“You ever had shrimp, Jesse?” she said, proudly, and he said, “Yeah.”
“Who gave you shrimp?”
“Howie’s mom.”
Howie: a friend from school whose parents no longer let him play with Jesse.
“Won’t be as good as mine,” said Louise—though even as she said it she knew it wasn’t true.
She turned and saw Jesse’s glass was empty, and she filled it again.
• • •
The only good thing about a nine-year-old boy being stoned was the pleasure he took in eating the food she’d made for him. Jesse closed his eyes and tipped his head back as he chewed, making small satisfied noises in between bites. He’d gotten even skinnier since the last time she saw him, and the quick inventory she’d taken of the kitchen told her why.
“How long have you been smoking dope?” said Louise.
“Not long,” said Jesse. “Month or two.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Kid at school.”
“Do I know him?”
“No.”
“How old is he?”
“Not sure. Eighth grader.”
“Do I know his parents?”
“No. He’s from Minerva.”
Louise chewed. The steak was delicious. She was glad not to have ruined it.
“Jesse,” she said. “How did you afford it?”
He was silent.
“You’re not selling, are you?” she asked.
“No,” said Jesse. “No, Louise. I swear.”
She believed him, for now. Jesse was shy to the point of incapacitation. She couldn’t imagine him in sales of any kind. But the thought of an eighth-grade boy giving him anything for free—that didn’t sit right with her either.
There was a noise in the hallway then and they both looked up. Their mother: one hand on each wall, supporting herself. Her hair was unwashed, her eyes blinking against the light that hung on a chain over the kitchen table. Face pallid, mouth downturned. She came toward them slowly, propping herself up with the countertops now, and then veered toward the cabinets, which she opened one after another, looking for something to eat.
She pulled down a box of old crackers and put a few in her mouth. She went to the sink and ran the tap, bringing a cupped hand to her mouth for water.
Then, without a word to either of her children, she moved slowly back in the direction of the recliner in the living room, her home for most of each day.
Louise looked at Jesse. He was coming back to himself now. The food had helped, the water. His face was less flushed. His eyes were opening. He wouldn’t meet her gaze; he looked to the wall, and then down at the table.
“Jesse,” she said. “Stop talking to that boy. Stop smoking the grass he gives you, too.”
“Why,” he said. He picked at something on the tablecloth.
“Because I’m gonna bring you to live with me,” she said. “And I can’t do that if you’re incarcerated.”
“When?” said Jesse.
“Pretty soon.”
“How,” said Jesse. Incredulous.
There was a long pause while Louise considered saying it. She couldn’t take it back, if she did. She had always tried her best to never give her brother false hope. To keep every promise she made, unlike the rest of the adults in his life.
She lifted a shrimp from her plate. She took its tail off, prodded at its translucent skin, deveining it. John Paul, at a restaurant, had been the one to tell her what the vein really was.
She chewed.
“I’m engaged,” she said.
Jesse looked at her.
“To John Paul?” he said.
