Black Maps by David Jauss Page A

you’re not interested in helping yourself, how can I possibly help you?”
    His mother sat up slowly and leaned toward Mrs. McClure. “You can help me by getting the hell out of my apartment.”
    â€œMarjorie, you know that—”
    â€œI said, Get out .”
    Mrs. McClure sighed and shook her head, then she turned to Jimmy. “Don’t cry, honey,” she said. “Everything’s going to work out in the end.” She held out her arms. “Come here, sweetie.”
    For a second, he saw himself sitting in her lap, her arms around him, and he almost started toward her. That fact surprised him so much he stopped crying.
    Mrs. McClure dropped her arms and sat there a moment, looking at him, then she slowly stood up. “Maybe I’ve done all I can do here,” she said to his mother. “Maybe it’s time to take your case to another level.”
    His mother glared at her. “Just what is that supposed to mean?” she asked. But Mrs. McClure only shook her head, then gathered up her manila folder and purse and started toward the door.
    â€œYou and your damned threats,” his mother said to her back. “You can just go to hell.”
    Mrs. McClure didn’t answer. She merely stopped for a second to tousle Jimmy’s curly black hair and say, “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.” Then she went out the door and down the steps.
    â€œâ€˜A new hairdo,’” his mother said then. “She can just go fuck herself.” Jimmy looked at her. Normally her round face was pale and her eyes looked wet, as if she had just finished crying or was about to start, but now her skin was splotchy and her eyes looked fierce. “What are you staring at?” she said.
    Jimmy wanted to ask what Mrs. McClure meant by “another level,” but he didn’t dare. “Do you want me to make you supper tonight?” Jimmy asked. “I can make hot dogs if we got some.”
    â€œJust shut the damned drapes,” she said. “Shut all the goddamned drapes and leave me alone. I’m tired and I want to sleep.” She lay back on the sagging couch and hugged herself. “And get me a blanket. It’s cold in here.”
    â€œOkay,” Jimmy said, and went around the room, closing the drapes. Then he got a spare blanket from the linen closet and started to cover his mother with it. Her eyes were closed and he thought she was already asleep, but she opened them and said, “You’re a good boy, Jimmy. I’m not mad at you . You know that, don’t you?” When he nodded, she gave him the smile he loved so, the one that made her eyes crinkle up. “It’s you and me, kid,” she said. “You and me against the world.” And then she closed her eyes again and turned toward the back of the couch.
    For the next two weeks, no one mentioned the windows, and Jimmy began to believe that he wouldn’t be caught after all. Then one day he came home from school and heard his mother talking on the phone in the kitchen. “Think about Jimmy,” she was saying, her voice wavering. “He doesn’t deserve this.” Then she was silent a long time before she said, “I’ll be there. Just give me a chance to explain.” When she hung up, he went into the kitchen. His legs felt funny, as if his knees had turned to water. He was sure she’d been talking to the principal, or maybe a policeman.
    â€œOh, you’re home,” she said, and wiped her nose with a Kleenex.
    He was about to tell her it wasn’t true, someone else broke the windows, when she suddenly said, “Look at this mess!” She gestured at the dirty dishes piled on the table and counters. “We’ve got to clean up everything right away.” Then she began to fill the sink with water, but before it was even half full, she abruptly turned off the faucet. “We’d better do the bedrooms