Case Closed

Mea Culpa

It was going to be my turn next, and I should have been thinking about my sins, but I never could concentrate on my own sins-big as they were-once Harvey started his confession. I tried not to listen, but Harvey was a loud talker, and there was just no way that one wooden door was going to keep me from hearing him. There are lots of things I’m not good at anymore, but my hearing is pretty sharp. I wasn’t trying to listen in on him, though. He was just talking loud. I tried praying, I tried humming “Ave Maria” to myself, but nothing worked. Maybe it was because Harvey was talking about wanting to divorce my mother.

It was only me and Father O’Brien and Harvey in the church then, anyway. Just like always. Harvey said he was embarrassed about me, on account of me being a cripple, and that’s why he always waited until confessions were almost over. That way, none of his buddies on the parish council or in the Knights of Columbus would see him with me. But later, I figured it was because Harvey didn’t want anybody to know he had sins.

Whatever the reason, on most Saturday nights, we’d get into his black Chrysler Imperial-a brand spanking new, soft-seated car, with big fins on the back, push-button automatic transmission and purple dashlights. We’d drive to church late and wait in the parking lot. When almost all the other cars were gone, he’d tell me to get out, to go on in and check on things.

I would get my crutches and go up the steps and struggle to get one of the big doors open and get myself inside the church. (That part was okay. Lots of other folks would try to do things for me, but Harvey let me do them on my own. I try to think of good things to say about Harvey. There aren’t many, but that is one.)

I’d bless myself with holy water, then take a peek along the side aisle. Usually, only a few people were standing in line for confession by then. I’d go on up into the choir loft. I learned this way of going up the stairs real quietly. The stairs were old and wooden and creaked, but I figured out which ones groaned the loudest and where to step just right, so that I could do it without making much noise. I’d cross the choir loft and stand near one of the stained glass windows that faced the parking lot and wait to give Harvey the signal.

I always liked this time the best, the waiting time. It was dark up in the loft, and until the last people in line went into the confessional, I was in a secret world of my own. I could move closer to the railing and watch the faces of the people who waited in line. Sometimes, I’d time the people who had gone into the confessionals. If they were in there for a while, I would imagine what sins they were taking so long to tell. If they just went in and came out quick, I’d wonder if they were really good or just big liars.

Sometimes I would pray and do the kind of stuff you’re supposed to do in a church. But I’m trying to tell the truth here, and the truth is that most often, my time up in that choir loft was spent thinking about Mary Theresa Mills. Her name was on the stained glass window I was supposed to signal from. It was a window of Jesus and the little children, and at the bottom it said it was “In memory of my beloved daughter, Mary Theresa Mills, 1902-1909.” If the moon was bright, the light would come in through the window. It was so beautiful then, it always made me feel like I was in a holy place.

Sometimes I’d sit up there and think about her like a word problem in arithmetic: Mary Theresa Mills died fifty years ago. She died when she was seven. If she had lived, how old would she be today, in 1959? Answer: Fifty-seven, except if she hasn’t had her birthday yet, so maybe fifty-six. (That kind of answer always gets me in trouble with my teacher, who would say it should just be fifty-seven. Period.)

I thought about her in other ways, too. I figured she must have been a good kid, not rotten like me. No one will ever make a window like that in my memory. It was kind of sad, thinking that someone good had died young like that, and for the past fifty years, there had been no Mary Theresa Mills.

There was a lamp near the Mary Theresa Mills window. The lamp was on top of the case where they kept the choir music, and that case was just below the window. When the last person went into the confessional, I’d turn the lamp on, and Harvey’d know he could come on in without seeing any of his friends. I’d wait until I saw him come in, then I’d turn out the lamp and head downstairs.

Once, I didn’t wait, and I reached the bottom of the stairs when Harvey came into the church. A lady came down the aisle just then, and when she saw me she said, “Oh, you poor dear!” I really hate it when people act like that. She turned to Harvey, who was getting all red in the face and said, “Polio?”

I said, “No,” just as Harvey said, “Yes.” That just made him angrier. The lady looked confused, but Harvey was staring at me and not saying anything, so I just stared back. The lady said, “Oh dear!” and I guess that snapped Harvey out of it. He smiled real big and laughed this fake laugh of his and patted me on the head. Right then, I knew I was going to get it. Harvey only acts smiley like that when he has a certain kind of plan in mind. It fooled the lady, but it didn’t fool me. Sure enough, as soon as she was out the door, I caught it from Harvey, right there in the church. He’s no shrimp, and even open-handed, he packs a wallop.

Later, I listened, but he didn’t confess the lie. He didn’t confess smacking me, either, but Harvey told me a long time ago that nowhere in the Ten Commandments does it say, “Thou shalt not smack thy kid or thy wife.” I wished it did, but then he’d probably just say that it didn’t say anything about smacking thy stepkid. That’s why, after that, I waited until Harvey had walked in and was on his way down the aisle before I came down the stairs.

So Harvey had been in the confessional for a little while before I made my way to stand outside of it. I could have gone into the other confessional, and I would, just as soon as I heard Harvey start the Act of Contrition-the last prayer a person says in confession. You can tell when someone’s in a confessional because the kneeler has a gizmo on it that turns a light on over the door. When the person is finished, and gets up off the kneeler, the light goes out. But I knew Harvey’s timing and I waited for that prayer instead, because since the accident, I can’t kneel so good. And once I get down on my knees, I have a hard time getting up again. Father O’Brien once told me I didn’t have to kneel, but it doesn’t seem right to me, so now he waits for me to get situated.

Like I said, I was trying not to eavesdrop, but Harvey was going on and on about my mom, saying she was the reason he drank and swore and committed sins, and how he would be a better Catholic if there was just some way he could have the marriage annulled. I was getting angrier and angrier, and I knew that was a sin, too. I couldn’t hear Father O’Brien’s side of it, but it was obvious that Harvey wasn’t getting the answer he wanted. Harvey started complaining about me, and that wasn’t so bad, but then he got going about Mom again.

I was so mad, I almost forgot to hurry up and get into the confessional when he started the Act of Contrition. Once inside, I made myself calm down, and started my confession. It wasn’t hard for me to feel truly sorry, for the first sin I confessed weighed down on me more than anything I have ever done.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I killed my father.”

I heard a sigh from the other side of the screen.

“My son,” Father O’Brien began, “have you ever confessed this sin before?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And received absolution?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And have you done the penance asked of you?”

“Yes, Father.”

“You don’t believe in the power of the sacrament of penance, of the forgiveness of sins?”

I didn’t want to make him mad, but I had to tell him the truth. “If God has forgiven me, Father, why do I still feel so bad about it?”

“I don’t think God ever blamed you in the first place,” he said, but now he didn’t sound frustrated, just kind of sad. “I think you’ve blamed yourself. The reason you feel bad isn’t because God hasn’t forgiven you. It’s because you haven’t forgiven yourself.”

“But if I hadn’t asked-”

“-for the Davy Crockett hat for your seventh birthday, he wouldn’t have driven in the rain,” Father O’Brien finished for me. “Yes, I know. He loved you, and he wanted to give you something that would bring you joy. You didn’t kill your father by asking for a hat.”

“It’s not just that,” I said.

“I know. You made him laugh.”

I didn’t say anything for a long time. I was seeing my dad, sitting next to me in the car three years ago, the day gray and wet, but me hardly noticing, because I was so excited about that stupid cap. We were going somewhere together, just me and my dad, and that was exciting too. The radio was on, and there was something about Dwight D. Eisenhower on the news. I asked my dad why we didn’t like Ike.

“We like him fine,” my father said.

“Then why are we voting for Yodelai Stevenson?” I asked him.

See how dumb I was? I didn’t even know that the man’s name was Adlai. Called him Yodelai, like he was some guy singing in the Alps.

My dad started laughing. Hard. I started laughing, too, just because he’s laughing so hard. So stupid, I don’t even know what’s so funny. But then suddenly, he’s trying to stop the car and it’s skidding, skidding, skidding and he’s reaching over, he’s putting his arm across my chest, trying to keep me from getting hurt. There was a loud, low noise-a bang-and a high, jingling sound-glass flying. I’ve tried, but I can’t remember anything else that happened that day.

My father died. I ended up crippled. The car was totaled. Adlai Stevenson lost the election. My mom married Harvey. And just in case you’re wondering, no, I never got that dumb cap, and I don’t want one. Ever.

Father O’Brien was giving me my penance, so I stopped thinking about the accident. I made a good Act of Contrition and went to work on standing up again. I knew Harvey watched for the light to come on over the confessional door, used it as a signal that I would be coming out soon. I could hear his footsteps. He’d always go back to the car before I could manage to get myself out of the confessional.

On the drive home, Harvey was quiet. He didn’t lecture to me or brag on himself. When I was slow getting out of the car, he didn’t yell at me or cuff my ear. That’s not like him, and it worried me. He was thinking hard about something, and I had a creepy feeling that it couldn’t be good.

The next day was a Sunday. Harvey and my mom went over to the parish hall after mass. There was a meeting about the money the parish needed to raise to make some repairs. I asked my mom if I could stay in the church for a while. Harvey was always happy to get rid of me, so he said okay, even though he wasn’t the one I was asking. My mom just nodded.

The reason I wanted to stay behind was because in the announcements that Sunday, Father O’Brien had said something about the choir loft being closed the next week, so that the stairs could be fixed. I wanted to see the window before they closed the loft. I had never gone up there in the daylight, but this might be my only chance to visit it for a while. As I made my way up the stairs, out of habit I was quiet. I avoided the stairs which creaked and groaned the most. I guess that’s why I scared the old lady that was sitting up there in the choir loft. At first, she scared me, too.

She was wearing a long, old-fashioned black dress and a big black hat with a black veil, which made her look spooky. She was thin and really, really old. She had lifted the veil away from her face, and I could see it was all wrinkled. She probably had bony hands, but she was wearing gloves, so that’s just a guess.

I almost left, but then I saw the window. It made me stop breathing for a minute. Colors filled the choir loft, like a rainbow had decided to come inside for a while. The window itself was bright, and I could see details in the picture that I had never seen before. I started moving closer to it, kind of hypnotized. Before I knew it, I was standing near the old lady, and now I could see she had been crying. Even though she still looked ancient, she didn’t seem so scary. I was going to ask her if she was okay, but before I could say anything, she said, “What are you doing here?”

Her voice was kind of snooty, so I almost said, “It’s a free country,” but being in church on a Sunday, I decided against it. “I like this window,” I said.

“Do you?” she seemed surprised.

“Yes. It’s the Mary Theresa Mills window. She died when she was little, a long time ago,” I said. For some reason, I felt like I had to prove to this lady that I had a real reason to be up there, that I wasn’t just some kid who had climbed up to the choir loft to hide or to throw spitballs down on the pews. I told her everything I had figured out about Mary Theresa Mills’s age, including the birthday part. “So if she had lived, she’d be old now, like you.”

The lady frowned a little.

“She was really good,” I went on. “She was practically perfect. Her mother and father loved her so much, they paid a lot of money and put this window up here, so that no one would ever forget her.”

The old lady started crying again. “She wasn’t perfect,” she said. “She was a little mischievous. But I did love her.”

“You knew her?”

“I’m her mother,” the lady said.

I sat down. I couldn’t think of anything to say, even though I had a lot of questions about Mary Theresa. It just didn’t seem right to ask them.

The lady reached into her purse and got a fancy handkerchief out. “She was killed in an automobile accident,” she said. “It was my fault.”

I guess I looked a little sick or something when she said that, because she asked me if I was all right.

“My dad died in a car accident.”

She just tilted her head a little, and something seemed different about her eyes, the way she looked at me. She didn’t say, “I’m so sorry,” or any of the other things people say just to be saying something. And the look wasn’t a pity look; she just studied me.

I rubbed my bad knee a little. I was pretty sure there was rain on the way, but I decided I wouldn’t give her a weather report.

“Is there much pain?” she asked, watching me.

I shrugged. “I’m okay.”

We sat there in silence for a time. I started doing some figuring in my head, and realized that I had been in my car accident at the same age her daughter died in one.

“Were you driving?” I asked.

“Pardon?”

“You said it was your fault she died. Were you driving?”

“No,” she said. “Her father was driving.” She hesitated, then added, “We were separated at the time. He asked if he could take her for a ride in the car. Cars were just coming into their own then, you know.”

“You mean you rode horses?” I asked.

“Sometimes. Mostly I rode in a carriage or a buggy. My parents were well-to-do, and I was living with them at the time. I don’t think they trusted automobiles much. Cars were becoming more and more popular, though. My husband bought one.”

“I thought you were divorced.”

“No, not divorced, separated. We were both Catholics. We weren’t even legally separated. In fact, the day they died, I thought we might be reconciling.”

“What’s that?”

“Getting back together. I thought he had changed, you see. He stopped drinking, got a job, spoke to me sweetly. He pulled up in a shiny new motor car, and offered to take Mary Theresa for a ride. They never came back. He abducted her-kidnapped her, you might say. She was his daughter, there was no divorce, and nothing legally barring him from doing exactly what he did.”

“How did the accident happen?”

“My husband tried to put a great distance between us by driving all night. He fell asleep at the wheel. The car went off the road and down an embankment. They were both killed instantly, I was told. I’ve always prayed that was true.”

I didn’t say anything. She was crying again. I pulled out a couple of tissues I had in my pocket and held them out to her, figuring that lace hankie was probably soaked already.

She thanked me and took one of them from me. After a minute, she said, “I should have known! I should have known that a leopard doesn’t change his spots! I entrusted the safety of my child to a man whom I knew to be unworthy of that trust.”

I started to tell her that it wasn’t her fault, that she shouldn’t blame herself, but before the words were out of my mouth, I knew I had no business saying anything like that to her. I knew how she was feeling. It bothered me to see her so upset. Without really thinking much about what I was doing, I started telling her about the day my father died.

Since I’m being completely honest here, I’ve got to tell you that I had to use that other tissue. She waited for me to blow my nose, then said, “Have you ever talked to your mother about how you feel?”

I shook my head. “She wanted me to, but since the accident-we aren’t as close as we used to be, I guess. I think that’s why she got together with Harvey. I think she got lonely.”

About then, my mother came into the church, and called up to me. I told her I’d be right down. She said they’d be waiting in the car.

As I got up, the old lady put a hand on me. “Promise me that you will talk to your mother tonight.”

“About what?”

“Anything. A boy should be able to talk to his mother about anything. Tell her what we talked about, if you like. I won’t mind.”

“Okay, I will,” I said, “but who will you talk to when you start feeling bad about Mary Theresa?”

She didn’t answer. She just looked sad again. Just before I left, I told her which steps to watch out for. I also told her to carry an umbrella if she went out that evening, because it was going to rain. I don’t know if she took any of my good advice.

In the car, I got worried again. I was expecting Harvey to be mad because I kept them waiting. But he didn’t say anything to me, and when he talked to my mom, he was sweet as pie. I don’t talk when I’m in a car anymore, or I might have said something about that.

Harvey went out not long after we got home. My mother said we’d be eating Sunday dinner by ourselves, that Harvey had a business meeting he had to go to. I don’t think she really believed he had a business meeting on a Sunday afternoon. I sure didn’t believe it. My mom and I don’t get to be by ourselves too much, though, so I was too happy about that to complain about Harvey.

My promise to Mary Theresa’s mother was on my mind, so when my mother asked me what I was doing up there in the choir loft, I took it as a sign. I told her the whole story, about the window and Mary Theresa and even about the accident. It was the second time I had told it in one day, so it wasn’t so rough on me, but I think it was hard on her. She didn’t seem to mind, and I even let her hug me.

It rained that night, just like my knee said it would. My mom came in to check on me, saying she knew that the rain sometimes bothered me. I was feeling all right, though, and I told her I thought I would sleep fine. We smiled at each other, like we had a secret, a good secret. It was the first time in a few years that we had been happy at the same time.

I woke up when Harvey came home. When I heard him put the Imperial in the garage, I got out of bed and peeked from behind my bedroom door. I knew he had lied to my mom, and if he was drunk or started to get mean with her, I decided I was gonna bash him with one of my crutches.

He came in the front door. He was wet. I had to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, because I realized that he had gone out without his umbrella. He looked silly. The rain and wind had messed up his hair, so that his long side-the side he tries to comb over his bald spot-was hanging straight down. He closed the front door really carefully, then he went into the bathroom near my bedroom, instead of the one off his room. At first I thought he was just sneaking in and trying not to wake up my mom, but he was in there a long time. When he came out, he was in his underwear. I almost busted a gut trying not to laugh. He tiptoed past me and went to bed. The clock was striking three.

I waited until I thought he might be asleep, then I went into the bathroom. There was water all over the place. He hadn’t mopped up after himself, so I took a towel and dried the floor and counter. It was while I was drying the floor that I saw the book of matches. It had a red cover on it, and it came from a place called Topper’s, an all-night restaurant down on South Street. I picked up the matchbook. A few of the matches had been used. The name “Mackie” was written on the inside, and just below that, “1417 A-3.” I closed the cover and looked at the address for Topper’s. 1400 South Street. I knew Harvey’s handwriting well enough to know that he had written that name and address.

What was he doing with matches? Harvey didn’t smoke. He hated smoke. I knew, because he made a big speech about it on the day he threw away my dad’s pipes. I had gone into the trash and taken them back out. I put them in a little wooden box, the same one where I kept a photo of my dad. I never looked at the photo or the pipes, but I kept them anyway. I thought my mom might have found the place I hid them, but so far, she hadn’t ratted on me.

I opened the laundry hamper. Harvey’s wet clothes were in there. I reached in and pulled out his shirt. No lipstick stains, and even without lifting it close to my nose, I could tell it didn’t have perfume on it. It could have used some. It smelled like smoke, a real strong kind of smoke. Not like a fire or anything, but stronger than a cigarette. A cigar, maybe. I had just put the shirt back in the hamper when the door flew open.

“What are you doing?” Harvey asked.

I should have said something like, “Ever heard of knocking?” or made some wisecrack, but I was too scared. I could feel the matchbook in my hand, hot as if I had lit all the matches in it at once.

Luckily, my mom woke up. “Harvey?” I heard her call. It sounded like she was standing in the hall.

“Oh, did I wake you up, sweetheart?” he said. My jaw dropped open. Harvey never talked to her like that after they got married.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I was just checking on the boy,” he said. He looked at me and asked, “Are you okay, son?”

Son. That made me sick to my stomach. I swallowed and said, “Just came in to get some aspirin.”

“Your leg bothering you because of this rain?” he asked, like he cared.

“I’ll be all right. Sorry I woke you up.”

My mom was at the door then, so I said, “Okay if I close the door? Now that I’m up… well, you know…”

Harvey laughed his fake laugh and put an arm around my mom. He closed the door.

I pulled a paper cup out of the dispenser in the bathroom. I turned the cup over and scratched the street numbers for Mackie and Topper’s, then put the matchbook back where I found it. By now, I was so scared I really did have to go, so I didn’t have to fake that. I flushed the toilet, then washed my hands. Finally, I put a little water in the cup. I opened the door. I turned to pick up the cup, and once again thought to myself that one of the things that stinks about crutches is that they take up your hands. I was going to try to carry the cup in my teeth, since it wasn’t very full, but my mom is great about seeing when I’m having trouble, so she said, “Would you like to have that cup of water on your nightstand?”

I nodded.

Harvey watched us go into my bedroom. He went into the bathroom again. My mom started fussing over me, talking about maybe taking me to a new doctor. I tried to pay attention to what she was saying, but the whole time, I was worrying about what Harvey was thinking. Could he tell that I saw the matchbook? After a few minutes he came back out, and he had this smile on his face. I knew the matches wouldn’t be on the floor now that he had figured out where he had dropped them and that he had picked them up. He felt safe. I didn’t. I drank the water and saved the bottom of the cup.

The next morning I got up early and went into the laundry room. Harvey’s clothes were still in the bathroom, but I wasn’t interested in them anyway. I put a load of his wash in the washing machine, checking his trouser pockets before I put them in. I made sixty cents just by collecting his change. I put it in my own pocket, right next to the waxy paper from the cup.

I had just started the washer when my mom and Harvey came into the kitchen. My mom got the percolator and the toaster going. Harvey glared at me while I straightened up the laundry room and put the soap away.

“You’re gonna turn him into a pansy, lettin’ him do little girl’s work like that,” he said to my mom when she brought him his coffee and toast.

“I like being able to help,” I said, before she could answer.

We both waited for him to come over and cuff me one for arguing with him first thing in the morning, but he just grunted and stirred a bunch of sugar into his coffee. He always put about half the sugar bowl into his coffee. You’d think it would have made him sweeter.

That morning, it seemed like it did. Once he woke up a little more, he started talking to her like a guy in a movie talks to a girl just before he kisses her. I left the house as soon as I could.

Before I left, I told my mom that I might be late home from school. I told her that I might catch a matinee with some of the other kids. I never do anything with other kids, and she seemed excited when I told her that lie. I felt bad about lying, even if it made her happy.

All day, I was a terrible student. I just kept thinking about the matchbook and about Mary Theresa’s father and Harvey and leopards that don’t change their spots.

After school, I took the city bus downtown. I got off at South Street, right in front of Topper’s.

The buildings are tall in that part of town. There wasn’t much sunlight, but up above the street, there were clotheslines between the buildings. The day was cloudy, so nobody had any clothes out, although I could have told them it wasn’t going to rain that afternoon. Not that there was anything to rain on-nothing was growing there. The sidewalks and street were still damp, though, and not many people were around. I was a little nervous.

I thought about going into Topper’s and asking if anybody knew a guy named Mackie, but decided that wouldn’t be too smart. I started down the street. The next address was 1405, Linden’s Tobacco Shop. I had already noticed that sometimes they skip numbers downtown. I stopped, thinking maybe that was where Harvey got the smoke on his clothes. Just then a man came out of the door and didn’t close it behind him as he left the shop. As I stood in the doorway, a sweet, familiar smell came to me, and I felt an ache in my chest. It was pipe tobacco. It made me think of my father, and how he always smelled like tobacco and Old Spice After Shave. A sourpussed man came to the door, said “No minors,” and shut it in my face. The shop’s hours were painted on the door. It was closed on Sundays.

I moved down the sidewalk, reading signs, looking in windows. “Buzzy’s Newsstand-Out of Town Papers,” “South Street Sweets-Handmade Chocolates,” “Moore’s Hardware-Everything for Home and Garden,” “Suds-O-Mat-Coin-Operated Laundry.” Finally, I came to “The Coronet-Apartments to Let.” The address was 1417 South Street. The building looked older than Mary Theresa’s mother.

Inside, the Coronet was dark and smelled like a mixture of old b.o. and cooked cabbage. There was a thin, worn carpet in the hallway. A-3 was the second apartment on the left-hand side. I put my ear to the door. It was quiet. I moved back from the door and was trying to decide what to do when a man came into the building. I turned and pretended to be waiting for someone to answer the door of A-4.

The man was carrying a paper sack and smoking a cigar. The cigar not only smelled better than the hallway, it smelled exactly like the smoke on Harvey’s clothes. It had to be Mackie.

Mackie’s face was an okay face, except that his nose looked like he had run into a wall and stayed there for a while. He was big, but he didn’t look clumsy or dumb. I saw that the paper sack was from the hardware store. When he unlocked his door, I caught a glimpse of a shoulder holster. As he pulled the door open, he saw me watching him and gave me a mean look.

“Whaddaya want?” he said.

I swallowed hard and said, “I’m collecting donations for the Crippled Children’s Society.”

His eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah? Where’s your little collection can?”

“I can’t carry it and move around on the crutches,” I said.

“Hmpf. You won’t get anything there,” he said, nodding toward the other apartment. “The place is empty.”

“Oh. I guess I’ll be going then.”

I tried to move past him, but he pushed me hard against the wall, making me drop one of my crutches.

“No hurry, is there?” he said. “Let’s see if you’re really a cripple.”

That was easy. I dropped the other crutch, then reached down and pulled my right pant leg up. He did what anybody does when they see my bad leg. They stare at it, and not because it’s beautiful.

I used this chance to look past him into his apartment. From what I could see of it, it was small and neat. There was a table with two things on it: a flat, rectangular box and the part of a shot they call a syringe. It didn’t have a needle on it yet. You might think I’m showing off, but I knew it was called a syringe because I’ve spent a lot of time getting stuck by the full works, and sooner or later some nurse tells you more than you want to know about anything they do to you.

Mackie picked up my crutches. I was trying to see into the paper sack, but all I could make out was that it was some kind of can. When Mackie straightened up again, his neck and ears were turning red. Maybe that’s what made me bold enough to say, “I lied.”

His eyes narrowed again.

“I’m not collecting for Crippled Children. I was just trying to raise some movie money.”

He started laughing. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a silver dollar. He dropped it into my shirt pocket. “Kid, you earned it,” he said and went into his apartment.

I leaned against the wall for another minute, my heart thumping hard against that silver dollar. Then I left and made my way to the hardware store.

No other customers were in there. The old man behind the counter was reading a newspaper. I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, sir, but Mackie sent me over to pick up another can.”

“Another one? You can tell Mackie he’s got to come here himself.” He looked up at me and then looked away really fast. I’m used to it. “Look,” he said, talking into the newspaper, “I’m not selling weed killer to any kid, crippled or no. The stuff’s poisonous.” That’s the way he said it: “crippled or no.” Like I had come in there asking for special treatment.

I had too much on my mind to worry about it. I was thinking about why a guy who lived in a place like the Coronet would need weed killer. “What’s weed killer got in it, anyway?” I asked.

He folded his newspaper down and looked at me like my brain was as lame as my leg. “Arsenic. Eat a little of that and you’re a goner.”

At home that night, I kept an eye on Harvey. I noticed that even though he was still laying it on thick with my mom, he was nervous. He kept watching the clock on the mantel. My mom was in the kitchen, making lunches, and he kept looking between the kitchen and the clock. When the phone rang at eight, he jumped up to answer it, yelling, “I got it.” To the person on the phone, he said, “Just a sec.” He turned to me and said, “Get ready for bed.”

I thought of arguing, but changed my mind. I went into the hallway, and waited just out of sight. I hoped he’d talk as loud as he usually did. He tried to speak softly, but I could still hear him.

“No, no, that’s too soon. I have some arrangements to make.” He paused, then said, “Saturday, then. Good.”

That night, when my mom came in to say good night, I told her not to let Harvey fix her anything to eat, or take anything from him that came in a rectangular box. “He wants to poison you, Mom,” I whispered.

She laughed and said, “That matinee must have been a detective movie. I was waiting for you to tell me about your afternoon. Did you have a good time?”

It wasn’t easy, but I told her the truth. “I didn’t go to a movie,” I said.

“But I thought…”

“I went downtown. To South Street.”

She looked more scared than when I told her that her husband wanted to poison her.

“Please don’t tell Harvey!” I said.

“Don’t tell Harvey what?” I heard a voice say. He was standing in my bedroom door.

“Oh, that he got a bad grade on a spelling test,” my mom said. “But you wouldn’t get angry with him over a little thing like that, would you, dear?”

“No, of course not, sweetheart,” he said to her. He faked another laugh and walked off.

Although I don’t think Harvey knew it, she hadn’t meant it when she called him “dear.” And she had lied to him for my sake. Just when I had decided that meant she believed me about the poison, she said, “You and I will have a serious talk very soon, young man. Good night.” She kissed me, but I could tell she was mad.

That was a terrible week. Harvey was nervous, I was nervous, and my mom put me on restriction. I had to come straight home after school every day. I never got far enough in the story to tell her what happened when I went downtown; she just said that where Harvey went at night was his business, not mine, and that I should never lie to her again about where I was going.

We didn’t say much to one another. On Friday night, when she came in to say good night, I couldn’t even make myself say good night back. She stayed there at my bedside and said, “We were off to such a good start this week. I had hoped… well, that doesn’t matter now. I know you’re angry with me for putting you on restriction, but you gave me a scare. You’re all I have now, and I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“You’re all I have, too,” I said, “I don’t mind the restriction. It’s just that you don’t believe anything I say.”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just that I think Harvey is trying to be a better husband. Maybe Father O’Brien has talked to him, I don’t know.”

“A leopard doesn’t change his spots,” I said.

“Harvey’s not a leopard.”

“He’s a snake.”

She sighed again. She kept sitting there.

All of a sudden, I remembered that Harvey had mentioned Saturday, which was the next day, and I sat up. I hugged her hard. “Please believe me,” I said. “Just this once.”

She was startled at first, probably because that was two hugs in one week, which was two more than I’d given her since she married Harvey. She hugged back, and said, “You really are scared aren’t you?”

I nodded against her shoulder.

“Okay. I won’t let Harvey fix any meals for me or give me anything in a rectangular box. At least not until you get over this.” She sounded like she thought it was kind of funny. “I hope it will be soon, though.”

“Maybe as early as tomorrow,” I whispered, but I don’t think she heard me.

I hardly slept at all that night.

The next morning, Harvey left the house and didn’t come back until just before dinner. He wasn’t carrying anything with him when he came in the house, just went in and washed up. I watched every move he made, and he never went near any food.

“C’mon,” he said to me after dinner, “let’s go on down to the church.”

A new thought hit me. What if the weed killer was for someone else? What if Harvey hired Mackie to shoot my mom? “I don’t want to go,” I said.

“No more back-talk out of you, buster. Let’s go. Confessions will be over if we don’t get down there.”

I looked at my mom.

“Go on,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

As Harvey walked with me to the car, I kept trying to think up some way to stay home. I knew what Mackie looked like. I knew he carried his gun in a shoulder holster. I knew he liked silver dollars, because I had one of his in my pocket.

I looked up, because Harvey was saying something to me. He had opened the car door for me, which was more than he usually did. “Pardon?”

“I said, get yourself situated. I’ve got a surprise for your mother.”

Before I could think of anything to say, he was opening the back door and picking up a package. A rectangular package. As he walked past me, I saw there was a label on it. South Street Sweets.

My mother took it from him, smiling and thanking him. “You know I can’t resist chocolates,” she said.

“Have one now,” he said.

I was about to yell out “No!” thinking she’d forgotten everything I said, but she looked at me over his shoulder, and something in her eyes made me keep my mouth shut.

Harvey followed her glance, but before he could yell at me, she said, “Oh Harvey, his knee must be bothering him. Be a dear and help him. I’m going to go right in and put my feet up and eat about a dozen of these.” To me, she said, “Remember what we talked about last night. You be careful.”

All the way to the church, Harvey was quiet. When we got there, he sent me in first, as usual.

“But the choir loft is closed,” I said.

“It hasn’t fallen apart in a week. They haven’t even started work on it. Go on.”

I went inside. He was right. Even though there was a velvet rope and a sign that said, “Closed,” it didn’t look like any work had started. I wanted to be near Mary Theresa’s window anyway. But as I got near the top of the stairs, I noticed they sounded different beneath my crutches. Some of the ones that were usually quiet were groaning now.

I waited until almost everyone was gone. By the time I turned the lamp on, I had done more thinking. I figured Harvey wouldn’t give up trying to kill my mom, even if I had wrecked his chocolate plan. He wanted the house and the money that came with my mom, but not her or her kid. I couldn’t keep watching him all the time.

I turned the lamp on and waited for him to come into the church. As usual, he didn’t even look toward me. He went into the confessional. I took one last look at the window and started to turn the lamp off, when I got an idea. I left the lamp on.

I knew the fourth step from the top was especially creaky. I went down to the sixth step from the top, then turned around. I held on to the rail, and then pressed one of my crutches down on the fourth step. It creaked. I leaned most of my weight on it. I felt it give. I stopped before it broke.

I went on down the stairs. I could hear Harvey, not talking about my mom this time, but not admitting he was hoping she was already dead. I went into the other confessional, but I didn’t kneel down.

I heard Harvey finish up and step outside his confessional. Then I heard him take a couple of steps and stand outside my confessional door. For a minute, I was afraid he’d open the door and look inside. He didn’t. He took a couple of steps away, and then stopped again. I waited. He walked toward the back of the church, and I could tell by the sound of his steps that he was mad. I knocked on the wall between me and Father O’Brien.

“All right if I don’t kneel this time, Father?” I asked.

“Certainly, my son,” he said.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I lied three times, I stole sixty cents and…”

I waited a moment.

“And?” the priest said.

There was a loud groaning sound, a yell, and a crash.

“And I just killed my stepfather.”

He didn’t die, he just broke both of his legs and knocked himself out. A policeman showed up, but not because Father O’Brien had told anyone my confession. Turned out my mother had called the police, showed them the candy and finally convinced them they had to hurry to the church and arrest her husband before he harmed her son.

The police talked to me and then went down to South Street and arrested Mackie. At the hospital, a detective went in with me to see Harvey when Harvey woke up. I got to offer Harvey some of the chocolates he had given my mom. Instead of taking any candy, he made another confession that night. Before we left, the detective asked him why he had gone up into the choir loft. He said I had left a light on up there. The detective asked me if that was true, and of course I said, “Yes.”

The next time I was in church, I put Mackie’s silver dollar in the donation box near the candles and lit three candles: one for my father, one for Mary Theresa Mills, and one for the guy who made up the rule that says priests can’t rat on you.

After I lit the candles, I went home and took out my wooden box. I put my father’s pipes on the mantel, next to his photo. My mom saw me staring at the photo and came over and stood next to me. Instead of thinking of him being off in heaven, a long way away, I imagined him being right there with us, looking back at us from that picture. I imagined him knowing that I had tried to save her from Harvey. I thought he would have liked that.

My mom reached out and touched one of the pipes very carefully. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said.

You know what? I believed her.