The Weight of Him(74)

When they arrive, Billy scales a tree and pretends to place the stray star inside the breast of his coat. He lowers himself to the ground and orders Michael to keep his eyes closed. He eases open the boy’s coat and nestles the star next to his heart. Michael opens his eyes and gushes at the light pouring through the wool. Billy doubts even the imaginary star is shining as bright as the boy’s face.

“Thanks, Daddy. You’re the best daddy.”

The boy’s words make Billy feel like a giant. “My pleasure, son.”

“You’re the best daddy,” Michael says.

“All right, let’s get you and that star home.”

“You’re the best daddy,” Michael repeats.

“Stop, that’s enough,” Billy says, his delight turning to a sick feeling.

“You’re the best daddy.”

At his workbench, Billy staggered backward, away from the village and the seconds, and hurried out of the garage.

*

Days passed. Billy found himself avoiding the garage and his tiny kingdom, still not recovered from what had happened there. Just as he was considering another visit—of course he was in full control of it, for Christ’s sake, how could he not be?—the phone call came. At first Billy thought it was a prank. The caller introduced herself as a TV producer for RTé and invited him to fill a cancellation spot during the weekend, on Matters with Maeve.

Convinced, flabbergasted, Billy could hardly form the words to accept. He hung up, the shock wearing off and elation setting in. Just as quickly fresh anxiety sank its claws. He saw a flash of his mother on Ivor’s birthday, on that hospital bed. This was really going to catapult him into the public eye, and might just send his mother and father to their graves.

He walked across the yard and around the side of the house, finding Tricia on her hands and knees in her vegetable garden. He stood over her, bubbling again with excitement, willing her not to take it away again. She pulled a head of butter lettuce from the dirt and placed it in the empty basket next to her.

“You’re not going to believe it,” he said.

When he told her, she looked off into the distance, maybe at the imaginary line where the green hills met the empty white sky. “You can never know, can you, the turns a life will take?” Her deadened words doused his delight and he experienced a moment’s anger, and then great sadness.

Much too clumsily, he made it down onto his knees in front of her. She gave a little start of surprise, and then some hardness seemed to crack and her expression softened. “Help me,” she said, reaching to pluck scallions. “Grab a few beets there.”

He tugged on the large green leaves, pulling the round beets from the dirt, like a cluster of small, soiled hearts. She took them from him, their hands meeting for a moment. Help me, he wanted to say. I’m trying my best. What’s it going to take? But she was already walking away, cradling the basket of vegetables in her arm like a baby.

*

The next day at the factory, Billy scheduled another meeting with Tony. Lucy gushed when he appeared at her desk. She’d read the newspaper articles and had heard him on All the Talk, said she couldn’t believe he was the same man. She chortled. “You’re going to nothing, too.” He touched his shrinking stomach, unable to stop a grin. He had lost eighty-five pounds and counting.

When he entered Tony’s office, Tony rushed forward, his arm outstretched. “Well, well, would you look at you.” Tony’s praise felt entirely different from Lucy’s and Billy ignored the supposed compliment, hating how Tony, and too many like him, suddenly found Billy more agreeable because of his weight loss.

Once they were seated, Tony asked, “What can I do you for?”

Billy took a moment to savor how much better he fit in the metal chair this time around, its arms no longer scraping him, and then laid in. “You never got back to me about the factory matching donations for my fund-raiser and I’d like you to reconsider that. You’re aware, I’m sure, that I’ve gotten quite a lot of press of late. What I’m doing is finally capturing people’s imaginations. It’s inspiring them and giving them hope. And this weekend I’ll be on RTé, on Matters with Maeve—”

“Matters with Maeve? Are you serious?”

“I am, and I thought maybe you didn’t want me to go on air in front of sixty-thousand-plus people and tell them you wouldn’t honor my request?”

“But with this recession—”

“With this recession this kind of publicity and goodwill is exactly what you need.”

Tony’s thumb and finger petted the sides of his mouth, as if trying to tame an invisible mustache. “Where are you now with donations? How much have people already pledged?”

Billy did a quick count in his head.

“Goodness. Thirteen thousand. Okay.” Tony tugged on his lower lip, making wet sounds. “How about this? I’ll match donations up to fifteen thousand and you go on national television tomorrow night and mention the factory every chance you get, sell the toys hard. Mention, too, that we’re going to have a big sale before the Christmas.”

Billy winced, dreading their first Christmas without Michael.

Tony continued, “We could reach a whole new customer base—”

“What if,” Billy said, seizing on Tony’s flush of excitement, “in addition to the regulars, we also sell the seconds? Children could conjure great stories around the toys’ lacks and differences.”