Chapter 4: Division

She worked Monday, but not Tuesday. Even if she had worked then, it was a new pay period. The crisis would come before that check arrived. Crossing her fingers, she called Fred after Billy was asleep. “Could you send me the check a day or two earlier?” she asked. “You can date it the first; but if I know it’s in the bank that day, I can write the rent check on the first.”

“I meant to call you, Doll. My transmission went kaput. I had to get a new one, and they won’t give me my car back ‘til I get them the money. I don’t know when I can give you the February support. Not in February, anyhow.”

She cursed herself for buying the blouse. And the bra. What did she need with a new bra? She already had three that were good enough for school. That check would have covered a good part of the loss in pay. It wouldn’t have come close to the loss in support.

Nothing she could do about groceries would cover that either. She’d paid the rent late before, but she would swear that she knew where the money was coming from. This time she didn’t know. Knut seemed blithe when he and Rebecca picked her up for the shopping trip. He noticed, however, how little she was putting in her cart. “You buy these crackers, don’t you? They’re on sale this week. Better stock up.”

“Can’t,” she said. “I can’t afford what I’m buying now. God knows when my support check will come through.” He didn’t say anything more, and his taking four boxes of the crackers for himself seemed a little callous to her. That wasn’t fair, though. He didn’t wave them in her face. She was a little jealous to see him grab a twenty-pound sack of rice, though. How she wished she could afford to buy in those quantities. How she wished she could actually afford to buy in the piddling quantities she was actually taking that day!

When he stopped beside her back stairs, he asked Rebecca to help. The bag he handed to Sarah was the heavier of her two. If he had merely driven her back from the store and dropped her off, it would have been a favor, a major one. Still, a tiny corner of her mind which wasn’t fuming over her situation wondered what was up. Maybe Knut had pulled a muscle and didn’t want to mention it. Macho men!

Still, she heard Knut’s footsteps on the stairs behind Rebecca’s. She unlocked the door and picked up her bag. She set her bag down on the counter and took the bag Rebecca handed her. She set that down just as Knut dumped the twenty-pound bag of rice on her counter. “Not in front of Rebecca,” he said as he headed down the stairs. Before she could think of language that would convey her feelings to him without scorching his daughter’s ears, the car doors slammed.

Hours later her phone rang. “This is Knut Gustafson. Can Billy hear?”

“He’s asleep. He’s been asleep for hours.”

“So’s ‘Becca. You can tell me what you think of me now.”

“You are the sorriest excuse for a human being that ever lived. You can pick up your rice tomorrow. Otherwise I’ll throw it in the garbage.”

“Billy eats rice. I’ve seen him. If it’s a matter of your eating crow or Billy eating nothing, you’ll eat crow. You’re a mother.”

“So are you.” Teaching in high schools hadn’t really added to her vocabulary, but it had familiarized her with some terms that had been rarer when she was growing up in Cudahy.

Knut laughed.

“It’s not funny. You think I’ll sell myself for a meal or two.”

“Now that is unfair. What would have happened if I hadn’t bought the rice but had carried your groceries up the stairs? You’d have kissed me. No?”

She didn’t answer that, but he was right.

“So,” he continued, “I didn’t buy the rice because I thought I would get more from you. I knew I would get less.”

“I’m not a charity case.”

“You’re not. You’re the woman I love, and I won’t see you going hungry. That’s the bottom line. Now, I like Billy. I’d rather feed him than have him lack basic nutrients in his growing years. There is something in us that wants the best for young kids. Probably the cavemen without that gene killed off their own descendants. But my feeling for you is much more basic. And Billy is my weapon. You would throw out perfectly good food rather than accept my care for you. You won’t let your kid go hungry. Period.”

“I’m the woman you love?” He’d never said that before. “You’re the man I hate! How about that?”

“That’s sad. But the choice is between your hating me and your harming yourself. I’ll take the first. That’s a choice I’ll have to live with.”

She was so mad that she slammed down the phone. He’d snuck around, and then he’d hidden behind his daughter. “Not in front of Rebecca,” indeed.

She didn’t even open the rice until Wednesday -- another day without a class. She spent the morning cleaning the apartment and cursing the entire male sex. Knut was as bad as Fred. Then she planned out the menus for the rest of the week and the next week. She didn’t see how she was going to make it without the rice; she didn’t even see how she was going to make it with the rice. Billy ate rice, sure; but he ate it with a topping.

And they damn-well weren’t going to eat out on Saturday. She would never even speak to Knut again. She finally served the rice under a topping made from the stuff from the Turkish restaurant. It wasn’t bad that way; well, compared to plain rice, it wasn’t bad. Billy complained, but he ate some.

Rice with raisins and sugar could be a breakfast food. Would Billy eat it? Could she figure out how to fix it? His favorite crackers had been on sale. If she’d known she was going to miss a day of work, with the attendant savings on bus fare, she could have bought one box. She had enough peanut butter, had stocked up when she thought the money problems were solved. You couldn’t eat peanut butter on rice.

Thursday, thank God, she got work. The classes were murder; but when it was a question of eating, of feeding her son, she would put up with wild teenagers. The phone rang late that night. “This is Knut Gustafson,” he said. She slammed the phone down.

The same thing happened Friday. They would eat at home Saturday night. She could feed her own family, damn it, but it was annoying all the same that he bought them meals when she was feeling flush and not now.

She slept on that thought. She woke up with the thought that she might have been a little unfair to him. He was still a louse. He thought he ran the world, same as Fred did. He certainly thought he had her over a barrel. But he hadn’t yet pushed that advantage. When he made an advance on the basis of her need, then was the time to slap his face. But half her anger at him was based on her anger at Fred.

And Knut, at least, wanted to feed Billy. He might go about it in a macho, bossy fashion; but that was more than Fred wanted, and Billy was Fred’s son.

Knut called again Saturday late morning. “This is Knut Gustafson.”

“Yes, Mr. Gustafson. What do you want?”

“I’ll let that opening pass. The reason I called was to invite you and your son to dinner with me.”

“No, thank you.”

“That’s too bad. Thank you for your neighborly civility. Have a good day.” So the man would take no for an answer.

He didn’t call Sunday, for a wonder. Rice was palatable with catsup. Monday, she got a job on the far Southwest Side. Bus connections were miserable, and she got home late. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” Deb said when she picked up Billy. “You were late, and he was hungry. I fed him so much spaghetti, it will probably spoil his dinner.” Considering the dinner she had planned, spoiling it was no problem.

Tuesday’s school was much closer. When she picked Billy up, he was bubbling with what he thought was good news. Rebecca, a sixth grader had singled him out for attention at school. And she had invited the two of them to dinner, hamburgers. He had a typed invitation for them. Rebecca had signed it. The words, as well as the typing, were obviously Knut’s.

And she had started to forgive the man, too. Now he was hiding behind his daughter’s skirts again. She called up and got his answering machine. “This is Sarah Jenkins,” she began her refusal.

“Mrs. Jenkins.” Rebecca’s voice answered her. “I’m not allowed to answer the phone when Dad isn’t here, but you’re all right. Can you and Billy come? Dad said that you might send Billy alone. Didn’t you like my hamburgers?”

“Your hamburgers aren’t the issue. And I wouldn’t send Billy where I wasn’t willing to go myself.” Which sounded silly. Knut wasn’t going to bother Billy. She’d sent him to the men’s room with Knut. And, whatever she’d learned about Knut since, didn’t include any danger to Billy. Besides, hamburgers -- even Rebecca’s hamburgers -- would really please Billy. She could eat rice and soy sauce by herself. “What time should I send Billy over?” That would show Knut.

“Six-thirty. I know that’s later than you eat, but I can’t do anything until Dad gets here.” Sarah had cooked by herself at that age, and more than hamburgers, too. King Canute bossed everybody, not just Sarah.

“Thank you for your invitation, Rebecca.”

“You are welcome. Bye.”

Knut called. Well, the invitation had included Billy. He couldn’t back out. But, in the event, he wasn’t trying to.

“This is Knut Gustafson.”

“Hello, Mr. Gustafson.”

“Hello, Ms. Jenkins. I understand that Billy is going to be our guest tonight. I’m planning the vegetables, and I wondered what Billy tolerates. Does he hate spinach?”

“Yes.”

“I guessed. I also have peas, green beans, and cauliflower. Which would be his favorite?”

“Probably peas.”

“Consider it done. Do you want me to walk over to pick him up when it is time?”

“I’ll bring him. Six-thirty?”

“Or thereabouts. He’ll be welcome earlier, of course; but ‘Becca won’t be much of a hostess until the last patty is on the platter.”

Knut came down when she rang his doorbell. He opened the door and greeted them both. Billy ran up the stairs. She went back to eat rice -- and, she admitted to herself, her pride. Knut called to tell her he was walking Billy back. He waited at the bottom of the stairs until she’d opened the top door for Billy. Knut didn’t try to talk to her.

She worked the rest of the week. The check from the board would pay her rent, if a little late. It wouldn’t pay her food. Since Fred’s car was still in the shop, she had Billy that weekend. That should have been a joy; his appetite was a worry, instead.

Knut called Friday evening. “This is Knut Gustafson. Look, I know you’re mad at me. If you want to say how much, I’ll listen.”

“No.” She’d said it all. Besides, his willingness to be bawled out spoiled all the pleasure in doing it. Besides... “I might have been too hard on you.”

“Well, if so, that’s a bygone. You’re still in trouble. What help am I allowed to give?”

And just when she was about to forgive him, too. “You could pay my rent this month.” That would shut him up!

“Fine. How much and to who? If you want cash, that’ll take nearly a day.”

Was the man serious? And how come he made so much more than she did when his grammar stank? “To whom. When it’s the object of a preposition, you are supposed to use the objective case.”

“To whom is the check to be made out?”

“Oh Knut, you are impossible!” And she hung up the phone.

It rang a minute later. “This is Knut again. Look, I was serious. I gather that you weren’t. What I was really asking was whether I should drive you to the store Sunday. If you want more, then you’ll get more. Within reason; I’m not Bill Gates.”

“I’m not shopping this week. I’ll live on rice.”

“You’re cutting off your nose to spite your face, which is your decision. It’s your nose. Will you cut off Billy’s?”

“I’ll call you back.” First, she cried.

And Knut had called at a time when she could cry without alarming Billy. Of course, he had really called at a time when she could curse him out without alarming Billy. Still ... He was arrogant and macho and full of himself. But he also worried about her good. He might step in when she was Billy’s mother, but he never showed the slightest impatience, with him. Except for traffic, and that wasn’t a time for letting kids make their own mistakes, he would set down the rules and wait for Billy to decide.

She’d been attracted to Knut, more than half-way in love with him. He had, she could tell, been attracted to her, too. Hell, he’d said so. But still, unlike the principal in her past, he hadn’t connected the help with sex. He’d been right. If he hadn’t brought the rice, he would have got at least a kiss. She owed him an apology.

“Knut Gustafson speaking.” In case, she supposed, you had dialed the wrong number by mistake.

“Knut. I was wrong. You were absolutely right.”

“Well, that’s an improvement. Maybe no more accurate, but much better than being an arrogant motherfucker.”

She laughed. “Well, you’re that, too.”

He laughed. Whatever the man’s faults, he could laugh at himself. “Anyway, the question stands. What help am I allowed to give you? You’re not begging, you know. You’re not even asking. You rejected my offers, but I didn’t withdraw them. Except a few that have expired. You can’t come to dinner last Monday, but that isn’t a withdrawn invitation. I’ll shut up.” He did.

“I think I followed that.”

“Sounds like a woman who reads essays written for high school English classes.”

She laughed. “You were better than that.”

“Damned with faint praise. Anyway, what help am I allowed to give you? A ride to the store Sunday?”

“I have Billy this weekend.”

“He’s been in the car before. I don’t know how he would behave in the store.”

“I don’t know what I can afford.”

“Do you have enough to last until you get more money? Because, if you don’t, I could front you the cash. That’s only because you’ve rejected my paying for it. I am perfectly willing to do that. But, if your independence is better served with a loan, I’ll go that route.”

“I’ll look.” If the alternative was sending her son to school without breakfast and carrying no lunch, she’d beg in the streets. Was Knut so bad?

“And, since you have him home and we didn’t eat out last Saturday, would you be my guests this Saturday? ‘Becca would be along, of course.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Or Sunday,” he offered. “Time would be a problem. I don’t want Billy having to go in the restaurant again. I don’t like that restroom. The whole street is like that. Food to die for; restrooms to die from.”

She laughed.

“You have a great laugh,” he said. “A ... Let’s keep this on a friendly note.”

“Huh?”

“I was censoring myself. A little late.”

“Tell me what you thought,” she asked. Now she’d go crazy trying to figure out what he was going to say.

“You won’t get mad?”

“I’ll get mad if you don’t tell me.”

“I was going to say that you have a sexy laugh. Can’t be the first time you’ve heard that. Sorry. Should have kept the thought to myself.” He did sound a little guilty. Worse things could be said about her -- worse things had been said about her laugh.

“You’re forgiven.”

“Well, I’ll leave it at that. Forgiveness is a virtue; don’t want to drain yours dry.”

Now, she was getting really curious. “What is the next thing I’m expected to forgive you?”

“‘Expected’ is a strong word. I was hoping you’d forgive me about the crackers. I should forget them, but they’re apparently favorites of Billy’s and they’re just taking up room in my cupboard.”

“Crackers?”

“They were on sale, then I couldn’t get them out then and still follow ‘Becca up your stairs in time.”

“You got crackers for me?” The man was impossible.

“They were on sale.” That was hardly a reason. “Look, I thought of the crackers first. You know you would be buying them later, when they’re not on sale. Then, having thought of that, I thought of what I knew you’d both eat and would feed you in an emergency. I thought of the rice. They don’t go together; I know that. I was just acting off the top of my head.”

“Well, you were thinking of me.”

“Then I can bring them over.”

“You can bring them over.”

“Front door.” What should she do when he tried to kiss her? She had forgiven him, but had she forgiven him that much? When he rang the doorbell, she buzzed him up. He handed the package over and took his leave. He didn’t try to kiss her at all.

Billy had crackers and peanut butter for dinner. She didn’t feel up to a dinner with Knut. Sunday, he called her from his car, and picked her and Billy up at the back door. Knut went through the checkout line first and asked the cashier to ring up the two carts separately and then add them together. That wasn’t company procedure. “Fifty dollars back, then.” The fifty more than covered her purchases. “Why don’t you take the change?” he asked. “That way, you’ll owe me an even fifty, and you’ll have a little money in your pocket for EL fare.” She did it that way.

Fred called Thursday. “You had Billy two weeks in a row. I have my car back, now. I should have him this weekend.”

“Fred, I had Billy because you had no way to pick him up. This is my weekend. And you still owe me this month’s support.”

“Now, Doll, that isn’t my fault. I had to get my car fixed. I didn’t have any choice.”

“We are talking about your responsibility.” ‘Fred’s responsibility’ sounded like a contradiction in terms. “You are supposed to pay me the support on the first of the month. It’s not something you drop in my tin cup if you have it left over.”

“Now, Doll. Don’t be a nag. We’re not married anymore.”

“You owe it.” But he didn’t seem to hear her.

She and Knut kept a civil relationship. He asked her and Billy out to dinner once more. She said, “No, thank you.”

Her phone rang that Tuesday evening. “Mrs. Jenkins?”

“Yes.”

“This is ‘Becca -- Rebecca Gustafson.” As opposed to all the other preteen girls who called her. Still, ‘Becca didn’t deserve the criticism. She had to put up with her father, after all.

“Yes, Rebecca.”

“Could Billy come over again for hamburgers tomorrow night? You’re invited, too.”

“Thank you, Rebecca. I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”

“I’m going to cook the vegetables this time. Does he like green beans?”

“Green beans would be fine.”

“‘Cause we could have peas, but that’s what we had last time.”

“He’ll be there. Six-thirty?”

“Six-thirty. Are you coming, too?”

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it.”

“That’s too bad.”

So Knut fed Billy one more time and brought him back. Again, he stood at the bottom of the stairs until Billy was safe in the door. Again, he didn’t even try for a kiss.

The first weekend that Fred took Billy, she did her income tax. The school district withheld the standard amount; so had her summer employer. That somehow added together to more than she owed. She mailed in the form with a prayer.

Knut drove her to the store that Sunday. He asked whether she needed to borrow any more. “I’ll never be able to pay that back,” she said.

“Well, don’t worry about it. Just warn me if you need more; I might not have it on me. I can always get fifty over from the store, and more than that from the bank on a day’s warning.”

But she didn’t need it. The next pay period rolled around. She didn’t have enough to pay him back, but she had enough to feed her family.

Fred came through with the March support payment. The IRS came through a few weeks later. She took the check to the bank and got sixty dollars in cash back from the deposit. The rest would more than cover April’s rent, and she would make a point of paying that early. The refund usually covered her extra summer expenses. Well, this year, she’d have to be more careful. And Fred did owe her February’s check.

“Don’t start the car yet,” she said while Knut was loading up the trunk with his purchases and hers. After handing her in and checking Rebecca’s seat belt, he climbed in himself. Instead of inserting the key, he turned to her and raised an eyebrow. She handed him a fifty dollar bill. “You don’t know how much that meant these weeks.”

He showed the bill to Rebecca. “Mrs. Jenkins has paid her debt in full. You’re a witness.” He hadn’t made a point of having a witness when she contracted the debt. After putting the bill away in his wallet, he put the key in the dashboard and looked at her again. She nodded and he drove them home. He took the heavier bag once again. He always did that. Well, he always did that when he wasn’t carrying a secret bag of rice.

When they had each put their bags down, he said, “Now you don’t owe me anything at all.” He obviously wasn’t considering the rice and the crackers. But what she really owed him was the ability to deal with the uncertainties. She hadn’t taken more money from him, but she had quieted her jitters -- several times -- by telling herself that it was available.

“Knut, I owe you loads. Not only the money. I always will.”

“Does that mean that I’ll never be allowed to kiss you again?”

“Huh?” The man could throw curve balls.

“I couldn’t kiss you when you owed me money, ‘cause you would have thought of yourself as a kept woman.” Had she said that? Not quite.

“Knut, stand there.” While he stood there, she hugged him fiercely. He bent down to kiss her. Their tongues met. The kiss seemed to go on forever. It seemed to end much too soon.