Danny's Mom Read Online Free Page B

tennis ball that Danny tossed. Joe had been right: Moose andDanny had been best pals. I flashed back to the night of the accident: Moose twirling by Danny's door, turning in circles as if signaling an earthquake.
    The tears I had saved all afternoon spilled onto his fur. Moose shifted and stretched his thick neck. I stroked his head and fingered the small familiar bump, perfectly centered between his ears, to ease him from sleep, and, perhaps, to ease myself too. I needed a constant—one thing that hadn't changed. The knot on Moose's head was all I could find.
    Moose found a new spot in the yard as I put on a pot of coffee and tapped the red blinking button on the answering machine. My father's afternoon greeting boomed in the kitchen. The second call was from Joe, who rambled uncharacteristically. The architect had snagged his progress on a house in the Cove (something about enlarging the kitchen and adding a pass-through), so Joe had let the crew go early. All but Mike, the project manager. Joe took him to see a building site out east. They'd stopped for a beer. Joe was phoning from the pub, calling to tell me Mike had invited him for dinner. Mike's wife always cooked spaghetti and meatballs on Mondays. No problem bringing a guest. And Joe had said yes. “You're probably wiped out from work and won't want to fuss with dinner anyhow,” he told the machine, then jabbed me with his last words: “I won't be home.”
    “Fuck you, Joe!” I said, this time aloud to the kitchen walls.
    I poured my coffee and called Dad, who, I knew, would be waiting by the phone, eager to hear how I'd gotten through the day. I summarized in one sentence: “The strange thing was, Dad, the kids were easier than the adults.”
    “How so?”
    “Well…” I opened the door for Moose and welcomed the clack of his nails on the kitchen tiles. “I felt as if the teachers were uncomfortable with me, like they had to make me feel better and they didn't know how.”

    “But you can't fault them for that.”
    “I know, but it made me feel… I don't know… strange. Like everyone was treating me like a child. Like the teachers were patting me on the head saying There, there now. Everything's gonna be fine. But everything's not gonna be fine. And the students somehow know that. So they didn't lie like the staff did, telling me they know how I must feel, that they hurt for me when they're really just glad it was my child and not theirs.”
    “You know why adults are like that, don't you?” I couldn't come up with anything so my father continued: “I think we're like that because we want to believe, or need to believe, that if we say everything's okay, then it really will be—as if we have some control over what happens to us.” He stopped for a moment. I imagined my father dunking his tea bag, looking in his mug for a clearer explanation. “And kids know they don't.”
    “Don't what?”
    “Kids know they don't control anything. They have no power over what happens. So they know how to act when a friend's hurting. They just act like themselves. Maybe more sympathetic, but they don't say much because… well, I suppose kids know their words don't count.” Dad paused. “Remember when Danny sprained his ankle and you thought it was broken?”
    “Sure. That time I rushed him to the emergency room and he ended up with those crutches he never used.”
    “Right. And what'd you tell him?”
    “He'd be good as new in no time.”
    “But that didn't help.”
    “No. Guess not.” I closed my eyes to see Danny standing in the kitchen, balanced against a chair and looking at the soft cast on his ankle. Crutches lean against the wall. I didn't know which hurt more then, the sprain or what the doctor told him: No sports for a month.
    “You tried to talk away his sadness, Beth, but you couldn't.”

    “Right. And then Noah came over. And five minutes later I heard the boys laughing in Danny's room.”
    “See, honey. Noah helped just by being there,