Free The Hours Count by Jillian Cantor

loud in front of him, that Ed wanted them to take David away, that he wanted to punish me and this was his way.
    Mr. Bergman frowned and reached beneath the counter for his bag of gumdrops. He sifted through it until he found three moreyellows and he placed them gently into David’s open and eager palm.
    “Ed wants them to take him,” I whispered, once David was concentrating hard on the yellow candies.
    “Take him?”
Mr. Bergman’s voice rose. “He is a happy boy. There is a shadow of your father in his eyes . . .” Mr. Bergman was right. David had my light brown eyes, my father’s eyes, and very obviously Ed’s square nose.
    I bit my lip. “Do you really think so, that he’s happy?”
    “I know so,” Mr. Bergman said. “If this woman bothers you again, you call me, okay? I’ll come talk to her for you. I’ll tell her what a good mother you are.”
    I smiled at him and he patted my hand. He was very sweet, but I didn’t want to tell him what I already understood, that I doubted there would be anything he could do to stop Ed if Ed set his mind on something. No matter how much he wanted to.

9

    The day dragged on, and by midafternoon my stomach began to ache with worry. I worried about that Weiss woman coming back, about whether Mr. Bergman was right when he told me he thought David was happy. But most of all I worried about Ed coming home from work, about having to have a conversation with him after last night and Zelda Weiss’s visit this morning. I knew the hour would turn past five and Ed would walk down Monroe Street and ride the elevator up as always. My stomach ached even more at the thought.
    To make matters worse, David refused to nap, which was becoming more and more common these days, and every time I tried to lay him down on his mattress he would just kick the wall and kick the wall and cry until finally I relented and let him come back out into the living room, where I smoked a cigarette and he stacked his yellow blocks in a tower. I watched them go higher and higher. They would fall soon and he would cry again, but forthe moment he was enthralled and I closed my eyes and took a drag on my cigarette.
    I heard a knock at the door. “Shhh,” I commanded David—unnecessarily, I thought, until, ignoring me, he toppled the blocks and began to kick the floor in frustration.
    “Millie, are you in there? It’s Ethel.” My whole body eased with relief and I put my cigarette out in the ashtray and walked to the door to open it. Ethel stood in the hallway with John, who immediately peered behind me, noticed David kicking the floor, and then ran into the apartment past me. “John!” Ethel called, shooting me an apologetic look. “It’s not polite to just barge in.”
    “It’s all right,” I said as I watched John pick up the yellow blocks, his movements calming David down. I felt an inkling of tenderness for John that I hadn’t before. It was like he was learning how to understand David, to care for him, as a friend. I opened the door wider and invited Ethel in, too.
    “We can’t stay,” Ethel said, her voice taking on that familiar nervous edge that had been absent for a little while last night while her boys slept. “Richie is napping. I don’t want to leave him for long.” She folded her arms. She was wearing a worn flowered housedress, a dress that might have been beautiful, once years ago before she’d given birth to her babies, maybe when she dreamed of being a Broadway star, America’s leading actress. But now the pink had faded to almost beige, the left sleeve was torn, and the shoulder appeared to be stained with baby food. “I’m sorry about John barging in like that.” She sighed.
    I glanced at him, now rebuilding the tower with David, whose face was suddenly calm and serious. “No,” I said, “not at all. David isglad for the company. And so am I.” I smiled at her. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? A quick one?”
    “No thanks,” she said to me. “John,” she