Little Boy Blues by Mary Jane Maffini

he, Dad?”
    “Indeed he hasn’t.”
    “We haven’t felt comfortable asking him about what happened, because he gets emotional,” I said.
    “Well, he would, wouldn’t he?”
    “I didn’t want to ask Mrs. Ferguson, either because she’s quite distraught. Perhaps I should speak to Vince when he’s got a minute.”
    “You could, I suppose, dear. But Vince can be a bit of a, what would you say, Dad, about Vince?”
    “Indeed, I’d say a gold-plated pain in the arse, Mum. At his best.”
    “I’ll drink to that.” I gasped for air at the first sip. If he’d put any coke in that rum, I couldn’t taste it.
    “Dad likes to say what’s on his mind, don’t you, Dad?”
    “They remember the accident quite clearly,” Mrs. Parnell said meaningfully. “I think Loretta and Donald Donnie should tell you all about it. You’ll find it most interesting.”
    “I’ll bet,” I said, when I’d caught my breath after the solid kick of the rum.
    “It was terrible,” Loretta said. “More than terrible.”
    “Must be what, fifteen years?”
    “Sixteen. And I remember it like it was yesterday. Well, poor little Allie, he was hysterical, wasn’t he, Dad? He came running up the hill screaming like a banshee and bawling his eyes out. He banged on the door for Vincent to come and help. But, of course, Vincent wasn’t home, was he?”
    “And neither was the mother. Out shopping. Leaving those kids alone.”
    “You mean, no one was looking after them?”
    “Well, they’d never admit it, that bunch with their noses inthe air. But Vincent wasn’t where he was supposed to be, was he, Mum?”
    “No, he was not. I don’t give a Jesus what they say. And that Frances Ann was late getting home herself. The three little kids were on their own. But that didn’t stop them from blaming Allie. He couldn’t have been more than seven years old. It wasn’t his fault. Boys will be boys, and anyone who has a brain in their head knows they need an adult.”
    “So Alvin and Jimmy were alone?”
    “And Tracy. She was playing in her room all along.”
    “And the boys went to the park.”
    “To feed the ducks.”
    “And something happened? Do you know what?”
    “We’ll never know, will we, Mum?”
    “You mean Alvin didn’t say how the accident happened?”
    “The poor little thing was screaming ‘Help my brother, he’s hurt, he’s hurt.’ Dad and I came out to see what was going on, then he led us to where Jimmy was with his darling little face right in that dirty water, and Dad pulled him right out and gave him mouth to mouth, and I took off like a shot back here and called for the ambulance. It saved his life, I guess, but he’d been in the water a bit too long, and we weren’t fast enough to save him from brain damage.”
    “No, we were not, Mum. Don’t you start crying over that, either. We did what we could.”
    “Your prompt action saved the day,” Mrs. Parnell said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ms. MacPhee.”
    “Thank God you were here, or he would have died.”
    “Indeed, surrounded by ducks. Imagine that.”
    “And what did Alvin say happened?”
    “He didn’t, did he, Mum?”
    “No, he did not. He never said a blessed word.”
    Mrs. Parnell gave me an I-told-you-so look.
    “He didn’t talk about it?”
    “Not a peep.”
    “But people must have asked. His family must have wanted to know.”
    “Oh, they wanted to know all right,” Donald Donnie said.
    “Indeed. They blamed him. They said he shouldn’t have taken Jimmy to the pond. They even punished him, didn’t they, Dad.”
    “But he never said what happened?”
    “He couldn’t remember. Poor little thing was not himself. Not that anybody noticed because they were all for Jimmy. It was a long time before Jimmy got out of the hospital, and they all saying novenas and Stations of the Cross and lighting candles and all that, but the fact is they had this other child, and anyone could see he was hurting, couldn’t they, Dad?”
    “Indeed they