Pride & Joie_The Conclusion

by M. E. Carter

  As Alexander follows them around the room, calling out basic instructions, Hank looks at me and does a sort of bow. “May I have this dance?”

  I smile at his chivalry and hold my arms out, getting us in the proper closed hold position. Within seconds, Hank is whisking me around the room. I’m shocked by how easy this seems to be. Looking over, Jack seems to be doing well. So why can’t we seem to do it together?

  “You’re really good at this,” I remark, feeling myself relax and enjoy feeling graceful.

  “Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone but my mother made me take ballet lessons when I was a kid.” My eyes widen at his revelation. “I didn’t take them for very long, but I was the best in the class. I’ve got very good rhythm.”

  “I’ll say. I feel like I should be on Dancing with the Stars or something right now.”

  “Just don’t tell Jack or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  I laugh as he twirls me. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  We continue to move around the room, keeping time with the music. Sometimes we spin so fast, I can feel a breeze on my face. I can’t help my huge smile.

  “You know I’m not really a bigot, right?”

  The smile falls as I take in Hank’s face. He seems really concerned that he’s offended me. I don’t understand why, since I’ve never given him any indication my feelings were hurt. But thinking back to our conversation in the car, I bet Jack’s anger made him wonder if he’d crossed a line.

  “I never thought you were,” I reassure him. “Honestly, I think you like popping off because you like shocking people.”

  He responds with a broad grin and another spin. “You caught me. Their reactions are hilarious. Jack especially. Man, that boy falls for it every time.”

  “I think he’s probably more amused than he lets on.”

  “Maybe. But he sure can be set in his ways.” Suddenly the tone of the conversation changes, and I don’t think we’re talking about whether or not Jack offends easily anymore. “He driving you crazy yet?”

  I look over at the other part of our group again as they show off some fancy footwork. Jack is smiling, and Renee has her head thrown back at something he’s said. He’s finally starting to relax. “I wouldn’t say he’s driving me crazy.”

  “Hogwash,” Hank exclaims. “That man is the biggest slob I’ve ever known in my life. Has he started picking up after himself yet or are you still doing it for him?”

  My shoulders relax more. Looks like I was suffering in silence, waiting for us to get into a groove, for no reason. “You mean it’s not just at home?”

  “Oh hell no. His office is a mess. That’s why we always use mine for meetings.”

  “I guess I should have checked out his office space before I moved him in.”

  “Eh.” Hank shrugs. “Just tell him they’ll be no riding the Jack Express if he doesn’t pick his shit up off the floor.”

  I laugh and roll my eyes at yet another comment designed to get a rise out of me. It didn’t work.

  “I can’t shock you, can I?” he asks, seemingly perplexed at why I take everything he says in stride.

  “Nope. My grandfather has no filter either. You’ve got nothing on a ninety-two-year-old man.”

  He narrows his eyes. “So you wouldn’t be offended if I called you Taco Belle?”

  “Only if you don’t mind me calling you Ritz.”

  “Because I'm wealthy and powerful, right?”

  “No. Because you’re a cracker.”

  A belly laugh bursts out of him as we keep dancing . . . spinning and twirling until Alexander ends the class, handing us all a coupon for a discount on regular classes as we leave.

  Somehow, I don’t think Jack will ever let us cash it in.

  I woke up with the biggest smile on my face. After years of hoping and praying and a whole lot of cussing, my sister Greer has finally moved to Flinton.

  Well, she’s in the process of moving. At nine this morning, Joie and I were hanging out in a hotel room while she went and closed on her new house. A couple hours later, she is officially a homeowner, and we’re gearing up to spend the day unloading her U-Haul.

  Okay, not the whole day. We have until five to get the truck back to the rental place. That gives us six hours to get it all done. The suitcases, boxes, and small furnishings were easy. Between the three adults and my niece and nephew, that went quickly. But now we have to do the big stuff, and I’m the only man here.

  If it wasn’t a Monday, I would have made the team help and called it “conditioning.” But if I’d played that card and any one of them failed a final, it’d be my ass on the line. So instead, I’m thanking my lucky stars Joie skipped her classes for the first time ever because Hank and Matthews cancelled on me at the last minute, and there was no one else to help. Fuckers. I have no doubt they’re both lying about being sick. I’m still trying to decide how to get them back for ditching me. I think a couple flat tires might do them some good next week.

  So now I have to figure out how to get all the couches and dressers inside without completely throwing my back out. I’d use Oli. He’s almost seventeen and big enough. But all this change has been hard on him, so I’m treading lightly.

  At least until Joie stops arguing with me.

  “Jack.” My fiery woman stands inside the rental truck, hands on her hips. She’s obviously irritated with me right now. “I can help you carry furniture. It’s not that hard.”

  “No, but it’s heavy,” I argue. “I don’t need you getting hurt.”

  “I don’t think you’re worried about me getting hurt. I think you’re worried I’m going to drop something, and you’ll get hurt.”

  Busted.

  “Joie, it’s a lot of furniture. Are you sure you have the stamina for this?”

  From the way she’s looking at me, I may as well stop arguing now. She’s going to do what she wants no matter what I say.

  “I’m a Texas woman. I can shoot a gun, cook a meal, and carry furniture all in the same day.”

  “First of all,” I say, holding up my hand to stop her, “except for enchiladas, you can’t cook worth a shit.” She shrugs because she’s knows I’m right. “And to my knowledge you’ve never even held a gun.” Again with the shrug. “But since I have no other options at this point, fine. You can help me carry furniture.”

  She beams at me and claps her hands together. “Great! Where shall we start?”

  Greer walks into the truck and leans over to pick up one of the few remaining boxes. It’s labelled “towels.” Of course she picked up the one light thing.

  “Let’s get these dressers out of the way. Greer, we might need your help.”

  “Sorry, I’m not a Texas woman,” she says over her shoulder as she steps out of the truck. “I’m still from Kansas.”

  I shake my head in disappointment, but Joie laughs, taking it all in stride.

  “I like her.” She points in Greer’s direction, wiggling her finger. “She’s got sass.”

  “A little too much, if you ask me,” I grumble, as we get in position to pick up the bedroom set.

  It takes about an hour to finish unloading everything. Some of the furniture will still have to move around, but at least the heavy lifting part is over. My back is already aching.

  Surprise of all surprises, Joie didn’t complain once, and still, even while I’m in pain, she has a giant smile on her face and a spring in her step. Looks like I underestimated her. Or overestimated myself. Either way, I’m more than happy to take a break.

  “How far is the U-Haul place from here?” I ask my sister, pulling a glass out of a box labeled “kitchenware” and grabbing some filtered water from the fridge. Thank goodness the previous owners had all new appliances and left this one here. I’d rather carry a couch than a fridge any day.

  “It’s just across town,” Greer answers. She’s busy wiping out drawers so she can organize all the silverware. Her main priority is getting this kitchen set up so they can stop eat
ing out. Even Oli is getting sick of pizza, and it’s his favorite food.

  “Why don’t I fold up all the moving blankets and take the truck back early so we can get that done? I can grab some food on the way back if you want.”

  She nods and looks off while she thinks for a second. “Is that sandwich shop still open? The mom and pop one over by the stadium?”

  “Sullivan’s Sandwiches?” I ask and she nods again. “Sure is. I ate there the other day.”

  “You think we could get that? I know it’s still eating out, but it sounds way better than fast food.” She makes a face at the thought of eating more grease. I get it. She started the moving process several weeks ago, so I’m sure they’re ready for a home-cooked meal.

  I grab the counter and lean my body back, stretching out my back. Joie comes up behind me and rubs the muscles next to my spine. If I wasn’t in the presence of my sister, I might have let out an inappropriate groan. Instead, I answer her question. “I’ll get them to cut the sandwiches in half and give me a family order of broccoli and cheese soup, too. It’s not exactly homemade, but it might hit the spot.”

  She closes her eyes and makes a “mmmmmm” sound. I’ll take that as confirmation that I’m getting the soup, too.

  Standing up, I stretch my arms over my head, enjoying that the pain is beginning to go away. Joie’s hands are practically magic. I have no idea how she has so much strength in her thumbs, but it comes in handy at times like this. Turning to face her, I pull her to me and kiss her on the top of the head.

  “Thanks for the massage. Wanna come with me to get food? You can follow me in my truck and we can pick it all up after we drop off the U-Haul.”

  She gapes at me. “You mean I’ll get to drive the precious Ford F-250?”

  Greer snorts a laugh.

  “It’s a 350 and now I’m reconsidering since you don’t even know what kind of vehicle you’d be driving. Ooof,” I say, trying to catch my breath when she pokes me in the ribs.

  “I don’t care what kind of truck it is. I’m more interested in this soup.”

  “We’re getting soup?” Oli ambles into the room, heading straight for the fridge. He looks disappointed when he finds it still empty.

  “I figured soup and sandwiches might be a nice change. What do you think, Oli?”

  He shrugs, but doesn’t make eye contact with me. That’s part of his disability.

  Oliver was born by emergency C-section when his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck twice during Greer’s labor. At first, the doctors thought he was okay, and it didn’t cause any problems. But the older he got, the more apparent it was that something wasn’t quite right.

  It took until he was almost six, but it was finally determined that Oli had significant brain damage due to the oxygen deprivation. For the most part, he looks normal. But that’s what makes it all so deceiving. It’s the small things like not wanting to make eye contact and his inability to not stomp when he walks, not to mention completely missing most social cues and a severe lack of impulse control, particularly when he gets angry.

  “Hey Mom?” he asks as he shuts the fridge. “Since I’ve been good all day, can I have my Kindle?”

  If I didn’t know her so well, I wouldn’t catch it, but for a split second, Greer eyes close like she’s preparing herself for what’s coming. That immediately puts me on alert.

  “Oli,” she answers gently, “we talked about this. The cable guy can’t get here until tomorrow, so we won’t have any internet until then.”

  Oli’s breathing gets heavier. “But, that’s not fair, Mom. I’ve been good all day.”

  “You have been very good all day. But this isn’t a punishment. We just don’t have internet. None of us do.”

  Oli squeezes his eyes tightly and clenches his teeth. His closed fist comes up and he begins banging it against his forehead. “It isn’t fair!” he yells. “You lied to me! You said I could have my Kindle if I was good!”

  Joie stands frozen next to me as she watches the exchange. Greer, on the other hand, continues unpacking like Oli’s reaction is a normal one, because to her, it is. When he doesn’t get what he wants, no matter the reason, it’s extremely hard for him to manage his frustration.

  “I didn’t lie to you, Oli. We talked about this, remember? We talked about how we wouldn’t have any internet for a couple of days until it all get set up. But Oli”—Greer spins around, probably to assess how agitated he is—“we’re getting it tomorrow. That’s such good news! Sometimes it takes a week and it’s only taking us a day!”

  “No!” he yells and slams his hand on the counter. “You always do this to me because you hate me!” He begins pacing the room, breathing rapidly through his mouth, still banging on his forehead.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Julie walk into the room. She stops, sees what’s happening, and turns right back around. Julie is a good kid. At fourteen years old, she has a good head on her shoulders and is really smart. But she also got the short end of the stick. Her older brother is disabled. That means his needs almost always overshadow hers. In some ways, I’m glad she’ll be going to college in a few years. I’m looking forward to seeing her blossom away from household action plans and constantly have to assess her brother’s mood.

  Greer continues to try to talk Oli off the ledge, but he’s not having it. Within minutes, he’s riled himself up so much, he tosses a bar stool and yells when he walks by it. I hear Joie gasp, but I calmly walk behind him and pick it up.

  He whips around and bucks up to me. “Why are you following me?” he yells.

  “I’m not following you, buddy,” I say calmly.

  This isn’t my first showdown with Oli. Yes, I’ve lived in Flinton for a decade, but before that, I lived just a few blocks over from Greer. I saw the kids every few days. I was there when Oli was born, when he took his first step, and when Greer got her first phone call from the school about an outburst.

  When it became clear that normal discipline didn’t work, and he subsequently was diagnosed with a myriad of issues, I began following Greer’s lead on how to handle delicate situations. She modeled patience and redirection, without over-reaction, so I do the same. Over the years, even with short visits at holidays, it’s become old hat for those of us who know Oli best.

  That doesn’t mean his outbursts aren’t getting worse. It’s not that he’s doing anything new. He’s just bigger. It won’t be too long before he’s strong enough to do some serious damage. “I just put the stool back where it belongs.”

  “Well, don’t do that!” He leans over and topples another one. Knowing he’s trying to engage me in a fight to get his own frustration out, I leave it.

  Greer continues to try to redirect him by asking for his help unpacking, asking what color he wants to paint his room, talking about the new program at school, all kinds of different topics. It takes a solid ten or fifteen minutes of Greer and I discussing Pokémon (his favorite) and the new pet store in the area (also his favorite), but he’s finally calm and stable enough to help Greer organize silverware.

  Watching the entire exchange, I’m reminded again of how hard my sister’s life really is. Having a disabled child isn’t a cakewalk. There is no cure. He won’t grow out of it. It’s her life. Permanently. And I’m in awe of how well she handles it with such patience.

  Peering over at Joie, I see a million unanswered questions in her eyes. Being the other permanent figure in my life, I can tell we need to have a very long talk about my nephew and why he is the way he is.

  “Ready to get food?” I ask her, knowing this could be the only time we have to finish these errands before Oli remembers his inability to use his Kindle again. She nods blankly in response.

  Once I make sure we have the correct sandwich orders, Joie and I caravan to the rental dealership, turning in the keys long before it’s due. We thank the man for making the process so easy, and then I climb into the cab of my truck, which I appreciate so much more after driving in that rickety box of
a vehicle we just returned. I crank the engine and twist my body toward Joie.

  “I know you have questions.”

  Gotta love her. She doesn’t pussyfoot around, and the first question out of her mouth is a doozy.

  “Is he always like that?”

  I sigh and put the truck in reverse, knowing this conversation may take longer than it does to get back to Greer’s. Including the stop to order food.

  “You know Oliver has brain damage.”

  “Yeah,” Joie says with a shrug. “You told me that before.”

  “The brain damage has caused several issues for him. Besides being right on the borderline of the autism spectrum, which surprisingly, doesn’t have anything to do with the oxygen deprivation, the part of his brain that was affected is the part that normally gives you your impulse control. His is severely damaged so when he gets fixated on something, he has a very hard time refocusing himself. What you saw back there . . . that’s the result.”

  “So he just flips out and destroys things?” I know she’s not meaning to sound insensitive, but it’s clear that Joie doesn’t get it. Most people don’t when they’re first introduced to my nephew. It’s hard to understand that a kid who looks totally normal on the outside can be so damaged on the inside.

  “Sometimes. Yes. But what you saw back there was mild. He toppled a couple stools and we redirected him within a few minutes. That’s major improvement.”

  “It is?” she asks incredulously, which actually kind of pisses me off.

  “It is,” I say back with a hint of snark in my voice. “Three years ago, he was tossing tables and punching holes in the wall. His fits could easily last over an hour. He’s matured a bit over the years, but what you see when he’s banging his own head with his fist . . . that’s Oli trying to calm himself down.”

  Joie leans her head back on the seat and blows out a breath. “It’s so hard to watch. I can’t imagine being Greer and doing it day in and day out. And I know it’s not a disciplinary issue, but it’s so hard to not just assume that if she would just ground him, he’d stop, ya know?”