“I’m James,” he said over Peter’s shoulders to Uncle Herb. “The injured party over there is Terry. We live across the street.”
Uncle Herb nodded. “Erb.”
“Uncle Herb is staying with us while he’s on his summer vacation from work,” Peter added delicately. This was a complicated situation to Peter. He didn’t want Uncle Herb to think that Peter felt he had to speak for him, but he also wanted to keep the conversation flowing and knew Uncle Herb preferred to speak little in front of unfamiliar people. Unlike Mr. Terry, who seemed like he lived to talk.
The complexity of the situation seemed to have little bearing on Mr. James. He inspected the grass below him, wiped something away, and sat at the edge of the driveway next to Uncle Herb. Peter didn’t know why, but this relaxed him.
“You’re Abby’s brother, right? Enjoying this heat?”
Uncle Herb said he wasn’t.
Mr. James laughed. “I hear you. It’s hot as hell.”
Peter squirmed at Mr. James’ word usage in front of Uncle Herb.
Mr. Terry came over and pointed back at the boat. CJ was chasing the dogs, though she was having a hard time keeping up with their pace. “Is it cocktail hour yet?”
“It’s about that time,” Mr. James said, smiling as he watched CJ round the boat. She was lagging behind, wiping sweat from her forehead.
“You can thank us later, Peter,” Mr. Terry said.
Peter had no idea what he was talking about, but once Uncle Herb and Mr. James started to laugh, he did too. His thoughts were occupied with wondering if Truman and Capote knew something they all didn’t, and were vying for a good seat on the ark next to Josh.
A Visitor
“What is going on out there?”
Peter’s mother was leaning on the kitchen counter and looking out the bay window that aimed at Josh’s house. The laughter drifted in through the window screen, carrying the smell of burning charcoal and grilled hamburgers. The sinking sun had softened the colors of everything in the house. Lately, this was Peter’s favorite part of the day—one of the few moments when the sun was still present but didn’t have you in a headlock.
Peter looked out the window next to his mother. Mr. James and Mr. Terry were sitting in lawn chairs at the bottom of Josh’s driveway, a foldout table between them holding a glass pitcher half-filled with a greenish-yellow liquid and a container of ice. Josh was standing in front of them in his usual dirty jeans and T-shirt, drinking out of a brown bottle and motioning with his arms as he spoke. Mr. Terry interrupted frequently, bouncing in his chair and holding his hands to his chest as he laughed. Mr. James nodded in contained amusement. Josh had dragged out his grill and periodically turned to roll a hotdog or flip a burger. Truman and Capote were no longer barking and running but still circled the boat slowly like guards.
“Smells good,” Peter said, hinting that their neighbor’s idea of dinner was a lot more thrilling than the broccoli and mac and cheese in their kitchen. His mother didn’t catch on.
“It’s a strange pairing, Josh and them,” she said as she diced the broccoli for Uncle Herb. “To each his own, I guess.”
She called everyone to the table. Uncle Herb was already sitting there patiently. CJ peeked out the window before she sat down. “I want a hotdog too.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Abby said, placing the bowl of macaroni on the center of the table.
“That’s what you always say.”
Abby closed her eyes and exhaled through clenched teeth. “I’m getting tired of that lip, missy,” she said.
CJ didn’t look at her as she took her seat across the table from Uncle Herb. “You always say that too.”
Uncle Herb shifted slightly in his chair to get CJ’s attention. In their short but concentrated time together, Uncle Herb found that CJ was keenly aware of him at all times. It was impressive, if not mystifying, considering her age and the fact she tended to march to the beat of her own drum. She picked up on his little move immediately. He smiled at her and motioned with his head, a gesture suggesting CJ should move on from the little squabble. Herb felt that Abby was not in a good place right now; things were on her mind. He wanted CJ far away from that place.
Peter grabbed four glasses from the cabinet and a container of cranberry juice from the fridge. He placed them in the center of the kitchen table and sat at the head of the table, which was not really the head since the table was a perfect square, but it was the side where his father usually sat, so Peter considered it the head. Uncle Herb had taken Peter’s regular place. It was the most accessible side for a wheelchair and a reminder of how long his father had been absent. Uncle Herb had been at the house for over a week, and they had yet needed to make room for five at the table. It was becoming commonplace that his father wasn’t around.
Peter dragged his chair across the laminate floor, a fake plank style designed to give the appearance of hardwood floors, and parked next to Uncle Herb. He scooped a small mountain of mac and cheese from the bowl and dropped it on the plate in front of him, then started equally distributing spoonfuls between his mouth and his uncle’s. Only the sounds of forks scraping plates tapped the silence until Abby said, “I want you kids to go to bed without a fuss tonight. I have to go out for a while.”
Uncle Herb waited to swallow before glancing at his sister. She didn’t look up from her plate. Something sat wrong with him. Maybe it was the way she hadn’t changed out of her work clothes the second she walked in the door like she usually did, or the way she casually mentioned that she was going out without giving details, or maybe it was just this edginess she had to her tonight. Whatever it was, it tweaked him in an unsettling sort of way.
Peter held a fork of broccoli bits at Uncle Herb’s closed mouth. “Uncle Herb?”
Herb looked at him and smiled. “Sawee.”
Suddenly a deep voice bellowed from the front door. “Hello, anyone home?”
A large man opened the screen door and walked in. He was dressed in a full suit and walked with his chest puffed out as if to make sure his growing midsection would never be the first body part to enter a room. Peter knew exactly who it was. Kenneth Kassel Sr. had the same permanent sneer as his son, only with more lines in his face, and his skin was a rusty orange.
Peter’s mother smiled, and Peter felt instant resentment toward her. Didn’t she realize who this man helped create?
“Oh, hi, Kenneth,” she said, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Good to see you.”
The teeth of Chipper’s father were too white and too straight. He apologized for dropping in like this, but he was in the neighborhood—a stale joke of Creek residents. When you live within gates, you were always in the neighborhood.
“I just came by to tell you that right after we spoke, I gave Lori Keeme a call, and she said she was upset with the lack of potential buyers for her house. She thought she’d have offers to sift through by now,” he said, looking more at the furniture and ornamental pieces in the house than the people in front of him. He made no attempt to acknowledge anyone but Abby, nor showed any desire to do so. “It was rather serendipitous. So naturally I asked her if she’d mind if you took over representation. She thought that was a fine idea. You’ll have to work out the details with the realtors.”
Abby’s face lit up. “No problem, thanks a lot, Kenneth.”
Her warmness towards Chipper’s dad made Peter want to choke on his broccoli. He had no idea what they were talking about, but Peter was nauseous over how nice his mother was to Chipper’s dad. He’d told her many times about Chipper’s tormenting ways, but now she chose to ignore it. Shouldn’t feuds carry over the generations?
CJ was frowning at both her mother and Mr. Kassel. Peter wondered if her dislike for the man in front of her was instinctual or stemmed from a history of watching her brother get bullied. Peter knew his own ill feelings were rooted more from a deep and muddled pool of general raw emotion: fear, humiliation, a forecast of physical harm. All brought on by this man’s son.
>
If Mr. Kassel sensed CJ’s hostility, he didn’t let on. He nodded as Abby thanked him, soaking it all in like an actor standing on the edge of the stage to a round of applause.
Peter shoveled a spoonful of broccoli bits off the plate for Uncle Herb, who opened his mouth naturally as the spoon neared. Herb’s eyes traveled between everyone in the room. Peter wondered what was going on in his uncle’s mind, but he knew it was fruitless to guess. Uncle Herb contemplated at a deeper level than most.
Before he became a successful businessman, Mr. Kassel was once a hotshot city lawyer who years ago had represented a famous actress, landing his face on television and in the newspapers for a few months. Peter didn’t know what part of law he specialized in, but by the way Mr. Kassel spoke, he seemed to specialize in, well, everything. He’d stopped practicing law, probably because it interfered with his golf game. Peter often saw him around Willow Creek, mostly starting or finishing a round of golf, or hanging around the clubhouse bar or office. To Peter, being on the Willow Creek board of directors was like being in the popular clique in school.
Kenneth Kassel Sr.’s eyes ambled over to the bay window and the laughter coming from outside. He looked ready to give his summation before the jury. “Just an FYI, Abby. I understand from the last realtor that she had several problems with the occupant. Stupid stuff, like ‘for sale’ signs disappearing in the middle of the night, but also things that might slow down the selling process, such as the inside of the place being an absolute pigsty: clothes and pizza boxes all over the place. Not to mention that albatross in the driveway, which pisses me off. I mentioned it to Mrs. Keeme, but she was not hearing it. Apparently, Bernie is preparing to give her a fight in court—”
“I’ll talk to him,” Abby said.
Then it dawned on Peter what they were talking about. Anger flooded him. “You can’t sell Josh’s house, Mom!”
Abby raised her hand like a traffic guard to Peter. She turned to Mr. Kassel. “I’ll take care of it,” she assured him.
“You can’t sell Josh’s house. He lives there,” CJ said.
“If I don’t, someone else will, guys,” Abby said.
Peter understood the logic, yet he still felt his mother had betrayed him.
Kenneth Kassel Sr. showed mild annoyance at the interruptions. “What I was saying, if it makes it easier for you to do your job, there are certain contract guidelines that would give us a course of action if we think it would expedite the sale—”
“You can’t throw Josh out now!” Peter yelled, thinking Josh would never get the chance to finish his ark.
“I’ll take care of it,” Abby repeated, her hand still in the air and facing Peter.
Mr. Kassel pursed his lips into a toothless smile. “I knew you were the right person for the job. Call me tomorrow, and we’ll work out the details on our end.”
He turned and started to leave when CJ mumbled, “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”
If there was any food in Peter’s mouth at that moment, it would have fallen to the floor. He looked over at Uncle Herb thinking he might have misheard or imagined the whole thing, but Herb’s mouth was open too, revealing the chewed broccoli matter at the back of his tongue.
Mr. Kassel kept walking. Peter thought there might have been a small chance that he hadn’t heard, but as he pushed on the screen door to leave, he looked back and smiled with his perfect, sparkling, and symmetrical teeth and said, “Cute kid.”
He didn’t mean it.
The screen door barely shut before Abby jumped up from the table and grabbed CJ by the wrist without saying a word. She pulled her from the table with such force that it knocked CJ’s tiara off her head and to the floor. CJ didn’t fight as her mother dragged her down the hallway to the bedrooms, but neither did she help to maintain her mother’s angry pace. Peter and Herb watched in suspended silence.
Before she was yanked inside of her own room, CJ braced herself with stiff arms against the door frame and pushed, resisting her mother’s force long enough to make eye contact with Peter. Then she was gone.
Night
Peter sat at the foot of Uncle Herb’s bed, clipping his uncle’s toenails. He’d noticed the need after helping his mother transfer Uncle Herb from wheelchair to bed. A burning sensation had tingled up the inside part of his arm and then a long and thin red scratch appeared, courtesy of Uncle Herb’s big toe.
Peter hadn’t realized how much of toenail clipping was done on feel. It was much more difficult to do on someone else than yourself. He was trying to be careful, but before each snip Uncle Herb’s face knotted with anxiety.
The evening brought a slight breeze and a respite from the heat. After hearing CJ’s muffled sobs from her bedroom, all Peter wanted to listen to now was the soothing chirps of some birds outside. But his mother’s rattling around the bathroom, and the whine of her hair dryer trounced nature.
“Hee-hay, okay?” Uncle Herb asked, as if he read Peter’s mind.
Peter snipped and dropped a toenail clipping into a paper cup on the floor. “Her door’s closed. I’ll check on her later,” Peter said, meaning after his mother left.
He sized up the next toe, gently slipping the clippers over the nail and squeezed, quick and forceful. This seemed to work best. The nail stabbed out from his toe, still attached at the corner.
“Mr. Kassel really wants Josh out of here, huh?” Peter said.
Uncle Herb just looked at him.
“You don’t think Josh is bad, right?”
Uncle Herb shook his head no. Peter wanted to talk; he wanted to fill his brain with other things and push out what inhabited his thoughts. Uncle Herb, however, seemed preoccupied with the task at hand, fixated on Peter’s tweezer-like fingers separating the sliver from the toenail.
Abby had spanked CJ before, but there was something different about it this time. For one, Peter thought it went on for too long. Way longer than past spankings. As usual, CJ had put up a stubborn, silent front, not revealing pain on her face or through her mouth. Maybe her show of defiance was counterproductive, Peter thought. Maybe if she’d cried from the first slap, the spanking would have been over a lot quicker. When it was happening, Peter was sitting on the couch in the living room, trying to ignore it, but as the smacks came faster and harder, he found himself pleading to her in a whisper, “Cry, CJ. Cry already. She’ll stop.”
The smack that did it reverberated through the house, and CJ let out her first sound: a tiny yelp, like a puppy whose tail was stepped on. Once she’d crossed that threshold and her vow of silence was broken, her yelp melted into a long and pained wail. Peter hurt for her.
The hair blower stopped, and footsteps sounded from down the hall. Peter was glad his back was to the door. He didn’t turn around, but he knew his mother was standing there, a faint smell of perfume drifted into the room.
“I’m going,” she said. Her voice sounded flat, void of emotion.
Peter didn’t turn around.
“Hell-oooo,” she said, this time her voice sharpened.
“When is Dad coming home?” Peter said, and he didn’t know why. He wasn’t even thinking of his father.
She snorted. “I know what you are doing, Peter.”
And then Peter realized what bothered him most about CJ’s spanking. It wasn’t done as a form of discipline. It was like a release of anger, of frustration, or whatever his mother had pent up inside her. She did more than punish CJ.
“Well, your father should be home soon. Then you can tell him what a bad mother you have. It’s not easy, Peter.”
“Yeah, and it’s not easy being CJ right now either,” Peter said. He didn’t know where this anger came from. Peter had never spoken to his mother like this before. He was always the good child.
“Pita,” Uncle Herb said quietly.
Peter looked at his Uncle, surprised. He couldn’t believe he was taking his mother’s side on this.
“Call my cell if you need me. Don’t stay up late,�
�� Abby said, walking away.
Peter listened to the door shut and the car start, then drive off into the distance. He finished Uncle Herb’s toenails in silence, with a little less patience. He dropped the last of the big pieces in the paper cup below, then slapped at the sheets with his hands to knock the small shavings off the bed. Uncle Herb stared at Peter the entire time, but Peter wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“You’re all set, Uncle Herb. Night.” Peter stood and started walking to the door.
“Pita, ew o-k?”
Peter turned to see his uncle smiling at him. It wasn’t an apology smile or an I-told-you-so smile. It was just Uncle Herb’s plain, old smile.
“I’m okay, Uncle Herb. I’m just gonna check on CJ. I’ll be back to put a CD on for you.”
The fan and lights were off in CJ’s room. It was dark and quiet. Only the crickets spoke. CJ was in her pajamas, lying on her bed facing the wall. Her coiled lasso rested on her stomach. She traced the wall slowly with a finger.
“Are you sleeping, CJ?” Peter whispered. He knew it was a stupid question. No one traces the wall in their sleep, but he didn’t know what else to say.
CJ stopped tracing and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She didn’t answer him. Peter stepped closer but stood near the door. He’d leave if she wanted him to. He thought about all the times he couldn’t get rid of her, how she shadowed him or was always in his way, like a basketball player defending his hoop.
“Maybe Josh will be out tomorrow, and we can help him. You can finish painting the door.”
CJ pulled the lasso close to her chest, as if it was her teddy bear. She sniffled and asked, “Is she gone?”
Peter turned his head, half expecting to see his mother at the door or hear her car pulling back into the driveway, but the hallway was dark and empty.
“Yeah, she’s gone.”
CJ closed her eyes. “Good.”
The Underdog Parade Page 10
