Multiple Listings

by Tracy McMillan

  I try to make sense of what I’m hearing. I know my dad’s not lying, but it seems incredibly hard to believe that Jake would be so bold as to come back here. “How is that possible? He told me he was—”

  Ronnie continues. “Then he went to the hall closet.”

  My gut sinks.

  “And he took out a roll of money.”

  “That’s the emergency stash,” I say.

  “I figured.”

  “It’s thirteen hundred dollars.”

  “It looked like real money. Anyway, when he was done—and Nicki, this is a really hard thing to say—” He stops himself.

  “Just say it.”

  “He folded all the towels perfectly and put them back in the hall closet,” he says.

  He stops. “What?” I ask. I’m not sure why that’s so damning.

  “That’s when I knew,” he says.

  “Knew what?”

  “He’s probably leaving for good.”

  “That’s not true,” I say. My voice is high-pitched. My throat is closing. And I’m just now realizing Peaches was right. I’m delusional. “He said he just needed some time to figure things out.”

  “Baby,” my dad says gently. “He didn’t want you to know he was here. That’s why he folded the towels so perfect. But the universe wanted you to know, so it put me here . . .”

  I’ve stopped listening. I don’t want to hear about the universe. The universe is causing my life to implode. Fuck that. My whole body is shutting down. I swivel my head toward the window and float off into the blank space outside. I can hear everything around me and I know where I am, but I just can’t move. I’m like a computer that’s asleep.

  “Baby?”

  “I think you should go,” I say. I can hear that I sound robotic.

  “Baby. You’re slipping into a trauma state,” Ronnie says. “I’m not going anywhere. Here, take my hand.”

  “Go away.” I can’t take his hand at all. I can’t even move. All I can do is just stare out the window. Even though there’s nothing to see. “I hate you.”

  “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry this happened,” he says. “And I’m so sorry I hurt you in the past. Beth and I really hurt you. We didn’t do our jobs as parents and I know that affects you still.”

  We didn’t do our jobs as parents and I know that affects you still.

  When I was small, I spent a lot of time looking at clocks. Right now I know why. Because the clock was the only safe place to look. When things are going down around you, just look at the clock. It’s like an island in the middle of chaos. The second hand sweeps around the face. You can get lost in it going around and around, and you’re not afraid of anything. You don’t feel anything.

  “Baby, I’m sorry,” Ronnie says. It’s like he’s speaking from another room, in another dimension.

  “It’s okay,” I say. I have a singsong voice, like when I was little. “It’s okay.”

  I know that girl’s voice. When adults would talk to her, when they’d try to ask her questions, she’d be like, “I don’t know; it’s okay; I don’t know; it’s okay.” Like a bluebird was saying it.

  Well, she did know. I’m in danger. No one’s taking care of me. Where’s my mommy? And it wasn’t okay.

  I look down, where Ronnie has taken my hand and is holding it. And even though I can’t say anything, and can’t acknowledge it, it feels good.

  I almost feel safe.

  I guess Jake’s gone for good.

  14

  * * *

  RONNIE

  It’s time to get me a license. Because I was away for so long, I’ve got to start from scratch. Learner’s permit first. Then the behind-the-wheel test. It’s not like I forgot how to drive, but I’ve definitely forgotten the rules—not that I ever played by them. Since Cody’s sixteen, and he needs one, too, I figured we could do it together. I went online and found some sample questions for the permit test, and now we’re sitting in the kitchen, where I’m making some black beans from scratch and quizzing us both at the same time.

  “When is it legal to cross a double yellow line? A) When you’re entering a business. B) When you signal first. C) On weekends and other nonpeak traffic times. D) Never.”

  “D! Never!” Cody raises his hand like an A student.

  “Let’s see,” I say. I click on the answer. “That’s right! The answer is D, never.” I drop my shoulders in exaggerated defeat. “You are going to crush me, player.”

  Cody grabs the laptop and slides it his way. I toss in the chopped onion and green pepper, along with a pinch of salt. “Okay, now it’s my turn to ask you one,” he says. “What should you do if you see a railroad crossing sign?”

  “Run.”

  “Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

  I love making Cody laugh. His whole face just explodes into a million pieces of sunshine. You know how people love to make babies laugh? It’s like that. I might have missed his babyhood. But what I’m learning is that making a sixteen-year-old laugh is seriously fun, too.

  “You’re an idiot,” he says.

  “I know,” I say. “Ask me another one.”

  “Okay. What does a flashing red light mean?”

  “Same as a stop sign.”

  “Right!” He goes again right away. “The number one cause of rear-end crashes is . . .”

  “Checking out women as you drive.”

  “Ha-ha-ha!” He’s tearing up from laughing so hard. “You’re so funny.”

  “I just like making you laugh,” I say. I put a cover on the beans and turn the heat down to simmer. They are going to be good. I wish Nicki could see her son like this. I think she would lighten up. About him, and about me. “Let me ask you some now,” I say, grabbing the laptop back. It slides on the marble countertop and we both wince in unison. “Ouch!”

  I click the pad thing with my left index finger and drag my right finger down to get to the next question—a trick I only learned to do after ten full minutes of instruction by Cody. He notices that I’m really getting the hang of it.

  “Look at you! Killing that track pad!” He gives me a pound. We do a lot of fist-bumping around here. It turns out hip-hop is the language of both teenagers and prisoners.

  “Thass right,” I say. “I’m catching up. You watch. Next I’m going to get one of those Instabooks like you have. Or whatever you call them.” I know I’m saying Facebook/Instagram wrong, I just like to exaggerate how stupid I am about everything online. It cracks Cody up, and like I said, nothing makes me happier than to see him smile.

  Cody shakes his head. “Just give me the next question,” he says.

  “Before you leave your vehicle parked on a downhill slope parallel to the curb, what should you do to prevent your vehicle from rolling downhill?”

  “Don’t know,” he says.

  “You turn your wheels. But which way?”

  “In?”

  “Yes!” I give him a little round of applause. “If you turn the wheels in, the car will jump the curb instead of rolling into traffic.”

  “Makes sense,” Cody says, shutting the laptop. “I think we got it, don’t you?”

  “I think you got it. Me, I’m not so sure about.”

  “Let’s just go take the test,” he says with a quick nod. He’s a little too confident, the way teenage boys are.

  “Boy, you have no idea how that test is going to be.”

  “It’s gonna be easy,” he says, dismissing me. “Trust me.”

  “I like your confidence,” I say. “But you’ve never had to deal with the government before. They don’t make it easy.”

  “What’s it like to deal drugs?” Cody says, out of nowhere. “Do you get a lot of money?”

  “I’m not sure I should answer that, son.”

  “Why not? Come on,” he says. “My mom’s not her
e.”

  “You want to get a lot of money?” I ask.

  “Hellz, yeah,” he says.

  I don’t want to encourage Cody’s questions about drug dealing. I know he’s curious, because he thinks it’s all badass. He’s probably going around telling all his friends his grandpa’s a real drug dealer. When I was a kid, that would have been something to brag about. But I don’t want to lie to the kid, either, or he won’t trust me. So I say, “Yes. You make a lot of money. But everything you make you end up losing, and then some.”

  “Because you have to do time?”

  “Do time?” I laugh and clap my hands at him using that phrase. The things civilians say about prison crack me up. “Where do you hear this stuff?”

  Cody blushes. “I don’t know.”

  “Let me tell you, Cody. Dealing drugs is like an addiction. You do it once, you think it’s cool. You think it’s easy money, you got it under control. It’s a high, no doubt about it. You feel on top of the world when you got a couple dozen bricks stashed in your hiding spot. Then pretty soon, what was working for you starts to work against you.”

  There came a time in my life where I couldn’t stop selling drugs even if I wanted to. During my second bid in the penitentiary, I even sold drugs inside. I had all these women coming to visit me in prison, and some of the California gangbangers couldn’t help but notice a business opportunity there. They set me up with an operation where I’d have a woman (they called them hyenas) smuggle the drugs in a little balloon she held in her mouth, which she’d transfer to me when we kissed at the end of the visit. They would do this for me because, not to be vulgar or anything, but women go crazy for the dick. Anyway, I ended up in The Hole more than once, but I was eager to prove myself in the joint and it worked. I got a reputation as a guy who could, as they say, “go hard.” When I got released that time, I went right back to it on the outside. It was all I knew. It wasn’t until I got caught that third time, and I lost Nicki and Cody as a result, that I was finally able to see what it had done to me.

  “There are more important things than making a lot of money, boy,” I say. “There’s being of service. You got to figure out how your experiences in life can help other people. You have to find a way to make a difference in people’s lives. That’s what makes a happy life.”

  Cody gets quiet, like he’s thinking this over.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to be a drug dealer,” Cody says. “I already have money.”

  Out of the mouths of babes. Of course! Cody has no reason to take that kind of risk. Why would he do that? He lives in a nice house. He goes to a good school. He has health insurance and new clothes and food whenever he wants it. He’s socialized. He hasn’t spent his life fighting The Man. He practically is The Man. Unlike me, Cody sees himself as someone who is entitled to every good thing there is to have in this world. He’s had life handed to him on a silver platter. Once upon a time I resented guys like him—guys who come from good neighborhoods and have mothers who love them, who’ve never had to fight for anything. They don’t have a care in the world. Now it’s the opposite. I’m relieved and grateful my grandson is one of those guys. Proud, too.

  My daughter has done a helluva job with her life.

  * * *

  “Hey, Ronnie,” Cody asks. “What’s our stop?” Cody calls me Ronnie most of the time now. For the first couple of days he called me Hey, and then it was Grandpa, but eventually I just told him to use my regular name, and since then, he has. I’m not trying to be his friend, but the fact is, we’re getting pretty good at chilling together. He sees me as a fun babysitter—not the kind who will smoke a joint with you, but the kind who takes care of you without having to be an authority figure all the time. Kids know when you’re being trustworthy with your power.

  All those years as a prisoner—you become an expert in power. You learn how to use it. How to misuse it. You figure out real quick that most of the people who want power—cops, wardens, guards, even teachers and principals and mayors—want it for the wrong reason. Mostly because they feel weak, or they used to feel weak, and now they’re going to even the score. I know this is true because I spent years at the mercy of some overgrown children who are gonna kick ass or die tryin’. I don’t ever want to use my power like that. I’m glad Cody knows that.

  Right now we’re taking the bus down to the DMV to get our permits. We’re sitting toward the back. Cody’s next to the window, and I’m on the aisle. As usual, I’m being my outgoing self. Making friends, and appreciating folks. That’s just my way.

  “Afternoon, Slim.” I nod at a nice-looking girl who takes the seat across the way. She nods back.

  “Did you just call that girl ‘Slim’?” Cody looks at me like he’s never heard such a thing.

  “I said ‘Good afternoon.’ Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Then you said, ‘Slim,’ ” he says.

  I check out the girl again. She’s wearing a pair of those jeans that are skintight. “She’s slim,” I say.

  Cody laughs out loud. “You are so funny.”

  “What? I say hello to everyone,” I say. Just then a girl with a mouth like that movie star who’s always on the cover of the magazines in Nicki’s bathroom heads toward us. “Like her. Hey, Lips,” I say. “She’s got a nice pair of lips.”

  Cody laughs again. He’s shocked. Obviously he’s never ridden the bus before with a red-blooded man.

  “Next one is our stop,” I say. “Pull the cord, son.”

  “There’s no cord,” Cody says. “You probably mean the button.” He pushes the button and we get up together, surfing down the aisle as the bus pulls up to the corner.

  “You got pretty good balance,” I say. “You ever play sports?”

  “Not really. You?”

  “Not really. The ladies were more my thing.” I decide now is as good a time as any to find out more about how Cody’s coming along as a man. “How are you doing with the ladies? You break a piece off yet?”

  Cody’s face turns bright pink. It’s pretty clear that no adult has ever asked him about sex before. He shakes his head. “Naw.”

  “Well, you will.” I’m trying to reassure him.

  “I won’t lie,” he says, “it sucks. I don’t know how to talk to girls. They’re weird.”

  Ha! I clap my hands. “It feels like that at first.”

  “All they talk about is makeup, and, like, astrology.”

  “Well, son. High school is about everybody doing things that everybody else will approve of. Things change for the better the older you get. You just keep doing you. The more you do you, the more girls will do you.” Ha! “I’m joking, but it’s true.” I pat him on the shoulder. I don’t want to make too big a deal out of this—I’ll embarrass him. I feel for the kid. When I was his age, girls and hustling were the only things I understood. I couldn’t have written a paper like he can, and I was surely never going to go to college. But everybody’s got their struggles, so I relate. “I’ll give you some pointers. Just hang with me. Watch and listen.”

  The bus stops and we step onto the sidewalk. The Department of Motor Vehicles is across the street. I push the button at the crosswalk light and wait.

  “How’s your mom doing? She say anything about me I should know?” Might as well pump this kid for some information.

  Cody shakes his head. “We don’t really talk about stuff like that.”

  “What kind of stuff do you guys talk about?”

  “Not that much.”

  Cody looks up at me, like he’s ready to see disappointment. He seems surprised I’m not giving him any.

  “A guy can’t always talk to his mom,” I say. “A guy needs other guys to talk to.” The light changes and we step into the crosswalk. “Women don’t really understand what it means to be a man. And we men don’t understand what it means to be a woman. The sooner you figure that
out”—I smile—“the better.” I find this very true, so I laugh. “Ha!”

  “You always laugh and then you clap your hands,” he says.

  “Yes, son. I do. I like to think a good laugh keeps you young. Even if you have to crack your own self up.” I clap my hands. “Ha! See? I’m doing it right now!”

  I hold the door to the DMV open for Cody. Inside, the line is a hundred miles long. “Don’t worry,” I say. “I made an appointment. Stay with me.”

  “You made an appointment?” Cody’s surprised his old granddad has the know-how to make an appointment.

  “Sure did. Right here, son.” I walk up to the window marked Appointments. Behind the counter is a clerk who’s hot in that messy way I’ve been known to like. The kind with very long fingernails with decorations on them. I lean right up on her.

  “Excuse me, miss. We’d like to apply for a learner’s permit, please?” I say it in my Official Business Voice, the one I use when it’s important to sound respectable. It works, too. Because the clerk-girl looks up from her screen, and when she does, I switch to flirting. “I like your nails. You did those yourself?”

  “No, I had them done,” she says. She’s tilting her head, so I know she’s feeling me, as the young guys in the pen used to say.

  “But you picked out the flowers and the colors?”

  “That was all me,” she says, tugging at her hair.

  “Well, it looks real good on you,” I say. I wink at Cody. He needs to see what real game looks like.

  “Thank you,” she says in that tiny-voice way girls talk when they’re liking you. Then she hands me a clipboard. “Have your son fill this out and take it to that window over there.” She points to the other side of the room.

  “Oh no,” I say, “we need two of those. I’m getting a permit, too.” I don’t even bother to correct her about Cody not being my son. “That’s right. Gonna get a license. Haven’t had one in years.” Then I answer the question she hasn’t even asked yet. “I’ve been away.”

  “Two for you, then!” She giggles. She grabs another form and throws it under a clipboard. “Fill these out. Take a seat and wait for your number to be called.” Then she leans over the counter, flashing some major boobage. “Tell you what, let me see if I can’t bump you up a few numbers. How’s that sound?”