“You can’t stay with him?” Sarah asked.
“I’m going to White Birch after the match,” Jon replied. “Luke says it’s like Mardi Gras. The one chance a year we have to blow off steam. What about you? Will you be closing the clinic early?”
“Daddy wanted to keep it open all night,” Sarah said. “In case anyone gets hurt from all that steam you’ll be blowing off. But the town board said no, it might give the grubs bad ideas. They’re making Daddy stay at the clinic anyway, in case some clavers get hurt.”
“You’re not going to be there, are you?” Jon asked. “It can get pretty crazy that night.”
“I’ll be home,” Sarah said. “Daddy won’t let me anywhere near White Birch on Sunday. Jon, you’re not going to do anything too crazy, are you?”
Jon shook his head. “Just have some fun,” he said. “Then church and fasting on Monday.”
“I hate anniversary day,” Sarah said. “I hate it so much.”
“It’s just one day,” Jon said. “Then it’s back to normal.”
“There’s no normal anymore,” Sarah replied. “Normal got lost four years ago. It’s never coming back.”
“I know,” Jon said.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sarah cried. “I know how lucky we are. How lucky I am. I just wish I could be luckier. Is that wrong of me, Jon? To wish I could be luckier?”
Jon checked to see no one was around. Then he embraced her. “It’s not wrong,” he murmured. “It’s just not going to happen, that’s all.”
“Matt gave me five quarters before he left,” Mom said. “He picks up whatever change he finds on the road when he’s biking. It’s amazing there are any coins left, but he says if you look hard enough, you can still find some. Five quarters. We’ll be able to talk for fifteen minutes.”
“Isn’t there a line?” Jon asked. “Usually someone’s shouting at you to get off the phone.”
“I’m using one in a bad neighborhood,” Mom replied. “People are too scared to use it.”
“Is that safe?” Jon asked.
“I’m fine,” Mom said. “The neighborhood isn’t really that bad. Just a lot of drunks who’ll be spending their quarters on potka, not pay phones. So tell me, Jon, how did your week go?”
“It was okay,” Jon said. “Mom, I don’t like the idea of your being in a bad neighborhood. Why don’t we just say hello, and you can call me next week, at your regular phone booth.”
“There isn’t any place in White Birch that’s really safe,” Mom said. “Remember, back home, how I’d make sure the doors were locked all the time? I can’t even do that here. None of the doors have locks.”
“I know, Mom,” Jon said. All the locks were removed when laborers had been moved into White Birch. That way, the people who used to live in White Birch couldn’t use their homes as barricades. Once the grubs were resettled, no one saw much point in giving them locks and keys. Grubs didn’t have anything worth stealing.
“I hope Alex and Miranda leave,” Mom said. “I’d rather never see my grandchild than have her grow up in a place like this.”
“White Birch is a lot better than most of the grubtowns I’ve seen,” Jon said. “There are schools and the clinic. Police, too, for protection.”
“Police,” Mom said. “I lost another of my boys to the mines this week. He was arrested for public intoxication. Thrown into jail and carted off to the mines. Half the men in this town are publicly intoxicated, but the police only take the young ones, the ones who’ll last a little longer in the mines.”
“We all need the mines,” Jon said. “You use coal to heat your apartment, Mom. Where do you think it comes from? The coal fairy?”
“I don’t know you anymore,” Mom said. “I don’t.”
“You know me, Mom,” Jon muttered.
“I never see you,” she said. “I see Matt more often than I see you. You’re a bus ride away, Jon. But you never visit.”
“I play soccer most Sundays,” Jon said.
“Then quit the team,” Mom said. “Get a different afterschool. Something where you’ll do some good.”
“I’m not quitting the soccer team,” Jon said. “It’s the only thing I have.”
“You have family,” Mom said. “You have a roof over your head and food to eat and a school where you can get a real education. You have a future. My students don’t have any of that. They get just enough food to keep them alive, just enough education so they can be trained for their jobs. It’s an outrage. And you say the only thing you have is soccer. I don’t know you anymore, Jon. I don’t know who you’ve become, what the enclave has made you. Matt, Miranda, they haven’t lost who they were. If anything, this whole experience has made them better, stronger.”
Jon listened as Mom took a deep breath.
“I know I spoiled you,” Mom said finally. “You were the baby in the family. And back, back when things got bad, well, I put all my hopes on you. Matt and Miranda let me, but I shouldn’t have done it. It gave you a sense of entitlement, and living the way you do has only exacerbated that. So a lot of it is my fault. Not all of it, though. You’re old enough, Jon, to see the world as it really is, not the way you want it to be.”
There was nothing Jon could say. It was her choice. She had her world, Matt, Miranda, Alex. She had her students. She no longer had him.
“I’m getting off now,” she said, understanding his silence. “I have better use for these quarters.”
“Look at ’im,” Tyler said in drunken indignation.
Jon looked at the old man sprawled unconscious on the pavement.
“He’s drunk,” Luke said.
“A bum,” Ryan said.
“All grubs are bums,” Zachary said. “Don’t deserve to live.” He took a slug from his bottle of potka, then passed it around for the other boys to drink.
Jon couldn’t remember ever being this drunk before. It was part of the fun of the night, that and grubber girls and breaking windows and getting in fights. It seemed like every man from Sexton was there, but the grubs were enjoying themselves, too. There was potka and girls enough for all of them.
Zachary pulled out his knife. “Whaya think?” he asked.
“I think it’s a knife,” Luke said. “Whaya think it is?” He laughed at his own joke, and the guys joined in, except for Zachary.
“You know wha I mean,” Zachary said. “Let’s cut him up.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “Teach ’im a lesson. Teach all the damn grubs a lesson.”
“Good idea,” Tyler said. “Gimme the potka.”
The bottle was passed around again. How many had they gone through? Three, Jon thought. Not that it mattered. There was plenty of potka left. That trip to York had been good for something.
“Cut ’im up,” Zachary said. “Let ’im bleed. Let all the grubs bleed for what they did to my granddad.”
“Wait,” Tyler said. “Gotta better idea.” He searched through his pockets and pulled out a small box of matches.
“Where’d ya get that?” Ryan asked.
“Stole it,” Tyler said.
There’d been small fires burning all around White Birch. They must have been started by matches, Jon thought. Now they could start their own fire.
“Burn ’im,” Tyler said.
“I wanna cut him,” Zachary said.
“Cut ’im first,” Tyler declared. “Then burn ’im.”
Ryan laughed.
“Not a joke!” Tyler said. “Cut ’im. Burn ’im. Grubber bum don’t deserve to live.”
Jon wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t think cutting the bum and setting him on fire was a good idea. “Guys,” he said.
“Wassa matter?” Ryan asked. “That your daddy, Evans?”