Henry & Me: A hilarious feel-good romantic comedy

Mornings are the quietest time of the day after Henry leaves for work, when my heartbeat cuts back to a hum that mirrors the drone of the dishwasher. Without anybody in the apartment, I’m free to relax. Turning on some easy listening tracks, I rest on the couch, spread-eagle, singing softly.

Until the blaring siren that is my ringtone reaches my ears, almost blowing out my eardrums. Sheesh. I need to lower the ringtone volume before I go deaf.

Emilia Stone’s number flashes under the glass screen of my mobile phone.

I gulp. Why is she calling me now? It’s too early in the morning for me to get into trouble.

The phone continues to wail.

Doesn’t matter why she’s calling. The thing is, I can’t ignore her calls. She’s my employer.

Grudgingly, I set the phone to my right ear. “Hello?”

“Max. I need you to head to Lucien’s school ASAP.”

I sit back up, my knees bumping into each other, and check the time on the metallic clock nailed to the wall. “It’s only eleven am. School’s not out until two.”

Emilia sighs. Most of the sound is overpowered by the hospital noises behind her. “The principal’s secretary called me. Lucien’s at the principal’s office. Bad behavior. I’ve been asked to come to school, but I have a surgery in fifteen minutes, so I can’t go. Go in my place.”

Lucien Stone at the principal’s office. Well, I knew this day wasn’t far, but I didn’t think it’d come so close on the heels of the Coney Island incident. I’m intrigued to find out what got him there, though.

“Now?”

“Of course now. Chop, chop.” She clicks her tongue. “And I expect a detailed report of the situation by email when you return.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The ‘ma’am’ is a new addition to my vocabulary. I’m trying not to step on Emilia’s toes, which means being as servile as I can possibly manage.

“Bye.”

Emilia’s voice dies, and half an hour later, I’m clambering out of a subway train. Making a mad dash for Trinity School, I arrive there breathless. I’m signed in and given a guest pass, then led to the principal’s office, where Lucien looks sulkier than I’ve ever seen him.

There are no outward signs of injury on his face, and his hair’s tame, suggesting that he wasn’t involved in a scuffle, at least. That leaves one option—he must’ve cheated in a test or something.

His shoe laces are untied.

“Sure took your own sweet time to get here.” He kicks the air in front of him, avoiding facing me.

I gesture him to shuffle to the dean’s office. “Stop nagging me like my sister-in-law. I’m having trouble telling you two apart these days.”

The principal’s secretary walks close at my heel, closing the door when I’m in and then withdrawing.

“Mrs. Stone?” the dean asks as soon as he sees me.

He looms large from behind his desk, his hotdog-shaped fingers clicking impatiently at the mouse. His rotund beer belly perches comfortably on the table, next to a half-empty box of candy. I bet he ate most of them. The nameplate on his table identifies him as George Ford.

I mesh my fingers between Lucien’s. “I’m Max. Lucien’s nanny. Mrs. Stone couldn’t make it. She asked me to find out about what happened.”

“Have a seat, then.”

I do as I’m told. Lucien refuses to sit. What’s with the kid today? He’s acting out of character.

“So what happened?”

A colony of lines appears on the dean’s forehead. “Lucien set fire to his desk. We were lucky Mr. Tracy put out the fire before it burned down the school.”

I hear the sound of my heart screeching to a halt. Really? Why would he do that? With my eyes narrowed, I look to Lucien, who doesn’t give me an answer.

But the dean does.

“He says he didn’t mean to do it, but he still hasn’t told us why he did it.”

Again we both look to Lucien expectantly, but he’s squeezed his lips into a straight line.

“Kiddo, why did you set the desk on fire?” I ask, unable to keep the annoyance from my voice.

No answer.

Seems like I’ll have to ferret out the truth the tough way.

I pull his hand. Hard. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Fine. At least tell me how you did it.”

Something shiny skips over the principal’s desk towards me. “Using a lighter. He had this in his possession.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” In disbelief, I brush the cool surface of the lighter. Anxiety pounds in my chest. If Emilia catches wind of this, Lucien will be in so much trouble. “Where in hell did he get this from?”

The dean drops his paperweight on the table. “Watch your language, miss.”

“Oops. I’m sorry. I…I was shocked.” I smack my cheek, then smack Lucien’s arm. “Kiddo, where did you get this from? Nobody in your family smokes, as far as I know.”

Lucien shrugs, moving away from me. “I want to go home.”

What’s with his attitude? It’s so half-hearted. Doesn’t he realize that arson is a serious crime? The Lucien I know isn’t reckless or stupid.

Looks like I was right when I warned Emilia about Lucien becoming a sociopath.

“We’re going nowhere unless you tell me why you set your desk on fire,” I say sternly.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I wanna go home. I have a headache.”

“Do you know you could be expelled from school for this behavior, Lucien?” The dean steeples his fingers, dropping his voice so it sounds serious.

Surprise and shock dawn on Lucien, but he quickly camouflages it with a stoic expression. “Okay.”

“What the heck does ‘okay’ mean?” I scream. “You’re okay being expelled?”

“As it stands, I’m suspending him for two days,” the dean adds.

“You hear that? That means I’m gonna have to babysit you all day tomorrow. I think I deserve to know the reason.”

Lucien stays tight-lipped.

I’m starting to grow frustrated. I don’t understand how to get him to talk. He’s never clammed up like this before. It’s worrisome and annoying at the same time.

“Did someone bully you into doing it? Did someone threaten you?” I take another shot at cracking his quietness. “You can tell me. I’ll make sure you’re protected.”

“Max, I want to go home.”

“Stop saying that!”

The dean watches dispassionately as I battle it out with Lucien. Lucien doesn’t give anything up, and after a while the dean’s patience is exhausted.

“You should take him home now,” he says. “He’ll think clearly once he’s had more time. If you find out anything, be sure to let me know.”

“I will.” I impale Lucien with my eyes.

He shuffles ahead chirpily, relieved that this confrontation is over. Too bad for him, I plan to keep up with the interrogation until I find the answers I need. That’s the tactic the police use: they keep bombarding suspects with questions until they crack.

“What’s for lunch?” he asks on the subway. “Don’t tell me you made instant noodles again.”

Pasting on my best hurt and upset expression, I shake with fury. “I’m really disappointed in you, Lucien Stone-Carter. Setting fire to school property. What’s gotten into you?”

“Drop it, Max.”

“I will, once you come clean about your reason for doing it.”

He must’ve realized there’s no way to change my mind about this, because he doesn’t say anything after that.

It’s a quiet ride back home.

*

“Uncle Henry? You’re at home?”

Henry’s getting his shoes off when we land in the apartment. He beams at the both of us, loosening his tie.

“Hey, Lucien. Max. I was wondering why the house was so empty.” He shrugs off his suit jacket, slinging it over his arm. “My client presentation wrapped up early, so I thought I’d come home. I was surprised to find it empty.”

“I went to Lucien’s school to pick him up after Emilia called me,” I explain. “He was suspended for setting his desk on fire.”

“Now why would he do that?” Henry pretend-scratches his head, aiming the question at Lucien.

Lucien runs off to the bathroom and shuts the door. Great escape tactic, but he can’t evade me forever. I will follow him to the ends of the earth to get an answer. And if I don’t succeed, I’m sure Emilia will. Because that woman? She’s a shark.

Knocking on the bathroom door, I try to coax Lucien out, but that boy has a rock for a heart. No amount of pleading and begging can melt him. I wonder if he’s crying in there…probably not. I can’t imagine Lucien being so emotional.

“I’ve reached an impasse with him,” I admit, leaching irascibility. “At this rate, I’m gonna have to hire a detective to get to the bottom of this.”

“Lucien’s usually talkative,” Henry muses. “It’s odd.”

“Maybe he’s being bullied. Or maybe he did it for a girl and doesn’t want to tell on her,” I speculate.

Okay. The girl theory is too far-fetched. I can’t imagine Lucien doing something stupid for a girl. He’s not that type.

Henry pulls away his tie, cocking his head to one side. “I think he’s embarrassed to admit why he did it. He’s a very image-conscious child.”

“His image ain’t flying high right now.”

“By the way, how did he set the desk on fire?”

I produce the lighter I received from the dean and give it to Henry. “Using a lighter.”

Shock spreads over Henry’s features. It seems he recognizes the lighter. Is it his? No, it couldn’t be. Henry’s not a smoker. At least I didn’t think he would be, after his bout of cancer.

While I’m wondering about it, Henry moves to the bathroom door and raps on it. Nothing but gurgled sounds of water running in the bathtub. I hope Lucien’s not mucking up the bathtub I cleaned this morning. Moreover, I pray he’s not trying to drown himself. He wouldn’t do that, would he? But kids these days give up on life so easily, I can’t really tell. Yesterday, Coop shared an article on Facebook about an eight-year-old girl who committed suicide because her teacher gave her a bad grade. Those kinds of things frighten me.

“Come out, Lucien; I want to tell you a story,” Henry calls out.

“You want to tell him a story? We need to make him spit out the truth,” I snip at Henry.

Does nobody except me realize the magnitude of this situation? Lucien is on the path to delinquency (and possibly suicide), and I’m trying to save him from becoming a full-fledged criminal. To start with, he already displayed sociopathic tendencies. But really, what in hell seized him to set a desk on fire?

Henry lays a finger over his lips. “Shhh, Max. I think he’s stressed enough.”

Calling out to Lucien in a soothing voice, he knocks on the bathroom door again. It doesn’t budge. At all.

“You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to,” Henry coaxes, pressing his ear to the door. Whatever he hears makes him frown.

“Lucien’s crying,” he mouths to me. “Not good.”

“Kiddo, come out.” Smacking the door, I shout, “At least turn off the water. Aren’t you always going on about conserving the environment?”

This time, too, there is nothing, but the water is turned off. Lucien is such a weirdo. I’ll never be able to understand him for as long as I live.

Henry blows out a sigh that’s regretful.

But he doesn’t give up. Slumping down against the door, he cups his hand over his mouth, and projects his voice.

“When I was in middle school, my parents didn’t take me to the Fourth of July fireworks, so I thought I’d make my own fireworks. I didn’t have any of the required chemicals at home. But the school chemistry lab had all of it. So one day, between periods, I snuck into the lab. My experiment ended up exploding. I almost got expelled.” He draws in a long breath, trying to gauge whether there’s any response from inside the bathroom. “So don’t worry. It won’t be as bad as you think.”

We take turns after that, telling embarrassing stories from our childhood to Lucien, hoping he’ll be moved by our stupidity and come out. In the process, I learn that Henry was expelled from school twice, both times for trying to carry out what he calls ‘an experiment’ that backfired. I tell Lucien about the time when my brother fed me laundry detergent by baking it into a chocolate chip cookie. Only after eating it did I realize what the ingredients were.

Somehow, that acts as the final straw. The bathroom door flies open with great force; Lucien crawls out, and shoots me a ‘you’re so dumb’ look straight away.

“At least your brother knew which bottle the detergent was in,” Lucien fires at me.

Now there is the haughty Lucien I know and love.

I’m so relieved to see him that I momentarily forget about the fire and just hug him. He clearly enjoys my hug, because he rubs his face all over my bosom. Or maybe that’s his way of wiping tears and snot on my T-shirt. When he takes his head away, I realize he was indeed using my T-shirt as a spare handkerchief. The front is all wet and gross, but I don’t mind; I’m glad he’s okay.

Lucien’s eyes are red and more than a little watery, but he isn’t crying anymore.

Henry shoves the lighter in front of Lucien’s face. “Why did you have your dad’s lighter, Lucien? Is he smoking again?”

Lucien nods, and his eyes darken. “Mom and he fought about it yesterday night, but he said he wouldn’t quit. That’s why I stole his lighter to stop him and Mom from arguing. I can’t sleep when they argue. I have bad dreams.”

“That’s…” I am getting a little teary-eyed here.

There’s so much raw pain in little Lucien’s voice. My parents were also argumentative, and I hated when they fought. But I never had the courage to stop them.

Caressing Lucien’s hair gently, Henry nudges him along to the sofa and makes him sit. “Do you mind if I keep the lighter? I won’t give it to your dad. I promise.”

He’d make a good father, I think, then immediately stop thinking. Because why would I even think that?

I hurry to the kitchen to fetch water. Lucien’s been crying so I figure he needs some hydration.

Sipping water slowly, Lucien observes Henry and me. “The fire was an accident…I was playing with the lighter in school…then suddenly the desk caught fire…I didn’t know what to do. I was scared. I didn’t want that to happen.”

“Oh, poor you.” I bundle him into my arms again. Kiss his head. “It’s okay.”

“Mom will be mad at me.” Hot tears cascade down my hand that’s cupping Lucien’s cheek.

I swallow the achy lump in my throat, surprised at how quickly I have turned emotional. A few moments ago, I was shouting and now I’m crying.

“Being stupid is part of being human. Don’t be embarrassed about it.” While patting Lucien’s head, Henry’s hand brushes mine.

“But I’m smart…how could I be stupid?” Lucien uses my T-shirt again, blowing his nose on it this time.

Oh, the joys of being a babysitter.

“All smart people start out stupid.” Spreading his hand outwards, Henry paints on an affected smile. “Look at me.”

Lucien chortles. Then rubs his eyes. “Thanks.”

Henry pops the top button off his chest. I see that his tie’s lying in a crumpled ball in front of the bathroom. He took it off and left it there. I’ll have to remember to pick it up later.

“It’s been a hard day for you. Rest a little. I’ll take you out for dinner when you get up,” he tells Lucien, who yawns in my ear.

Lucien’s hold around my waist tightens. “Can Max come, too?”

“Sure she can.” Tapping my wrist, Henry gestures with a downward slant of his chin. “Also, it’s best to keep the lighter incident from Emilia, if you catch my drift. Make something up.”

Lucien votes in agreement. “Yeah.”

“But she is his mother. She’ll find out anyway.”

Also, it doesn’t feel right to be dishonest with her. Lucien is her son. She has the right to know about his life. I understand she’s in a tough place with her marriage, and maybe knowing that she was indirectly the cause of all this would hurt her even more, but still…

“If you tell her, she’ll overreact and put him in counseling for troubled kids or something,” Henry says.

I poke Lucien in the chest. “Doesn’t he see a therapist every Sunday already?”

“My point exactly. He doesn’t need more counseling.”

Well, that’s true.

“Fine. I won’t tell her.”

“Yeah!” Lucien jumps up on the sofa, pumped up. “Uncle Henry, can we go to McDonalds?”

“If you want.”

I clear my throat loudly. “Burgers are not very healthy.” I feel it’s my duty to remind him.

“I want to eat a burger.” Stiffly Lucien links his hands together in front. “And fries.”

“It’s okay once in a while.” Henry signals to me to let it go.

I don’t argue.

As long as I am eating with Henry and Lucien, I don’t care what it is.

In such a short time, they’ve both become precious to me. Although I hated this job and hated Lucien when I started out, I find myself wishing for this time to never end.