After wasting a couple hours wondering why his mom would subject herself to the torturous after-effects of booze for something as stupid as a short-term head-buzz he went to Aunt Gerry’s house and pretended that he’d just gotten home from school.
The following morning was his first day back in class since the fight. He slithered into his seat and acted as nonchalant as possible, but the peace only lasted a half-hour. A messenger came to say the assistant principal, Ms. Johnson, wanted to see him.
As Stump meandered down the hall, he wondered which of his misdeeds had caught up to him: fighting, getting drunk or cutting class?
He entered the office where a man he didn’t know sat in the waiting area. “I’m Neal Randolph,” Stump said to the office lady. “I was told that Ms. Johnson wants to see me.”
“Go on in,” she said, pointing off to the side. “They’re waiting for you.”
They? He tapped the door and pushed it open. Off to the right, his mother was seated at a round table with Ms. Johnson. He’d been ambushed again. “Hello, Honey.”
Ms. Johnson pointed across the table. “Have a seat.”
It was the first time Stump had seen or spoken with his mom since he ran out on her a couple of days earlier. She probably didn’t care about that either. He said nothing as he took a seat off to her side so he didn’t have to look at her.
Ms. Johnson opened a file, then addressed Stump’s mom. “It says here you’re Neal’s contact person. Is there a Mr. Randolph?”
Stump scoffed.
“It’s just me,” his mom said softly.
”Okay then, we might as well proceed.” Ms. Johnson reached in a drawer and pulled out a cell phone. She looked at Stump. “I have a video of you fighting with another student.”
That answered one of Stump’s questions.
Ms. Johnson pivoted her head toward Stump’s mom. “Unfortunately, there are also some other unpleasant pictures in here.”
Out of the corner of Stump’s eye it appeared as if his mom lowered her head.
“You guys obviously have some serious issues. If you’d like to tell me what’s going on, I might be able to get you some professional help.”
A waste of time and money. He could tell anybody what’s wrong: His mom drank too much. Simple as that. They didn’t need no voodoo doctor poking around in their heads. “I’m the one who got in a fight,” he said. “And I’m the one who makes her do those things, so leave her alone.” He rose and held out his wrists. “You can take me to jail if you want to.”
His mom tugged him back toward his chair. “Don’t listen to him, Ms. Johnson. He’s just covering for me. He’s always done that. To be honest, a lot of the time he’s been the parent and I’ve been the child. That’s a big part of the problem. I’m supposed to be the leader, but I’m afraid I haven’t done a very good job in that regard. We all know this is all my fault. He was just standing up for me.” She turned to her son. “You can’t know how proud that makes me. But when I saw your injuries I sincerely hated myself for what I did to you. This time I finally did something constructive about it.”
He turned his head toward the window to avoid scoffing in her face. He’d heard every possible variation of “I’ve-learned-my-lesson” before. If she wanted to believe that bullshit, it was up to her, but her history told him all he needed to know. She’d be a drunk until the day she died.
“The last few days,” his mom persisted, “I’ve attended AA meetings. I haven’t touched a drop and I even quit smoking.”
Stump turned his head slightly. She’d never done that before. Oh, well. It was just another opportunity to fail. Before long she’d have a cigarette in her face and say that the tooth fairy made her do it.
“I have a sponsor. He’s a detective and he knows what I’m going through. He’s helped lots of people before me.” She pointed to the door. “He’s out in the sitting area right now. I can go get him if you’d like to meet him.”
“Not necessary,” Ms. Johnson said. “I’m just glad you’re working on it. If you decide you need support from somebody else, don’t hesitate to call me.” She glanced at Stump, then back to Jean. “I’m afraid we still have a problem on our hands. We have a zero tolerance policy for fighting and I can’t ignore the damage that Neal and Phillip did to each other. I almost called the police, but I’ve already spoken to Phillip’s parents. They apologized for what their son did. Up until now he has had a clean record and they’d like to keep it that way. I’m assuming you do, too?”
“Police? Just because my son was defending me? If anybody should go to jail, it’s me. I’m the one who could have ruined both of their lives.”
“What about you, Neal? What did you learn from all of this?”
“I dunno. I guess we all did something wrong. Mom, Phillip, me, the guys who pass that shit around.”
Ms. Johnson raised a finger. “I don’t allow that kind of language, Neal.”
“Sorry, but I bet if it was your mom, you’d be pissed off, too.”
“Your language is not earning you any points, Neal.”
He folded his arms across his chest.
“I’ve decided both students will be suspended from school for a full week beginning right now. Neal may not return to class until next Friday. Is that understood?”
Less school? That was a bonus, not a punishment.
“You’re lucky I’m not calling in the police. Do you understand that, Neal?”
“I don’t really care and I doubt my mom does either. She’s been in court, in the hospital, and in jail. I’ve found her passed out at home.” His mom bit her lip. “She’s lied to everybody, especially me. She’ll just tell them what they want to hear like she always does. She never cares about other people. If she doesn’t care, why should I?”
“He’s right,” Jean said. “I’ve done all of that, and more. But, this time, I’m really doing something about it and I really do care what happens to both of us.” She scooted forward in her chair. “I’d appreciate it if you’d give us a chance to work this out, Ms. Johnson. I promise if you’ll leave the police out if it, I’ll prove to my son that I care and he should too. He doesn’t need a police record because of what I did.”
“Alright then. We’ve got an understanding.” Ms. Johnson turned her head toward Stump. “Right, Neal?”
He shrugged. “Whatever.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Life wasn’t fair. Stump’s mom was the one who lost control and embarrassed both of them, yet he was the one who got punished. Nine-thirty at night, and essentially imprisoned in his room, he bounced back and forth between the Internet and some boring homework. He saw the headlights coming. The white pick-up meant she’d been out with that same guy who brought him home from the principal’s office—another damn alcoholic.
Theoretically they’d gone to a meeting, but that was probably just a cover. That dude was even more likely than the rest of her boyfriends to get her drunk and then pounce on her before disappearing into obscurity. Stump shook his head, vowing to himself that he was done saving her ass. A second later he smirked, knowing that he’d made that same stupid promise to himself before. That pissed him off, too. He couldn’t even rely upon himself to be firm when she screwed up.
As the truck pulled up, Stump watched closely to see if his mom would stumble over the curb or if the guy would dump her on the lawn like had happened once before.
Both truck doors flung open. Stump raised one brow. At least this guy got out of the truck—probably to help her stagger to the door. But his mom gracefully slid out and appeared to be steady. He smirked as he noted a paper sack in her hand. They undoubtedly planned to send him to his room and finish off a bottle before slipping into her bedroom.
They joined hands and walked up to the front step. Surprisingly, there was no loose swaying, no boisterous talk. This dude must have taught her how to hide her drunkenness.
He moved into the living room and waited for the door to pop open an
d his mom to fall across the threshold. He’d have to put her in bed again. As he waited, he could hear them talking, but not loud enough to make out the words. Several minutes passed before he heard the truck start up at just about the same time that the door swung inward. “Hi, Honey,” she said in a surprisingly steady voice. “I brought you a piece of peach pie.”
Huh? Weird. She was sober. He heard the truck drive off. “Gee. Thanks.”
“I’m glad you’re up,” she said as she removed her shoes. “Before you eat your pie, I have something I want to talk to you about.”
At least she was safe. He shrugged and they moved toward the kitchen. Stump pulled his pie out of the bag while his mom got him a plate. “My friend, Myles, would like to take us to the high school football game on Friday night.”
“Friday? Can’t. My mommy said I’m grounded cause I got expelled. Remember?”
“I know I said that, but Myles convinced me I was too harsh, considering I played a major role in the matter.”
“Major role?” he scoffed. “That’s an understatement. You caused it all.”
She shook her head. “I admit I started it, but that doesn’t mean you had to get in a fight. We both screwed up. I’ve taken responsibility for my mistakes and you have to take responsibility for yours. You know that, right?”
“Not fair. I was just defending you.”
“That’s why I was thinking I might suspend your punishment a little early. So how about it? Myles would like us to go to the game together.” She poured him a glass of milk.
“Doesn’t this Myles dude have any friends?”
“Sure he does, but he would just like to get to know you better. That’s all.”
“That’s gay.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“He sounds lame to me.”
“He’s not lame. He’s a nice guy who’ll probably pay your way.”
“Do I have to sit with you guys?”
Jean chuckled. “Would your world come to an end if you were seen in public with a couple of adults?”
“Yep. If one of them is my mommy.”
“Okay, I get it,” she said. “I’ll tell you what. If you’ll go along and be nice to him, you don’t have to sit with us. C’mon. Give him a chance. You’ll probably like him.”
He gulped down a big chunk of peach, chewed it thoughtfully, then said, “Alright. I guess it would be okay. Richard might be there.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
By the time the football game rolled around Stump’s mother and Myles had been seeing each other every evening for several weeks. Stump had to admit that Myles had a positive influence on his mom. Namely, she was both sober and happy; but the part of him where haunting memories resided knew that her previous alcohol-free periods had ended with ugly drama of one sort or another.
All of this made it impossible for Stump to overlook the fact that Myles was an alcoholic, too. Hell, they could fall off the wagon together. Another reason Stump was apprehensive about Myles was he kept asking nosy questions about school and Stump’s hobbies. Then he’d grill Stump with detective-like, follow-up questions. There was no way the dude really gave a shit about algebra, video games or lifting weights. Overall Stump felt he couldn’t trust either his mom or Myles.
It was a half-hour before kick-off when they parked and moved toward the stadium. Stump’s mom and Myles held hands. “Your mom tells me you’d rather not sit with us old people,” Myles said as they reached the ticket window. “I wouldn’t either.”
“I’m supposed to meet Richard.”
“Ah, yes. The weightlifter. You guys have a good time. We’ll just meet you back here after the game. In the meantime we will try to find seats near mid-field so you can find us if you want to.”
“I’m not a little kid. I won’t need you.”
A few minutes later Myles bought the tickets. “Here’s four bucks,” he said to Stump as they approached the gate. “Buy a hot dog or something.”
That was sorta cool. The kind of thing real dads did. “Thanks,” he said, being certain not to use up all the words in his vocabulary. He turned to his mom. “I’m going to look for Richard.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit with us?”
“He’s not a little kid, Honey. Remember?” Myles winked at Stump, who shook his head.
While the ancient ones headed for their seats, Stump scoped out the area behind the bleachers where he and Richard had agreed to meet.
All of the fans sat on the same side of the field with Palmdale fans on the near end and the visitors at the other end. Twin refreshment areas with black, white and green awnings flanked each end of the stadium. The restrooms were in between. As Stump headed for the other end of the stadium an announcer introduced the home team players.
Stump glanced around and saw familiar faces but no Richard. He walked slowly past the first refreshment area, which had lots of late-arrivers in line. Eventually he made his way past the restrooms and to the visitor’s end where he noted their refreshment stand was less crowded. He peeked around the side of the bleachers and observed the players lining up for the opening kickoff. He figured he’d grab a drink with the money Myles gave him before resuming his hunt for Richard.
While he waited in a short line he glanced back toward the restrooms and saw Ms. Johnson and the cool biker he’d met a couple of times coming his way.
“How you doin,’ kid?” the biker asked as he and Ms. Johnson settled behind Stump.
“I’m fine. I’m surprised you remember me.”
Ms. Johnson smiled at the biker. “How do you know Neal?”
“He came to my meeting.” The biker turned to Stump. “I remember you have a unique nickname, but I don’t remember what it is?”
“It’s Stump.”
“Oh, yeah, the sturdy part of the tree.” The motorcycle guy held out his hand. “Good to see you again.”
The guy’s rough knuckles reminded Stump that he’d said he crashed one of his motorcycles. Stump looked at Ms. Johnson. She didn’t seem so threatening out here. “Are you Annie, Ms. Johnson?”
Both adults chuckled. “No, she’s not Annie.”
“Uh-oh. I hope I didn’t say anything wrong.”
Ms. Johnson chimed in “No, but I’m not Annie. I hope you’re staying out of trouble.”
“I’m trying to.”
A couple minutes later, they reached the cash register and a loud whistle from the field-area signaled the opening kickoff. Just seconds after that the crowd on the Palmdale end of the stadium roared and stomped their feet on the bleachers.
“Touchdown!” the announcer decreed. The Bulldogs must have run the kickoff back all the way. Would have been nice to see. Stump wondered where Richard was. Maybe he’d decided not to come.
“I’ll get that,” Mac said to the cashier, referring to Stump’s Pepsi. Cool. He’d still have his four bucks.
Just then, an eerie scream came from directly overhead. Stump looked skyward just as a falling male body crashed into the awning at the other side of the concession stand, collapsing the framework and ripping the fabric just before he careened into the trashcans and bounced onto the asphalt. The low groan was so gruesome Stump cringed. The fall was some thirty feet.
Additional shrieks instantly filled the evening air as Ms. Johnson, Mac and Stump hurried toward the fallen body. Chaos ensued, both in the bleachers above and on the ground, as other people hurried over to see what happened.
“Somebody call 911,” Ms. Johnson yelled out before Stump got his first look at the body.
Stump pointed to the end of the field. “There’s an ambulance over there.”
Other kids ran for it as Stump reached the body. Blood was already pooling underneath him. He moaned and barely moved, but at least he was alive. Stump got closer.
Oh, crap. It was Richard.
Chapter Fifty-Three
The game stopped until another ambulance could fill in, but many fans, including Stump, his mom
and Myles, lost interest and migrated toward the gates. For Stump there was a lot more to worry about than simply making an exit. He couldn’t forget Richard’s mangled face, his vacant eyes, or his God-awful moan.
“You going to be okay, Honey?” his mom asked. “We can stay with you or we can all go get a piece of pie. That might take your mind off it for a while.”
“I don’t feel like doing anything. You guys do whatever you want.”
“I understand. We’ll drop you off at the house and bring you back something a little later.”
After his mom and Myles left, Stump’s gut felt as if a horse had kicked him. If he hurried, he could get something for it at the drugstore. Although his mom didn’t say anything about him no longer being grounded it was kinda, sorta, maybe, almost implied.
After jogging the first block, he slowed. If he was so damn good at picking out simple messages in license plates and phone numbers, why was he so frigging clueless when it came to reading people? Richard had said he liked to sit in the opposing fan’s section and mouth off when something bad happened to their team. Messages didn’t get any clearer than that. They were both dumb shits.
Another few run/walk cycles and Stump reached the edge of the drugstore parking lot. His stomach still hurt but at least he understood more completely why his mom drank so much – to numb her pain. That was exactly what he needed to do: to numb his pain. He’d try bourbon this time.
If he had had enough money, he would have asked somebody older to buy it for him, but as usual he was alone, left to his own devices.
Inside, he scoped out the place. The only cashier had a short line of customers. She’d be preoccupied. A white-coated guy in the pharmacy posed no threat. There were no other visible workers and only a few customers in the entire store.
He eased over to the magazine rack and glanced at the liquor displays that were just a few feet away. Most of the smaller bottles were on shelves next to the wall. He looked for a brownish-gold color. He thumbed through a motorcycle magazine and watched out of the corner of his eye until nobody was in sight. Finally the only customer in that area, a tall man with a baseball cap, walked toward the cash register.