The Weight of Him(8)

“No!” Michael said, starting to struggle.

“It’s okay,” Billy said. “You’re still floating. You’re doing it.” He had to raise his voice to get heard over the trio of boys—their playacting rougher now, their language and taunts to each other turning nasty.

“I’m sinking!” Michael said, grabbing at Billy’s shoulders and trying to get upright.

“No, you’re not, you’re fine,” Billy said, calm, firm. The three boys were almost on top of him and Michael now.

The tallest boy pointed at Billy. “Look! It’s a whale!” He and the other two little gits laughed hard.

Billy tried to ignore them. Tried to keep his focus on Michael. “Okay, I’m going to drop my other arm now and let you float on your own, okay?”

“No!” Michael said, his arms and legs flailing.

The boys shouted, “Whale! Whale!”

“I want to get out,” Michael said, scratching at Billy’s arm.

“It’s okay, relax,” Billy said, his agitation building.

“Come and get us, whale!”

“I want to go back to Mam,” Michael said.

“Wh-ale, wh-ale,” the trio chanted.

Billy issued a roar and lurched at the boys, his arms swinging. The three took off, paddling like dogs. Billy gave chase, his thick legs plowing the water. The commotion behind him pierced his rage. He swung around. Michael’s arms thrashed at the water and his mouth dipped below the waterline. He made terrible noises, gagging and grunting.

Billy threw himself onto the water and cut through the current. Michael’s head disappeared below the surface and burst back into view. Billy reached the boy, but before he could grab hold, Michael went under a second time. Billy plunged with both hands and grabbed blindly. He touched Michael’s hair and clasped his narrow shoulders, pulled him above water. Michael coughed and spluttered, unable to draw a full breath.

“You’re okay,” Billy said. Michael coughed harder, his small body jerking in Billy’s grip. “I’ve got you,” Billy said.

Michael’s coughing jag ended, but he was still heaving, gasping. Billy tightened his hold on the tops of Michael’s arms and looked him straight in the eyes. “Calm down, okay? Everything’s all right.” He wrapped Michael’s arms around his thick neck and towed the boy toward shore.

They stood up in shallow water, the foam lapping at Michael’s calves. “All better?” Billy asked.

Michael’s face hardened and he punched at Billy’s stomach. “Get away from me.”

Billy held on to the boy’s wrists. “Hey, listen to me. You’re all right, okay?”

Michael freed himself and took off. Billy, breathless, chased Michael out of the water and over the hot sand.

Michael reached his mother and dropped into her arms. “Daddy let me go in the water. He promised, and then he let me go.”

The rest of the holiday, Michael refused to return to the sea. On the long drive home, Billy followed the same route he’d taken a week earlier, but this time Michael turned panicky as they drove along the cliff road away from Kilkee. The boy cried and screeched, demanding to be let out of the car. “We’re going to fall into the water,” he wailed. It was the same, too, every time they passed over a bridge.

“What’s gotten into him?” Tricia asked, her eyes wild. The boy had never before shown such fear.

Billy shook his head, but inside he’d known. He’d ruined the water for Michael. He’d ruined something between the boy and him, too.





Three

Another Monday. Billy couldn’t start into a second week at work and pretending to play at normal.

“You’re calling in sick again? That’s hardly wise,” Tricia said.

Billy forced himself to stir one spoonful of sugar, not three, into his tea. “I’ve worked there long and hard enough these past twenty years. They can do without me for one more day.”

She placed a plate of buttered toast in front of him. “Don’t you know I’m on a diet?” he said, sharper than he’d intended.

She snatched the plate back. “Forgive me for forgetting, but your diets never usually last long.”

His jaw clenched. Back in his early twenties, when they’d first gotten together, he’d lost almost eighty pounds. He’d managed to keep the weight off, too, at least until three or four years into the marriage. Then, the constant empty feeling returned and his weight climbed ever higher. Tricia sometimes said she felt conned. That she’d married one man and ended up with another.

“This time is different,” he said.

“Everything’s different now.” She set about sweeping the floor, swiping at the same tile repeatedly, as if it couldn’t be cleaned.

*

Billy was eight years old and sitting at the kitchen table with his parents and Lisa. A drop of water fell from the ceiling and onto his father’s forehead. Billy almost laughed, but caught himself. His father jumped up, knocking over his chair. “What in blazes?” He held out his hand, catching more water in his palm. With a sick feeling, Billy remembered the bathroom sink.

“Jesus Holy Christ!” His mother rushed out, and upstairs.

His father moved into the hall. “Well?”