Spare Change (Wyattsville #1)(11)

The year Ethan Allen turned eight, everything changed. The promises wore thin and Susanna began to doubt that she would ever see New York City. Despite her husband’s objections, she got a job working in the cosmetic department of Woolworth’s. Every morning, she’d pull on a skirt that was way too short and head into town; Benjamin wouldn’t see hide-nor-hair of her until six hours after the store had closed for the evening. “Where the hell have you been?” he’d scream. “What about dinner?”

“Oh, please!” Susanna would groan, then turn her back to him and start fussing with some stray hair that had fallen out of place. “Ethan’s got the good sense to fix up something when he’s hungry,” she’d sigh, “seems like you could do the same!”

“It’s not my place!” he’d storm. “A wife’s got responsibilities! You ought to be seeing to the needs of me and this boy!” Benjamin would gesture to a chair that as it turned out was empty; then he’d wonder aloud where in the hell the boy had gone to.

Ethan Allen knew when trouble was coming. He knew when his mama’s car came rolling up the drive long after dark, there’d be hell to pay—given his daddy’s shortness of temper there’d for sure be name calling and screaming. If his mama wanted to, she could sweet-talk her way out of anything, but if she was in the mood to start heaving dishes across the room, there could be fisticuffs—the kind that sometimes ended with her having a black eye and him sleeping on the sofa. Nights such as that, Ethan Allen hung around, tried to smooth things over. “Here, Daddy,” he’d say, “I made you a sandwich. Cheese with mayonnaise, like you like.” After that he’d sidle up to Susanna and whisper something about how Benjamin’s bad temper was his way of worrying. “Daddy, don’t mean nothing by it,” he’d say, “He loves you, Mama, he surely does.” On a good day, his parents could end up laughing and tickling each other. On a bad day, there was no telling what would happen. Those nights, the only thing the boy could do was sneak out with a flashlight and a Captain Marvel comic book, wait till things quieted down, then tiptoe back through the kitchen door.

Some nights it never quieted down and when the sun came up they’d still be screaming insults at each other. Other nights, he’d find the back door locked and have to sleep on the porch curled up alongside Dog, a stray that Susanna had lugged home one night when she’d claimed to have car trouble and stayed out till almost dawn. “Here, Sweetie,” she’d said and handed the dog to Ethan Allen; “This cute little fella’s your birthday present.”

The dog was as far from cute as possible—he was wobbly-legged and bad tempered with most everybody. “What’s his name?” Ethan Allen asked.

“Dog,” Susanna answered laughingly; but minutes later all hell broke loose because Benjamin claimed he didn’t believe for one second that she’d had car trouble.

“You think I’m stupid?” he screamed, “You think I got no idea of what you’re up to?”

With never knowing which way the wind was gonna blow, Ethan Allen figured he ought to have a hideout, a place to go on nights when there was no appeasing anybody, and that’s when he starting building the fort. First a hammer disappeared from the tool chest, then a good sized sheet of aluminum and some wood Benjamin was planning to use for repairs. After that the large black tarpaulin used to cover the tractor vanished with not a trace, then it was a shag rug that for years had been right there in the hallway. Cans of food began to be missing, a whole pound of weenies, blankets, a pillow, even the portable radio Benjamin claimed, was nowhere to be found.

“Ethan Allen, you know anything about this?” Susanna asked.

“Me?” he said, “I’m just a kid, why you asking me?”

Susanna hitched her mouth up on one side and glared at him in a most suspicious manner. “Seems to me, you know something,” she said.

Just then Ethan Allen remembered his chores and scooted through the back door, but coincidentally, the disappearing of things suddenly came to an end. “I know you’re up to something, boy,” Benjamin said several times, yet he never noticed that less than fifty yards from the house, behind a stand of Douglas Firs, was a lean-to covered with a black tarpaulin. He never noticed that late at night, when the only sound he should have heard was the chirping of crickets, he could listen carefully and hear the sound of a baseball game being played at Memorial Stadium in Baltimore.





Ethan Allen Doyle

Mama is easier to love than Daddy. He’s got a real serious nature and yells a lot; but Mama, she’ll carry on and act a fool till we’re laughing so hard our sides are likely to split open. Daddy usually starts cussing up a storm when she does that, because he figures she’s making fun at his expense.

That’s how Mama is—she’s always getting into some kind of trouble. Mama needs somebody to stick up for her and who else is there but me?

One time I asked Mama if Daddy was mad at her because of me; you know, because of how I don’t mind so good. But she said Daddy’s trouble was that he was just born in a pissed-off mood. The way I figure it, if he ain’t mad cause of me then it’s probably because Mama’s so pretty.

This one time, Daddy and Mama was fighting so hard, I thought they was gonna kill each other. I told Mama I was scared of that; but she just laughed. She said such a thing wouldn’t ever happen. Maybe not, but I hope if it does, Mama’s the one who kills Daddy ‘cause then maybe we could have fun without always worrying about how we’re gonna get in trouble.