Chapter 2 · My Blood Chose A Stranger

Chapter 2

The kitchen table was loaded with food: pork roast, roast chicken, fried catfish, scrambled eggs, mashed potatoes, and buttered green beans.

The chicken, fish, meat, and eggs were all piled beside Mike's plate. Victor's own plate held nothing but a scoop of green beans.

"This is your brother Henry. He works construction in the city," Amy said, her introduction brisk. "And your sister Lily. She's a junior in high school. This is Mike. He's family, too.

"We took him in when he was eight. He's a few months older than you."

Victor kept his head down and nodded.

"Where've you been all these years?" Mike dropped a piece of roast pork on Victor's plate. "Must've been rough. Eat up."

Victor stared at the meat but didn't touch his fork.

He noticed something. Since he'd walked through that door, no one had asked how he'd survived. No one asked how he'd found his way home. No one asked what he'd suffered.

William took a drag on his cigarette. "Good you're back. We'll get your paperwork straightened out with the county. Mike's in the back bedroom. You can bunk in there, too. Two boys can squeeze into one bed."

"Dad," Lily set down her fork, "the back bedroom only has one bed. Mike tosses and turns. He'll crowd Victor."

Victor looked up. He saw Lily flash a smile at Mike. It was the same smile he remembered from his childhood, the one she'd worn when she slipped him candy from the corner store. Only now it was meant for someone else.

"I'll sleep in the woodshed." Victor stood up. "I'm done."

He never touched that piece of meat. Not a single bite.

That night, he did sleep in the woodshed.

No one made him do it. Victor had asked. The back bedroom had one bed, and Mike had said they could squeeze, but Victor had caught the flicker of reluctance on Mike's face.

The woodshed was freezing, wind slicing through every crack in the walls. He laid his duffel bag on the dirt floor for padding and curled up for the night.

In the middle of the night, Victor heard footsteps.

Lily stood in the doorway, clutching a quilt. "Mom told me to bring this." She tossed it to him and turned to leave.

"Lily." Victor stopped her.

She paused, her back to him.

"Do you remember? When I was little, you always bought me candy. From the corner store by the old dogwood tree. Those orange hard candies. Two cents apiece."

Silence stretched between them. Lily turned back, studying him in the moonlight.

Her expression was complicated, as if she were reaching for a memory she didn't want to find. "I was five years old. That's ancient history. I've forgotten all about it."

She walked away.

Victor sat in the woodshed, clutching the quilt, listening to the wind howl outside.

Suddenly, he wanted to go back to that mountain hollow. It had been poor, but the woman who raised him, dying, had gripped his hand and said, "Victor, I hate to leave you."

Here, no one cared if he stayed or left.

*****

Victor spent a month at the Sherman residence.

A month was long enough to see things clearly.

He saw it plainly. Mike was the center of this family.

At breakfast, Amy would fry two eggs and slide them onto Mike's plate. "You're hitting the books so hard. You need your strength."

Victor sat in the corner and ate dry toast.

At lunch, Henry came back from the city with a new pair of sneakers for Mike. "You gotta look decent at school. Can't let people look down on you."

Victor still wore the ragged sneakers he'd brought from the hollow, the soles worn clean through.

After dinner, the whole family gathered in the living room around the TV. Lily sat close to Mike, peeling an orange and handing him the segments one by one.

Victor sat on the porch step, staring at the old dogwood tree in the yard.

No one asked about his grades. No one cared to ask.

No one asked if he needed new clothes. No one thought to ask.

Mike was polite to him. Too polite. "Victor, want some water? I'll pour you a glass. Victor, need help with this problem? I can show you. Victor, it's cold out. You can't wear so little. Take my old coat."

Victor didn't take the coat.

He'd seen that "old coat" hanging in Mike's closet. It looked almost new. Down-filled.

He saw Amy watching when Mike said it, her eyes full of pride. She was proud that her Mike was so considerate, so kind, so good to this outsider brother.

He had become a prop for Mike's charity.

Chapter 2

The kitchen table was loaded with food: pork roast, roast chicken, fried catfish, scrambled eggs, mashed potatoes, and buttered green beans.

The chicken, fish, meat, and eggs were all piled beside Mike's plate. Victor's own plate held nothing but a scoop of green beans.

"This is your brother Henry. He works construction in the city," Amy said, her introduction brisk. "And your sister Lily. She's a junior in high school. This is Mike. He's family, too.

"We took him in when he was eight. He's a few months older than you."

Victor kept his head down and nodded.

"Where've you been all these years?" Mike dropped a piece of roast pork on Victor's plate. "Must've been rough. Eat up."

Victor stared at the meat but didn't touch his fork.

He noticed something. Since he'd walked through that door, no one had asked how he'd survived. No one asked how he'd found his way home. No one asked what he'd suffered.

"Dad," Lily set down her fork, "the back bedroom only has one bed. Mike tosses and turns. He'll crowd Victor."

"I'll sleep in the woodshed." Victor stood up. "I'm done."

He never touched that piece of meat. Not a single bite.

That night, he did sleep in the woodshed.

No one made him do it. Victor had asked. The back bedroom had one bed, and Mike had said they could squeeze, but Victor had caught the flicker of reluctance on Mike's face.

The woodshed was freezing, wind slicing through every crack in the walls. He laid his duffel bag on the dirt floor for padding and curled up for the night.

In the middle of the night, Victor heard footsteps.

Lily stood in the doorway, clutching a quilt. "Mom told me to bring this." She tossed it to him and turned to leave.

"Lily." Victor stopped her.

She paused, her back to him.

"Do you remember? When I was little, you always bought me candy. From the corner store by the old dogwood tree. Those orange hard candies. Two cents apiece."

Silence stretched between them. Lily turned back, studying him in the moonlight.

Her expression was complicated, as if she were reaching for a memory she didn't want to find. "I was five years old. That's ancient history. I've forgotten all about it."

She walked away.

Victor sat in the woodshed, clutching the quilt, listening to the wind howl outside.

Suddenly, he wanted to go back to that mountain hollow. It had been poor, but the woman who raised him, dying, had gripped his hand and said, "Victor, I hate to leave you."

Here, no one cared if he stayed or left.

*****

Victor spent a month at the Sherman residence.

A month was long enough to see things clearly.

He saw it plainly. Mike was the center of this family.

At breakfast, Amy would fry two eggs and slide them onto Mike's plate. "You're hitting the books so hard. You need your strength."

Victor sat in the corner and ate dry toast.

At lunch, Henry came back from the city with a new pair of sneakers for Mike. "You gotta look decent at school. Can't let people look down on you."

Victor still wore the ragged sneakers he'd brought from the hollow, the soles worn clean through.

After dinner, the whole family gathered in the living room around the TV. Lily sat close to Mike, peeling an orange and handing him the segments one by one.

Victor sat on the porch step, staring at the old dogwood tree in the yard.

No one asked about his grades. No one cared to ask.

No one asked if he needed new clothes. No one thought to ask.

Victor didn't take the coat.

He'd seen that "old coat" hanging in Mike's closet. It looked almost new. Down-filled.

He saw Amy watching when Mike said it, her eyes full of pride. She was proud that her Mike was so considerate, so kind, so good to this outsider brother.

He had become a prop for Mike's charity.