Father's Day (8 page)

A
FEW HOURS
before they arrived, Jason opened all the windows to clear any stale smoke. He washed dishes and wiped the floor with wet paper towels.

They were on time, and Jason showed them in. Harvey went to her usual seat on the couch, carrying her doll with her. When Wanda had to use the bathroom, Harvey asked if she could put the television on.

Then Wanda said she had to make an important telephone call and check some paperwork out in the car.

When she was gone, Harvey and Jason watched television without speaking. It was a show on the possibility of alien life. During the commercial breaks, Jason went to the window to check that Wanda was still outside.

“It must be a serious case,” he said, “if she has to leave us alone like this.”

Then a commercial came on with a woman making dinner from a can.

“Hmm, that looks tasty,” Harvey said.

Jason went to the kitchen and returned with a bag of chips, which he set on the cushion next to Harvey like an open mouth. “Eat,” he said. “You like TV right?”

“SpongeBob,
” Harvey said, reaching into the bag. “That's my favorite.”

Jason took a handful of chips and went back to his seat. “Yeah,
SpongeBob
is pretty awesome.”

“Yeah,” Harvey said, reaching for another chip. “I love
SpongeBob
.”

“Patrick is cool,” Jason said. “I kinda feel bad for him, 'cause everything keeps going wrong.”

“He's funny,” Harvey said. “Do you like Mr. Krabs?”

“Yeah, he's just such a jerk it's funny.”

“Yeah, he's mean,” Harvey said. “Making Krabby Patties from those little men.”

By the time the chips were gone, they were into a new show about people in France who were trying to kill a fat king with long hair who lived in a gold palace. When someone's head got cut off and blood gushed from the hole, Jason asked Harvey if she was old enough to watch it. Harvey said she wasn't sure.

Then she propped her doll up so he could watch the show too.

“What's your doll's name?” Jason asked.

“Duncan.”

“That's a weird name.”

“He told me earlier that he wants to sit with you.”

“Why's that?” Jason said.

“He thinks you're his dad.”

Jason shook his head. “I'm nobody's dad.”

“Then you're going to have to tell him,” Harvey said, and put Duncan on the seat next to Jason.

He let her do it, but didn't touch the doll or look at it.

W
HEN
W
ANDA CAME
back, she said it was time to leave. Jason told Harvey to brush the chips off her dress. Then she put her coat on and stood by the door.

Jason's eyes were still on the television. Wanda had returned at the worst time. They were watching something on the SyFy Channel, and the main character of the story was about to get abducted.

“Don't forget Duncan,” Wanda said, pointing. As Jason retrieved it, he noticed something drawn in Magic Marker on the doll's neck in exactly the same place he had his tattoo.

He stood at the door as Wanda backed out of the driveway. Harvey watched him through the car window, then held Duncan up to the glass, waving his plastic arm.

When they had gone, Jason took some pot from the freezer and went back to the movie. Before leaving, Wanda had said that Harvey's grandparents were about ready to pack up and go but were still waiting for a document to be approved by the courts. She told him that by Harvey's tenth birthday, the Morganos would be in their eighties.

Jason thought about it as he filled the glass pipe and then lit up. He had never known his own grandparents. His father had been the youngest of three boys, and the other two had been shredded in the early days of World War II on some beach in the Pacific.

Jason took deep drags. Let smoke roll from his mouth like a gray carpet. He saw the bodies of his uncles in their navy whites, sliding up the beach on the palm of an incoming wave. Then he saw his father—not as he had known him in life but from a photograph his mother kept on the dresser after he died. It was a black-and-white picture, and he was in his uniform, fresh out of training, a young man with sandy hair and freckles—about the age Jason was when he went to jail.

Every morning and every evening, his mother sat before it while doing her makeup.

When his parents first met, Jason's father used to tell her all kinds of stories. Make her laugh with all those wisecracks. She remembered those things. She remembered the way he was then, just before getting sent away. She was certain of when it was, because there was a dance at the school and they were
together
after.

Most of the other boys at the dance that night came home from the war in boxes or were never found. Families cried over coffins filled with yearbooks, baseball gloves, a pair of Converse sneakers worn out with play.

When the surrender came in 1945, people cheered and the streets were flooded and cars were honking. Jason's father had been in a POW camp, and it was some time before he made it back.

On their wedding night, he left the bed and went out to the fire escape, smoking cigarettes and drinking liquor from the bottle, going over in his mind all the things he had seen, all the things he had done, trying to figure it out, trying to untangle himself from it. But war only ends for those who have not been in one.

O
VER THE NEXT
two weeks, Wanda and Harvey visited four more times.

Wanda said she was balancing some serious juvenile cases and asked Jason if he minded being alone with Harvey while she ran errands.

Harvey was talking more now, commenting on what they were watching when Jason muted the commercials.

She kept asking to see the garage—wanted to know where each part would fit on the motorcycle and what its job was. When Jason showed her the spare room, Harvey asked to try out his drums. The room was such a mess, he had to carry her to the drum stool. Harvey touched the skins with her fingers, then tapped lightly to see what would happen. Jason found some sticks lying on the floor and told her to go crazy.

He smoked out the window and listened to her bang around. When she got tired and her arms hung down, he told her it hadn't sounded half bad. She'd been trying to work the foot pedal too, so Jason flicked his cigarette into the yard and sat with her. He positioned her fingers properly on the drumsticks, then showed her a few things. Since her legs weren't long enough to reach the pedal, he told her to focus on drumming while he did the footwork.

When Wanda came to pick Harvey up, she heard them through the door and sat down on the front step.

When Harvey was in the car and ready to go, Wanda gave Jason a gray folder she'd brought from the office. She told him that inside it showed the amount of his disability, plus the sum Harvey's grandparents would be getting each month to help pay for Harvey's food, clothes, and outings. Wanda said it was a generous benefit that included health care, and that whoever was appointed Harvey's guardian by the courts would receive it every month to help raise her until she turned eighteen.

Harvey watched from the backseat. She imagined that Jason was telling Wanda how good she was on the drums, and how she might grow up to be onstage someday—because Jason had told her that, had said she was
that
good and might be famous someday.

Harvey went over the whole afternoon with Duncan when she got back to the foster home. She squeezed his doll body, then put her cheek against his cheek, wondering what her mom and dad were doing, and if they could see her, if they could read her thoughts.

W
ANDA SUGGESTED AN
outing for the next visit, but when the time came, Jason was clueless. He asked Harvey where she wanted to go, and she said the mall in Hicksville.

Jason bought her a pretzel from a stand outside Macy's, and they got Dots space ice cream from a vending machine. Then they sat on a bench and watched women inside the MAC store brush makeup on each other. Harvey asked if she could put makeup on Duncan.

When she needed the restroom, Jason didn't know what to do, so they lingered outside the ladies' room until Harvey was so desperate that Jason had to ask a woman taking her baby in if she would take Harvey too.

While she was in the restroom, Jason wondered what would happen if he took off.

When Harvey came out, she asked Jason what she should call him.

“Whatever you want,” he said. “Jason, I guess.”

When they left in the late afternoon, the parking lot was full because there was a baseball field behind the mall.

“It's Little League,” Harvey said. “I love Little League. Can I go watch?”

Jason watched her run ahead. Her blond ponytail bounced against the back of her shirt. She was far away when Jason lost sight of her in a crowd.

He thought he should probably call out but figured he would spot her watching the game when he got over there. He tried to walk faster, but his leg made it hard.

When he arrived at the field, he couldn't see Harvey anywhere. There was a bunch of kids playing and Jason watched them, figuring Harvey might have found someone she knew and joined in the game. But she wasn't there, either, so he went over to the ball field to check the stands. By now he was moving as quickly as he could, which made it clear he had a prosthetic limb.

Harvey was nowhere to be seen.

Jason shouted at the children, asking if they'd seen a blond girl. Some ignored him. Others stared blankly or looked around for their parents.

The world seemed to be going on as normal, like in a nightmare. Then Jason lost his temper and stumbled out onto the baseball diamond yelling Harvey's name.

“There's a game here, buddy!” someone shouted. “Get off the field!”

“Fuck your game. My kid is missing. My kid has disappeared. Harvey!” he shouted. “Harvey!”

He kept shouting her name over and over. Then, to his surprise, a few of the parents joined in.

The game was stopped. The kid at bat just stood there.

“What does she look like?” a beefy man holding a baby wanted to know. “My wife is a Nassau County cop. I'm going to call her and get an Amber Alert.”

Jason described Harvey to anyone who asked, then went back to calling her name and limping about the parking lot and ball fields.

Some people gave up on the game and went home. The Little League coach took a few kids into the mall to look for Harvey and notify security.

When the cops arrived, they said they had Harvey in the backseat. Someone had seen a little girl dodging traffic on Route 107 and called the police.

Jason was crying so hard he could hardly speak.

Harvey watched him from the backseat of the cruiser.

When they got home, Jason called Wanda's voice mail and told her to come over as soon as possible and to bring whatever paperwork they were going to need to start the process.

I
T WAS A
battle to get the courts to name Jason the legal guardian.

At the hearing, Wanda promised the judge she would visit them every day if she had to. In the end, Jason was given custody on a trial basis of three months. Wanda said it was a great victory. Harvey would have to stay in foster care until it was all sorted out, but Wanda would make sure they talked at least once a day.

Jason used the time to clean up the spare room and relist a bunch of unsold items on eBay so he could get her a closet and set of drawers from IKEA in Hicksville.

One afternoon a package came from an attorney in Garden City. Inside the envelope were official documents, a letter, and a small envelope with Jason's name scribbled on the outside.

The attorney's letter made reference to official documents which summarized his late brother's estate.

A will, signed by his brother and sister-in-law, stipulated that in the event of their simultaneous death, any remaining assets after the resolution of all claims against the estate were to be kept in a trust for their daughter and managed by the wife's parents, the Morganos, who (it was assumed when the will was written) would become the legal guardians of the aforementioned child.

However, the attorney went on to write that substantial debt, a weak housing market, sizable car payments, a business in arrears, and an interest-only mortgage product had combined to render a negative balance in the estate account after death expenses, resolution of claims, and administrative fees.

In light of the aforementioned circumstances, the letter requested that Jason kindly consider the package his first and final correspondence—unless he wished to enlist the firm at his own expense. At the bottom, the attorney had written in his own hand how sorry he was for Jason's loss.

The final item in the package was the small envelope with Jason's name written on the outside in his brother's handwriting.

Inside was a tattered piece of paper Jason had seen before.

                   
Don't come looking for me. No visits, no phone calls, no letters, no cards, no prayers, no nothing. I blew it. Take over for me at home, live as best you can.

                 
Do all the things I never will.

                 
Your Brother

A
FTER A THIRD
cup of espresso, Jason felt awake enough to try out the Métro.

They walked uphill to the Caulaincourt station so that Harvey could introduce her father to Murat, whose shop was on the way.

Harvey could tell that Murat was surprised by the thin ponytail and by the wrinkled tattoo on her father's neck. Murat's English was very good, and he gave Jason cake that his wife had made. There were pistachio nuts in it and a spice Harvey didn't know the name of. Then customers began lining up and Murat went back to work.

Harvey showed her father how to put his small, paper ticket in the machine, then retrieve it before going through. As the barrier opened, two young men rushed in behind Jason and went through without paying. Other people in the station saw it happen, but no one seemed to care. One of the men turned and nodded at Jason as if to thank him.

“A lot of people do that here,” Harvey said. “It's part of life in Paris.”

When the train rattled in, then squealed to a stop, Harvey yanked a steel lever and the doors opened. A man started to get up, but Harvey waved him back into his seat.

Next to Jason, a baby in a stroller was chewing on the plastic hand of a doll. Each time she bit down, the doll squeaked.
Then, she kicked her legs and the doll went over the side and hit the floor. When Jason picked it up, the doll squeaked and people looked at him.

T
HE RESTAURANT
H
ARVEY
had chosen was close to the Métro, so they only had to walk a few minutes. Harvey said it was where people came to catch up or just watch the world go by. It was a light evening sky with no clouds.

There wasn't much space between the tables, and the leather hem of her father's motorcycle jacket almost tipped a carafe of wine as he sat down.

“I love this,” Jason said when the waiter seated them next to one other with a view of the sidewalk. “It's like eating on the couch but we're outside.”

When Harvey took the napkin and set it on her lap, her father did the same. When the menu came, Jason said he wouldn't mind a hamburger, if they had that sort of thing in France. The waiter was polite but in a hurry.

“Of course, monsieur,” he said, then asked Harvey in French if her father would like to try it with foie gras instead of cheese. Harvey ordered a glass of wine for herself and a bottle of alcohol-free beer for her father, which seemed to impress the waiter, as though he, too, had quit drinking.

While they were waiting for their food, Jason took the baseball out of his coat pocket and set it on the table.

“Remember when I ran away from the Little League game?” Harvey said.

“Yeah, and me with the cops, crying like a little girl,” Jason said.

“Hey,” Harvey said. “Don't dis little girls.”

“Oh, Harv, I was just kidding.”

Harvey threw a fake punch, “I know, Dad, I'm teasing.”

Young men in jeans were lighting cigarettes at the table next to them. They nodded at Jason as if to say hello.

“The French really like you for some reason,” Harvey said enthusiastically. “Maybe it's the biker thing.”

“Running away from that baseball game was one thing, Harvey. But that court interview was the worst,” Jason said. “Because you had that big cut on your face. Remember that?”

“No, Dad—I got that cut on the first day of school. I looked fine for the court thing.”

“Harvey, I remember. You had a cut right here on your lip.”

“Dad,” Harvey said, “that was for school. Didn't we go to Chuck E. Cheese's after the court thing?”

Jason couldn't remember.

“Because if we went to Chuck E. Cheese's after, then that's where my little blue dog came from.”

“What little blue dog?”

“My favorite little blue dog that I love.”

“The one at home on your dresser?”

Harvey nodded. “Darn! I should have asked you to bring him with you.”

W
ANDA HAD APPEARED
promptly that morning, at seven o'clock, in a stiff gray suit. She was holding a bag of toasted bagels, chocolate milk, and deli coffee.

Jason was frantically undoing knots in Harvey's sneakers. He'd had a haircut the day before, and Wanda said it looked
smart but that he might also want to shave. She had brought along one of her husband's ties, but Jason said he was wearing a turtleneck to cover his tattoo.

When Harvey came out still in her pajamas, Wanda frogmarched her into the bathroom. Jason sat on the couch and listened to the tub fill up. In two hours, people would judge whether he was good enough to look after a child.

When Harvey was finally ready, Wanda put her on the couch with a toasted bagel, then sat with Jason and went through everything—including what he should say if they asked about his incarceration.

When it was time to leave, Wanda had to drive because Jason was too nervous.

The county court offices took up an entire block opposite the Long Island Rail Road station. People were outside smoking and trying to get comfortable in suits that didn't fit. There were unmarked police cruisers parked on the sidewalk, and shops offering money transfers and bail bonds.

Wanda led Harvey and Jason straight in through double doors, where they had to pass under a metal detector, and Wanda had to open her pocketbook for the guard to look inside with a flashlight.

They got to Room 204-D fifteen minutes early.

“This is good,” Wanda said. “Early shows organized, efficient, and enthusiastic.”

She had been to plenty of these meetings and said the officials got pissed when people were late.

On the wall were posters about abuse, with phone numbers people could call for help. One of them showed three children hiding under a kitchen table, covering their ears.
THERE ARE MANY VICTIMS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
, it said.

The chairs they were sitting on reminded Jason of high school. There were paper cups in the trash from earlier meetings, and a lower pane of glass in the door had been cracked, maybe where someone had gotten angry or knocked it while carrying a chair.

Harvey was wearing a pink party dress with flower stitching. Jason had bought it for her at Marshalls, along with white tights and pink clogs that fell off if she walked too fast.

As they waited, Harvey made a picture with some crayons that Wanda had brought. Harvey was wearing her ring that once had gum in it, and the chair clicked as her feet swung under the table.

Then there was a knock and the door swung open. It was a woman in her forties, along with a short, stocky man who had a mustache and was about Wanda's age. The man seemed jovial and cupped Jason's elbow when they shook hands.

The woman apologized for being late and explained what was going to happen. They would chat together informally; then it would be time to speak with just Jason and Wanda, then just Harvey and Wanda. All three sessions would be recorded.

Jason said he understood and the interview began.

The first thing they asked was about school.

“There's one near my house,” Jason said. “So that's easy.”

“Miss Harvey is going to start second grade in the fall,” Wanda added. “It was my professional opinion that Jason and Harvey should spend a few months hanging out before formal schooling began for her again.”

“What do you think of starting second grade in the fall, Harvey?” the woman asked.

Harvey looked at her drawing, kept moving the crayon.

“It's big-kid school,” the woman went on. “You'll get to draw lots of pretty pictures there.”

“Looking forward to school, Miss Harvey?” Wanda said.

“No,” Harvey said finally. “I'm not looking forward.”

“You don't want to go to school?” the woman said.

“I want to stay home with Jason and watch TV.”

The court officials looked at Jason.

“What sorts of things do you watch on TV?” the woman wanted to know.

“Mostly scary stuff,” Harvey said.

“Me too,” the man with the mustache said, putting down his legal pad. “What kind of stuff do
you
like?”

“Aliens and monsters killing people.”

“Doesn't that frighten you?” the woman said. “That would frighten me.”

“I change the channel if she's really scared,” Jason said.

“No, he doesn't,” Harvey said. “He thinks it's funny.”

Wanda laughed nervously.

Harvey looked up from her drawing at Wanda. “He really doesn't.”

“Well, then,” the man said. “If you don't get scared of what's on TV, what do you get scared of?”

Harvey thought about it. Wanda started to say something, but the woman raised a finger to stop her.

“Nothing, I guess,” Harvey said.

“Nothing scares you?” the woman said. “What if I asked you to pick one thing?”

“Well,” Harvey said, thinking carefully, “I'd have to say black holes.”

The woman nodded and wrote something down.

Then Harvey thought of something else. “And who will look after me if Jason dies. Maybe you, Wanda?” Harvey said, turning to look at her.

Wanda touched her shoulder. “Maybe sweetie pie.”

The court officials reassured Harvey that Jason almost certainly would not die, and asked if she had bad dreams at night.

“I once dreamed that the house burned down. My toys got burned too.”

The woman said it must have been bad. What a terrible dream to have.

“Their faces melted,” Harvey said. “Like in a horror movie I saw.”

“What horror movie was that?” Jason wanted to know.

Harvey shrugged.

“Tell us more about the dream,” the man said.

“That dream was with my first mom and dad,” Harvey told him. “But I'm not scared now, because if anyone tried to burn down the house, Jason would blind them.”

Wanda laughed and brought up the subject of budgeting.

After talking for a little longer, the woman suggested they sit with Jason alone for a while. Harvey was taken to a room where children were supervised and could play with toys. Jason looked at her empty seat until Wanda returned and the interview continued.

The man saw him looking. “Harvey will see you as her father eventually,” the man said. “If she doesn't already.”

“And her mother too,” the woman added. “Unless there's a strong female presence in her life, you're playing the role of both parents.”

“Wanda is a good female presence,” Jason said.

“But I won't always be with you, sweetie,” Wanda said, patting his arm. “I have other cases, and I'm going to retire soon.”

The woman wanted to know how Jason felt he might cope without being able to call on Wanda.

“Fine,” Jason said. “I pretty much know what to do.”

“And what's that?” the woman said flatly.

Jason looked at Wanda, who nodded for him to speak up.

“Make sure there are three good meals a day, keep the house clean, make sure there's heat and everything is safe.”

Wanda had gone over this with Jason. It was a standard question, but the woman kept nodding, so Jason tried to think of more things to say.

“Spend time with her. Take her to the doctor if she gets sick, make her buckle up and shout at her if she doesn't, teach her not to steal, teach her to be a good person, don't let her use knives, make sure her window is closed at night so she can't get abducted, keep her away from stray dogs, people on drugs . . .”

“Okay,” the woman said. “That's good, Jason.”

“What's a typical meal like?” the man asked. “Just something you would normally make.”

“She gets more than enough to eat,” Jason said. “There's always leftovers.”

“Like what kind of stuff?” the man said.

“Pizza, chicken fingers, french fries, Hot Pockets, toast, cereal, apple slices, pork and beans, cereal, ravioli, mini-hamburgers, ravioli, pasta, corn, mozzarella sticks, ice cream . . .”

“You're making me hungry,” the man said.

“Last week Jason made his first meat loaf,” Wanda told them.

This made the woman smile. “It's hard to make a good meat loaf. How did you stop it from drying out?”

“Covered it,” Jason said.

The woman wrote
meat loaf
on her legal pad and circled it.

“What was
your
father like, Jason?” the man asked.

Jason thought for a moment. “Full of energy,” he said.

“How do you mean?” the man wanted to know.

Wanda cleared her throat. “He was a World War II hero.”

“The war messed him up,” Jason said. “But we had fun in the end.”

“That's excellent,” said the man. “Families who laugh a lot are usually close.”

Wanda then mentioned how Jason had made extra money before Harvey moved in, so he could purchase a dresser, a desk, and a mini drum set for her.

“Do you play the drums, Jason?” the man asked. “You musical?”

“I used to,” Jason said. “Harvey asked me to teach her.”

The man was impressed. “That's exactly the kind of thing we want to hear—music to our ears, so to speak.”

A
T THE BEGINNING
of the trial period three months earlier, Wanda had brought Harvey's stuff in two suitcases, along with a few bags of groceries so she could cook a celebration meal.

Jason had converted the spare room, which pleased Wanda. The carpet was gone, replaced by new dark wood flooring that
Jason had bought at Home Depot and cut to size on Wanda's husband's table saw. The dresser he picked out had butterfly handles and a glass top. Wanda had found a bed frame at a yard sale near her home in Hempstead, which her husband had cleaned up and painted.

Harvey's stuff was mostly clothes and toys. Wanda laid everything out on the bed, showing Jason how to fold and keep socks and underwear in one place, shirts and leggings in another. Wanda said that Harvey was still wearing diapers at night, and she would get him a six-month supply of the nighttime Pull-Ups, courtesy of Uncle Bill.