And she hurried back into the kitchen.
Marilyn sighed, and rose, placing the corner piece in the pocket of her dress for safekeeping. She strode to the door, doing her best to keep her anger intact. But when she saw the poor little guy, everything flew away.
“Oh my goodness,” she said. “What on earth happened to you?”
His left eye was a road map of purple and green bruising, and so swollen that he could barely hold it open. In his arms he held the predictable carton of eggs.
“Nothing much, ma’am,” the boy said, averting his eyes toward the doormat.
“It doesn’t look like nothing much. It looks like somebody hurt you. Does somebody hurt you at home? Your father?”
“No,” the boy said. “I told you.”
“What did you tell me? Oh, that’s right. Never mind. You said your parents died when you were a baby. Who do you live with, then?”
“Just my sister, and my big brother. But they don’t hit me.”
“Big brother?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I thought you said he was younger.”
“I never said that.”
“You said something. What was it? Something you said definitely made me think he was younger. Oh! I know! You said he wouldn’t be able to sell eggs door to door like you do. That he just wouldn’t be able to manage it.”
“Oh, right. I did say that. But not because he’s too young. He has trouble with . . . physical . . . things.”
“Meaning what?”
“He has a disability.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you just say so? Is he the one who hit you?”
“No, ma’am! Never. Theo would never do a thing like that.”
“Your sister?”
“No, ma’am. She’s nice to me. It was one of the kids from school.”
“You should report it to somebody.”
“Well. No. Not exactly I shouldn’t, ma’am. Because I . . . sort of . . . started it.”
Marilyn put away her sympathy for him, and shut down her feelings. He had given her a reason to stop caring about his situation. It felt welcome.
“Well, then I have no sympathy for you at all. What kind of boy goes around starting fights? Why, I’m not even sure I want a boy like that coming to the door. And what are you doing here today, anyway? I told you to come back in a week, not a day. Do you honestly think I ate a whole carton of eggs since yesterday?”
“No, ma’am. I don’t think that. If you don’t want me here, I’ll just go.”
His eyes were still trained down to the mat, but Marilyn could see his face, and he looked so dejected that it made her hurt for him. It also made her feel guilty, and she didn’t like it when people made her feel guilty. It always made her want to lash out at them even more harshly.
He turned and shuffled off the stoop, hanging his head.
“Wait,” she said.
He did. He stopped, and waited to hear what she had to say, but he didn’t turn around to face her.
“Tell me why you came again so soon if you knew I didn’t need more eggs.”
Still he stood with his back to her. But he turned his head slightly and answered the question.
“I had three cartons left over at the end of the day yesterday. I sold two just now by only asking two dollars for them. Because they were day old. I was going to give you the last one for free. If you wanted it.”
“Turn around,” Marilyn said.
The boy did as she had instructed. He kept his eyes down, as if memorizing something about his own shoes. He didn’t seem inclined to say anything more.
“Day-old eggs aren’t really a thing,” she said. “Because eggs are not like baked goods. They last a lot longer than that.”
“I know it, ma’am. There’s not much you can tell me about eggs that I don’t already know.”
“Then why would you act like they’re practically ruined after the first day you gather them?”
He shrugged. A bit helplessly, she thought.
“I just pride myself on the fresh part,” he said. “It’s sort of the . . . specialness of the whole thing.”
“And here’s another question. If you sold the other two cartons for two dollars each, why are you offering to give me that one for free?”
He shrugged again. He seemed heartbroken, and his heartbreak seemed to make him listless.
“I don’t know. Just something I thought you might like.”
Another shot of that unwanted guilt ran through her, and it made her want to push him away again. He was trying to reach out to her in some way, but she had no idea why. And whatever his reasons for trying, Marilyn didn’t want anyone reaching out to her. The last thing she needed was anybody taking an interest in her situation. Coming around asking questions. Wanting to know her.
“That would be a lot of eggs to eat in one week,” she said.
His face fell even further, if such a thing was possible.
“Did you even try them?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I did. I had two poached on toast this morning, and you were right. They’re excellent. Much better than what Sylvia buys at the market.”
That seemed to perk him up some. He reached the carton out to her, still not meeting her eyes.
“Well, you got nothing to lose by taking this, then. It’s free.”
But for the moment, she did not take it.
“You still never told me why it’s free for me and two dollars for anybody else.”
The boy only shrugged. Then he set the eggs gently on the stoop and retreated down the stairs.
“I hope you can use them,” he called over his shoulder.
“Not the best thing for my cholesterol to double up on eggs.”
“It’s only just the one week.”
He was almost down to road level, where his empty wagon sat waiting, so she had to call out quite loudly.
“Wait!”
He stopped and looked up at her.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Thank you. That was thoughtful.”
That caused his face to brighten considerably.
Marilyn walked three steps to the spot where the carton of eggs sat waiting on her stoop. She bent over with effort and picked it up.
“I told you my name,” the boy called up the stairs. “But you never told me yours.”
“That’s right,” she said. “I didn’t.”
And with that she walked back through the open doorway and into the house, closing the door behind her. She purposely did not look back to see how that statement had settled with him. She had been made to feel guilty quite enough for one day.
She walked into the kitchen and stashed the eggs in the fridge.
Sylvia was standing at the stove making macaroni and cheese from a box for her daughter, who was a picky eater.
Marilyn looked over her shoulder, not trying to hide her judgment and disdain. She was on edge now from her interaction with that boy, and feeling the need to let her irritation out somehow.
“Why don’t you just insist that she eat what everybody else is eating?”
“We’ve been through this, Marilyn. Don’t tell me how to raise my daughter. You barely know us.”
“Fine. Whatever. It’s just not how I was raised.”
“I don’t really care how you were raised,” Sylvia said, in such a voice and tone as to end the conversation.
As Marilyn walked back into the dining room to finish her puzzle, she decided she should have told the boy her name was Marilyn. Since it actually wasn’t. The adopted name would get him no closer to the truth, and nothing would be lost. She would tell him if he came back again. But he probably wouldn’t, after the careless way she had treated him.
Too bad, because the eggs really were superior, and they were spoiling her for the supermarket variety, which would never taste as good to her again.
She sighed, and decided she was glad she at least had two dozen.
She sat back down in front of the puzzle, but she could no longer find that corner piece. She searched and searched, right up until dinner, and for almost an hour after dinner, but it never turned up.
It wasn’t until bedtime, when she emptied out her dress pockets of tissues before putting the garment in the laundry hamper, that she found it.
She was surprised, to say the least, and though she searched her mind relentlessly, she was never able to recall having put it there.
Chapter Three
All Too Much
Stewie