The Other Brother

by Lauren Baratz-Logsted

  Tonight.

  For my son.

  As the hour drew closer, if not for the awkwardness it would have presented, I could have kissed him.

  So much in life begins with a simple knock on the door.

  I remember reading once that all stories, no matter how different they seem, boil down to one of two basic plots: a man goes on a journey or a stranger comes to town. Either you go out seeking adventure or the adventure comes to you. Occasionally, like in The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, one incites the other.

  In our case, when Denny had first knocked on our door that summer, both happened simultaneously. Denny began his journey, the purpose of which I was still unclear on. As for us, well, a stranger had come to town, hadn’t he?

  And now there came another knock, seemingly innocuous, disturbing the tapestry of the day.

  When no one else jumped to see who it was at the back door, it fell to me.

  It was six-thirty in the evening and we were planning to head next door any second. The party wasn’t scheduled to start until seven, but since this wasn’t a surprise party, William was determined to be there so he could greet his very first guests as they arrived. Unlike the Fourth of July party, I hadn’t bothered getting all done up for this event. Yes, I was essentially one of the hosts, but it was a child’s birthday party. So, even though the neighbors had also invited many adult friends, I couldn’t see that the occasion called for more than shorts and a T-shirt.

  “Yes?” I said, pulling open the door, uncertain who I would find there.

  It was Jeeves.

  “Oh!” I said. “When Matt and Walter came earlier, I should have figured you were around here somewhere. Did you need something to eat?”

  “Is Boss ready?” he asked instead.

  “Ready for what?”

  “He told me to be ready to drive him at six-thirty.”

  “Well, that’s kind of ridiculous!” I laughed, unable to keep the scoff out of my voice. “We’re only going right next door.”

  “I only know what Boss asked me, ma’am.”

  “Den—” I yelled, turning and almost crashing into him. Never has the phrase felt more apt: speak of the devil.

  And never, since arriving there, had he looked so much the rock star. He had on a white satin shirt with a boat neck, matching pants so low his hipbones seemed only to be holding them up with a prayer, and a crimson velvet scarf so long it would present a choking hazard were he to wear it while attempting to ride William’s new bike. On his feet were boots that I expected came from some sort of incredibly expensive reptile, his hair was so perfect, if I hadn’t known any better, I’d have thought Lulu had been by to fix it for him, and he had on eyeliner and mascara.

  “Isn’t this a bit much?” I said, meaning the chauffeur ride for a few feet but also his getup. “We’re only going next door.”

  “I need to go do an errand,” Denny said, putting on dark sunglasses.

  “We were supposed to leave any minute. What do you mean you have to do an errand?” I couldn’t help it. Already the fishwife was entering my voice.

  “It won’t take very long,” Denny said. Then he turned to Jeeves. “Will it?”

  “I don’t think any more than usual, Boss.”

  “What errand is so important that you have to do it now? Can’t whatever this is wait?”

  “No, I’m afraid it really can’t. But I’ll be back in time. I promised, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “When were you planning to cut the cake?”

  “Probably sometime between nine and ten. William wants it to be dark out so that it feels, you know, more sophisticated. But—”

  “Another two and a half, three and a half hours?” He sailed past me, indicating Jeeves was to follow. “Oh, that’s plenty of time, plenty of time.”

  “But—”

  But my last “but” was met with the sound of a slamming car door. And what could I do?

  He’d promised in advance, and now he’d promised he’d be back in time. I had to trust him. I had to believe him, didn’t I?

  • • •

  Marsha’d had a huge tent set up on the beach. There was no threat of rain in the forecast, only fog, but she’d wanted it just in case. There were also tiki torches all over the place, which she planned to light as soon as it got dark.

  We were the first to arrive, as planned, but a handful of kids soon followed, and William and Harry were off with them before I even had a chance to shout, “Have a good time!”

  There would be food soon. I’d thought we should have the same thing for everybody—how do kids learn to have a more mature palate and how do they learn that everything doesn’t need to be catered to their tastes if someone’s always giving them a hot dog at every turn?—but Marsha didn’t want to test out my theory, and she was tired of hot dogs herself. I didn’t really have the right to complain though, so I didn’t, not when she’d so willingly done all the work.

  “What would you like to drink?” she offered now.

  “What are my choices?”

  She showed me where the bar had been set up: the inevitable white wine and beer, plus bottles of alcohol along with mixers. I was about to ask for a G&T for a change when she pointed to a large box in the sand.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “It was delivered earlier today,” she said, “with a note from Denny. It was very thoughtful of him, but I can’t imagine who here would want to drink it. We all prefer white—less calories.”

  She extracted a bottle to show me what he’d sent.

  It was the Chateau Latour.

  “If you don’t mind,” I said, “I think I’ll take a glass of that.”

  • • •

  An hour later, I started to feel pleasantly buzzed, the pleasantness slightly compromised by the minutes ticking away. Biff had outdoor speakers, and he’d put on music that his boys liked. For the most part, it was the most infernal of pop music, the kinds of songs that catch your ear and make you play them over and over until you cannot stand to hear them anymore.

  But the kids were happy. Many of them were even dancing in the sand down by the water, a bunch of squirming bodies, some with rhythm and some without. I squinted until I made out my two. It would’ve been nice if Roberta were dancing with William—it would’ve made his birthday complete; well, that and if his uncle would show up like he’d promised. Where was Denny? But Roberta was dancing with the more rhythmic girls while William and Harry were with the less rhythmic boys.

  I felt lips against my ear.

  “Dance with me?” my husband whispered.

  Without waiting for an answer, he took me in his arms, slow dancing me around, even dipping me.

  “I’m not sure it’s that kind of song,” I laughed. “Aren’t we supposed to be flailing about like the kids?” I tried to demonstrate but he just held me closer.

  “It can be whatever kind of song we choose to make it.”

  “What’s gotten into you? Why the Mr. Romance act?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got a pretty wife. I’ve had an incredibly good day. My boys are happy, so I’m happy. It doesn’t really take much more than that with me, I guess.”

  And for a short time, or at least for the duration of the song, I was happy too.

  But then I started to think about Denny.

  • • •

  Yet another hour later, it was dark out, and there was that fog that had been in the forecast, so now the tiki torches were lit, blazing up the beach.

  William came running up to me, breathless from whatever he’d been doing.

  “Is he here yet?” he asked.

  “I haven’t seen him,” I said, trying to hide the anger I was feeling on William’s behalf.

  “Only,” William said, “Billy and Tommy’s mum was saying we were supposed to do the cake around now.”

  “Perhaps we should just go ahead then?” I sugges
ted, trying to sound mild about it, when inside I was thinking, What if Denny just doesn’t bother ever coming back?

  “We can’t do that!” William was aghast.

  “But what if he doesn’t—”

  “It’ll be fine,” William said brightly. “He promised, so we’ll just wait.”

  Before I could say anything else, he’d run back to his friends.

  • • •

  By eleven o’clock at night, I should have by all rights been supremely pleasantly buzzed, what with all the Chateau Latour I’d had to drink. But instead, the only buzzing I felt was intense anger.

  That shit. That incredible weaselly shit.

  What kind of a man promises something to a boy—his nephew, no less!—and then fails to come through?

  “Mona? Are you all right?”

  It was Jack.

  “I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Well, you certainly don’t look it.”

  “It’s just…your brother…”

  As soon as I said it, I heard myself, sounding exactly like my own mum anytime my dad pissed her off. He was no longer his name or “my husband”; he was someone else’s responsibility.

  “What’s he done this time?”

  “Did he not promise William he’d be here? So where is he, Jack?”

  “How should I know?”

  “It keeps getting later and later, and I’ve tried suggesting to William that we just go ahead and cut the cake, but he won’t hear of it. I don’t want to see him disappointed, but what if Denny never comes back?”

  “He won’t be disappointed, Mona. Look at him.” He physically turned me in William’s direction. “Do you see how happy he looks? He won’t be disappointed, no matter what. Everyone’s having a grand time. There’s no need to worry.”

  Looking at William, I could see that Jack was right: William was happy. But there was also a desperate anxiety to his laughter that, being his mother, I readily recognized.

  And then, for the first time, seeing William’s anxiety and looking all around me at the fog, I grew anxious too. What if instead of growing increasingly angry for the past few hours, I should have been growing concerned?

  What if something bad had happened to Denny, an accident or something, and that was why he’d failed to return?

  • • •

  The chord was the first thing any of us heard.

  That chord screeched out in the night, loud enough to be heard over the music coming from Biff’s speakers and any conversations going on. If that chord had come from a human instead of an electric guitar, it would have been the equivalent of an attention-getting clearing of the throat, the loudest “Ahem!” imaginable.

  As more chords followed, we made our way from the tiki-lit brightness of the sand in front of Biff’s place in the direction of where the sounds were coming from, through the fog, to the beach in front of our own house.

  And there they were.

  It wasn’t just Denny. Lex was there too, and Trey and 8.

  Denny had brought the entire band.

  “Now that everyone’s here,” Denny spoke into the microphone.

  People went nuts clapping. They hadn’t really done anything yet—just a few chords from Lex and a single line from Denny—and already people were going crazy. I could understand the feeling. I’d only ever seen the band perform once before, in Wales, but even then it hadn’t been like this. They were so close now, on the same level with the audience, and with no bodyguards marking off the perimeters, I could literally reach out and touch them if I wanted to.

  “We meant to be here sooner,” Denny spoke over the crowd, quieting them. “Sometimes, though, events get in the way of intentions. But now we are here! And we’d like to play a few songs in honor of my nephew’s—one of my two favorite nephews—birthday. Would that be OK with you, William?”

  Denny located William in the crowd as he spoke this last, and I turned to look at William too. He was so excited as he nodded, I worried he might pee himself.

  And then Denny was singing and the band was playing, some of their biggest hits from the last two decades, the handful of iconic songs that no matter what the age of the listener, everyone would recognize.

  I know there were a hundred people there, and I had a vague sense of the others laughing and dancing and even singing along, yet my own attention was strictly held by two people: Denny and my eldest son, the former for what he was doing, the latter for the sheer joy on his face because of what Denny was doing.

  At one point, I felt my hand being taken, and I looked to my side and saw Jack there. Immediately, I wondered how he felt. For, in that moment, it hit me harder than it ever had before: How do you compete? How can a new bicycle, even one built for two, rate against an impromptu concert, by The Greatest Rock-and-Roll Band In The World, in honor of your birthday?

  Jack said something to me, but I couldn’t hear him over the music and had to go up on tiptoe as he tried again.

  “Still not a fan?” he asked me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The first night I met you, you said you weren’t a fan of his.” He jerked his head at the band, at Denny.

  That wasn’t strictly true. It was Jack who’d said he wasn’t a fan. I’d merely said I thought they were overrated. Of course I’d only said that because I thought it was what Jack wanted to hear.

  I looked at Jack now, wondering what he wanted to hear from me this time.

  But if I expected to see jealousy or resentment on his face, if I thought I’d see those things because that’s exactly what I would be feeling if someone else had so roundly trumped me in one of my children’s lives, that wasn’t the case with Jack. Whatever he might be feeling for Denny on any other day, he was purely happy right now, purely happy that Denny was giving William this incredible moment.

  “Still not a fan?” was the question Jack had asked me.

  I looked away from my husband, to my son, and then to Denny.

  “Well,” I finally admitted, “maybe just a bit.”

  • • •

  In all, they played a half-dozen songs before the police showed up.

  Apparently, there was at least one neighbor who wasn’t a fan.

  “I’m sorry,” the officer apologized to Denny profusely. “My son’s such a huge fan. Well, I am too. If it were up to me…”

  “Just one more song,” Denny said.

  “I really—”

  “It’s a really short one,” Denny said, “promise.”

  I could’ve told the officer a thing or two about Denny’s promises—that sometimes they came late, if they came at all—but no one was asking me.

  Lex leaned into Denny’s mic like he sometimes did during regular shows and spoke to the officer in his growling smoker’s voice, “Make it worth your while when we’re finished, mate.”

  And then, before the officer could object further, the band was playing and Denny was singing again, and what Denny had promised was exactly true this time: the song was very short.

  It was “Happy Birthday.”

  What William had asked for was for Denny to sing. And that would have been OK, although it might also have been corny. It was like what Denny had said to me earlier in the summer, though, about giving people what they didn’t even know they wanted, didn’t know they needed. William had never seen to ask for this—the whole band playing, just for him, in a crazy Jimi Hendrix does the “Star-Spangled Banner” version of “Happy Birthday.” It wasn’t just OK plus maybe corny; it was beyond cool—anyone looking at the faces of Roberta and the other kids, even the adults, could see that. William hadn’t asked, no doubt, because he didn’t know such a thing was possible. But Denny had known. Not only had he known what William hadn’t known to want and needed, but, even more than that, Denny had delivered.

  When they were done with William’s song, Lex asked the officer if he could borrow a pen, and then he unplugged his gui
tar, signed it, and handed it over.

  “For your kid,” Lex said to the dumbfounded officer. Then: “Mind if I keep the pen, then? Never one of these around when I need one.”

  “Was that OK, Mona?” a voice said.

  I blinked and there was Denny in front of me.

  “I really tried to get here earlier,” he went on, “but I didn’t plan on the fog. I thought it would be a bit of a surprise, more of an event for William, to have the whole band here, so I flew them in. But because of the fog, the plane couldn’t land on time, so…Was it OK?”

  “Yes,” I said, “it was OK.”

  “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!”

  And that would be William.

  “Was it OK?” Denny asked him the same question he’d asked me.

  “Was it OK?” William echoed exuberantly. “OK?” Then, with a quick look to the side—Roberta was there—he recovered his cool, tried on a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah, I mean, of course.”

  “Who’s your friend?” Denny asked with a chin nod at Roberta.

  William introduced them, but Roberta could only stare.

  Poor Roberta. She’d gone completely deer-in-the-headlights.

  Denny leaned into me, whispering low under his breath. “These are the ones that always worry me the most. I never know what to do. It’s like they just died right where they’re standing, and I wonder: ‘What if it’s for real? What if they’re really dead?’”

  “Try shaking her hand,” I whispered back.

  “Right, then.” Denny held out his hand. “Friend of William’s? Roberta, is it?”

  Roberta grasped onto his hand with both of hers, and a sound came out of her that was only barely recognizable as being human, somewhere between a squeal and a scream, followed by, “Aieee!” After which, she dropped his hand like a hot coal, like she could barely stand to touch it anymore, running off into the night with William behind her.

  “Definitely not dead,” Denny concluded.

  The band all joined him then.

  “You all know Jack of course,” he said.

  Handshakes all around, with Lex throwing in a “Great to see you again, mate” for good measure.

  “And this is Mona, my sister-in-law,” Denny introduced me.