The Boy

Rainy days were chocolate cake days. That was why it was important to always have a box of cake mix in the pantry. He used to stand on his toes to watch his mother bake, waiting for the all-important moment when she needed him to lick the bowl clean. Thirty minutes in the oven, and--hey, presto!--warm decadent chocolate cake was being sliced and plated.

They sat together on the porch swing and watched the rain, wrapped in warm blankets, with chocolate cake smeared over their faces. Just Layken Page Walker and Mama. Back when it was just the two of them. Back before Uncle Harvey and Lucinda came. Back before the cancer ate Mama from the inside.

Uncle Harvey had wanted the house, but the house came with Layken. That's what the Estate Man had told them -- "Ms. Helena T. Walker wishes to leave her land and the house to her son, Layken P. Walker." -- but seeing as Layken was only twelve, he needed a grown-up to look after him and Mama's house until he turned eighteen, and Uncle Harvey had jumped at the opportunity. He moved Lucinda and their children into the house in no-time, and kicked Layken out. Actually kicked him with a boot against his backside so that he tumbled down the stairs and landed sprawling in the dirt.

"That's where filthy boys like you belong," Uncle Harvey sneered. "You have no place here. This house should have been ours! Why our parents left it to Helena is beyond me. They knew what kind of girl she was."

Layken only made it about a quarter of a mile down the road before their car pulled up beside him and they hauled him back, realizing that if he disappeared, suspiciously or otherwise, the house they wanted so badly would become property of the estate agency and would be sold. No, they had to keep Layken on the property in order to keep the house. But nobody specified where on the property. Thus, Layken found himself waking every morning to the smell of rusty tools and old rubber, stuffed into a corner of the detached garage they couldn't use because Uncle Harvey liked to park his car right in front of the house and Lucinda's prized minivan was too big to fit.

They let him out in the morning, after their own children had eaten and gone to school, leaving only their scraps for him if he was lucky. If not, he didn't get anything to eat until he’d finished all of his chores. And they gave him a lot of chores.

As soon as they’d taken over the house, Uncle Harvey and Lucinda set about changing every single inch of it. That meant the old furniture had to go out, the new furniture had to come in, and all of Mama’s things had to be packed away in boxes and taken to the street for the garbage men to pick up. And they made Layken do a lot of it.

Layken tried not to let them see him cry as he gathered up the pieces of his old life and hauled them out to the garbage. He saved what he could, stuffing little bits and knickknacks into his pockets and squirreling them away in the garage. There was nothing he could do about the furniture, and he hid under the porch whenever the garbage truck came, digging his palms into his eyes to staunch the tears he couldn't hold back. Little by little, Mama and all of the memories they shared, were stripped from the house and tossed unceremoniously into the wide gaping void of the dump truck and taken away, leaving Layken alone with the bruises and his ghosts in a house that he no longer recognized.

This morning, it was the dribble-drip of something wet plinking against his face that woke him. He rolled onto his back, the gentle patter of rain against the corrugated steel roof slowly articulating itself as he drifted between sleep and wakefulness. Dratted leak! He could almost see Mama standing there, hands planted on her hips,, shaking her head. Your granddad always meant to fix it, but he never got to it. It was an inherited problem. Just like Layken.

Reluctantly, Layken got up and set about moving his things away from the leak. He would have to put it all back when the rain stopped. Uncle Harvey and Lucinda were very particular about this -- “A place for everything and everything in its place” including Layken. He sat on the edge of his mattress, bundled himself in an old quilt, and drew his knees to his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was on the porch swing again with Mama's arm around him.

Rainy days were chocolate cake days. But Uncle Harvey and Lucinda were Ketoans who didn't believe in chocolate cakes. What Layken would have done to be sitting on the porch swing with a piece of chocolate cake now.

He started at the sound of the bolt being drawn. They never let him out this early. He stayed perfectly still as the garage door was rolled up. To Layken's surprise, Lucinda filled the space, holding the garage door up with both hands. Layken was secretly relieved that it wasn't Uncle Harvey, but he was still very confused.

"Well, don't just sit there," Lucinda snapped. "Come along now."

She ushered him into the house, and shoved him, rather more gently than usual, into the upstairs bathroom. "There's fresh clothes for you on the counter," she said. "Take all the time you need."

Something was up. Lucinda had never been this nice to Layken. At that particular moment, he didn't question it. The thought of a hot shower -- his first in weeks -- made him giddy.

The clothes they'd left for him were even new. Newer at least; the frayed hems and faded tags indicated that they'd come from a thrift store, but at least they weren't dirty and a size too big. Now Layken was really suspicious. His uncle and Lucinda were never this nice to him. Something was up.

Uncle Harvey and Lucinda were waiting for him in the kitchen. Uncle Harvey pulled out a chair and beckoned for him while Lucinda placed a large plate on the table. Bacon, eggs, and a small fruit salad. Steam rose from the plate in little wisps. The food was still hot, freshly cooked just for him.

Layken stood in the doorway, eying Uncle Harvey and Lucinda. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, dear,” Lucinda said.

“Why would you think something is going on?” Uncle Harvey asked.

“Because you’re never this nice to me,” Layken pointed out.

Uncle Harvey and Lucinda looked genuinely astonished by this accusation.

“Why don’t you come sit down and have some breakfast,” Lucinda prompted, trying to redirect the conversation.

Layken stayed stubbornly in the doorway, even though his stomach was complaining loudly at the proximity to a delicious hot meal. He knew he should just accept their incongruous generosity, but he couldn't help it. “The estate agent is coming today, isn’t he?” It all started to make sense. If the estate agent was coming to check up on Layken and his new family, they needed him to look like he hadn’t been starved and locked in a garage.

They had the good grace to look incredulous at this suggestion.

“Of course not!” said Uncle Harvey.

“We just wanted to show how much we care about your favorite nephew!” said Lucinda.

“But, if they do,” Uncle Harvey put in, “you’ll make sure to tell them how kind, and loving, and decent we’ve been to you?”

“Like one of our own,” Lucinda chimed in, her smile widening into something unnatural and a little demonic.

“No!” Layken said. "I’m not going to lie for you. You treat me like garbage and make me sleep in the garage!"

“You will if you know what’s good for you!” Uncle Harvey snarled, dropping all pretense of being the kind, loving uncle.

“Or what?” Layken asked. “You’ll hit me again? Or throw me out? That’s going to go over really well with the estate agent.”

“You can’t stay here alone,” Lucinda pointed out. “Without us, you won’t be able to stay here. They’ll take you to a Home, and you know what happens to boys like you in places like that.”

Layken didn’t know, even though they’d repeatedly used this vague threat on him numerous times. “It can’t be any worse than here,” he said. And then he turned and ran out of the house. It wasn’t his home anymore anyway.