Maggie and Hank
A/N: The prompt for this chapter suggested picking a couple not usually written about, and describing how they celebrate Valentine's Day.
Hank Booth sighed heavily as he descended the back porch steps, grabbed the dented garbage can, and carried it to the street for the next morning's trash collection. Leaving the curb, he walked back up the driveway toward his garage, watching his wife washing dinner dishes at the sink, quizzing their elder grandson on the states and capitals as he dutifully dried each wet steamy plate. Shaking his head, Hank sat down on the concrete bench in Margaret's tidy vegetable garden. Shrimp was an old soul in a kid's body, too cautious, too analytical to relax in childish abandon. But who could blame him, given Edwin's horrid behavior?
Bringing the two boys to live with them had changed his plans completely. For the past two years, he'd been secretly saving a small amount of money from his policeman's check to take Margaret back to the Poconos for Valentine's Day. Surprisingly, the small resort hotel where they'd spent their honeymoon was still in existence, operated by the original proprietor's grandson.
Their budget in 1941 had been pretty tight, and his time off after boot camp was short, but they'd enjoyed an idyllic time with the place nearly to themselves for three gloriously golden October mid-week days. Hiking, fishing a bit, making plans for their future…it had been a treasured memory for the pair these past 35 years. He had wanted to surprise his wife for their 30th anniversary, but practical expenses superseded romantic getaways. First the house needed a new roof, then the basement leaked; one thing after another precluded surprising his sweetheart each year.
He thought back to the Saturday morning he'd pulled up to his son's house, expecting to take Seeley and Jared to watch his police team hockey practice while their dad worked at his barbershop until three.
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As he'd exited his truck and walked up the driveway, an angry voice came through the open window. What in tarnation was Edwin yelling about? The front porch windows looked in on the small living room and Marianne's tidy kitchen. (Why did he still think of it as that when she'd been gone for 16 months?)
Climbing the three front steps, Hank stared; horrified at what he saw inside. Edwin was bent over his elder son, whacking at him with a rolled-up belt, its heavy buckle striking Seeley's jeans. The boy lay curled up on the floor, half under the kitchen table, an angry red welt visible across his thin upper arm. Hank crossed the porch in two great strides, flung open the screen door and yanked the front door knob; surprising little tearful Jared who was cringing amid the plaid sofa cushions.
Giving the child a gentle nod despite his shock and anger, Hank burst into the kitchen, grabbed Edwin's shoulder and pulled him off his son. He tore the belt from Edwin's fist, tossed it across the room, and roared "Edwin! STOP! How dare you beat a child like that? What were you thinking? No misbehavior deserves this treatment! I raised you better than this!"
Edwin Booth glared up at his irate father through bleary eyes, and slurred, "He din't mop the floor like I said. Hasn't raked up the leaves; left my lawn mower outside overnight! I paid good money for that thing; don't expect him to let it rust like that! Kid's got no regard for how hard I work to feed these brats! Dud'n respect me; settin' a bad example for his brudder!"
Hank smelled stale alcohol in his breath, a lot of it. This early in the morning, the man is already drunk?
"Get out of here, Ed! And don't come back! You don't deserve to be a father! A real man doesn't beat his own kids! Your mother would be horrified!"
Edwin stumbled past his father, grabbed his truck keys from a hook by the back door, jerked it open and left the house as it slammed behind him. He backed way too fast out of the driveway, threw the truck into reverse, and took off down the street, gears grinding, motor racing in complaint, tires squealing.
Hank bent down and took Seeley's hand, gently pulling the sobbing youngster to his feet. "It's okay, Shrimp. He's gone now. Your dad won't wallop you any more; not while I'm around." He maneuvered the boy into a kitchen chair, wiped his tear-streaked face with a cool dishtowel, and pulled Seeley into a tight embrace.
"We're gonna go see Granma now, okay? I'll come back for your clothes a little later."
"What about your hockey practice, Granpa?" Jared had crept into the kitchen, and was standing in the doorway clutching his bear.
"The team can do without me for today, Buddy. Granma was making a batch of oatmeal cookies when I left; they should be coming out of the oven right about now, warm and ready for you two to enjoy," Hank said softly.
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The money he'd saved toward Margaret's Pocono trip bought new school clothes and shoes for Jared and Seeley. The reservation he'd made for October 6th was quietly cancelled. He and his Maggie observed the following Valentine's Day in a way they hadn't done for many years. Red construction paper, white paper doilies, and silver stick-on letters had littered the kitchen table the previous night as the boys made Valentine's cards for their teachers and laboriously wrote their names on 29 small colorful cards for their classmates, then stuffed them into impossibly ill-sized envelopes. Once the holiday greetings were safely stored in each backpack for the next day, the unorthodox family watched a hockey game sharing popcorn and hot cocoa until bedtime rolled around.
The next evening, he and Margaret loaded the boys into the car and headed for Frannie's apartment to enjoy Great-Granma Booth's spaghetti sauce and pasta with their daughter and Ruth. Not a quiet private dinner in their favorite corner of Miller's Restaurant with a bottle of wine, but a Valentine's celebration nevertheless. Ruth's sense of humor kept them laughing all night long. His daughter's partner was a true gem of humanity.
Margaret's Pocono getaway would have to wait a few more years. Shrimp and Jared had adjusted pretty well since that late August Saturday morning when their lives were uprooted out of necessity. But the work of raising them was far from complete, and that had become Hank's and Margaret's priority.
Jared's memory at four and a half was spotty enough that he seemed to forget the traumatic household. Primarily because Seeley had shielded him from the worst of their father's wrath, Hank and Margaret realized ruefully. Their elder grandson was old beyond his years, had grown up too fast and left childhood behind, hiding his bruises and cuts beneath long-sleeved shirt sleeves. How long, Hank wasn't sure, but any amount of time enduring that treatment was far too much.
There hadn't been a word from Edwin in these last six months, but patrons of the barbershop kept Hank informed that his son was still working…and drinking. Somehow Edwin was managing to be a functioning alcoholic. He never missed work, always kept his patrons' appointments, and cut their hair in the same very satisfactory manner he always had. His rage from Vietnam was tamped down during workdays; apparently vented at night over a fifth of whiskey or six-pack of Dock Street Bohemian pilsner in some solitary apartment across town. Since Edwin had given his father a power of attorney before leaving for Vietnam and never revoked it, Margaret had sensibly suggested they rent out the little house on Hudson Street, saving the money for Seeley's and Jared's college education.
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Shaking off his reverie before Margaret came looking for him, Hank rose from his bench, squared his shoulders, and returned to the house to check Shrimp's math homework and quiz him on spelling words. His wife was waiting at the back door. She hugged him tightly, kissed him soundly, and whispered, "Don't worry, Hank, my dear. Our boys will be grown and gone before you know it, and then we can cuddle and schmaltz all we like. I know this isn't what you envisioned for our middle-age years, but it's imperative that we take care of Shrimp and Jared. I love you all the more for doing what you had to do. I know it killed you to throw Edwin out like that. But it had to be done! Not sure where we failed that boy, but we surely can't fail these two little innocent souls, now can we?"
Hank returned her earnest kiss, hugged his wife back, and agreed. "No, Mags, we can't. I just hope someday Edwin can see his mistakes and make peace with his sons. Assuming they'll ever forgive him; and I'm not sure they could."
Margaret squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "That's a conundrum for another day, Hank. Right now your grandsons' schoolwork takes precedence. Remember what St Mark wrote, "So don't worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today's trouble is enough for today."
Hank smiled at her in the twilight evening. "You've always been wiser than me, Maggie-girl. What would I do without you, my love?"
Margaret grinned back at him. "Hopefully, we'll never have to find out, Hank dear."
A/N: Margaret is quoting Matthew 6:34.