The Weight of Him(53)

Billy and Michael arrive at the castle ruins, make anchor, and disembark. Michael charges forward, following the map. Something about the boy’s excitement and his open, hungry need disturbs Billy. He wants to change the course of the story, wants to undo Michael ever having found the blue glass bottle and its treasure map. His son should know that in his father’s kingdom they already have everything they could ever want or need.

*

The next afternoon, Billy and Ivor again readied for the swimming pool. This time, Ivor didn’t need to be bribed.

Anna insisted she wasn’t interested. “I told you, chlorine doesn’t like me.”

Billy bit back a lecture. His daughter—his little girl—was wearing bright purple eye shadow and clumped mascara. He hadn’t ever seen her wear makeup before, except when she was performing in dance shows and competitions. “Well, then, how about we do something together later?” he asked.

“Like what?” she asked.

“Whatever you want.”

Tricia looked up from her phone. “You can’t just tell her whatever she wants.”

“She knows what I mean.”

Anna’s face crumpled. “Stop fighting. You two fight all the time now. That, or stone silence.”

“No we don’t,” Tricia said.

“Yes you do,” Ivor said.

“What do we fight about?” Billy asked, trying to make light.

“I don’t know,” Anna said. “I block it out.”

“Yeah,” Ivor said.

Billy and Tricia exchanged a guilty look. Tricia spoke to Anna. “Why don’t we go into town while they’re at the pool?”

Anna shrugged. “If we go shopping? I need new clothes.”

“Yeah, of course, if you need them,” Tricia said. Billy heard the hint of worry in her voice. Their money was stretching ever thinner in these recessionary times, especially after all the expense of the funeral. For the first time in twenty years, he was starting to think he would have to do better than the factory and his basic paycheck every two weeks. Otherwise, they were going to have to borrow money, and soon. He shivered. Wouldn’t his father love it if Billy ended up having to go back to him after all this time, his head down and his hand out.

*

Billy checked his flyers on the Sports Center’s bulletin board, hit again by that sinking feeling. He checked every visit, and every time the donations sheet remained blank. To make matters worse, someone had yet again pinned new material to the board, covering up his flyers. He unpinned the various cards and pages, noting the mad psychedelic colors on one chiropractor’s ad, and moved his flyers back on top—dead center. It was the same with his flyers on display throughout the village and in town. Even at the factory. After the first rush of donations, the fresh flyers he’d posted had remained mostly blank, with little to no new monies coming in. He looked into Michael’s gray-blue eyes on the bulletin board. He was not giving up.

A Sunday afternoon, the changing room was especially busy. Billy and Ivor each entered a toilet stall to undress and put on swim trunks. It hurt Billy that Ivor was following his lead and was also too embarrassed to undress in front of everyone. Monkey see, monkey do.

They emerged, Ivor in navy trunks and Billy in black, their swimwear a similar style that fell to above their bumpy knees. They had both draped white gym towels over their meaty shoulders, their pudgy hands cinching the towel at their chests. They would enjoy the scrap of coverage the towel lent them until the last possible second before they entered the water. With their free hand, they both pulled on the end of their towels, trying and failing to make the short flaps cover their stomachs.

Billy plodded across the damp floor toward the weighing scale. He stepped on, telling himself not to get his hopes up. There was likely no change from yesterday’s reading. The numbers jumped, and stopped. Three hundred and fifty-one pounds. He had dropped another pound overnight, bringing his total weight loss to the beautiful round number of fifty. Ecstatic, he turned to step off the scale. His delight fell away.

Ivor stood staring at him, that now-familiar rage back in the boy’s face. He looked down at himself and then at Billy, his eyes filling. Billy reached for him, but Ivor turned around and toddled toward the pool.

Billy followed Ivor into the brilliant blue water, the chill giving him that unfailing rush despite his concern for the boy. “What’s going on? What happened back there?”

“I don’t want you to talk,” Ivor said.

“Come on, something’s bothering you—”

“Stop talking. I don’t want you to say anything,” Ivor said, almost wailing.

“Okay, okay,” Billy said, anything to get the boy to calm down. “I won’t say another word.”

Ivor again allowed Billy to support his back and legs while he stretched out on the water. After several minutes of floating, Ivor flipped onto his front and Billy again put the boy through the paces of pretend-swimming. Next, Billy coaxed Ivor into trying to float on his back all alone.

After several failed attempts, during which Ivor panicked and refused to let Billy remove his hands, the boy finally managed to float solo. He made snuffling sounds, arrhythmic breathing that signaled both his delight and still the trace of fear. Billy clapped and cheered, making Ivor’s face light up. Billy took a picture in his head. He never wanted to forget this moment. The pool teemed with people, and sounded too loud, but it was as if he and Ivor were the only two there.