Mortal Fall

by Christine Carbo

  Our wind chime to the side of the porch softly sang and the warm, sweet smell of lilac hit me. I took a big whiff, and suddenly I heard a strong buzz and a whir and almost had to duck as a hummingbird dove above me toward the feeder Lara religiously filled with sugar water every summer. I watched it fight off another rufous peacefully sucking nectar. They could be tough, I thought—such small, delicate birds. They could be threatening.

  I heard another pop from the kids and thought of Lara saying they should go down by the river, away from the road. The river was shallow by our property and completely safe and I agreed, they should go down by its banks, away from the main road. Once again, unable to resist the temptation to take care of something she’d pointed out, I went down the drive to the pack of kids.

  Several older boys huddled over a stash of fireworks and about six other younger kids stood watching. Two girls were doing cartwheels and handstands off to the side. Four of the older boys were commanding the situation, two of them Lara’s sister Patti’s boys and the other two cousins from Lara’s brothers. It was hard to keep them straight as the family got bigger, but I was proud of myself that I remembered their names. I walked up, put on an unintimidating smile, and waved the boys over to me. One of the girls—a strawberry blonde, around eight with freckles who was named Summer (the one doing handstands), saw me wave to them and followed the boys over to hear what I had to say.

  “You kids should take this down by the river.” I pointed with my thumb like I was hitchhiking. “If a car drives by and one pops into the road, it could scare the driver.”

  The oldest, Patrick, looked at me wide-eyed, a well-practiced innocence. He had a stash of Roman candles, the ends of three or four hanging out of one pocket and some bottle rockets in the other, the fuse ends sticking out. The other boy, Liam, was carrying a bagful. From the shapes, I figured he had smoke bombs, more Romans, bottle rockets, and some sparklers. “We’re not setting them into the road at all.”

  “Good. Then you won’t mind moving your operation to the other end of the field, closer to the river.”

  “But it’s all weedy over there, and we asked an adult if it was okay, and he said it was.”

  I looked toward the river. Knapweed and leafy spurge pierced skyward in the area past our field, but beyond that it opened up to a border of trees where the ground was healthy with deep roots and the weeds kept their distance. “Closer to the cottonwoods.” I motioned. “There’s honeysuckle down there.”

  They looked at me, absorbing what I was saying, some of them staring innocently, some of them defiantly. “Okay then?”

  A few of them nodded, and I turned to go when the cartwheeler came over and asked Summer what was going on. Summer answered: “We need to take it down to the river even though Uncle Adam said it was fine that we light ’em here.”

  I stopped and turned to Summer. “What did you say?” I asked her.

  “What?” she looked surprised that I addressed her. “Just that we got permission to light ’em here.”

  “From who?”

  “From one of the guys here.”

  “Your uncle?”

  “Yeah.” She shrugged, used to a huge family where it wouldn’t faze any of the kids to call anyone an aunt, uncle, or cousin because they were used to loads of distant relatives and godmothers and fathers who weren’t related, but seemed as if they were. “I mean, I don’t really know him, but you know.”

  “What was his name?”

  “He said Uncle Adam.” She looked to the huge green field, where the white tents stood bright and regal as if we were having a wedding reception. “He went into the party.”

  I turned, squinting into the sun, scanning the crowd. “Thanks,” I said to her. “Make sure you guys take this toward the river, okay?”

  “Okay,” several of them said loudly back.

  I walked up the drive, toward the crowd looking for my brother. A soft prestorm breeze was picking up rustling the tall cottonwoods, their silver leaves vibrating and creating the effect of a flickering silent film. The band played an old James Taylor song in the background—“I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain.” I scanned the crowds, trying to imagine who the hell he’d be talking to and why he’d come. Lara stood with a group of people I didn’t recognize along with her parents. Everyone was laughing, faces rosy from alcohol and heat, and the hem of Lara’s yellow sundress ruffled in the warm wind, the fabric curving up higher around her hips.

  I was scanning the crowd when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I flinched and said, “shit.” Adam was holding out a cold plastic glass of beer from the keg for me, but I didn’t grab it.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He pushed the beer closer to me, but I still didn’t take it. “You don’t want it?” he asked.

  “Why are you here?”

  He shrugged, gulped the beer intended for me down in one long chug and shoved his full plastic cup into the emptied one. “Thought I’d come see the festivities.”

  “Adam. Why are you here?” I was halfway expecting him to throw a big belch my way, but it didn’t come.

  “Figured it was a good place to come see you,” he said. “You know, more likely to be polite and civilized around all these Catholic folk.” He smiled, showing his teeth.

  “See me about what?”

  “Oh, well gosh, where in the world would we start?” he clucked his tongue. “There’s so much, right? Your separation, you coming to the Outlaw’s the other night. By the way, who was the pretty little blonde you were with?”

  I glared at him, shifted my feet to a wider stance. The fact that he knew about our separation stabbed me and I could feel my anger rise not only at him, but at Lara. Even though I’d gotten used to the heat, I could feel it getting hot again, my scalp prickling from a fresh layer of sweat.

  “Look, I’m not here for trouble, Monty.”

  “Uh huh,” I said with a note of sarcasm that I’m not sure he caught.

  “Really. I’m not. You seen Dad lately?”

  I shook my head. “Have you?”

  Adam took another swig of beer. “He’s not doing so well. You might want to stop in for a visit.”

  “What’s going on with him?”

  “He fell. Hurt his back.”

  “Drunk again?”

  “Probably.”

  “That’s his problem.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Look, Adam, I’d appreciate it if you would kindly leave. You know you really don’t belong here and who are you fooling, acting like you’re here on Dad’s behalf?”

  Adam lifted his chin and looked down the line of his face at me. “Yeah, I’d tend to agree with that. Okay, you win. I’ll get to the point.”

  “What point?”

  “I need to borrow some money.”

  I laughed. “Seriously?” I said and watched his face get stone-still, anger sliding into his eyes.

  “Yeah, I am. I figure you owe me.”

  “Owe you?” I said.

  “That’s right. You owe me.” Adam rubbed his lips together, tucking them under until they made a thin line, looked at his scuffed boots, then back at me. His lids looked heavy, but underneath his eyes were piercing, gatorlike. “You still don’t get it, do you?” His voice got soft and quiet, the opposite of the sharp stab from his eyes. I felt the buzz of the party around us, but separate, like Adam and I had fallen away from it and were transported to our own stillness, our own dangerous cocoon among the field of green. Chatter and bubbly laughter in the distance fell away.

  “What’s there to get? What? You need money for drugs?”

  “No.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “It’s for business purposes.”

  I squinted at him, cocking my head to the side as if to say, Are you for real?

  I heard the scuff of footsteps on the drive and when I looked, I saw it was Lara, her eyes large and a sliver of panic layered into them. “Adam, we weren’t expecting you,” she said politely, a slant
in her brow, as she came closer.

  “That’s an understatement,” I added.

  Adam didn’t take his eyes off of me, didn’t bother to address Lara. “I also came to tell you that you don’t want to mess with Dorian.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Look, Monty. For your own good. Stay away from those guys.”

  “What’s your relationship to them? You owe them money?”

  “No.” A shadow of a smile fell on Adam’s lips, and for a second, I saw a flash of something sad, something frail. “Look, Monty, I just need a few grand. You can spare that.”

  “Why in the hell do you think you have the right to come asking me for money?”

  “You owe me,” he said again, this time flat and calm.

  “For what? For pulling that asshole off me?”

  “That and other things.”

  “Whatever.” I turned my gaze to the road, not wanting to look into his green, intense eyes filled with demons and other emotions I couldn’t begin to pinpoint. I wanted to ask about his fight with Phillips the year before, but held back. This wasn’t the right place and with Lara by our sides, the reunion pressed in on me again. I no longer felt separate, and a painful need to keep things copacetic needled in. “I need to talk to you. Yeah, I do.” I pointed at him. “But now’s not the time. Right now, you need to leave.”

  Adam shook his head. “You know Dad allotted each of us the same amount.”

  “Adam, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it’s not a discussion for this day, here, right now.” I spread my arms out to the sides like wings.

  “Bullshit. There is no good time. Which makes this the perfect time. Dad allotted the same amount for education and mine got used up at that shithole because of you. You’re the one who got to go to college. I could have gone if it weren’t for you.”

  “College?” I laughed hard and overly dramatic. I could see his jaw set and a vein in his neck twitch. He was getting pissed, but I didn’t care because I was too. The thought of Adam going to college was absurd. Images of him high and obnoxious, at times unable to walk up the stairs to his bedroom, pressed into my mind. Lara put her hand on my arm and was saying something softly—an attempt to keep everything calm and quiet—but I wasn’t paying any attention to her and neither was Adam. I sensed others gathering around us—Lara’s sister and her mother and another woman I didn’t recognize. “I’m sorry.” I held up my palm and bowed my head in a theatrical tilt. “The word ‘college’ coming from you? Those were all your choices, not mine. How rosy retrospection can be, huh?”

  Adam glared at me, then looked at his beer. He guzzled it down too, his throat muscles—glistening with sweat—shifting sharply with each gulp. He finished the glass, wiped his mouth, gave me one last good and long look, and walked off without saying another word.

  I turned to Lara, my laughter and smile gone, with no false pretenses and an insatiable, biting anger rising in my chest, threatening to break free like a wild animal. It made my breathing quicken and my shoulders go tense.

  “I didn’t invite him, Monty, I swear,” Lara whispered, but I was sure her sister and mother heard her.

  “Invite who?” Doreen asked. “Who was that?”

  Lara didn’t dare answer. I took them in—the three of them, their eyes similar in shape and dark color. Doreen’s gray hair and wrinkles looked pronounced and severe and Lara’s expression took on a manic quality as the sunlight shifted from regular summer bright to an electric copper and purplish gleam as the storm clouds humped over us. I turned away from them and watched Adam as he disappeared from view around the back of some parked cars at the end of the drive, the breeze now turning to forceful shoves.

  “Lara?” her mother said again. “Who was that?”

  Lara looked between me and her mother. Thunder cracked closer than expected and Lara startled.

  Again, Doreen asked: “Who was that, honey?”

  “That was,” she said, “that was just . . .”

  “That was my brother,” I said to Doreen coldly.

  “Your brother? Well, we’d love to meet him, Monty. It’s about time. Why is he leaving? He’s more than welcome to stay.”

  I felt Lara grab my bicep, but I pulled away, my face flushing. “I’m going home,” I said and began heading to my car.

  “Home?” I heard Doreen say behind me. “But this is your home? Lara, honey, what’s going on? What’s he mean he’s going home?”

  Lara ran after me, trailing me to my car, which I had purposely parked off to the side in a different area from the others in case I needed to leave for work.

  “Monty, please, please, stop. I swear, I didn’t invite him.”

  I turned to her, my jaw clenched. “I’m sure you didn’t. I’m fairly certain he’s a big enough ass to come all on his own.”

  “So why are you leaving?”

  “Because I’ve had enough. Because I find it strange that my estranged brother knows we’re separated.”

  Lara stood still, her face frozen, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, but no words coming.

  “How did he know, Lara?” I felt accusatory and childish—and it was not my style to be that way—but my brother had gotten under my skin. Owed him? If anything, I had saved his life, that’s what I’d done. They were his choices, not mine.

  “Monty, it’s not a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. You have no idea how toxic he can be; how he gets off on stirring the pot.”

  “He’s not that bad. He’s grown up. You can’t hold someone’s teenage mistakes against them forever.”

  “Obviously, he still seems to be making them, so I guess they’re not just teenage mistakes, and you never answered my question: How did he know?”

  She stared at me, a deer in headlights.

  I shook my head and turned to my car, but Lara grabbed my arm again. “Wait. Wait. I was out with Jana. That’s all. We were out for some drinks in town and he was there. He bought me a beer—to be polite. That’s all, and I had too much to drink and we got to talking. He is your brother.”

  Lightning flashed again and a bruised and dark layer of clouds pressed over our field. The Columbia Range to the east glowed purple, and I could feel the electricity in the air as the wind rippled the thick fabric on the sides of the tents. Lara’s hair whipped out to all sides, her eyes pleading and wild. She looked outlandish and otherworldly. “Better get your guests inside where it’s safe.” I motioned to the party. “Looks like there’s a big one coming.”

  “But, Monty . . .”

  I peeled her fingers off my arm, hopped in my car, and drove away.

  33

  * * *

  I WENT OVER MY limit at the The Stray Bullet Bar just off the highway a few miles from Lara’s house.

  Let me explain. I’d set a drinking limit for myself in college one night when I got so drunk, I couldn’t remember the events of the night before and woke up in a strange house full of sticky liquid, vomit and other groggy students. I hated that feeling of not being in control, of blacking out, and I took an oath to myself that I would not become my father. From then on, two drinks was my limit.

  Randal Harris was a functioning alcoholic—a daily, in-control drinker for the most part, but was also capable of drunken sprees—coming home knocking into the hallway walls and lurching across the kitchen into the table that splintered beneath his weight, the sugar cup and glasses flying across the room, crashing, breaking. Fine white granules sprayed across the floor. My heroes were Spiderman, Superman, and, of course, my dad, until he threw up across the hallway carpet; and with Mom already asleep, Adam made me clean it as he helped Dad to the couch where he’d stay until morning. The smell of alcohol and bile rose into my young nostrils, made me gag, and forever altered my view of my dad. And when you lose faith in your dad—your hero—you lose faith in all heroes. I picked up the shards of glass and ceramic from the sugar bowl and swept up the sugar. I think I cut my finger. Nothing novel, really, excep
t perhaps that was the moment I realized I needed to be brave, that I needed to toe the line for myself in this world.

  I’ve only gone over my two-drink limit four times since my oath to myself: one evening with Ted Systead out of excitement to be on a murder case and some immature need to show him I could “hang” with the best of ’em; the night after my mom’s funeral after Adam pummeled me; the day I moved out of Lara’s and my house; and the day it hit the news that some kids had stumbled across a skull in the woods north of Columbia Heights that authorities had identified as belonging to an unidentified human child.

  My eye was throbbing now. I was still angry at Lara, and I was completely on edge from seeing Adam at the reunion. And now I could add guilt to the mix for leaving Lara with a nasty thunderstorm to deal with and a mom who was going to keep asking her why I had said I was going home when in her mind, I already was home. I could practically hear a roar between my ears as if I had a bad case of tinnitus.

  The bar was big, the walls painted brown with a couple of posters of skiers and snowboarders doing flips from rock outcroppings hanging on the walls. In one corner a large big-screen television hung with ESPN on, the sound muted, men’s tennis—Wimbledon. Old songs from the eighties and nineties played in the background. I had planned on only the one, but when the bartender, a friendly guy with pale-blue eyes, big round ears that stuck out, a graying beard, and a hearty laugh asked me if I wanted another, I found myself saying yes, that I might as well because I sure as hell didn’t want to go out into the storm I could hear pushing against the walls of the bar. The thunder and lightning raged furiously around us, mimicking my own emotions. We even lost electricity for about a half hour. Then I took another drink, and when the whiskey slid down my throat like a comforting friend, I took another after that, only giving my limit the briefest consideration.