Free Only Son by Kevin O'Brien Page B

damn loud? They’d wake up the baby…
    Then, as the noise died down, sure enough, she heard Eddie crying—his sleepy cry. If she went into him now, he’d never go back to sleep. And she had work in the morning. Didn’t Paul realize that? Didn’t he care at all? She might as well have been a single parent. Sometimes, that didn’t seem like a bad idea.
    Amy turned down the volume on the movie and listened. Eddie got a little quieter. That’s it, honey, go back to sleep …She closed her eyes and felt herself drifting off in the lull.
    â€œOH, SHIT! THE BALL WAS RIGHT IN HIS HANDS!” someone boomed.
    This was followed by the sound of stomping on the floor, loud moans, and hisses. Then Eddie—screaming.
    Amy snapped off the TV, got to her feet and marched into the living room. All of you, get the hell out of here right now! she wanted to yell. But she put on her best cordial smile, although four sets of eyes were glued to the set. “Paul,” she said steadily. “Can I see you for a second?”
    â€œCan’t it wait until next commercial?”
    She kept the smile stretched across her face. “Now, sweetheart, okay?” Amy swiveled around and walked into their bedroom. Ed was still crying, but his voice was weak and sleepy.
    Paul came into the bedroom. “Hey, hon,” he whispered. “Can’t you do something to quiet him down? We’re trying to watch a game in there.”
    Â 
    â€œAnyway, that’s when I hit him,” Amy told her mother on the phone. It was ten-thirty her mother’s time; Amy knew she’d woken her, but thought she’d go crazy if she didn’t talk to someone.
    â€œWell, where did you hit him?”
    â€œJust on the shoulder,” she sighed. Amy was sitting in the dark, on the bed.
    â€œWhat did he do then?”
    â€œHe said ’ouch’ and laughed.” Actually, he’d said: “What the fuck is the matter with you?” Then she’d torn into him about the racket he and his friends were making. They were quieter now, and she didn’t want to pass through that living room with them still there. Eddie hadn’t let out a peep in the last ten minutes. “Anyway, Mom, everything’s okay now.” Amy got up and pulled the phone to the window. “Listen, one of the reasons I called,” she said. “Would it be okay—just as soon as I get some time off from work—if we came for a visit?”
    â€œOf course, dear. I’d love it. There’s plenty of room—”
    â€œI think it would be just the guy-guy and me, Mom,” she said, leaning against the drapes. “Paul—I don’t think he could get the time away from work. See, I’d like to stay a couple of weeks, maybe even a month—if that’s okay with you.”
    There was a silence on the other end of the line for a moment. “Well, um, that’s fine, dear,” her mother said. “Stay as long as you want….”

CHAPTER FOUR
    Carl’s face hurt from maintaining a stoic smile. And making small talk with all the strangers outside the church was wearing him out. “Yes, he was a great man,” Carl would lie, pumping one hand after another. “My father mentioned you in his letters. Thank you for coming.”
    The old man had written about once a month: dull updates and invitations to come visit. The letters had been addressed to a Portland post office box which Carl had rented. Several of them had alluded to “the Oriental gal who works for me ,” a widow named Han Serum, his father’s live-in “housekeeper.”
    Carl never met her. Yet she was the only one he could pick out among the strangers. When he spotted the petite Asian woman climbing the church steps, Carl broke away from an old city councilman and called to her: “Mrs. Serum?”
    At the top of the steps, she turned to stare at him.
    He’d extended his hand.