Then the sound of someone urinating, not into the water-filled bowl, but against a surface.
Jesus fucking Christ, Rick’s voice came, reverberating through the toilet bowl. Then the gurgling again and then the sound of Rick vomiting as Johnny pissed down on the back of his head. Nat’s eyes screwed closed now and in the howling sound of his heart the name he cried for was not his friend’s or his mother’s or his father’s but Bill’s, and he could see, before him, on the floor of the bathroom, the hawk he had once held in his hands, the animal’s wing dragging against the cool surface of the tiles, and then his brother’s smiling face, his hand on Nat’s shoulder, but when he opened his eyes there was only the man he did not know, standing by the bathroom door, staring down at him, his expression impassive.
Keep out of my fucking business next time, Johnny said from the stall.
In the next moment he stepped out to the sink and washed his hands in silence. Mike stood by the door now, his hands crossed before him. This is the end game, Nat, Johnny said from the paper towel dispenser, where he stood drying his hands. Goddammit, I think I got piss on my pants, he said woefully. Then, You got Thanksgiving plans?
Nat tried to speak but his voice was dry and silent and the sound he made was a long weird vowel.
Yeah, that’s good, Johnny said. Hey, Mike, you got that piece of paper?
Mike nodded and extracted a small folded sheet from his jacket pocket and handed it to Johnny, who stood reading it for a moment by the sink. Then he turned and faced Nat. 503 East Fourth, number thirty, he said. That mean anything to you?
My mom, Nat said.
That’s right. That an apartment?
Trailer.
Ah, of course it is, he said. Then he stepped forward and knelt beside him. I’m a businessman, he said. All I want is what you owe me. Do you understand that?
Yes, Nat said. He was shaking with fear now, trembling everywhere.
Let’s get this taken care of. Maybe you can borrow something from your mom.
I’ll try, he said.
Good boy, Johnny said. That’s a good boy. His hand touched Nat’s hair, slowly, almost tenderly, stroking it for a moment and patting Nat’s shoulder. Then he stood. Let’s get the fuck out of here, he said and in the next moment all three of them were out the door.
NAT’S MOTHER had gained some weight since he was a child, becoming heavy and pear-shaped, but otherwise she was just the same: an immovable woman, now living alone in the trailer on food stamps and doing occasional piecework for a mail-order company she had worked for as long as Nat could remember, stringing beads onto thin clear fishing line over and over again, her eyes on the television, hands moving without thought, rising for the bathroom or to make herself lunch or dinner or to refresh the Long Island iced teas she drank from a huge plastic tumbler, one after the other, until at last passing out in the chair again.
Happy Thanksgiving, Mom, he said, emerging from the filthy, cramped kitchen with a dinner plate. Fried ham, canned beans, and cranberry sauce.
Oh that looks good, his mother said.
He set the plate on the TV tray and then returned to the kitchen for his own and sat on the sofa, pulling the second tray nearer to him and setting the plate upon it.
I’m glad you’re here, Nathaniel, his mother said. I miss you so much.
I know you do.
Are you still having fun in the city?
Sure, it’s fun, he said. There’s a lot to do.
Do you get to see any of those shows?
Too busy working, he said. Loretta Lynn was in town a few months ago.
Oh my gosh, she said. I just saw her on Hee Haw. Does she look like she does on TV?
He had not seen her but he said, Yeah, she looks just like on TV.
That’s so exciting, she said.
Yeah, it’s a fun place.
They watched Simon & Simon for a time without speaking and when he looked over at her again she was staring at him.
What? he said.
What’s the matter, honey?
Nothing. I’m fine.
Something’s wrong. I can tell.
He looked away from her now, back to the television, where the commercials had ended and the program was just starting up again, but when he glanced at his mother once more her gaze had not left him. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, he said. That’s all.
You can tell your mom, you know.
I know. It’s not anything important.
Sounds like it is.
Just trying to do the right thing.
That’s all you can do, she said.
Yeah, well, it’s hard to figure out what that is sometimes.
You know what your father used to say? Take care of your people. There’s not much more to it than that, is there?
I don’t know. He didn’t take care of us.
Don’t say that, honey, she said. He couldn’t help what happened. Neither could Billy. Those are just accidents.
Accidents? They were both so drunk they drove off the road.
She sipped at her tea and then lifted her cigarette and puffed at it briefly before returning it to the TV tray unfolded at her side. You know, you look just like your father, she said after a time. You’ve got his sad eyes.
I’m fine, Mom, he said again. He looked to the television again but could feel her staring at him and at last he turned to face her once more.
You know you always have a place here at home.
The statement nearly brought him to tears. I know that, he said.
Well, just so you know. No matter what happens you’ve always got a home.
He nodded.
What’s happening with A.J.?
Nat did not at first understand the question but then he glanced to the television to where the characters were embroiled in some kind of intrigue. Oh, he said, I’m not sure. I guess we should try to figure it out.
It’s a mystery, she said.
Always is.