Anton turned onto his side and looked out the window into the dark. When he was little, his mam used to read Goodnight Moon to him every night, as they snuggled in bed together. It was the only book he’d ever owned, and they had kept it until last year, when he’d been invited to a birthday party for a four-year-old kid in the neighborhood, and since there was no money in the house, his mam had made him give the book as a gift. He’d hated her then, but tonight, Anton dug his thumbnail into his index finger as punishment for having been angry with her. When he saw his mam again, he was going to beg her to stop doing the drugs, and he knew that if he asked real nice, she would stop. Because she was a good mom and she loved him.
Maybe if he had a fever, they’d leave him at home and he wouldn’t have to go to the party. That was the other weird thing about being here—they never left him home alone, not even for ten minutes. In his apartment, he was alone often—when he skipped school or when his mam had to work Saturdays, or when she ran errands to buy bread or milk or drugs. He liked being by himself. He would watch television or play games on his Nintendo Game Boy that Mam had bought him for his birthday. That was back when she still had money, before she started spending most of it on Victor and the drugs.
Here, they allowed him to watch only an hour of TV. It was just like being in jail. FM even chose what books he could read, and they were not comic books. Where was his Game Boy now? Who had it? His head pounded at the thought of Maurice who lived next door stealing his video game. He hated Maurice.
Blinking back his angry tears, Anton flung the sheets away from his sweaty body and turned over again. If only he knew how to make his way home, he could run away. He missed his neighborhood, with its noise and excitement. On a warm summer night, he’d fall asleep to the sounds of squealing tires and crying babies and engines gunning and the loud laughter of the young men who gathered on the streets outside his window. This house was as silent as a grave. Probably the dead boy, James, was buried in the basement. Anton shivered at the thought. And nobody in this town looked like him. Except for his old school principal and one other teacher, he hadn’t known any white people. He had never really seen blue eyes up close until David. Looking into his eyes made Anton feel like he was drowning in an icy lake.
Even the barbershop in town was as quiet as a library, so different from the noisy, teasing, swearing place back home. FM had taken him there two days ago and the man had made a big fuss over never having cut hair like his, until Anton had felt his cheeks flush. In his old neighborhood, nobody even noticed him beyond a casual “Hey, Anton. Wassup, man?” Here, he was stared at wherever they went, like he was in the circus.
Would there be any black kids at the party? He’d wanted to ask David but had felt embarrassed. He knew how much they wanted him to like them and their house, how they were cooking special foods for him, buying him shoes and stuff, and he was trying to be polite, like his mam always taught him, but he was beginning to get impatient. When was she coming to get him? When were they taking him back home? Every time he tried asking, David’s face got weird. And in any case, it was no use trying to talk to them. Any time he said anything, they were always correcting him. Any time he asked them for something, FM would say, “It’s ‘ask,’ honey, not ‘ax.’” And turned out the word was “impatient,” not “inpatient,” as Anton had always said. And “supposedly,” not “supposably.” Everything he had ever known, it seemed, was wrong.
He checked his watch again. He’d get up real early in the morning the day of the party and make his way into their kitchen. He knew where FM kept the onions in a hanging basket. He would steal one and return to his bedroom. A kid at school had once told him that if you placed an onion in your armpit for an hour, you’d get a fever. Anton hated being sick, but it would get him out of going to the party. He’d spend the time alone, watching TV and maybe eating some ice cream. He knew where they kept that, too.
CHAPTER FIVE
David was so thrilled with how good the boy looked. In his pale blue Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, his new haircut, and brand-new Keds, Anton shimmered. His golden skin shone like copper in the late-July sunlight, and it made him look tanned and fit, as if he had just stepped off a sailboat at the Cape. Less than a month with them and already Anton looked radiant, the picture of good health, so different from the timid, frail kid David had picked up from Children’s Services. Delores was wrong. This kid would be fine at school. No, not just fine. He would thrive. David would make it happen through the sheer force of his will. Anton just needed what all kids needed: Good food. Sunshine. Clean air. Education. Exercise. Discipline. Love. All the things that he and Delores were uniquely qualified to offer. He felt giddy, filled with a sense of possibility, as he looked out on the backyard to where Smithie’s annual summer party was going on full swing.
David glanced at his watch. Damn Connor for being late, as usual. Anton seemed to be holding his own among the other kids here, but most of the children were either a few years older or younger. Connor’s son, Bradley, was Anton’s age, and David was hoping the two boys would hit it off. If Connor and Jan ever showed up, that is. It was a running joke between them—Connor had landed at Exeter early, a full term before David. For everything else, he had come late.
Don Smith, the host of the party, came up behind him and smacked him lightly on the back. “You having a good time, David?”
“As always, Smithie.”
“Then how come your glass is empty?”
David grinned. “A little too early to get drunk, don’t you think?”
“Bullshit. It’s never too early.” He stood next to David and took in the scene before them. “That’s the little boy you took in?”
“Yup.” Inwardly, he cringed. Don made it sound like they’d adopted a stray.
“So how’s it working out?”
“So far, so good.” David was aware that he was being evasive, but he didn’t care to discuss Anton with Don.
His fears were realized the next second. “Well, bully for you,” Don said. A brief pause and then “My mother, God bless her, always warned me against this sort of thing, y’know, adoption and such. Said you never knew what you were bringing home. Other people’s messes and all that.”
David felt his temper flare but tamped it down immediately. This is just Smithie being Smithie, he reminded himself. Originally from Oklahoma, Don had built one of the most successful insurance businesses in the state, but he prided himself for his lack of polish. As his business slogan said, “What You See Is What You Get.”
“Well, we’re just fostering him. But you’re right. It’s not for everybody,” David said vaguely.
Don nodded. “That’s right. Different strokes for different folks.” His eyes narrowed as he squinted into the backyard. “He’s pretty light-skinned, for being colored. Hell, he could pass for Lebanese or something.”
This time David didn’t hide his annoyance. “Really, Smithie? Colored? What is this, 1954?”
Don chuckled. “Relax, David. I’m just a dumb old Okie from Muskogee, you know. I ain’t no blue blood like yourself.”