The Weight of Him(45)

“How do you know? You don’t know anything.” Ivor pulled free of Billy and rushed out of the bathroom.

Billy let him go. The boy had remained mad with him ever since his spin on the speedboat. Billy’s big plan hadn’t worked. Ivor had returned to school with tall tales of his daring stunts on the river at breakneck speeds, but Cormac, everyone, couldn’t seem to care less. “They hate me,” Ivor had wailed.

Ivor and Tricia’s argument carried up from the kitchen. He was still insisting he didn’t want to do the walkathon. “You’re going to school and that’s the end of it,” Tricia said. Billy looked in the mirror, finding little of the recent solace in his shrinking face. Ivor had looked ecstatic that day on the river, racing inside the speedboat. Billy could still hear his shrieks of delight. He’d felt sure the big brag would have infuriated Ivor’s bully and impressed all the other kids no end, making Ivor feel like he’d won. But the grand adventure had failed. Billy had failed. Again.

*

The afternoon bore down warm and sunny. Perfect weather for the walkathon, perhaps, but it drew more talk on the car radio of climate change and the end of the world.

Inside Flynn’s Field, a swell of adults and children. Several parents in orange vests stood out. One blasted encouragement and safety reminders through a bullhorn; a few handed out bottles of water and orange wedges; others wrote in black marker the number of laps completed on a page pinned to the children’s backs. Those with first-aid skills stood by to administer to nosebleeds, twisted ankles, and asthma attacks. The rest, like Billy, had come out to cheer.

He lumbered toward the crowd, his hand checking for the outline of tiny Michael in his tracksuit pocket. A burst of roars and applause went up. Billy took heart from this great turnout for a school walkathon, picturing the show of force that would soon come out to support his landmark march against suicide. He found Tricia in the far corner of the field, working the fruit and water stand.

“You missed Anna,” she said. “Sixth class was the first group out. She and her friends had a grand old time. They talked faster than they walked.” Billy laughed tightly, aware she was only being pleasant for show. At home, ever since she’d walked in on him and Denis in the bedroom, she hadn’t a civil word to say.

Thumbs Tom stood close by, here in support of his grandson. His eyes roved Billy. “You look like a man that’s lost more weight.”

“You better believe it,” Billy said, pushing away a guilty stab over the two pounds he’d gained. That would be gone again soon enough.

He fixed his attention on Ivor, the boy dressed in light blue vest and shorts, a too-tight, shiny polyester number. The shorts looked especially sad, riding up the back of Ivor’s thick thighs and catching between his buttocks. He struggled after his classmates.

“Come on, Ivor!” Billy shouted. The sign on Ivor’s back read four laps, while most everyone else had cleared eight or nine. Aidan Burke, Nancy Burke’s grandson, was tearing around the field. A missile, he’d already completed fourteen laps.

As Ivor started into his fifth lap, he looked to be in serious trouble, sweating, dragging his feet. Aidan Burke shot past, clipping Ivor hard on the shoulder and knocking him to the ground.

Billy moved across the field as fast as he could, pain stabbing his right ankle. He helped Ivor to standing. “You’re all right, keep going, you can do it.”

Ivor rubbed at his tears and shook his head hard.

“Come on,” Billy said. “Look at everyone else, you’re falling way behind. Let’s go, let’s do this.” He grabbed Ivor by the wrist and pulled him along, following the path the children’s feet had flattened in the grass.

“Stop, Dad, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I’m too tired, my legs hurt.”

“Just one more lap, come on, you’re almost there.”

“I need to stop,” Ivor said.

“Think about your school and everyone who sponsored you, you can’t let them down.” Billy pulled harder on Ivor’s wrist.

Ivor pushed at Billy’s hand, trying to free himself. “I need to stop.”

“Come on, you’re letting everyone get away.”

Ivor cried harder. “Let me go, you’re hurting me.”

Billy picked up the pace, pushing through the pain in his right ankle and towing Ivor faster. The boy had several more laps in him, if he would only try.

“I need water,” Ivor said, panting.

“You can get water when you’re finished.”

They cleared another hundred yards. Just as Billy was starting to taste success, he heard Ivor yelp and felt a hard tug on his arm. When he looked around, Ivor lay on the grass, pale and unmoving. Billy dropped next to the boy, his kneecaps hitting the dirt hard.

Tricia appeared and also knelt over Ivor. She touched her palm to Ivor’s cheek. “He’s out cold.”

From behind them, Nancy Burke shouted, “Someone get some water quick.”

Tricia glared at Billy, her expression crazed. “What have you done?” She lifted Ivor’s right eyelid, and his left.

“Is he okay?” Billy croaked. He shook Ivor’s shoulder. “Wake up, son. Come on, you’re all right.” He held the back of his hand to Ivor’s nostrils.