Break in Case of Emergency

by Brian Francis

  We all clap, although it doesn’t seem like much, and then my father appears in the doorway of the barn, hand on his hip, arm raised in the air. He has a goofy smile on his face, or it could be all the red lipstick. It’s surprising because he looks so different. I wouldn’t recognize him if he passed me on the street. He looks like a real woman. Well, as real as you can get with all that makeup. But real enough. And I think how he’s so plain in his boy clothes. No wonder he dresses like this. He must feel beautiful right now.

  “Thank you for coming to tonight’s show, darlings,” he says with a dramatic bow. “I’m used to performing for animals, but never livestock. I’m so glad you could make it. It’s wonderful to be performing for simple country folks. Please note that if you parked your horse on the street, you’ll get a ticket after 9 p.m.”

  Grandma Kay starts to laugh. Even Grandpa Frank cracks a smile.

  “I’m only going to do a few numbers for you this evening, as we don’t have much time. But I do hope that will be enough. To show you a little of what I’ve got. I’ve played all around the world, in some of the biggest concert halls. But this show, this audience, means the most of any of them.”

  He looks at me and, for a second, I think I see a shimmer in his eyes.

  “Tonight, I’ll take you down some familiar paths and show you some familiar stars of days gone by. Let’s start with one of my favourites, the gal who puts the dreidel in my bagel, Ms. Barbra Streisand.”

  He goes cross-eyed like he’s looking at a bug on his nose and starts to sing. It’s amazing, really. How much his voice changes. I don’t know much about how Barbra Streisand sounds, but it doesn’t really matter because his voice is so good. The song is something about people needing people. He starts to walk more into the space, spreading his arms out on either side of him, and as I watch, I start to see it. What my mom saw when she saw him. What she felt. I start to feel it too.

  He. Was. Magic.

  He ends the song and we all clap, especially Trisha, who sticks her pinkies in either side of mouth and whistles.

  “What an enthusiastic crowd,” he says. “I don’t care what anyone says. Gentiles are good people too.”

  Mike leans over to me. “What’s a gentile?” he asks, but I tell him it’s not important. To be honest, I don’t know myself.

  “Now I’d like to bring on stage someone with pizzazz, razzle and a whole lot of sparkle. That’s right, she’s a lady dripping in diamonds. From the Broadway stage straight to the Goodman Dairy Farm, it’s the one and only Carol Channing!”

  He turns away, and I can tell by the look on Trisha’s face that she doesn’t know who Carol Channing is either. But Grandma Kay does, because I hear her say, “Oh, this should be good.”

  Arthur spins back around with his wig turned backwards. His smile stretches across his entire face.

  “Ischn’t thisch lovely?” he says in a raspy voice.

  Grandma Kay starts to laugh. Shirley does too. Based on the way he’s talking, I guess Carol had a weird way of speaking.

  “I’m juscht in from Talahaschee,” he says. “And the busch ride was an experiench I’ll never forget. I’m juscht lucky no one tried to poach my . . . diamondsch.”

  Then he starts singing.

  “A kisch on the hand might be quite continental, but diamondsch are a girlsch bescht friend.”

  I think I’ve heard the song before, but it doesn’t matter. He’s so funny to watch, his eyes wide and mouth wide open. Grandma Kay can’t stop laughing. She keeps saying, “Oh, my goodness. That’s her. That’s exactly her!” to Grandpa Frank.

  I catch Bruno looking at me, and he smiles in a way that seems so warm and true. I think about what my dad said, how Bruno is his lighthouse. And I wonder what that would feel like, to know that someone is there, flashing in the darkness, guiding you to safety. Have I ever known that feeling? Even if I have, it was so long ago, I’ve forgotten what it feels like.

  I smile back to let him know I’m having a good time. He nods and then turns his head back to Arthur, who finishes the song and takes another deep bow. We applaud, this time louder. Trisha is still whistling, but I think it’s okay. I can see by the look in Arthur’s eyes that he likes the sound. He wants us to like him. So we do. I clap a bit louder.

  Then he takes off the wig and messes his hair. He looks more like himself, and I remember the letter he wrote to my mom, when he said he had a hairy octopus on his head. I wish I could’ve known him when he was younger. And I wish she could be here, with all of us. He says that the last number he’s going to do for us is one that’s very special to his heart.

  “I’m hoping you all know the song,” he says. “And the performer. I like to think of her as timeless, as someone who never falls out of fashion because her talent was so great. Some people have that ability, you know. To be larger than life. That’s all anyone can hope for. To be bigger and better than you could ever dream. To make a difference. Even in the lives of strangers. Can someone get me a stool please? I usually do this one sitting down.”

  Bruno grabs a stool and takes it over to Arthur. He mouths the words “thank you” and Bruno nods back.

  “This song is by one of the greats. Miss Judy Garland.”

  “Oh, I know her!” Trisha says, a little too loudly.

  “Thank God for small mercies,” my father says before starting the song. It’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” which I’ve heard because I’ve seen The Wizard of Oz dozens of times on TV. Like in the two songs before this, my father’s voice changes again. This time, it’s coming from a deeper place; it’s both stronger and sweeter, which is a strange mix when I think about it. But maybe not. Maybe strong and sweet can be side by side.

  “Lord, I’m going to cry in this one,” I hear Grandma Kay say, and Shirley passes her a tissue.

  When he gets to the part about happy little bluebirds, I can feel something in my eyes, too, but I try to hold it back. It’s his voice. The way that he’s singing the words. I forget that he’s my father, or a man. And I don’t see him as a woman either—he’s somewhere in between. It doesn’t matter if he’s a woman or a man, or if he’s gay or not, if he’s my father or not my father. It’s his voice, a sound that comes from someplace deep inside of him. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks because he has his talent and no one or their opinions can take that away from him.

  By the time he gets to the end, I’m crying. There’s no way I can’t. He’s crying too. And when we stand up to clap our hands, he cries a little more. He says, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  And then, just as quickly as he appeared, my father is gone.

  Chapter 50

  We’re standing on the porch, although it’s not big enough to hold us all, so some of us are standing on the steps and others are standing on the walkway leading to the stairs. I look at everyone around me: Grandpa Frank, Grandma Kay, Shirley, Trisha, Mike, my father and Bruno.

  This is my family.

  It’s weird that this pops into my head, because this isn’t my family, not in the way that families usually are. But it feels right. Even Trisha and Mike are part of my family, like my brother and sister, although if that were really true, it would mean that I saw my brother’s penis, which is obviously disturbing, so I try not to think about it too much.

  But it’s true that I’ve known Mike and Trisha for most of my life. The same with Shirley. So really, they are like family.

  There’s only one person missing. There will always be one person missing.

  “Well, my darlings,” my father says. “I think the time has come. We have a plane to catch in a few hours and if you’ve ever been in a car with Shirley, you’ll know the odometer needle rarely passes sixty.”

  “That’s not true,” Shirley says. “I was going at least eighty when I was driving you back here.”

  “I stand corrected,” my father says.

  “I’ll be driving faster this time around,” Shirley says. “The sooner I drop you off, the sooner I�
��ll be rid of you.”

  “Do you really mean that, Shirley?” my father asks.

  “Yes,” she says, and then drops her head. “No. I don’t. You’re someone I dislike and love in equal quantities at any given time of the day.”

  “The feeling is mutual,” my father says. “We have a past. We’ll be forever joined, even if we’re halfway across the world from each other.”

  Grandma Kay clears her throat. “Well, it’s been nice having the two of you here, to our small corner of the world.”

  “I will bring back stories of Canada to Italy,” Bruno says. “Of roast beef and Sex Cake.”

  “I can only imagine what people are going to think of us.” Grandma Kay laughs. She touches the scarf around her neck. I was jealous when Bruno gave it to her. I wanted something for myself. But now I understand I got something much better. Something I needed a lot more than a piece of material.

  “You come back anytime,” Grandma Kay says. “Both of you. You can stay with us next time, if you like. Provided this one manages to stay clear of the sauce.” She points to my father. “I won’t tolerate any of that nonsense.”

  “I hear you loud and clear, warden,” he says, giving a quick salute and tapping his heels together. “Although I’m never much fun sober.”

  “You’ve entertained us more than you realize,” Grandma Kay says. “You don’t need anything to help you with that. Just be yourself.”

  “Easier said than done,” my father says. “Especially for someone who makes his living pretending to be other people.”

  “Just because you’re pretending to be someone else doesn’t mean you’re not interesting as you.”

  My father turns to look at me. He looks surprised. I am too. I said those words. I wasn’t expecting that. They just popped out. But I’m glad I said them. They’re true. I really believe that.

  “Thank you for that, Toby,” he says. “You’re a very smart girl. Obviously, you didn’t get that from me.”

  “No,” I say. “But I did get these cheekbones.”

  Which makes my father laugh and laugh.

  * * *

  He tells me to come visit him.

  “The door is always open.”

  “Italy is far away,” I say.

  “Not as far as you think,” he says. “You remember that.”

  “Will you come back here?”

  “Absolutely! You can count on that. I’ll need a stage assistant, though. Anyone you can recommend?”

  “Maybe,” I say.

  He steps in closer. “If you ever get to a place that’s full of shadows and you don’t think you’ll ever see the light, you call me. Collect. I’m only a phone call away.”

  He presses a piece of paper into my hand. I open it and see a long line of numbers.

  “Promise me,” he says.

  “Promise,” I say

  Bruno steps over to us.

  “It was nice to meet you,” I say to him. I’m not sure if I should hug him or shake his hand, but he makes the decision for both of us and kisses me quickly on both cheeks. I feel my face go warm.

  “That’s what we do in Italy,” he says.

  “Will you take care of my dad?” I ask. I’m worried. I know about AIDS. I’ve seen men on TV who look like skeletons. What would I do if my dad got sick?

  “I try my best,” he says.

  “Thank you, Zio Bruno,” I say, and he smiles at me.

  My father walks over to Grandma Kay and gives her a quick hug.

  “Goodbye. Again.”

  She doesn’t say anything but bites her lip. I can’t look at her or else I’ll start to cry, so I look at the bumper of Shirley’s car.

  “You take care of her,” I hear my father say to Grandpa Frank. “She’s been through a lot in her life.”

  He moves over to Trisha. “You are a fantastic whistler,” he says before turning to Mike. “And you be good to my little girl.” His voice is lower, like he’s doing an impersonation of a cowboy. He punches Mike in the arm. “Or else you’ll have Sheriff Turner to deal with. Understood?”

  Mike nods but can’t make eye contact.

  “Oh, lighten up,” my father says, his voice back to normal. “I’m just a guy in a dress. Trust me, there are people you need to be more afraid of in life than me.”

  He turns around. “Well, Dame Shirley? Shall we be off?”

  “I guess,” she says. “Do you think there will be many trucks on the highway at this time of the night?”

  “The highway will be positively littered with them,” my father says. “I’m expecting to hear your screams from the plane. On second thought, I’ll never get any sleep that way. Why don’t you let Bruno drive?” He adjusts the scarf around his neck. “The Italians are all stunt drivers at heart.”

  “I’m not letting anyone drive but me,” Shirley says. “Are you crazy?”

  They get into the car and start to back up. Everyone waves.

  “Bye!”

  “Bye, Toby!”

  “Bye, Bruno!”

  “Bye, Trisha!”

  “Bye! Bye!

  The car drives away, my father’s scarf a flag in the wind.

  “Do you think they’ll come back?” I ask no one in particular.

  “I’m not sure,” Grandma Kay says. “It would be nice.”

  “At least they were here,” I say.

  “For a very small moment.”

  “Sometimes, that’s all you get,” Grandpa Frank says.

  “There’s still some Sex Cake,” Grandma Kay says to everyone who’s left. “Who’s up for a second piece?”

  “I’ll have one,” Mike says.

  “Half for me,” Trisha says.

  “Me, too,” I say.

  “Going back to the barn,” Grandpa Frank says, walking away. “Got some stuff to do in there.”

  “You’ve always got stuff to do in there,” Grandma Kay says. Only, for once, she doesn’t sound mad.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” I say.

  I walk to the edge of the driveway and look down the road. My breath catches in my throat. Shirley’s car is stopped. It’s idling, the brake lights like angry eyes staring back at me. Why are they stopped? I step farther into the road. The car is sitting there, a low rumble coming from the tailpipe. The passenger door opens and my father steps out. What is he doing? He starts walking toward me. Not quickly or anything. Just a normal sort of walk. And maybe it’s the way the breeze is blowing through his hair or the way I can only stand here, watching him, waiting for him to reach me in the middle of the road, but he suddenly seems so young and innocent.

  “Did you forget something?” I ask when he reaches me. My heart is beating against my ribs.

  He smiles and says nothing. Instead, he stares at me for a long time. I watch his green eyes move across my face, my own eyes, my nose, my mouth.

  “No,” he says after a while. “Just making sure I don’t forget any last detail.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  He takes one step closer and places his hands on either side of my face.

  “Let me be your lighthouse, Toby.”

  I realize that’s the only thing I ever wanted my father to say, even before I knew him, even when he was just a story my mom would tell me. Not these exact words, but the feeling behind them. To know I was protected. That he was there, in the darkness, thinking of me, guiding me to safety. And now that I’ve heard my father say this, I don’t know how I feel. I want to believe him, but how can someone be there for you when they’re halfway around the world? How can anyone’s light be that strong?

  “Maybe,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can think of to say.

  He looks a bit disappointed, but then he smiles. “You’re a tough one, Toby Goodman. That will serve you well in this life. Just don’t be afraid to be weak sometimes. Help is always here, even if you don’t always realize it.”

  Before I can say anything else, he gives me a quick kiss, turns around and walks back to the car. H
e doesn’t look back, but I watch him all the same. He gets into the car, the brake lights turn dark and the car starts moving again.

  It gets smaller and smaller, the pings of gravel hitting its underside growing quieter and quieter. When I can’t see the car and the cloud that had been following it, I know that they’re gone.

  I turn and walk back toward the house. The sky is turning navy. I can just make out the shapes of the cows in the fields. They look like dark anvils. Nothing changes for them, but I hope they have a peaceful night under the stars.

  I come up the steps and stop at the screen door. My hand reaches for the door handle, but I hesitate. I listen to the voices, see the light coming from the kitchen.

  I look to the right and see the lawn chair, the same one I’d imagined my mom sitting in a few hours earlier. It looks so lonely. I want to go over and sit down in it. Just for a few moments. Just to see if I can feel my mom. To feel connected to her again.

  I turn back to the screen door, to the soft light coming from inside, and I think about lighthouses. And how maybe there’s not just one lighthouse in my life. Maybe there are many. Some lighthouses are close. And others are far away. Some are old and some are new and some have broken lights that barely flicker. But when the lights come together, when all the pieces join and become one, they burn bright.

  I take a deep breath, open the door, and go inside.

  Author’s Note

  For many writers, research is an important part of writing books. For Break in Case of Emergency, I spent time on a dairy farm so I could capture the setting accurately. (I didn’t milk any cows. I was too nervous. And, based on the way the cows were eyeing me, I made them nervous too.) But books are about more than just places—they’re also about people. And getting your characters right is just as important. Maybe even more important. So much of my research was about trying to get inside the head of a character like Toby Goodman. I read accounts from people who experienced the death of a parent by suicide. I read about motherless daughters and about what it feels like when a father abandons his daughter, the same way Arthur abandons Toby. But the most important research I did was around the subject of mental health and young people.