Any Day Now by Denise Roig Page B

Drummondville some weekend. “Explore our roots, you know?”
    But the next night they couldn’t even make it as far as the bar: babysitting snag. Her mother had to visit a cousin in the hospital and Joey’s dad wasn’t answering his phone and even the friend from the bar, Lise, wasn’t free.
    â€œBring him along,” said Ben.
    â€œIt’s a bar,” she laughed.
    â€œWell, tomorrow then. We’ll find something kid-appropriate.” He couldn’t avoid the boy forever and it did look as if they were going to be a thing for a while. And maybe it would even do Joey some good having a man around, and be good for Jackie, too, just a bit of relief, another adult, someone to count on, and it was time to take some responsibility. Dayna always said he was grown, but not grown up. Ben was working himself up while trying to work himself down. The kid was on meds of some kind to keep him manageable, Jackie said, and he was nine, for chrissake.
    A new A&W was having its grand opening in West Springfield on Saturday and Jackie thought Joey might enjoy the first day’s hoopla. “He likes balloons,” she said. “And he’s crazy for burgers.”
    Ben arrived first and nabbed a table. Orange and black balloons covered the ceiling, black and orange crêpe paper dangled from the on-the-wall menus. Still it didn’t look as garish as the A&Ws of his youth. One wall was covered in a sepia and pale-orange photo of a sixties drive-in — such innocent days! — when he was too little to know the difference between Coke and root beer, between anything really. A girl behind the counter kept looking at him expectantly.
    They were late. Ben was almost ready to call Jackie at home when he saw her in the parking lot. She was hunched over something on the just-poured asphalt. He couldn’t see what exactly because her back blocked his view, and then he saw a stocky boy — looking closer to twelve than nine — straighten up, dart away and run around the car.
    From Jackie’s outstretched arms Ben could read her exasperation. He left his sweater on the table and went outside. The boy came running straight for him, but then he streaked past and ran to the door. Jackie came up, walking quickly. There was a different set to her face, everything on alert.
    â€œDouble and triple shit,” she said. “He’s having one of his days.”
    â€œIt’s OK,” he said, and she looked at him, doubtful, hopeful. They went inside. Joey was sitting at the table Ben had been sitting at.
    â€œHey, how did you know this was exactly the table I was saving for us?” Ben asked. The boy looked at him. He didn’t look anything like Jackie, except maybe in the colour of his eyes and hair. He had a large, mobile, nearly plastic face: sweet one second, menacing the next.
    â€œHey, dumbhead, I’m smart, that’s how,” he said.
    â€œJoey,” Jackie said to him in a low voice. “That is no way to speak to another person, especially an adult.”
    â€œOK, dumbhead, whatever you say, dumbhead.”
    And then it was silent, Joey studying Ben, Jackie watching Joey, Ben trying to breathe and smile and look pleasantly at them both.
    â€œSo, what’s it gonna be?” Ben asked. “Your mom says you love burgers.” But Joey had begun to drum his hands on the table, softly at first, then so hard and so loud that people at the next table turned to look at them.
    â€œStop that, Joey,” Jackie said. The boy didn’t, closed his eyes, tilted back his head. Drummed, drummed.
    â€œI said stop that, or I’m going to take you home.”
    Joey lowered the volume, but kept rapping.
    â€œWhy don’t you go up and order for us?” she said to Ben. “OK? Can you do that? Will you do that?”
    â€œOK,” Ben said.
    â€œJoey and I are going to go to the bathroom. I know he has to go.”
    â€œHe can’t go