19
My parents did not discuss the incident at dinner, the topic being one my mother would consider “unsettling” to our digestion. Instead they discussed my father’s workday and how business at the pharmacy continued to pick up. As dinner wore on, without discussion of my “escapade,” my feeling of being seated on a live grenade slowly gave way, and I sensed my parents had already spoken of the incident and didn’t care to discuss it again in front of me. While this was much easier on my digestive tract, it did little to assuage my curiosity.
After dinner, we retired to the living room, where my mother began her rosary, my father snapped open his newspaper, and I diligently pretended to be reading the sixth book in the Hardy Boys series, The Shore Road Mystery. When it again became apparent that my parents were not about to discuss the subject of the schoolyard fight in my presence, I announced that I was tired and even faked a yawn. Then I quickly trudged up the stairs and slid beneath my bed to listen through the grate.
“She was going to expel him?” My father’s voice sounded flat and disbelieving. “Looks like you made an enemy for you and for Samuel. She’s looking for any excuse to get even with you for going to that television news reporter.”
“If it wasn’t for that Ernie boy standing up for Samuel, she would have succeeded. Sister Kathleen said they moved from Detroit. The father worked at one of the car factories.”
“Well, he arrived just in time.” I heard the newspaper ruffle. “What about Sam’s other friends? Why didn’t any of them stick up for him?”
My mother softened her tone enough that I had to press my ear closer to the grate. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you this afternoon. I spoke to Sister Kathleen about something she said in the meeting, that Sam had never spoken in class.”
“Not spoken? I was under the impression he never shut up.”
“Not a word,” she said. “And he doesn’t have any friends, except for maybe this Ernie boy.”
“What about all the friends he talks about at dinner, Dillon and Barry?”
“There is no Dillon or Barry in his class.”
“He made them up?”
“And all of his accolades on the playground, apparently.”
“He made them up,” my father said.
My mother’s next words caught in her throat. “Sister Kathleen said he sits alone on the bleachers at recess and lunch until the bell rings.”
“What was her take on the situation?” my father asked.
“Well, she’s certainly sympathetic, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Well, doesn’t it seem odd that she would bring Ernie with her to the office to clear up what happened on the playground?”
“Odd? How?”
“I don’t know. There’s something more to this, Max. I felt as though Sister Kathleen wanted to tell me something to explain the situation, but couldn’t. She seemed to know more than she was letting on.”
“What about this boy who started the fight?”
“David Bateman. He’s twice as big as the other boys. But I doubt he’ll be expelled. His mother sits on the parish board. And she is quite the piece of work.”
“Perhaps I should give his father a call.”
“If he’s anything like the mother, I wouldn’t bother.”
My father hesitated. “Do you think this boy is capable of more violence? Is Sam in any danger?”
Up until that moment, I hadn’t considered that possibility, but now that I did, David Bateman did not strike me as the kind of kid to let bygones be bygones, and I wasn’t likely to surprise him a second time. In a fair fight, he would surely pummel me. I felt sick to my stomach and started to slide out from under the bed.