Free Cures for Hunger by Deni Béchard Page A

prehistoric, and he nodded and said, “Maybe.”
    Over the next few days, I expected fights, shouting, or slammed doors, but he moved in naturally, as if it had been planned, and I soon gave up trying to make sense of it. Our family always seemed on the verge of disaster, and then the danger passed, and very little changed.
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    That Friday, he picked me up from school shortly after my mother dropped me off.
    â€œI’m taking you fishing,” he said, his face lined and grim, as if our outing were a form of punishment. “We’ll come back in the afternoon, and I’ll leave you in the playground before she gets here. Just pretend you went to school. You won’t tell her about this, right?”
    I nodded, this lie by far the most extreme ever. I loathed the idea of standing in the playground as the other kids stared and wondered where I’d been all day. It seemed like a lot to make me do in exchange for a little fishing, but I felt guilty for having left him. I also wondered if I might get special treatment, and after a few minutes on the highway, I asked for a lesson in swearing—something I had requested fairly often—and amazingly, he agreed.
    â€œ Fuck, ” he said, “well, fuck means a lot of things. Fuck off means go away right now. Fuck you means I really hate you. Fuck just means you’re angry. You know what shit is, and damn, well, damn ’s not that bad.”
    â€œWhat about cocksucker ?” I asked.
    â€œYou should probably stay away from that one,” he told me, then was silent, as if thinking up more vile types of profanity. I was eager to
learn them. Swearwords gave me the feeling that good stories did, a sense of disembodiment, of being carried away, beyond rules, beyond everything. But instead he said, “Your mother wants to leave, you know.”
    I looked at him. His eyes were glued to the traffic ahead.
    â€œShe wanted to abandon you guys. I barely convinced her not to.”
    He glanced over, checking my expression, then looked back at the road.
    â€œIf she has to go,” he said, “she can take your brother and sister, but you can stay with me. We’ll get a motor home and travel the country and do nothing but fish.”
    Maybe this was why he’d moved in with us, because she’d decided she’d had enough and was planning on running away. I tried to console myself with the idea of fishing trips and that he might like me best. He rarely spent time with my sister, and my brother didn’t care for fishing. I wanted to smile, but the muscles of my face tensed up as if they were doing the thinking.
    â€œWhat about school?”
    â€œYou can take a year off. It won’t change anything. You never liked school, and I didn’t either. Look at me. I didn’t need it.”
    He pushed his jaw forward confidently, then shot another glance my way.
    â€œYou don’t let yourself get picked on at school, do you?”
    â€œNo,” I lied.
    â€œBecause,” he said, “if you stay with me, I’ll make sure you’re one tough goddamn kid.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œI’ll teach you how to fight. I was a good fighter. I could’ve been a boxer. I just had no direction. But I’d give you direction. I’d teach you how to kick some ass.”
    An image of me came to mind, my fists swirling like bugs around a lightbulb as all the school bullies fell. My father once tried to teach me and my brother to box, making us put on gloves in the living room, but my mother had been furious and he’d relented, a strange, almost embarrassed look on his face. It was the only time I’d seen him surrender to her anger. Could it really be possible that she was leaving? Though he was
fun to be with, I couldn’t imagine a day without her. My clothes would stink and my grades would all be Fs and I’d starve to death. But then again, life with him might be very, very