The Weight of Him(33)

“They get more because they’re older than you,” Tricia said, her voice thick with the lie.

Billy’s insides tightened. There was no point in making the boy feel bad. “Is there more fresh fruit?” he asked. “Give him some fruit.”

Ivor clacked his fork against his plate in temper. “I don’t want fruit.”

“Then you don’t know what’s good for you,” Billy said, unable to hide his annoyance.

After dessert, John rushed off to ready for his match. Lisa ordered Anna and Ivor outside to play. They protested, wanting to watch TV instead. “Go on, now,” Lisa said. “Get out and get some fresh air and exercise.” Billy winced at how she’d emphasized exercise. “You can feed grass to the new calves,” she finished.

Ivor’s face lit up. “Can we give the calves names?”

“No,” Billy’s father said. “They’re livestock, lad, not pets.”

“Yeah, go on,” Billy said, locking eyes with his father. “You can give the calves names.”

“Cool!” Ivor hurried out.

“Wait for me,” Anna said, following him.

“You need to take control of that boy,” his father said. “He’s headed for trouble.”

“Ivor’s grand,” Billy said, steel in his voice. “You leave him to me.”

His father harrumphed, as if saying, See where that got you. Billy’s right arm twitched, wanting to swing for the old man. He forced down his tea, trying to keep his hand steady. Just let his father, anyone, say one more stupid thing. Lisa rabbited on about the now-daily scandals surrounding the banks, saying how not every bank and its employees should be condemned as criminals.

Billy jumped at the chance to cut at her, especially in front of their parents. “Those bank executives are nothing but swindlers. They gave out loans to people they knew they were crippling financially while making themselves rich, and then they bankrupt the entire country. They should all be tried and sent to jail. And out of principle, you should quit.”

She cracked a laugh. “Why would I quit? I’ve done nothing wrong. And who, I ask you, would pay my mortgage and the rest of my bills if I did?”

“Don’t be stupid,” his father said. “If everyone at the banks quit, how would the country go on?”

The room stayed silent. Stupid repeated in Billy’s head. He fought the urge to drive his fork into his forearm. His father spoke, his large head lowered like a bull’s. “I see you put those posters up in the shop and in Kennedy’s.”

Now it’s out. Now we have it. Billy rushed toward the fight. “That’s right, and at the factory, too. I plan to put up flyers anywhere and everywhere I can.”

“Sure, go right ahead, can’t you,” his father said. “Plaster the Brennan name all over—”

“That’s the plan,” Billy said.

The color left his father’s face. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

“Glorifying what you shouldn’t be, that’s all you’re doing,” his mother said, the bitterness coming off her like sparks.

“What am I glorifying?” Billy said, shocked.

“You bringing all this attention to suicide and … and obesity, well, it’s only going to make it all the more attractive to people, isn’t it? Everyone nowadays wants to be in the limelight, get their five minutes of fame.”

“My God, Mother,” Billy said, his hand so tight around the soldier in his pocket he felt his knuckles would burst through his skin. “Are you listening to yourself?”

“Am I listening to myself?” she scoffed.

“That’s enough, Maura,” Tricia said sharply.

Billy felt he was falling in on himself. Felt his mother had ripped out his vertebrae. She didn’t know the first thing about him if she thought he wanted to be the center of attention, if she didn’t get how hard all this was for him. He’d made his body like this to swallow him up, to disappear. And now here she was accusing him of wanting the limelight? He struggled not to upend the table and bring everything crashing down around them.

Tricia looked at him kindly. “Come on, let’s go.”

Just as he thought he’d charge for the door, a different feeling came over him, a kind of strange calm. “No,” he said. “We’ll stay until the match. Unless we’re no longer welcome?”

“Of course you’re welcome, stop that,” Lisa said.

“Stop is right.” His father picked at his teeth with a broken matchstick.

Billy looked at his mother, the heat of her temper still flying at him. She lifted her proud head. “This is your home, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer.

*

As most everyone predicted, their team won. John’s teammates carried him off the pitch on their shoulders, his strong, sinewy arms pumping in victory and his smile lighting up his face.

Billy’s father shouted, “Good man, John.”

Billy also cheered, vying to be louder and more animated than his father. “Well done, son. You go, boy.” He caught himself searching the pitch for Michael.

Most everyone headed to Kennedy’s. Billy’s mother hated pubs and continued home. She had to have been the only woman at the match in heels, pearls, and with a floral scarf pinned at her shoulder with a jeweled brooch. Billy snorted to himself. And she’d accused him of wanting to be front and center.