David closed the door behind him and decided he would go into the library and have a drink before going to bed. It had been a long, emotional day.
It was only after he had poured himself the cognac that he realized it was the first time in five years he’d been able to enter James’s old room without thinking about his dead son. He had been angry when, three years ago, Delores had insisted on reclaiming the room, packing away James’s football trophies and his size-twelve shoes. David had argued against taking down the posters of the Clash and the Bangles and packing up James’s books, seeing no reason why he couldn’t afford himself the momentary comfort of entering his son’s room and reliving the memory of James lounging in the bed reading The Grapes of Wrath or sitting at the small wood desk beside the window. But even after Delores had stripped the room clean of its possessions, the memories lingered. After she got the walls repainted, David still knew exactly where the Abbey Road poster had hung, the precise spot from where the Rolling Stones had stuck out their tongues at him.
Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans. Did anyone know the truth of that line from “Beautiful Boy” better than he and Delores? Five years ago life had happened with such swift brutality that it had nearly claimed them along with their son. But here was the strange thing. Tonight he hadn’t thought of the room as James’s. Anton, with his shabby backpack and his fraying Michael Jordan T-shirt, had already made it his.
CHAPTER THREE
They were standing in their bedroom, careful to keep their voices low. “Are you crazy, David?” Delores hissed. “How can you take the risk? It’s not fair to Anton.”
David gritted his teeth. “We’ve been over this again and again. I told you, Connor’s gonna be one of fifty other guests. Anton won’t even know he’s there. You know how big this shindig is each year.”
“But what if?”
“You think the kid has a clue what’s going on? All he knows is that his mom is already in jail. I bet he doesn’t even know about the sentencing.”
Delores frowned in a distracted way. “Speaking of which. I don’t know how he’s going to manage at school, David. He’s going to lag behind something fierce. You know I’m working with him day and night, but his spelling and grammar are terrible. It’s like they taught him nothing at his previous school.”
David grimaced. “Yeah, well. That’s what the combo of a druggie mother and a crappy school system buys you. Our tax dollars at work. Hell, he might have done better going to school in Bangladesh.”
“And his general knowledge is outrageously bad. He told me yesterday that President Bush bombed Iraq to find and kill Hitler. That’s . . . that’s mind-boggling.”
David gave a short laugh. “See? History is obviously not his strong suit.” He put his arm around Delores’s waist and pulled her close. “And you’re worried about him realizing that Connor is prosecuting his mom? He’s a kid, honey. He’ll never make the connection.”
“But David . . .”
He stroked her cheek and gave her a light peck on the lips. “Dee. Stop worrying. Connor’s my oldest friend. Jan’s like a sister to you. What are we going to do? Never see them again because of Anton?”
“I suppose you’re right.” She picked off a piece of lint from his shirt. “I hope we haven’t bitten off more than we can chew, David. I honestly don’t know if I’m cut out for this foster parenting thing.”
“Dee. You’re just stressed out. It’s going to be fine.”
But Delores looked unconvinced. “I’m so concerned about school, David. I only have another month to catch him up, and I don’t know if I can. I mean, he’s very bright, but a new school’s going to be hard enough without—”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I’m worried, too. He’s probably also going to be the only black kid in his class. Think we should send him to private school instead? So he can get more individual attention?”
Delores rolled her eyes. “Like there’s a difference between public and private schools in this bourgee town. Hell, our test scores are actually higher and our student-teacher ratio is better than the private schools’. We must be one of five school districts in the whole damn country that can claim this.”
They looked at each other ruefully. “We have almost a month to bring him up to speed,” David said at last. “If kids can come here from Laos and Cambodia without a word of English and become National Merit scholars within a few years, surely Anton can learn to read and write proper English in his own country.” He ran his index finger across his wife’s lips. “Besides, he has the most brilliant and patient teacher in the state.”
She gave him that crooked smile. “I’ll try, honey. But I ain’t no miracle worker.” She moved away from him and began to rummage through her dresser. “I tell you what, though. He’s a natural at math. Just an innate ability, I suppose. That kid could give me math lessons.”
“Thank God for small mercies.”
In the three weeks they’d had Anton, none of David’s initial concerns had been realized. Sure, the kid had occasional meltdowns and bouts of homesickness, but that was to be expected. For the most part, Anton appeared to be adjusting well. He was polite and grateful when they bought him new clothes, ecstatic when David bought him a pair of Air Jordan sneakers. For a young boy, he was surprisingly neat in his personal habits, much neater than James had been at that age. He made his own bed in the morning and, since last week, had taken to clearing the table after dinner. Delores had wanted to protest the first time he did this, but David stopped her. “He feels comfortable enough to do this, honey,” he’d said. “It’s his way of belonging. Let him.”