Children of the Saints

I could cry when I see Laura Matthews walking up the walk and onto our front porch. It's been a very long day and, as much as I love her little boy, I'm very happy to pass him off to his mother. Today, my house has been turned upside down by these rowdy kids, and I thank god Darrel and I stopped after three.

"Thanks for watching him, Lily." She looks dead tired, and I invite her in to sit down. I don't think she's been off her feet since the morning at nine when she dropped Keith off.

She sits next to me on the couch and I smile, "Don't worry about it. He's a pleasure to have around." And I do love having him in the house, the kid is funny as git out, but I do hate the reason he's been over at my house every morning of the weekend. He's turning seven in two weeks, and his father didn't even have the decency to at least wait until after his birthday before he skipped town. I sigh, "How have you been doing?"

"I'm ok. I thought it was coming for a while, and the baby was just the last straw." She fiddles with her rings. Laura Matthews is the only person in the neighborhood who has an engagement ring; a diamond one no less. John came from money, and the last things he bought before his parents cut him off were those two rings.

For a while I was jealous; my best friend had a diamond engagement ring and a silver wedding band while I had a homemade ring out of twisted copper. But when Darrel got enough money to buy me a real ring, I ended up saying no. I could still remember him picking up the wire from the ground and twisting it into a ring, saying—at eighteen—how he was going to marry me. I know how stupid the jealousy was, especially now. The man who gave them to her walked out and left her with a six-and-a-bit year old and an unborn baby.

"It's Keith I'm worried about," she continues, and she stops playing with her rings. "He knows that John's gone, and took it pretty well when I explained it to him. Then, two days ago he told me all he wanted for his birthday was his daddy back."

I've seen and heard a lot of horrible things without being able to feel much of anything, but Laura telling me that makes me want to cry. Keith was in here today smiling and laughing like nothing was wrong; like his daddy didn't up and leave just a week ago. He sat next to me at the table, turning to look at our fridge before coming back to me with a worried expression. "Mrs. C, is your fridge running?" He looked so concerned and curious that I didn't pick up on the joke that's been around forever. "Yes." And, of course, he hit me with the "you better go catch it" ending. I cracked up, even though I knew that joke. I asked him where he got it, and he just smiled and told me his daddy told him. I smiled sadly and snuck him an extra piece of cake when the other boys weren't looking.

I don't know what to say; there's nothing you can really say to that except for one thing. I pull her hands into mine, "If there's anything we can help you with, just say the word. We'll spot you some cash or watch Keith when you need. Anything, ok?"

She nods, quickly wiping away at a few tears that make their way down her cheeks. "Where're the boys?" It's like she's just registering the fact that the house is unusually quiet.

"They're down at the park, thought they should be home soon." I glance out the window and see the streetlights start to flicker. "I told them to be back before the lights came on."

Just as I say it I can hear the voices of the boys as they walk up the walk. I can hear the eye roll in Darry's voice. "Don't worry about it, she ain't gonna be mad."

I don't hear Soda's response, but Darry sighs. "The lights ain't even on, we're fine."

The streetlights do come on right as they walk through the door, and I almost laugh at the I told you so look Darry shoots his brother. I did honestly think they'd come home earlier, but he's right. I told them before the lights went on, and they got here on time.

"How was the park?" I ask, smiling at Darry. He's got Ponyboy in his arms, and pretty much sleeping on his shoulder. It's way past his bedtime. I probably shouldn't have let Pony go with them, but he seemed so excited at the prospect of being a big kid. Besides, I really needed the house to myself for a while.

Darry opens his mouth to answer, but Soda cuts him off excitedly. Despite the fact that it's eight-thirty and he's normally pretty tired by now, my middle child looks and acts like he's just been shot out of a gun. "It was awesome! We jumped off the swings and Keith did a flippy thingny on the… the… the…"

Timmy Sheppard came to his rescue, "monkey bars?"

"Yeah, that!"

Laura smiles beside me, "Well, it sounds like you boys had fun."

All of them, with the exception of Ponyboy, nod. Laura thanks me once again before turning to her son, "It looks like we better go little man."

"I want to stay! Tim gets too."

I can tell Laura's really not in the mod to deal with a defiant kid, but she just grins. "C'mon, you can tell me all 'bout those flippy things you did."

She's good.

The idea of bragging about his latest escapade seems to be enough incentive and Keith follows his mother out the door. They call out one last goodbye through the screen door before crossing the street over to their house.

"Alright…" I sigh, not really knowing what to do. I guess Keith was right, and Tim is staying. His daddy was supposed to be by hours ago…. So was Darrel. Their shift ended at five, and they should've been home by five-thirty. It's not the first time they've done this to me, and I'm sure it won't be the last. I take a breath, "Tim, does your mama know you're here?"

He shrugs, "probably."

Ponyboy doesn't stir as I take him out of Darry's arms. "Alright, Darry'll lend you some pyjamas. You boys go get ready for bed, I'll be in for prayers."

Tim and Darry nod, walking off and muttering to each other in Spanish. I used to think knowing spanish would be good for my oldest, but as he gets older I can't help but realize the fact that my child speaks a language I don't understand may not be the best thing in the world.

Soda looks up at me and pouts, "But momma…"

"No buts." I tell him, "Go on." He knows not to argue any more, even though my tone wasn't too firm. I look after the boys, so I get the reputation of being the scary one. When I want to be.

Miraculously, I'm able to get Ponyboy changed and in bed without waking him up. The boys sound like they've started a pillow fight in the other room, and the walls are paper thin. I can hear Soda clearly, whining about how they aren't including him in the conversation.

They have the sense to pretend like they weren't doing anything when they see that I've made my way into the room. I just decided to let them get away with it this time. I am putting these kids to bed, I am having a drink, and I am going to bed myself.

"Ok boys, who're we praying to?" It's unconventional, the way we do bedtime prayers, but it's the way I've been doing it since I was a kid. I let the boys pick someone (one of the saints or Jesus), and that's who we pray to. A lot of the time we end up just praying to Jesus, other times it's Saint Anthony because one of the boys has lost something.

"Saint Jude." Darry answers me, already kneeling beside his bed. I'm not really sure I want my boys praying to the patron saint of lost causes and criminals. I finger my necklace, St. Jude resting against my chest. Maybe I'm not in the best position to tell them no, especially since I've been praying to St. Jude every night since twelve.

"Alright." I get down on my knees too. "St. Jude, you are with me in all that is new. May your path of hope be mine in the days ahead…. Challenge me, St. Jude, so I will end each day reflecting on my actions and motivations so that I will grow in faith, love, and hope. Amen."

The boys echo the amen, then hop up off their knees. Usually I'd tuck both of them in, but tonight Darry's insisting he's too old for that now. I think it might have something to do with Timmy Sheppard sleeping next to him, and Darry not wanting to be embarrassed in front of his friend. Of course then Soda wants to mirror his older brother, so I walk out the door with a quick goodnight and I love you, and without kissing either of my boys.

"Momma?" Soda's sitting up in bed.

"Mmh?"

"When's daddy gettin' home?"

I stop, leaning against the doorway. I'm sure both Darry and Soda thought their father would be home by now. Maybe he'd be swinging them around the living room, laughing as they screamed. He'd talk to Darry in spanish—Darry was the only one of our children who actually learned—and Soda would complain about not being able to understand them. They'd sit in the living room or wrestle before bed. But—not for the first time—Darrel's not here and I'm left to deal with the fallout.

"I don't know, baby." I turn out the light and leave them with that. I hate myself for it.

Darrel sends one last wave to Antonio, who's walking out the door with his sleeping seven year old thrown unceremoniously over his shoulder. By both their reasonings, Midnight's not that late to be coming home, and I guess it's not. Not normally, but it's plenty late when you've told your wife you'd be getting off at five.

I watch the blood that was caked on his knuckles wash down the drain; I know some of it's his, but most of it belongs to whichever sorry idiot decided to screw them over tonight. There's something mesmerizing about watching the pink liquid swirl around before disappearing into nothingness… maybe it's because I want to follow it.

Darrel looks at me and sees my scowl, and he smiles. "You gonna fix me up?"

There was a time when I might've answered him with a smirk and a kiss on the cheek. Know it's all I can do to wrap his knuckles silently, trying to keep my mind off how much gauze we're wasting. It's the second time this week he's busted his hand open, and we've been needing to tape it for work. We can't afford more of this, but I'm sure we're going to need it when one of the boys decides to replicate Ketih's flippy thing on the monkey bars.

"What happened?"

"Oh, ya know… guy gets wise and tries to short change us. It worked out ok. He got his ass kicked, got his stuff, and we got the money." He goes on to list some details of his deal, all while smiling. Brushing off the fact that he and Tony left a guy bleeding in an alleyway. I can brush over that too, I've seen worse things, but it's the way he's grinning about it that irks me.

He doesn't take pride in leaving someone broken and bleeding, that's not the reason. I've seen him put someone in the hospital, only to spend the next ten minutes vomiting because of it. Darrel acts all blase about it, but he doesn't love violence like some of the others guys do. He's fine to use it when it's warranted, but he doesn't like roughing people up without a reason. Usually though, especially now that we've got three kids, a few extra dollars is as good a reason as any.

That grin used to be charming to me. I used to love to see him smiling at me as we did something stupid and (often times) illegal. The world seemed to brighten when Darrel Curtis smiled, like he was the sun shining down on it. I used to spend every second tanning in the happiness it gave me. Now, I see that smile for what it really is. Not the sun, but a spotlight. Distracting people from the cracks in the walls and the holes in the floor by focusing on some bright thing in the center of the room. He's trying to get me to focus on the fact that he's hurt and that he's got all the money, not on the fact that he was dealing when these things happened. It's the same grin Soda gives when he's trying to convince me to let him have an extra slice of chocolate cake. It's manipulative, and it works. They don't call it a million dollar smile for nothing.

His chest has always been my pillow, ever since we first started dating. I wish that would seem like years ago, but it doesn't. The only difference is the three boys and the fact that I'm not joining him and Tony. That stopped once the boys came along. I want Darrel to stop too, I've asked him multiple times. But then he comes home with a wad of cash, and it's not from his last roofing job. Lying here, listening to his slow breathing, I have to admit that it's nice to have the steady flow of cash. It's nice to be able to pay the electric and the water bill on time. But that doesn't mean I'm still not going to try.

I look up at him, "This has to stop."

He nods, momentarily agreeing with me. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Guide me St. Jude. Guide me.