What Hearts by Bruce Brooks Page B

She’s all right. Really. Just sleepy.” He slurped some of the coffee and winced at the heat.
    â€œWhy is she so sleepy? Why do we have to wake her?”
    Dave watched him over the edge of the mug as he took another, longer swallow. “Well, Sport,” he said, with a tone almost cheery, “she kind of goofed. She had a headache, and she went into the bathroom in the middle of the night, and she took what she thought was an aspirin. But it was a sleeping pill. They look the same.” He shrugged and lifted the mug.
    â€œOne sleeping pill?” Asa said.
    Dave paused and considered, the mug an inch from his mouth. “Two,” he said, and drank.
    Asa went back into his mother’s room. She had slumped sideways. The friction of the skin of her left cheek against the wooden headboardwas all that held her up from lying down again; the pressure pulled her lip up above her gum on that side and opened her left eye. Asa looked at the eye. Nothing but white was showing.
    He straightened her, and went into the bathroom. In the medicine cabinet there was nothing but shaving stuff and toothpaste. He looked under the sink. The wastebasket was on its side and a few wads of tissue lay near it. There was a brown prescription bottle upright on the floor there. Asa picked it up and read the name of the medicine: Seconal. Inside he found a single red, oval pill. There was no aspirin or aspirin bottle anywhere.
    He went back into the bedroom. Dave was there, leaning close to her, watching for some sign; from his face it was obvious he had no clue about what he was waiting for. Asa said, “I’m calling the hospital.”
    â€œNo!” Dave roared, spinning on him. The gentility was gone. “You will do nothing but what I say, you hear? This isn’t a time for a kid to interfere, I don’t care how smart he thinks he is.” He glared at Asa; the boy held his eyefor a moment, then started to walk toward the kitchen. Dave said, “Wait,” more gently, and came over to him.
    â€œListen, please,” he said. Please was not a word Asa heard from him often; he listened.
    Dave put his hands on Asa’s shoulders and looked straight into his face. “Listen, son. That’s my wife over there. Your mother, and my wife. We want her to wake up and be okay. Both of us. I would not let her sit there in danger, understand?”
    â€œYou lied about the pills,” said Asa. “I can’t trust you.”
    Dave groaned in exasperation, and with an offhanded force that seemed weary, almost casual, he thrust Asa straight back until the boy slammed into the side of a bureau. Asa’s ears filled with a buzzing from the back of his head, but he stayed erect; Dave stepped close and squatted, sticking his face close.
    â€œYou’ll pardon me for not giving a dingle,” he said, “but right now I just don’t feel all torn up with the need for your ‘trust.’ It’s not something your mother’s pining for over there, either. Frankly, boy, I don’t think you’re thekind of person who will ever trust anybody . It kind of takes an honest heart to do that, you understand what I mean?”
    â€œYes,” said Asa, “I do.” Then with a concentration of all his strength he snapped his arm out and punched Dave flush on the temple. The shock of it felt good; he left his arm, stiff and solid, in the air between them as Dave jerked backward and sat down hard. Dave shook his head and blinked fast for a moment, but quickly his eyes found Asa’s and they stared at each other. For some time neither spoke or looked away. Then Asa lowered his fist, and Dave smiled grimly. There was a red circle near his left eye.
    â€œWell,” he said. His voice gurgled a little; he cleared his throat. “Well. Now, I guess, we’re even.” He Started to stand up, careful to lean away from Asa as he did so.
    â€œWe’ll, never be even,” said