Free An Ocean in Iowa by Peter Hedges Page A

said. “Honest.” He went to the sugar bowl and lifted the lid. “Here, kids.”
    He handed them their letters.
    “You
read
them?” Claire said, referring to the torn envelopes. “I can’t believe you read them!”
    Claire and Maggie, letters in hand, stomped up the stairs.
    “I’m sorry,” the Judge said.
    Scotty stood holding his letter. “It’s okay, Dad.”
    “She might not be your wife,” Claire shouted. “But she’s still our mother!”
    ***
    Later the Judge climbed the stairs. “Claire, Maggie,” the Judge called from the hallway. “I’m sorry.”
    (4)
    Whenever the family watched TV, Scotty crouched on the carpet, on his knees, ready to sprint. If the phone rang, Scotty was off and running. Living in a world dominated by his ten-and twelve-year-old sisters, he needed a head start. After all, it might be his mother calling, and if he was first, he’d have her all to himself, if only for a moment, and he could say what he wished he’d said when she called that one time—he’d say what he rehearsed, the magic words that would make her come back: “I’ll be good.”
    ***
    Claire tried to answer Scotty’s question. “They always say ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you.’ What else? Good boys are polite and clean and do what is required.”
    “Okay,” Scotty said.
    “But most important, good boys help with chores.”
    “Okay.”
    “Does that answer it?”
    “Yep.”
    “They help with chores, Scotty.” Then she said, “Hint, hint.”
    As Claire went to the basement, Scotty ran upstairs and gathered the dirty clothes. His arms full, he pushed the clothes through an opening and they dropped through the clothes chute. Claire was measuring out detergent when she heard the sound of clothes coming—the
whoosh
—and she stepped out of the way just in time as the clothes plopped on the floor.
    “Scotty!”
    He didn’t hear her, for he was busy running down the two flights of stairs.
    Scotty learned much about laundry in those first days. How to separate the whites from the colors. How to hold the glass measuring cup while Claire filled it with detergent.
    “Something about laundry I love, Scotty.”
    “Yeah?”
    “We choose our own hours.”
    “Yeah.”
    He learned about bleach and appropriate wash cycles and water temperatures. Claire reminded him of the dangers of a blue sock getting in a load of whites. He came to respect clothing and he felt important helping his sister—and he knew this was a benefit of having turned seven.
    And when they finished a load, he’d beg Claire to compliment him. He’d keep begging until she said, “Good work.” Or, “That was good.” Anything with “good.”
    (5)
    Carole Staley bragged to the class, “My mom’s making my costume.” She described how her mother was going to take a grocery sack, cut holes for the arms, make an elastic headband, and top it all off with a turkey feather. Then she told how her mom was going to paint red and blue streaks of “war” paint on her, thereby turning Carole into an authentic Indian princess.
    “What are you going as?” she asked Scotty.
    He shrugged. Usually Joan made him an elaborate costume. In kindergarten he had gone as a clown, and in first grade he went as the devil. But this year he didn’t know. The Judge assured him that he could pick out any costume under a certain price range.
    “You don’t know what you’re going to be?”
    Scotty said nothing.
    Carole offered to have her mother make a second costume and Scotty quickly said no.
    Tom Conway said he would go as a wounded soldier. He planned to wrap his head in a cloth bandage and to use ketchup for blood.
    Other kids had their plans—hobos, ghosts, ballerinas. A group of fourth graders were dressing up as the characters in
The Mod Squad.
    ***
    Scotty’s store-bought costume was of an astronaut. The plastic mask was to be held in place by a rubber band, but on Halloweennight as he stretched it out over his head, the rubber band