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Older women had always seemed to have a thing for Zeke. And now that he had a permanent accessory in Casey, all big blue eyes and lowered long lashes and ducking head, he was sporting a double punch of sexually-virile-young-rascal and sweet-shy-care-for-me-waif. Zeke fine-tuned these charms so that they hummed with efficiency, attracting women from every walk of life.
He should have known that sooner or later he’d attract one that wanted to tuck Casey into bed and then take Zeke to bed in more than a figurative way of speaking.
Waitresses were always an easy mark. Zeke had taken the naughty-little-boy smile of his high school days and upgraded it to a cheekily mischievous one that was tempered nicely by his caring-older-brother interaction with Casey. This, combined with Casey's scrawny limbs and enormous eyes, had earned them free dessert at more diners across America than Zeke could count.
On planes, trains and buses, it tended to be single women in their 30s and 40s who ended up in quiet conversation with Zeke as they watched Casey with compassionate eyes. These women were prone to reaching into their bag toward the end of the trip and giving Zeke something from it, usually a book (and usually with a telephone number).
Then there was the other type of women, the ones who watched with hungry eyes as Zeke washed their car or cleared away their dishes, whose eyes lingered over Zeke's lithe young body. These women called Zeke "honey" and "baby" in the same low, sultry voice that Miss Burke had used to say "little Zekey-boy," and the tone never failed to spark arousal, fear and some other emotion that Zeke could not quite identify but thought might be grief.
They tended to call Casey "sweetie" or "kiddo" in a tone that was almost, but not quite the same, and meant something different. These women were bold, and would stroke Casey's hair back gently if he would allow it. Zeke felt positive that Casey's mother had never uttered a syllable in a voice that slightly resembled that tone, but something in it spoke to Casey of mothering and safety, and he was less wary of this type of woman than most others.
Zeke had yet to bring himself to take money from one of these women, because something in him clung foolishly to dignity and pride, though he reprimanded himself for indulging in those emotions when Casey needed new shoes and they really could use a decent place to stay. He hadn't brought himself to it yet, but it was there before him, waiting along with the rest of his future.
_____
Yard work, the flier at the little country store said. Pays cash.
“You looking for work, son?” the proprietor asked in a friendly voice. “Lots of summer houses around here that need their yards cleaned up this time of year.”
“Yeah,” Zeke said. “Maybe.” He fingered the flier. They were really just on their way through, but to nowhere, and his wallet was feeling light. It was nice here, in the New York mountains in the late spring. Maybe Casey could get some air and sun, help Zeke out with some odd jobs.
He ripped the flier down. “Got a pay phone?” he asked the store owner, then said, “Thanks,” when the man pointed outside.
Outdoors on the phone, Zeke breathed in the free air and noticed the softly green landscape. Yes, he thought, some good, clean work was just what they needed.
___
Jeanine Walker had been a beauty in her youth, Zeke could see. There was no sign of husband or children, and she chain-smoked long Virginia Slims in a manner that screamed divorcée. And from the clothing, jewelry and Mercedes, Zeke guessed she’d not done poorly in the settlement.
She offered him $250 for a week of cleaning up sticks and debris in the yard, fixing some loose planks in the fence, cleaning the gutters, fixing the window screens and restocking her firewood pile. Zeke knew he could keep going into a city and make that amount in 20 minutes of drug-running, but he said yes anyway. Casey hated cities. He followed Zeke around Mrs. Walker’s yard, helping him pick up sticks, strangely mute. Zeke couldn’t decide if Casey was sulking or just frightened of these new surroundings, so he just let him trail after him, so close that he kept stepping on the back of Zeke’s shoes.
They slept in the car the first night, and from the front seat, Zeke could see stars peeping through the gently moving tree branches with their soft new buds. In the back, Casey snuffled in his sleep and muttered inaudibly.
The second day, Mrs. Walker nodded at Casey and said, “You know I’m only paying for one of you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Zeke said. “My little brother. I just need to keep an eye on him.”
She eyed Casey with an inscrutable look, and then said, “Make sure he doesn’t get hurt out here,” before going back in.
At lunchtime, she had on new clothes and was friendlier. Zeke wondered if she’d had a hangover that morning. She seemed the type to stay up drinking alone.
“I made sandwiches,” Mrs. Walker said, approaching them. Zeke was in the back, replacing a window screen while Casey held tools for him.
“Thanks,” Zeke said, but didn’t stop working. Mrs. Walker set the plate on a lawn chair.
“There’s soda and water on the back porch when you want some,” she said, and then strolled off.
Casey wouldn’t touch his sandwich, which was ham with expensive mustard, so Zeke ate both of them. Casey ate a mostly stale doughnut out of their car instead, but accepted one of the bottled waters Mrs. Walker had left out for them.
“That sandwich was good, Case,” Zeke said, nudging Casey’s leg with his toe. “Lot better than your nasty doughnut.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Casey muttered. “It smelled funny.”
“Smelled like ham, Case,” Zeke said.
Casey gnawed at a finger, all downcast head and slumped shoulders that spoke of his uneasiness. “We gonna work more today, Zeke?” he asked.
“Yep,” Zeke said. “You can sleep in the car if you’re tired, though.”
Casey shook his head. “No?” Zeke asked. “Rather work with me on nothing but that rotten old doughnut?”
“Don’t you like ham, sweetie?” Mrs. Walker said behind them, and they both whirled around. Casey edged behind Zeke.
“He’s just picky,” Zeke said easily. “The sandwiches were great; thank you very much.”
She was giving them that inscrutable look again. “What about peanut butter and jelly?” she asked. “That more to your tastes, Casey?”
“You don’t need to do that,” Zeke said, but she shrugged.
“I don’t have anything else to do,” she said.
___
Casey not only ate the pb&j, but he ate three Oreo cookies as well, sitting on the back porch steps while Zeke worked and Mrs. Walker smoked on one of the deck chairs and watched them both. Zeke could hear her commenting softly to Casey from time to time. He wasn’t answering, but he wasn’t creeping away from her to bump after Zeke, either, so Zeke left him alone.
When she held out his daily $50, Mrs. Walker asked, “Where are you boys staying?”
“We’re good,” Zeke said. “See you in the morning.”
Mrs. Walker clung to her end of the fifty with one hand and pointed to the garage with another. “There’s a little apartment up above there,” she said. “Sitting empty.”
“I’d rather have the money,” Zeke said, also clinging to his end of the fifty.
She shrugged. “Take both,” she said. “It’s just sitting there.” And she pressed a key into his hand.
The apartment was really a room with a half-sized fridge and a miniature range on one wall and a tiny bathroom. Zeke didn’t care. There was a pull-out couch and a shower, which really was all he needed in this world anymore.
“That’s a nice lady,” Casey said when Zeke came out of the shower, feeling fresh and clean and pleasantly tired after a day of working outside.
“Yeah, she’s pretty cool,” Zeke said. “What’d she talk to you about?”
“Her house,” Casey said. “Her car. You.”
“Me, huh?” Zeke asked. “What about me?”
Casey was falling asleep on the pull-out couch, his eyes drooping. “She likes you,” he murmured, but then he was out before Zeke could ask more.
_____
Mrs. Walker had a box of fresh doughnuts for them in the morning, and more sandwiches at lunch time. She hung around the porch, watching Zeke work and Casey follow until lunchtime, when she got in her car and didn’t return. The sound of tires on the gravel drive woke Zeke about 1 a.m., and the next day, Mrs. Walker did not appear until mid-afternoon.
It rained on the fourth day, so they came into the house, where Mrs. Walker had a long list of odd jobs to be completed. She let Casey pick out movies to watch, but while he sat transfixed by the screen, and later when he dozed off on the couch, Zeke was aware of Mrs. Walker’s eyes tracking him.
He accepted the beer she offered him once he had finished up, and he didn’t pull away when her hand lingered on his as she handed it over.
“What’s your story, Zeke?” she asked softly.
“What’s yours, Jeanine?” he asked, deliberately using her first name, and she gave him a wry smile.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s not tell our stories.”
“Let’s not,” he agreed. She moved by him to get the ashtray off the counter, brushing up against him.
“Casey’s a nice kid,” she said once her cigarette was lit.
“Casey’s everything,” Zeke said seriously.
“Things have been rough,” she said, and Zeke wondered if she meant for them or for her. He didn’t answer.
“Hope I’ve helped a little,” she said.
“You have,” Zeke said, and raised his beer bottle to her in thanks.
“Wish I could help more,” she murmured, and touched his arm gently.
Zeke looked at her hand on his arm and downed the rest of his beer.
“I’ll finish up tomorrow,” he said, and left the kitchen to wake up Casey and take him back to the apartment.
_____
He mowed the lawn the next day, and finished cutting wood for the woodpile. Mrs. Walker didn’t show herself, and Zeke hoped he hadn’t pissed her off and lost himself his last day’s wages. He made sure everything was neatly put away in the garage, showered, and packed their few belongings in the car.
“Are we leaving, Zeke?” Casey asked anxiously. He’d been asking that all day, and Zeke couldn’t tell if it was because he wanted out of there, or because he wanted to stay.
“Yeah,” Zeke said. “Come on, let’s say good-bye to Mrs. Walker.”
“She’s nice,” Casey said, and Zeke heard something wistful in his voice.
“She is,” Zeke agreed, and knocked on the back door.
The smell of food wafted out when she answered, fifty in hand. “Let me feed you boys dinner,” she said. “I can do that much,” and Zeke, suddenly ashamed that he had read something more into her wish to help the night before, readily agreed.
_____
Casey, unused to chicken and potatoes and biscuits and pie all in one sitting, started to droop at the table, and when Zeke came back from helping Mrs. Walker clear the table, his head was cradled in his arms and his eyes were shut.
“Hey, buddy,” Zeke said softly, and rubbed the back of Casey’s neck. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Let him sleep,” Mrs. Walker said softly. “There’s a bedroom right at the top of the stairs. Might as well stay one more night.”
Zeke looked at her, but her face was unreadable.
“Put him to bed, and come have a drink with me, honey,” she purred, and meet his stare with an easy smile.
Zeke put Casey to bed.
He accepted the whiskey Mrs. Walker offered him.
He let her lean in close to him, and run her manicured fingers through his hair.
He let her run a pedicured foot up his leg.
And when she said, “One hundred,” he gulped down the rest of the whiskey and said, “Yes.”
_____
Zeke felt the slither of a dry, snake-like tongue across his cheek, and he fumbled frantically for his seatbelt even as a silky voice purred, “Hello, Zekey-boy.” When the front of the GTO hit the bus, the impact slammed him into the steering wheel so hard he swore his teeth moved, and he shot upright with a gasp of, “Elizabeth!”
The room was dim and unfamiliar, and there was no Casey beside him. Zeke sat in the bed, sweaty and gasping, heart pounding wildly, and slowly remembered where he was, and why.
Had Casey slept through the night in the other room? he wondered, but knew he must have if he hadn’t started frantically -- and loudly -- searching the house, his shrill little voice piping, “Zeke! Zeke!”
Zeke got out of bed slowly and went into the master bathroom. The only evidence of Mrs. Walker was some faint moisture still hanging in the air from her shower.
Zeke took a long, hot shower. He helped himself to the expensive, scented products on the shower shelf. He dried off with one of the oversized, thick towels and hung it neatly on an empty rack. He went back into the bedroom and dressed slowly.
He smelled bacon and eggs as soon as he reached the stairs, and heard their voices, Mrs. Walker’s low and smooth, Casey’s high and tripping.
As he walked into the kitchen, Mrs. Walker was refilling Casey’s juice glass and absently stroking down the cowlick on the back of his head.
Zeke’s stomach curled.
“Hi, Zeke,” Casey said around a mouthful of toast.
“Good morning,” Mrs. Walker said, and nodded to an envelope on the table. “Breakfast?”
Zeke picked up the envelope. It was there, plus an extra hundred.
“It’s too much,” he said.
Mrs. Walker leaned against the counter and lit a cigarette. “Consider it a bonus,” she said. “Or consider it a gift to Casey, if you’d rather.”
Zeke thought about tossing the extra hundred back on the table, but they needed it. Instead, he put the envelope in his back pocket.
“Casey, let’s go,” he said.
“I’m not done,” Casey said, and shoved bacon in his mouth.
Zeke felt a wild, unreasonable anger at Casey bubble up in him. All the food Zeke coaxed into him, all the meals he threw away untouched, and here Casey shoveled her food into his mouth eagerly.
“Now, Casey,” he said, and something in his tone made Casey look up with wide, alarmed blue eyes. “Go get in the car.”
Casey dropped the bacon and scurried out the door, letting it bang shut behind him.
“Leaving so soon?” Mrs. Walker purred.
“Fuck you,” Zeke said, and he couldn’t explain it, this uncontrolled fury that was swelling in him, this loathing and hatred and bitterness toward this woman who had been nothing but kind to them.
“You already did, sweetie,” she answered, and blew out a line of smoke.
“I don’t need your fucking charity, or your pity,” Zeke said. “I don’t need anything at all from some used-up, bitter drunk who has to pay for it.”
Mrs. Walker didn’t bat an eye. “Whatever you need to say, you go ahead and say it, honey,” she said, and her indifference made Zeke’s hands twitch.
“Zeke?” Casey whined, and Zeke suddenly realized that he hadn’t left the porch, that he was standing right outside the screen door, listening, frightened and uncertain.
“It’s all right, Casey,” Zeke said, steadying with the familiarity of calming Casey. “We’re leaving now. There’s nothing important here.”
Mrs. Walker smiled at him, slow and knowing and crafty. “You keep telling yourself that, Zeke,” she whispered.
Zeke left, the screen door slamming behind him. He hauled Casey to the car by his upper arm and pulled out of the drive with a screech and a cloud of dust, like he was still Zeke Tyler, Herrington High’s resident bad boy.
When they got to the main road, he lit a cigarette and offered one to Casey, who surprised him by batting it away.
“What?” Zeke asked, irritated.
“Why did you do that?” Casey demanded, his voice shrill with anger. “Why did you say those things to her?”
Zeke drew on his cigarette. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, Casey, but I’m not a nice guy,” he said, and Casey reached out and hit his shoulder with flailing little fists.
“Shut up!” Casey shrieked. “She was nice! Why did you do that? Why did we have to leave there?”
“Hey, quit it!” Zeke shouted right back, and knocked Casey’s hands away. “I’m driving! And she wasn’t nice. She just wanted something from us, just like everyone else.”
“Fuck you, Zeke,” Casey said, coldly and precisely, and wouldn’t speak to Zeke for the rest of the day, not even when Zeke bought him new shoes and a new jacket and then ice cream with the extra hundred.
Isn’t that gratitude for you? Zeke thought, and there was something new and bitter in his mouth. Isn’t that just the way things go?