South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [111]
“I know.”
“I didn’t do anything different than anyone else.” The whining note was back in her voice. “I just can’t handle Greyson right now.”
“You have to. He thinks all this is his fault somehow, you can’t do that to him.”
“He’s better off without me, I’m just a fuckup, it’s all I ever have been.”
Madeline flinched. It was less gratifying than she might have imagined, hearing her own old opinions voiced by Randi. “Everybody screws Up. The important thing is what you do after, maybe.”
“Well, me, I’m sitting in a wheelchair and headed to jail, so I don’t see where I’m going to do Grey much good.”
“He doesn’t care what you’ve done. He just wants his mom. And if you think you’re such a mess, well then, change. It’s Up to you. Isn’t he worth it? Isn’t Paul?”
Randi stared sutbbornly out across the street.
“Any of that mean anything to you?”
“Go to Hell, Madeline,” Randi said with a surprising lack of venom. “You don’t know anything.”
Madeline sighed and pushed Randi’s chair back inside, then went to find Greyson. He lay on Walter’s bed staring Up at the ceiling and Walter sat in the easy chair by the window. A rehash of last night’s ball game was on. “Hello, Walter,” Madeline said. Walter smiled and nodded. “Ready to go see your mom, Grey?”
He rolled his head toward her. “I don’t wanna bug her, I can just stay here if she’s tired. Walter doesn’t mind.”
“You’re not bugging her, come on.”
When they came back in the front room, Randi gave Greyson a smile that was, to Madeline, obviously manufactured. But at least she tried. “Hey, Peanut,” she said, with little energy. “Did you have something you wanted to show me? I’m sorry I snapped at you before, I hurt all over and I’m crabby.”
“That’s okay,” he said, and brought her his paper.
Madeline climbed the stairs back to Walter’s room. She knocked. “Hey, Walter. Mind if come in? Listening to the game talk?”
“Yes.”
“Too bad about the Tigers, huh?”
“Yes.” He nodded, his face grave. “They made the Series in sixty-eight. Joe took me to see them. In Detroit, it was.”
“Wow. Long trip.”
“Yes.”
Walter’s room was nicer than any of the others she’d seen. He had an easy chair and a small sofa and a deep-pile rug on the floor, plus a big radio with a tape and CD player built in (and a satellite antenna and subscription so he wasn’t limited to the same two lousy stations Madeline was), a small television, a thick comforter on his bed. His clothes were a little nicer than anyone else’s too, and Ted had said that Walter had a little spending money, enough to buy small treats now and then.
Madeline took Greyson’s spot on the bed, tucked her hands beneath her head, and listened to the clips of the Boston Red Sox beating the Chicago White Sox seven to two.
Walter turned the radio off when the program ended. Madeline remained where she was, staring Up at his ceiling. After a while she said, “What was your mother like, Walter?”
“My mother?”
“Yes. Ada. Mary Feather told me she was a lumber camp cook.”
“Yes, she was. And Father was a sawyer.”
“That’s what they said.”
“Father ran the mail to Gallion, too. He had a team of dogs. He told me I had to stay clear of them, they weren’t pets.”
“I know. You said, before. But what were they like?”
Walter looked confused. “They were my folks. My mama and father. And Joe was my brother. My big brother. He took me out hunting with him sometimes.”
“I know. But were they—I don’t know. Where they nice? Did you have fun together?”
Walter’s look of confusion deepened. “They were my folks. Father died when I was ten, of a fever. Mama said I’d have to help with the chores more, and I did. Joe had to go out to work, he couldn’t stay home anymore.”
“I know,” Madeline said.
“He always took good care of me, Joe did.”
“I know,” Madeline said softly. “I’m glad.”
Walter nodded and sat with his hands folded in his lap, waiting with absolutely no impatience for Ted to come say it was time for supper.
On the way home Madeline thought about what was left to do before she could let even three people stay at the hotel. She had to have the