Break in Case of Emergency

by Brian Francis

  “I’m sorry, Mike,” I say, fighting back tears. “I didn’t think about it. I can’t believe I’d put you through that. I don’t know what was wrong with me. I wouldn’t blame you if you never forgive me.”

  “I’ll get there,” he says. “At least I have a better understanding of why you broke up with me. Sort of. How are you feeling now?”

  “Better,” I say. “A little better each day.”

  “Maybe we can get together,” he says. “When you’re feeling up to it. See a movie. Go for a drive. Maybe we can just sit in the car and talk.”

  “I’d like that,” I say, but I’m not sure what Mike means by this. I don’t want to get back together with him. I know this. But I owe him so much. And I’m not sure how he feels.

  “I better get going or else your grandpa will have my nuts in a sling.”

  I lean over and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  “I’m not saying ‘you’re welcome,’ again, Toby.”

  * * *

  When I get back inside the house, Grandma Kay is standing at the window. She’s been watching Mike and me this whole time. I can tell by the look on her face.

  “You’re up early this morning,” she says.

  “I needed to take care of something,” I say.

  “And that something was Mike?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him since that day. At the cabin.”

  She asks me to join her in the kitchen. “I’m getting breakfast ready and I could use the help. Might as well put you to good use while you’re up. Toby, can we talk for a minute about Mike?”

  Oh, God. What does she want to talk about? I hope not sex. The last time Grandma Kay brought up the subject of sex with me, she hauled out an old illustrated health book with diagrams of people split in half. It was disturbing to look at the half-penises and half-vaginas.

  “You’re very young,” she says, taking some plates from the cupboard. “And you have all the time in the world for many things. Love being one of them. Sometimes, girls feel that when someone likes them, they’re obligated to respond. That’s what men teach you, anyway. Like you owe him something when you never asked for anything in the first place.”

  She starts to crack eggs, and I watch as each yolk and egg white plops into the bowl.

  “I’m sure Mike is nice enough, but I don’t see much spark in his eyes. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing tomorrow, let alone the rest of his life. You don’t want to end up here, do you? On a farm, cooking for hired hands that barely even acknowledge you? So chained by your day that every waking moment revolves around those stupid cows? Wishing and wondering if there was something else? Something better?”

  She stops to wipe her eyes with her sleeve. I feel terrible watching her cry like this.

  “It hasn’t been a bad life, Toby. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had my share of hardships. Your mother tore my heart to pieces. She’s a hole in my heart that I’ll never be able to fill. But she gave me you. So how could I wish for anything else but the life in front of me?”

  I do something I’ve never done before. I go over and wrap my arms around Grandma Kay. Egg guts splat on my arm, but I don’t care. This is more important. I hear Grandma Kay make a sound, like she’s surprised, and that just makes me hug her tighter.

  “You live the life you want to live, Toby,” she says. “Don’t let anyone get in the way of that. And know that I’ll always be here, cheering you on.”

  Chapter 45

  I can’t keep avoiding Trisha, so when I see her later at school, standing against the lockers with Claire and Angela, I gather up all my courage and walk over. I can feel their eyes on me.

  “Hi,” I say to Trisha.

  “Hi,” she says.

  “Do you have some time to talk?” I glance over at Claire and Angela who are now leaning in, trying to hear everything.

  “Now?” she asks.

  I nod. “I won’t be long,” I say.

  We walk off toward the far end of the hall and sit down on the floor in front of the Shop class.

  “What’s going on?” she asks.

  I take a deep breath. “Trisha, I’m sorry about what I said the other day. On the phone. It wasn’t right of me to go after you like that.”

  “No shit,” she says. “You’ve never gone off on me like that before. I thought we were friends.”

  “We are friends,” I say.

  “Then why were you so angry?”

  “I was feeling sorry for myself.”

  “Because of what you did?”

  “That. And other things. Trisha, let me get this out because it’s really hard for me to say, but it’s important. I really appreciate everything you do for me, but you don’t need to do it anymore. It’s okay.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I sigh. “I’m talking about you feeling like you have to be my friend. You don’t need to feel that way.”

  “I totally don’t get what you’re talking about. Of course I’m your friend. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “But we’re not friends in an equal way. I’m just someone who’s been around in your life since we were kids. I don’t fit in with your other friends. I don’t belong. I see how they look at me.”

  “Claire and Angela? Uh, okay. So Claire has a phobia about public toilets and won’t use them. And Angela is totally weird about food. I mean, she eats only iceberg lettuce every day for lunch. So they’re just as weird as you.”

  “Not that weird,” I say. “Not weird enough to try to kill yourself.”

  She places her hand on my knee. “I don’t know if that’s weird, Toby. Maybe sad. Not that I think you’re a sad person. But you’ve had some shitty things happen in your life. Do you even realize how much I look up to you?”

  I turn to her. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve been through so much in your life. Between your mom and now your dad, growing up with your grandparents, living on a farm, which I could never do. I mean, the smell alone. You’ve overcome things that would make most people crumble. You think Claire or Angela could ever deal with what you’ve dealt with? Claire can’t pee while she’s at school, let alone deal with her mom’s suicide. You’re amazing, Toby. You’re like this superstar in my eyes. That’s why, when you did what you did at the cabin, it hurt so much. I just couldn’t believe someone so strong would do that.”

  Me? Strong? Amazing? I’ve never thought about myself that way. Not even for a minute.

  But maybe she’s right. I have been through a lot. More than anyone else I know, anyway. And I’m still here. Standing. Or, really, sitting on the floor at this particular moment. But still here. Still Toby.

  I’ve survived.

  “You’re my best friend,” Trisha says. “My only true friend. I hope you know that.”

  “I do,” I say, and I mean it.

  I really do.

  “Do you want to come for dinner tomorrow night?” I ask. “You can meet my father.”

  “Oh my God!” Trisha squeals, clapping. “Yes, of course! What will he be wearing?”

  “I don’t know. Clothes?”

  “I can’t believe I’m going to meet a real live drag queen. This is going to be the best dinner ever.”

  “I wouldn’t get your hopes up too high,” I say. “He’s more normal than you might think. One other thing. I’m going to invite Mike too.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Why? Mike is totally going to ruin everything. He’s going to be all weirded out by your dad.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “But it wouldn’t feel right not having him there, not after everything. He saved me, Trisha. I can’t forget that.”

  “Maybe he’s not as much of an asshole as I like to think,” she says. “In some ways, I guess I’m proud of him for doing what he did. Never tell him I said that.”

  “See you tomorrow?” I ask.

  “See you tomorrow,” she says.

  Chapter 46

  Our guests arrive late after
noon the next day. Shirley’s Chevette pulls into the driveway and when I hear the wheels on the gravel, I think of the previous visit and all the excitement I felt when he first arrived.

  My father.

  But it wasn’t just excitement. There was fear too. It was like every single year of my life was wound up so tightly in that moment. Now, as I watch the passenger door open and Arthur step out, wearing a large pair of sunglasses, a blousy-type white shirt and a blue-and-red scarf tied around his neck, it’s hard to understand what I feel. Not excitement. Maybe something more real. Something that lasts longer than excitement.

  “Is he blitzed?” Grandma Kay asks from behind my shoulder. “Lord, tell me he isn’t.”

  “Doesn’t seem that way,” I say, cautiously. “He’s not being carried out, at least.”

  “That boy has made me nervous since the first time Heather brought him to the house,” Grandma Kay mutters. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to him.”

  “Smell the bouquet of cow shit,” Arthur announces to no one in particular, sweeping his arms wide and inhaling deeply. Bruno steps out from the back seat, carrying the same brightly wrapped box as last time. I don’t think I’ll be able to look him in the eye. The driver’s door opens and Shirley steps out, looking stressed.

  “I’m never getting into a car with you again!” she yells at Arthur. “You don’t grab the wheel and honk at elderly ladies when they’re crossing the street!”

  “She was moving slower than a glacier,” he says. “Besides, it got her heart beating again.”

  Looking at the three of them, I wonder what my mom would look like now. Would she dye her hair like Shirley, wanting to look younger? Would she complain about the beginnings of wrinkles? Would she still be working at Sears? Would we still be living in our apartment? Would my mom have fallen in love again?

  I’d like that for her.

  “Round three,” Shirley says. She doesn’t seem to notice how much her voice carries. “Remember what I said. This is your last shot. For the love of Christ and everything that’s holy in this world, don’t screw it up. Again.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” Arthur says. “I’ll be so squeaky clean, you’ll see your reflection in my forehead.”

  Bruno looks over and sees me standing in the window. He raises his hand. My first instinct is to duck behind the curtain, but I manage to stay in place. I feel self-conscious. Exposed. He must think I’m a total whack job.

  “Hello, darlings!” Arthur calls out to us with a wave.

  “Don’t call them that,” Shirley says, swatting his arm.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s patronizing.”

  “What would you rather me call them?”

  “How about by their names?”

  “In that case, I’m going to call you by your real name: Miss Stick-in-Her-Ass.”

  Grandma Kay steps to the front door. “We’ll get through this, Toby.”

  * * *

  We sit on the porch instead of going inside. Everyone says the weather is too nice. Bruno hands the box to Grandma Kay and says it’s for her. I feel a bit disappointed. Why is she getting a gift? I’m the long-lost daughter, after all.

  “I don’t know if you like,” he says to her. “I’m no sure of your style, and Arturo, he was no help.”

  “I told you her taste was page 147 of the Sears catalogue,” Arthur says.

  “I’m actually more of a page 148,” Grandma Kay says.

  “Well, well. Good one, Kay. Nice to see you sass it up.”

  “Thank you for doing this, Bruno. You didn’t have to.”

  “I want to,” Bruno says. “I feel like I know you. And Heather.” He looks down. “I’m sorry for what happened to her.”

  “Thank you,” Grandma Kay says. “We all are.”

  There are a few seconds of silence. I look over at one of the empty lawn chairs, imagining my mom here. Maybe, in some ways, she is.

  “Shouldn’t there be a punch bowl out here?” Arthur asks. “I’ve always felt strongly that porches and punch go hand in hand.”

  “I have some lemonade.”

  “Does it come with vodka?”

  Grandma Kay’s face turns hard. “There’s not a drop of liquor in this house. You’ll have to make do for one night. If you can stand it.”

  “Open your gift,” I say.

  She tears the wrapping and opens a small box. Inside there’s a silk scarf that looks like a watercolour painting. Soft pinks and blues and reds.

  “It’s from Florence,” Bruno says. “But you can find anyplace, I’m sure.”

  Grandma Kay runs the scarf through her fingers. “It’s beautiful. I don’t own anything like this. Where will I even wear it?”

  “To the A&P,” Arthur says. “You’ll have the stock boys falling over one another.”

  “Wear when you like,” Bruno says. “Even here, at your house. Even if no one see you.”

  “Thank you,” Grandma Kay says. “That was very thoughtful.”

  I look over to see Mike’s car pull into the driveway. I make out Trisha’s shape in the passenger seat. I start to wonder if inviting them was a mistake. What was I thinking? But it’s too late now.

  “Well, heavens to Betsy,” Arthur says, getting up from his chair. “Looks like we have company.”

  Mike and Trisha step out from the car. As soon as Mike sees my father, his eyebrows shoot up high on his forehead. He looks Arthur up and down, taking in every inch. Trisha looks like someone told her it’s Christmas and the biggest present under the tree has her name on it.

  “My Lord, look at that red hair on the two of you,” Arthur calls out. “It’s the colour of wheat fields in the fading sunlight of a blazing autumn day.”

  Why is he talking with a southern accent? Why can’t he just act normal?

  “Y’all twins or somethin’?”

  “Ew,” Trisha says, crinkling her nose. “We’re, like, barely related.”

  “They’re brother and sister,” I say. “Mike, Trisha, this is Arthur. My . . . father.”

  The word sounds so strange coming from my mouth.

  “Trisha is my best friend,” I say. “Mike is . . . also a friend.” My face grows hot. I must be blushing. This is the most awkward introduction ever.

  “And this is Bruno,” I say. “My father’s . . .” I don’t even know how to introduce him.

  “Manager,” Bruno says. “I try to manage as best I can.”

  Mike looks skeptical. Maybe I should have told him. I was expecting Trisha might say something. Obviously, she didn’t.

  Arthur steps down the front steps and extends his hand toward them, but not in the way you do for handshakes. His hand dangles, a leaf about to drop from a branch.

  “And how do you do, Michael and Patricia?”

  Mike looks at Arthur’s hand and I can tell he doesn’t know what to do with it. He sort of takes the hand from underneath and moves it up and down. Arthur doesn’t look impressed. He does the same to Trisha and she takes his hand and does this little curtsy, which is the most ridiculous thing ever.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Trisha says. “I’ve heard a lot about you. In the past couple of days, I mean. I didn’t hear much about you before then. Given that you weren’t around. And we knew nothing about you. I’m going to shut up now before I say anything more.”

  “I appreciate someone who exercises self-control,” Arthur says. “It’s never been one of my strengths. I suppose that comes as a surprise to no one.”

  “It’s nice that you could join us for dinner,” Grandma Kay says. There’s a stiffness in her voice that I know is caused by Mike. She’s uncomfortable having him here, not as a farm hand but as someone different. Not as my boyfriend, which he isn’t, but not just a friend either. Mike is somewhere in between, which, when I think about it, is like a lot of people in my life.

  My parents/grandparents.

  My father/Arthur.

  My boyfriend/Mike.

  Maybe it’
s okay to have slashes between those people. Maybe it’s not as confusing as I think.

  “I hope you like roast beef,” Grandma Kay says. “That’s what Toby wanted. So you don’t have much of a choice.”

  “Fine with me,” Trisha says. “My mom never makes a roast beef. Or when she does, it comes out looking like something you’d use to scrub calluses.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up too high,” Grandma Kay says. “I can’t guarantee mine will be much better.”

  “Well, it can’t get any worse, believe me,” Trisha says. “Here, my mom sent these.”

  She hands Grandma Kay a white Tupperware container. “Squares. There’s cereal in them, I think. Peanuts too. Or walnuts. She told me, but I wasn’t really paying attention.” She turns to my father. “Why aren’t you all dressed up?”

  Arthur looks down at himself. “Am I naked and don’t realize it?”

  “I mean, you know, in your performer clothes. I was expecting you to be in a gown with a feather boa and tons of makeup.”

  “My dear child,” Arthur says. “I don’t dress like that all the time. How uncomfortable do you want me to be?”

  “Oh.” Trisha looks disappointed.

  “Maybe later,” he says, which causes me to panic. What does he mean by that? I don’t want to see him dressed up. I wouldn’t be able to handle that. It would be too weird. Especially in front of everyone.

  “Gown?” Mike asks. “Makeup?”

  Arthur walks over to him. “You look absolutely flabbergasted, Michael. I suppose no one bothered to tell you.”

  He takes a step back. “Tell me what?”

  “He’s a drag queen,” Trisha says.

  Arthur whips around. “You watch your tongue, missy. I am not a drag queen. Do you know what drag queens do? They lip sync. Badly. To the voices of other people. Female singers far more talented than they are. How pathetic. No, Arthur Turner is not a dime store drag queen in a cheap wig. I am much more than that. I am one of, if not the, top female impersonators in the world.”

  His nose rises up toward the trees.

  “What’s the difference?” Trisha asks.