The Forgotten

“I can’t tell you any more.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Yeah, but you knew that when you married me.”

Yonkie was home on time. Decker waited until he settled into his room before intruding on his life. A moment later he heard ear-blasting punk rock coming from Yonkie’s stereo. Decker had to bang on the wood to be heard over the din. The music volume took a nosedive, and then his stepson opened the door, looking at him with grave eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Decker tried out a smile. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” He stepped aside. “What’s up?”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“No, not at all. Sorry about today. I spoke without thinking.”

“Did you get a lot of flak from your friends?”

“It’s okay. I can handle myself.”

Same words as Ernesto. It was the adolescent creed.

Yonkie licked his lips. “What I don’t want is help, okay?”

Neatly stated. Decker nodded.

Yonkie was restless, clearly anxious for him to leave. “Anything else?”

“I left work early to pick up Hannah,” Decker said. “I’ve left some things unfinished. Can you watch her for a couple of hours until Eema gets home?”

“No problem.”

Being agreeable, but there was anger behind it. “Are you all right, Jacob?”

“Fine. Don’t worry about it.” A pause. “How’s Eema?”

His voice took on concern. The kid loved his mother. That made two of them. “She’s scrubbing out the synagogue. It was pretty bad.”

“Does she need help?”

“You’re helping her by watching Hannah. You sure it’s okay?”

“Positive. If she gets bored, I’ll take her out somewhere.”

“Thanks.” Decker patted the boy’s shoulder, but there was no response. Like Jacob was made of stone. Or maybe he was just plain stoned. Jacob knew he was being sized up. He didn’t flinch from Decker’s scrutiny. “Uh … are you going out now?”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes.”

“Take your time. Call me when you need me.”

He closed the door in Decker’s face. Jake’s life was a giant tumor of repressed anger. Decker tried not to take it personally, but the tension left him queasy. He went over to Hannah, who was steadily working her way through the box of candy.

“How about a grilled cheese sandwich?”

The girl’s eyes were glued on the TV—Scooby Doo. Man, that had longevity. The talking Great Dane had been around when Cindy was a little girl.

“Hannah, did you hear me?”

“Grilled cheese is okay.”

She had heard him. Decker made up a grilled cheese sandwich, courtesy of an electronic sandwich maker that not only grilled but also molded the bread into an attractive shell shape. The aesthetics were lost on Hannah. She asked him to wrap it in a napkin so grease wouldn’t get all over her fingers. Meticulous at times, downright messy at other times. Kids never failed to mystify him.

He said, “Hannah, I’m going back to work now. Yonkie’s here if you need anything.”

“Where’s Eema?” she asked again.

As if repeating the question would make her mother appear.

“She’s at the shul.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going now.”

“Okay.”

“I love you.” He bent down and gave her a kiss. “Bye.”

The little girl chewed off a piece of dripping cheese. “Bye.”

The child was in TV narcolepsy. He patted her head, then heard Jacob summoning him. Actually, Jacob had called out, “Dad,” and that was good. When Jacob was angry, he called him Peter.

“Are you still here?” Jacob yelled from his room.

“I’m still here. What’s wrong?”

“Can you c’mere for a sec?”

Decker patted Hannah’s head again, then entered the inner sanctum of Jacob’s private space. Jacob always made his bed and kept his floor cleared of junk, but his desktop was covered with books, papers, candy wrappers, doodads, and other odd-shaped items that Decker couldn’t identify. Sammy’s bed and desk had been left in pristine condition, completely cleared of anything extraneous. Jacob refused to let his mess carry over to his absent brother’s side of the room. It was as if Jacob kept it clean in hopes that Sammy would materialize.

“I think you’d better hear this.” Jacob turned on his answering machine.

Hi, Jake. This is Ernesto Golding. Long time, huh? I don’t know if your stepdad told you what was flying. Probably not. At least, he shouldn’t be talking about me, but you never know. Anyway, don’t go postal, but you’ll probably hear it from someone. So I figured you might as well hear it from me … that I B-and-E’d your temple … messed up some stuff, spray-painted some swastikas, and threw around some Nazi shit on the floor. I was just fooling around, getting stoned one day, and one dare led to another and things kinda got outta hand. I dunno … it was nothing personal against Jews or anything. It was just something to do. I feel bad about it, but like I said, it was nothing personal. And I don’t know how much you and your stepdad talk, but you can tell him that if you talk about it. I’m sorta rambling, I know. Anyway, I haven’t seen you around in a while. I suspect I won’t see you around anymore. I’m going to hang up now.

There was a click, then the droning buzz of the phone line.

Jacob looked at his stepfather with curious eyes. “Did you arrest Ernesto Golding for vandalizing the shul?”

“What he tells you is his business. But as far as I’m concerned, he’s a juvenile, and I don’t talk about juveniles.”