Chapter Five
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Dinnertime[/i] at the Squalor mansion the following evening was not its usual silent affair. With a single tap of her spoon to her water glass, Cora found herself overcoming her skittishness and opening her first family discussion in years.
Although he failed to set aside the piece of stake balancing at the edge of his fork, the sound did capture the attention of Maxwell Squalor. Additionally, the heads of Jerome and Andrew also turned, and they wondered what sort of announcement their mother was planning to make. It was a rare occurrence that anyone in the Squalor household spoke during mealtimes, unless Maxwell was in the mood to boast about his latest business deal. But since it was
Cora who had captured the attention of her family, both boys knew that whatever she had to say was in no way related to business.
Andrew thought he saw the fires of irritation beginning to burn behind his father’s slate-blue eyes. Fearing for his mother’s confidence as well as for that of his sensitive elder brother, Andrew was quick to speak. “What is it, Mother?”
Cora smiled genuinely at her youngest son, before pivoting her attention back to her husband. “I have an exciting announcement to make. I would have brought it to your attention last evening, but thought it best to wait until all four of us were present.”
Maxwell cleared his throat; the sound of it pertaining more to an expression of annoyance than an attempt to rid himself of any discomfort. “This had better be important, Cora. I have some business to take care of down at the office after dinner. I don’t have time to waste on frivolous matters.”
“This will only take a minute, dear,” Cora replied in her usual submissive tone. Her eyes settled on Jerome. “I just feel it’s important to acknowledge Jerome’s efforts in his first study session with Mr. Funcoot yesterday afternoon. Your instructor was very pleased with your progress,” she added, beaming at her son, “and has even offered to tutor you in Latin, free of charge. Isn’t that generous?”
The gruff clearing of Maxwell’s throat cut through the air like a meteorite before Jerome could answer. “So, what is it this tutor of yours is teaching you?”
Amazed that his father was actually speaking to him courteously and not because he had done something wrong, Jerome felt a smile establish itself on his face. “He—he taught me about Shakespeare.”
“Shakespeare, eh?” For the first time upon sitting down to dinner, Maxwell put aside his fork.
A good sign, Cora determined.
It means he’s decided to listen. “And what was it he taught you, son?”
Son, Jerome thought, and felt his heart swell with pride.
He’s never
called me that before. As sad as it was, this realization was as accurate as leaves changing color in the fall. There was not a time throughout his entire childhood or teenage years where Jerome’s father had ever referred to him by any such term of affection. All such expressions had been reserved for Andrew, and even so Maxwell had only used them on special occasions. Such as when Andrew received an impressive grade on a test or report card, or led one of his sports teams to victory. In Maxwell’s eyes, Jerome always assumed he would never be anything more than average, or possibly less. And it was for this reason that it thrilled him so extensively to be shown any sort of special treatment by his father.
“He gave me some advice on how to understand it better,” explained Jerome, hardly noticing how his stuttering was no longer an issue when he felt relaxed, “since it’s always been so confusing to me. He said we’d go over it again together on Thursday.”
“Mr. Funcoot is brilliant an educator as they come,” Cora gushed, and Maxwell quirked an eyebrow at her unexpected enthusiasm. “He really understands Jerome, better than most of his instructors at Blue Melody do.”
“Yes,” Maxwell agreed, his voice with an edge to it this time, “well, that’s what we’re paying him for, aren’t we? Or rather, what
I’m paying him for.” He sent Cora a look as if to warn her of something—something that Andrew was still too young to understand but that Jerome had no trouble recognizing. He knew as well as his mother the reasons his father often stayed late at the office and was always so impatient to return after dinner. Jerome was just too considerate of his mother’s feelings and too terrified of his father’s wrath to speak the truth aloud. Nor was he about to let his little brother discover the secret life of the man who always made such an effort to attend his sporting events. The way Jerome watched over his mother and brother was equivalent to a grown man safeguarding his wife and children.
“Of course it is, dear,” said Cora quickly, blushing at her husband’s statement. “Now, if you’ve all finished your dinner, I think it’s time I brought in the dessert.”
“What are we having?” Andrew asked.
But before Cora had a chance to authenticate her son’s question, her husband spoke up. “I’ve got to be getting back down to the office. I’m not sure how late I’ll be in, so don’t bother waiting up.” Eyeing his youngest son, he added, “Make sure you get yourself to bed early for your soccer tournament tomorrow, Andrew.”
Andrew’s slate-blue eyes lit up. “Will you be there to cheer me on, Father?”
“Aren’t I always?”
“Jerome’s competition is tomorrow as well,” Cora piped up. “It won’t be until later in the day, so we’ll be able to attend both events.”
“And what competition might this be?” Maxwell inquired. This time, though, his interest was vague, unlike that which he’d expressed in Jerome’s tutoring session.
“Don’t you remember, Maxwell? The letter Jerome’s Home Economics teacher sent us a letter a few weeks ago? The one informing us that his strawberry shortcake was chosen best in his grade and will be voted upon in our town’s baking competition?”
Maxwell glanced questionably at his son before turning back to his wife. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
Cora recalled the look of pride on Jerome’s face when she’d first told him the news; how he’d been so proud of his accomplishment. But his self esteem was as fragile as hers, and one negative word from Maxwell would surely shatter it. She hadn’t missed the smile on her son’s face when his father had asked him about his first session with Mr. Funcoot. If Maxwell would only make the effort to take an interest in what went on in his son’s life more often, then their relationship would strengthen that much more.
“I told you the day I received the letter,” Cora pursued, “remember? I telephoned you at the office.”
“Oh.” Maxwell looked momentarily at his watch, as if the conversation was of so little importance. This irritated Cora, of course, but she was still too passive to make her feelings known. “Perhaps if you had waited until I returned home rather than calling me during business hours, then I may have remembered.”
“But I did. I showed you the letter that same evening when we were all sitting down to dinner.”
Maxwell sighed heavily. “Very well; I’ll see if I can switch some meetings around.” He pushed his chair away from the table with more force than necessary. Again he glanced quickly at Jerome, who felt the steely look of blame pass from his father’s eyes to his. “But I’m not making any promises.”
The eyes of both Squalor siblings lowered to their plates. Neither raised their heads, even after hearing the front door slam. They were still waiting for the tension in the room to subside, when the distinct sound of their mother’s weeping forced them to abandon their former decision.
It was a rare occurrence for Cora Squalor to reveal her emotions to anyone—particularly to her two young sons. She much preferred the solitude of her bedroom or other private places whenever she felt like crying. But much like a storm capsizing a boat, she hadn’t time to escape her tears before it was too late. Like two saviors who had discovered her floating alone in the ocean, her loyal children fled to her side, draping their arms protectively around her.
“Don’t worry, Mother,” Jerome said. “It isn’t
that important to me for Father to attend my competition.” Of course, Jerome knew this was only
part of the reason why his mother was so upset. Still, he hoped his reassurance would help to soothe the pain his father had caused her.
“And I don’t care if he
does attend my soccer tournament,” Andrew added. “He’s been to every one of my games this year, anyway. It won’t bother me if he doesn’t show up tomorrow.”
“Here,” said Jerome, sliding one arm out from around his mother. “Let me help you by clearing away these dishes.”
“And I’ll help by bringing out the dessert,” offered Andrew.
“You’re both such good boys,” sniffed Cora, giving them each a hug. “Thank you.”
Jerome snatched up a handful of napkins from the dispenser and handed them to his mother. She smiled gratefully and, along with him, watched his younger brother disappear into the kitchen. Andrew all but skipped, and for once Cora was grateful that Maxwell had decided to spend the remainder of the evening at the office. Andrew had always been such a happy, carefree child, with no concept of what was acceptable and what was not in the eyes of his father. Jerome had spent most of his life being referred to as a ‘sissy’ by Maxwell. This was especially true when Cora had given Jerome an Easy-Bake Oven for Christmas one year, after he’d taken such an interest in helping her in the kitchen. While Jerome had been pushed into sports by his father, Andrew had taken a genuine interest in things like football and soccer. Cora had concluded long ago that this was the main reason why Maxwell doted so much on Andrew and tended to ignore Jerome. The last-ditch effort Maxwell had made in getting his eldest son to take an interest in things he believed all boys should be interested in was when Jerome was ten. Maxwell had taken him quail hunting, an activity that Maxwell had thoroughly enjoyed as a boy with his own father. Sadly for Maxwell, his plans to turn Jerome into his own version of the Perfect Son had been a disaster. For Jerome had raised his rifle and, after taking one look at the quail his father expected him to kill, burst into tears. Fearing that the boys’ cries might be heard by some nearby huntsman, Maxwell saw no reason to shoot the quail himself, and instead dragged his hysterical son through the woods and back to the car.
That was how Jerome had always been, and the way his mother supposed he always would be. He had always been such a sensitive, loving, and caring boy, the kind of boy who would make a wonderful husband and father someday. Cora didn’t understand why none of the girls at Blue Melody Academy had ever taken an interest in Jerome. During the times she had gone to pick him up for a doctor’s or some other appointment, she had seen him standing in the courtyard, staring longingly at all the pretty girls. While a few didn’t have boyfriends, most of them did, and Cora never missed the lonely look in Jerome’s face as he observed them.
Her sobs having subdued themselves and her tears having come to an end, Cora took the opportunity to speak to Jerome. “Jerome, dear?”
Jerome picked up a soiled fork from Andrew’s place at the table and set it down on the plate at the top of the pile he had collected. “Yes, Mother?”
“When you marry, don’t do it out of obligation like your father and I did.”
Jerome tilted his head to the side. Surely his own mother knew him better than that! “Mother, I would
never—”“Do it for love.”
“You have nothing to worry about.”
“How do you know?”
“Because,” Jerome replied with a smile, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Jerome’s words put his mother’s fears to rest, as if those words were water extinguishing a flame. By the time Andrew returned with the pudding, Cora’s tears were dried and she was smiling again.