lost, and vulnerable boy more than at this moment. “Don’t say that, buddy. Because it’s not true. Your mom—she loves you. She wants you to live with us because . . . she knows we can give you a life that she can’t.” He blinked back the tears forming in his eyes. “Anton. Aren’t you even the least bit happy being with us?” he asked, hating the plaintive note in his voice, noticing the discomfort it produced in the child. You selfish bastard, he chided himself. Instead of consoling the kid, you’re demanding that he console you. He forced a smile on his lips. “Aw, shit. You don’t have to answer that, kiddo.”