Chapter 1: Halloween

Sarah Jenkins could already tell that this was going to be a long night. This was the sixth place she and Billy had visited trick-or-treating, the third in which someone had answered the door, and the second kid Billy had seen dressed in the Batman costume that he had wanted to buy, although they couldn’t afford it.

The grandfatherly man exclaimed over the pirate costume, though, and his wife dropped two double-packs of peanut butter cups in Billy’s bag as well as Batman’s. Billy was happy for the moment.

They left together with Batman and his father. She wasn’t sure she wanted the company; but she couldn’t drag Billy back the way they had come without an obvious argument, and Batman led them off towards the right. Actually, those two seemed to know the neighborhood; they skipped some houses, knocked on basement doors she hadn’t noticed.

Billy started walking with Batman, and she with his father. She felt that her initial caution had been ridiculous. This guy might be a serial rapist other nights, but he was too busy being a careful parent this one. “I’m Sarah Jenkins,” she said. “That’s Billy.”

“Knut Gustafson, and this is Rebecca. Rebecca, say hello to Mrs. Jenkins.”

“Hello, Mrs. Jenkins,” Batman said. The pitch of her voice was lower than Billy’s.

“Hello, Rebecca. Nice to meet you.” Should she insist that Billy make polite, too? No. It was too late now. “Like Newt Gingrich?”

“Like King Canute who couldn’t command the tides.” He spelled it. “The K was once pronounced. I’ve no idea if the Svensk still do, but it’s silent in English.”

He was tall, not basketball-freak tall, but well over six feet. When subbing in high schools, she made a game of guessing student activities. If he were in high school, she’d put him in drama club or debate; something about the voice. But there was no hint of high school in his manner. She could tell she was with an adult.

For some reason, he was dressed in rain gear. The forecast had been as clear as the air felt, and she felt comfortable in her short jacket.

When they got to the corner, Billy started to cross. “Hold it!” Knut said. “Okay guys, this is the drill. We are going to wait until this car goes, and then we are going to all cross together. Stay with the adults and watch for cars ... Sorry.” The last was directed to her.

“Be my guest,” she said. Billy couldn’t be reminded of street safety often enough. Still ‘King Canute’ fit his personality.

They started back the way they had come, calling at a string of 6-flats. Here, he suggested trading off escorting the kids up the stairs.

They did that until the group was across from her home. “That’s our place across the street,” she said. “I think we’ll cross here.”

“Good idea,” Knut responded. “Okay, let’s all stay together and look both ways.” After they crossed that way, Batgirl headed down the route Sarah had already covered with Billy. “Sorry,” Knut said. Sorry for what, she couldn’t see.

“Good night,” she called to their retreating backs.

Fred’s check had been due November the first, not that she had expected it then. When he picked Billy up on the eighth, he promised that he would mail it the next Tuesday.

She still hadn’t received it when he called the night of the twenty-second. “Look,” she said, “either I get the support, or Billy stays here. And have it certified.”

“It’s too late for to have it certified, doll. The bank’s closed, and I’m calling from my car anyway. I have the check, and I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

He gave her the check before he took Billy with him. She filled out the deposit ticket and put it in the mail for her bank that night. There was a Saturday pickup. What if the check bounced? What if it didn’t get there on Monday? She carefully balanced her checkbook, then calculated her transit needs until her next check from the Board of Education. She needed to plan the menus for the next two weeks, but she was too tired that night.

Their apartment had only one bedroom. Figuring that Billy needed a little privacy, she’d taken the sofa bed in the living room. However, she sometimes needed a little privacy herself. Even though she missed her son when he was away and worried about Fred’s unreliability, being alone in the apartment had its restful aspects.

After doing the laundry the next day, she inventoried all her food. Lunch was peanut butter and crackers. She read the supermarket flyer and guessed at the prices of whatever wasn’t listed. Billy would spend Thanksgiving with Fred’s parents, and they would be willing to pick him up in the unlikely event Fred wasn’t available. She planned her lunches and Billy’s lunches. Bless the boy; he’d happily eat PBJs every day of the year. She planned their breakfasts and dinners. She could just about make it without Fred’s check, but she for-damn-sure couldn’t afford a cab back from the store. She’d take her folding cart and go tomorrow.

Making the decision relaxed her tension a little. A nice hot bath relaxed her more. The hand-held shower attachment relaxed her to the point where she could sleep.

She was checking the price of generic crackers on the machine the next day. A man’s voice interrupted her calculations. “Aren’t you Sarah Jenkins?”

She turned around. “I’m Knut Gustafson,” the man said. “Rebecca, greet Mrs. Jenkins. She went trick-or-treating with us.”

“Hello, Mrs. Jenkins.” She was dressed neatly in a good dress. Her father was wearing a suit and tie. They must have come from church.

“How do you do, Rebecca? I wouldn’t have recognized you not dressed as Batgirl.” Rebecca looked unhappy and started off to the next aisle. “Stocking up for the holiday?” she asked staring at the bulging shopping cart. She hoped she hadn’t sounded as jealous as she felt.

“No. Rebecca is spending Thanksgiving with her mother. This is two weeks’ worth. She doesn’t trust me to keep her favorite foods in stock without supervision.”

“Well, that’s a shame; but that gives you Christmas day this year. Or, at least, that’s how it works for me.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “You know the drill. Is Billy with you this Thanksgiving?”

“No.” Not that she would have been able to provide a feast if he were. “But I’ll have him a long time at Christmas. We’ll go visit his grandparents.” At their expense, but that wasn’t any of Gustafson’s business -- however sympathetic he looked.

“Y’know,” he said, “Thanksgiving is no holiday to spend alone. There’s a local restaurant that serves a traditional Thanksgiving feast, turkey and everything. Would you be willing to be my guest there?”

That sounded a lot better than the cottage cheese she had planned for that day. “Why, thank you.” They kept talking as they finished their shopping.

Knut, who had been quite gentlemanly up till then, somehow ended up in front of her in line. He paid by check and asked for fifty dollars back.

“Do you have wheels?” he asked when she had paid. She gestured towards her own cart, now unfolded. “That’s ridiculous. Wait with ‘Becca while I get the car, and we’ll give you a ride home.”

On the ride, they confirmed 2:00 as a time to meet Thursday. He parked his Mazda Protege close to her back stairs and carried some of the groceries upstairs for her. “See you Thursday,” he said, and left her there.

On Thursday, with the bank still treating Fred’s check as good, she handed Billy off in a nearly friendly manner. Actually, she liked and trusted her former in-laws; Fred was the only irresponsible one in the family. Then she cleaned up the apartment and got herself ready. Why she did the first, she couldn’t fathom. She wasn’t about to invite this Knut character inside on their first date.

He called about one. “This is Knut Gustafson. Are we still on for two?” She didn’t see any problem. “I was going to offer you the option of walking; it isn’t far. But I don’t trust the weather. I’ll be parked in front of your building at two.”

At one minute past, he rang her apartment bell. She came down, and he walked her to the car. “I have a confession to make,” he said after he had started driving. If it was that they would go Dutch, she was walking home, rain or not. “This place serves a turkey dinner on Thanksgiving, but I’m going for the smorgasbord. So you’ll have to choose whether to be seasonal on your own.”

They had to wait, even though he had made a reservation. She could see diners with both choices, and the smorgasbord looked quite tempting. Besides, she was going to stock up her stomach for as long as possible. Standing there watching others eat led him to ask about Billy’s taste in food.

“He’s not bad,” she told him. “He could live on hamburgers, but he enjoys other foods as well.”

“You ever visit the Vietnamese restaurants in the neighborhood?” he asked. “What does he think of those?”

“Chinese. We haven’t tried out Vietnamese. He loves sweet-and-sour.” When she could afford it. “Likes most of those foods, actually. He’ll even eat vegetables in those dishes which he won’t eat for me.”

“Offer a prayer of thanks. I keep dreading that Rebecca will get into the ‘Mickey D’s or nothing’ phase. Look: she has a table for us.”

The waitress brought them menus and asked about drinks. “I’m driving,” said Knut, “you?”

“Coffee.” She wasn’t desperate enough to drink at 2:30 in the afternoon. Indeed, as the dinner progressed, she enjoyed herself thoroughly. He told stories about work and about his daughter, but he listened to her tales more often.

Once he asked about how often she and Billy ate out. She felt guilty about that, and it must have shown. He changed the conversation onto his experience with Rebecca, shifted direction, and ended with a compliment about Billy’s Halloween costume.

By this time, the rain outside the windows looked like Niagara Falls. Their talk went from Halloween to Thanksgiving, their children to their childhoods, favorite things to most horrible things. He talked about being an accountant; she described what it meant to sub in a different high school every week, sometimes every day. What it meant to have the sub center not call wasn’t something she was willing to share. “Do you want any more?” he finally asked. She didn’t.

The rain was a mere drizzle when they left. He drove her home and came into the building when she unlocked the door. She still wasn’t going to invite him inside her apartment, but she was much more comfortable in his presence. She decided to let him kiss her in the hall.

He stopped on the second-from-the-top stair, however, and took her hands into his. They were nearly on a level. “I really enjoyed this,” he said.

“So did I.” And indeed she had. He wrapped her right hand in both of his and lifted it to his lips. Formality? No. The kiss went on far too long. Then he stood back up still holding her hand.

They stood looking directly at each other. A nearby stroke of lightning made them both jump. “That’s my cue,” he said. “Goodbye.” And he darted down the stairs although the rain was pouring down again.

Needing some exercise to deal with the monstrous dinner she had eaten, she plunged into housework. She was just finishing vacuuming the carpets when the phone rang. It was her mother-in-law.

“Sarah, I really hope you won’t mind.” What had happened?

“Is Billy still there?” she asked. Friday wasn’t a school day, but he would be hell the next day if he got to bed really late.

“No, dear. He ought to get there in ten or fifteen minutes. It’s just that, really, he’s the only one who likes dark meat.” Not counting Sarah herself, as Fred’s mother obviously didn’t. “So I sent him home with a few leftovers. There are a few dollops for you, too. You know, you are welcome at our table.”

“Thanks, Mom Jenkins. But it is Fred’s time, and I’m not going to cheat.” Neither she nor Fred would be able to digest a meal in the other’s presence, but she wouldn’t tell his mother that.

Billy, who had clearly been asleep in the car, was barely awake when he got there. She had to strip him on the bed and wake him again to guide him to the toilet. There was no chance for a bath.

The care package contained an entire turkey leg and generous servings of all the dishes -- including slices of white meat. She would have been able to hold her own Thanksgiving feast. After the smorgasbord, the sight was a bit nauseating; but she quite thankfully stacked it into the refrigerator and freezer. This was enough to brighten the next week’s meals. Thanks to Fred’s mother, the latest crisis had passed.

Friday night, she gave Billy a thorough bath. She ran the tub and let him play there by himself for half an hour, the soaking would loosen all the dirt. She washed his face, the rest that came above the water line, and his legs from his toes to his knees. Then she handed him the soapy washcloth. He did the rest of his torso, his loins, and his thighs.

The bathroom hadn’t been intended for showers, but the landlord had installed one. The shower curtains hung on an arrangement of tubing that surrounded the tub; the shower head was connected to the faucet with a long flexible cable. She couldn’t quite understand how this kept the water inside while it bent, but it did.

The shower head could adjust the strength of the spray without changing the volume of water. It looked sleekly, incongruously, modern lying along the edge of the antiquated tub. There was a holder to keep it where a normal shower head would go, but she never used that.

Now, she used it to rinse off all of Billy and soak his hair. He sat down while she rubbed baby shampoo into the hair and then rinsed it again. She pulled the plug and left him to spray himself up between his legs both front and back. He was nearly old enough for the spray to excite him, or the inadequately rinsed soap to dry on him -- itch -- and excite him, or for an itch caused by not removing the dirt to excite him. She was only certain of one thing: having her wash and rinse his groin was the worst choice of all.

Knut called her on Saturday to thank her again for the pleasure of her company. His next call was on the evening of the 13th, after Billy was in bed. “This is Knut Gustafson. Is this too late to call?”

“It’s fine.” She’d been doing minor housecleaning. Any break was welcome, and Knut was more welcome than most.

“When we were talking about Billy’s toleration for oriental food, I neglected to ask about yours. Do you like Chinese cooking?”

“I love it.” She only wished that she could afford restaurant food more often, but she sometimes splurged on takeouts for the two of them.

“How would you and Billy enjoy a meal with me at the Chinese Lantern next weekend?”

“Very much.”

“Saturday suppertime?” he asked. “And when would that be? Rebecca will be with her mother then, so I’m flexible.”

“Well, we usually eat at six.”

“Five-forty-five, then, at your doorway? It won’t be much after six when we eat. Would that be convenient?”

“Thank you very much.” She did like his company. She also liked the way that he presented her with a plan, but also the option of changing that plan. She’d always preferred take-charge guys; that is what had attracted her to Fred in the first place. Later, it had seemed to her that there was a fine line between taking charge and bullying. Fred seemed to have crossed that line.

“Thank you,” he said.

After they’d said goodbye, she hugged herself. It was nice to be desired as a woman. Although she had asked for the divorce, it still made her feel like a failure. And the big three-o was looming closer at every birthday. Not that she hadn’t met males who desired her, sometimes she could feel the eyes of seniors -- hell, some of the freshman boys -- undressing her. One principal had all but said that she could get steady work in his school if she were more cooperative. The casting couch for Hollywood stardom she could understand, but did he actually expect to get sex in exchange for a few more days of the pittance that the school board paid her?

Anyway, she was used to being desired as a vagina. It was still nice to be desired as a woman. Even if King Canute were only aiming for bed, he courted her instead of propositioning her. And asking Billy was a nice touch. They were a package, and any long-term relationship would have to include him. Which made her suspect that Knut was thinking long-term. Maybe that was what he wanted her to think; maybe he was only thinking of bed.

At that point, the dishwasher stopped. She unloaded it and stacked the dishes in her cupboards. Then she finished cleaning up the living room and pulling out the bed. She tried to save major cleaning for the weekends Billy was away and the school days when she hadn’t been called. A seven-year-old’s mess, however, can’t wait another week. Then, too, their living room was also her bedroom; the twice-daily transformations imposed some neatness.