Happy Family Read Free Page A

without a trace of irony.
    Billy Beal paces across his bedroom floor, making the boards squeak because he can. He hates being treated like a little kid, being told to go to his room. He hates it when Moms babies him and Pops jumps on his neck, blaming him for everything.
    His idea is genius. It’s so simple he doesn’t know why he didn’t think of it sooner. Moms taking the baby would solve everything. The girl would come to him, and Moms would tell her how it was he, Billy Beal, who saved her baby from being what Moms called a ward of the state. The girl would be so grateful she’d agree to go get a root beer with Billy and he could make a cord for her pendant and put it around her neck as a surprise. And Moms is so good with kids she’d help the girl take care of her baby and maybe the girl would stick around awhile. Moms did it for total strangers and the girl, well, it’s not exactly like he knows her, but after what they went through, it feels like he does. Moms has to be on his side on this one, she just has to.
    It takes Moms a while to tell Pops the story about the girl and her baby, mainly because Pops’s frequent eruptions and subsequent spills slow her down. He’s finally stopped flailing enough that she can start in on the juice and coffee that have found their way onto his pants. “I don’t know why he cares, but he cares. It’s the first time I’ve seen him care about anything other than baseball. He’s showing a bit of compassion, which is more than I can say for you.” Moms dabs his pants with a moistened towel.
    “Compassion? For a nigger slut who leaves her own baby in a clinic? That girl’s never coming back and you know it. It’s the goddamned state’s problem, not ours. You’re rubbing it in, not taking it out!”
    “I’ve got to blot. And she’s white, not that that should make a difference.”
    “You’re not saying you think this is a good idea, are you? Because if you did, I’d say you’re out of your farking skull. Or I’d think this isn’t about the boy, it’s about you. How many times do I tell you, my wife doesn’t work! I provide for this family, and, what, the deli’s not doing well enough for you? You want to go back to running crumb-crunchers nobody wants through here like it’s a farking summer camp? I let you do that once and you’re forever throwing it in my face. Fostering, you’ll be fostering a bruise on your head, woman, if I hear one more word out of you.” He spits when he talks, white gunk starting to form at the corners of his mouth.
    “You’re way out of line, Albert Beal,” Moms says, dropping the towel. She turns her back on him and starts to do the dishes. The only thing that breaks the silence between them is the rush of water from the faucet and the timpani of rubber gloves on porcelain.
    Billy Beal heard Pops calling the girl a slut. Forget that the walls are thin; Pops communicates in only two forms: loud and louder. He could take his father; he’s known that for a while. He’s strong and quick—he doesn’t have to let himself be pushed around. Billy Beal hasn’t heard a peep from downstairs in a while. He hates his parents’ silence more than their fighting.
    Pops and Moms sit in the kitchen listening to the tick of the Budweiser wall clock that Pops got for free at Wally’s Liquor Shop. After what feels like forever, Moms says, “Okay, then. I accept your apology. And I was thinking, with Terry taking off for the South Pacific—”
    “It’s not in the South Pacific,” Pops says.
    “Wherever it is, we’ll have an extra room.”
    “It’s off China, what’s it called? Where’s Ralphie? He knows. Ralphie! Ralphie!” There’s no response. “Don’t tell me he didn’t come home again!”
    Elvis’s “Good Luck Charm” starts playing so loud Moms has to raise her voice:
    “Can we stick to Billy? If we did it, I’m saying if, it would only be temporary, until they could find a home for the child.” Pops goes to the