“Nothing,” Kelsey said. Her voice had bite. “Not in a serious situation, certainly not in a life-or-death situation like the one with my mom.” She relaxed. “Okay, so it can affect whether or not you come over for Christmas, or something like that. But you get my point.” She leaned close to me, her hand gripping my thigh. “I will tell you this. If I had a chance to get my mother back, like the chance you have with Danny, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her. And I mean nothing.”
She stood, staring into the trees for a long moment before looking down at me. “Kevin, whatever is happening with you and Danny, I don’t need to know. It’s between you and him. I’m here if you need help, and if you want to keep it private, that’s cool, too.” She bent and grabbed her bag. “You’ll do the right thing; I got faith in you. You’re kind of a slacker, but you’re a good man.” She nodded at the history building. “Now let’s go. Duty calls.”
I stared up at her. I hadn’t been called a good man in a long time, hadn’t felt like one in even longer, but I did right then. I glanced at my watch. “What? I don’t have class for another ninety minutes.”
“Yeah, but Whitestone’s press conference started five minutes ago.”
“Aw, fuck.” I’d actually read that memo. You couldn’t miss it. The announcement for the latest Friends of Bloodroot event was plastered all over the office and I’d managed to space out on it anyway. Every teacher in the department had to attend, per direct orders of the dean. And he’d be enough of a prick to take attendance.
KELSEY AND I SLIPPED through the double doors of the conference room and stood with our backs against the wall. A few heads in the standing-room-only crowd turned at our entrance. The crowd of about fifty seemed to be mostly history teachers and yawning students I figured had been offered extra credit for attending. Up front against the wall leaned a few bored-looking reporters and photographers. Whitestone, who spoke into a microphone at a podium in front of the room, never broke stride. On the screen behind him hovered a large projection of an artist’s sketch of the new museum. I had a feeling that was as far as the planning process had gone.
“And so,” Whitestone was saying, “though the sacrifices of those children were unwitting, they deserve commemoration. Justice needs to be done. Their tiny, forgotten souls demand it. Those children need a champion, and that’s why I’ve called you all here today. To publicly acknowledge, praise, and thank Ms. Ida Horace, the first recipient of the Friends of Bloodroot Children’s Champion Award.” Applause began. “Ida, stand up for us, please.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” I whispered. Kelsey, thinking I was kidding, shushed me and slapped my arm.
Whitestone approached a pint-sized, blue-haired lady in the front row who couldn’t have been a day over ninety. Ida looked like she hadn’t left the house since the Eisenhower presidency. Stooped with age, she reached only to Whitestone’s shoulder. He slipped his arm around her, turning Ida toward the cameras, and smiled big enough for the both of them. I waited for him to present her with a plaque or certificate, some token of appreciation, but the photo op comprised the entirety of Ida’s award. After kissing her powdered cheek, Whitestone helped Ida resettle into her wheelchair, then strode back to the podium.
“Thanks to Ms. Horace’s generous five-figure donation,” Whitestone said, “the Friends of Bloodroot, who I am proud to represent here today as their founder, can continue their work on behalf of the brave, forgotten children whose suffering effected revolutionary change in the history of this island, this city, and, in fact, all of these United States.”
More applause. Whitestone spent several moments nodding, as if agreeing again and again with the greatness of his own words. All I could think about was Danny’s revelation to me the night before. What the dean was doing was sick. Worse, I felt like he knew it and he didn’t care. I wanted to choke him right then and there. Let’s see him smile through that for the cameras. He was only in it for himself; I was sure of it. All Ida’s check would do was send him to Europe for another research trip. Whitestone was no better than Dr. Calvin in his using those kids, using my brother, to feed his own ego. Why couldn’t these other jokers see through him like I could? Because they didn’t know what Danny and I knew, that those lost kids didn’t need a fucking museum; what they needed was payback. To give their souls, my brother’s soul, some rest.
I leaned my shoulder into Kelsey’s. She turned to me.
“One thing a lifetime of studying history has taught me,” I said, “is that those selling themselves as the most high and mighty have the lowest and foulest things to hide.” I raised my chin at Whitestone, now glad-handing in the front of the room. “That guy isn’t just creepy. He’s dangerous. Well, pride cometh before the fall. I gotta go.” I squeezed her hand. “Tonight?”
Kelsey gazed up at me. “Stay out of his way. He’ll run out of steam eventually.”
“Tonight?” I asked again.
“My place. Eight,” Kelsey said.
AFTER WORK, I went to my parents’ house for dinner. My father had called the office to tell me my mother spent all afternoon in the kitchen making her special lasagna. He begged me to help him eat it. Though they’d been only two for a long time, my mother had never stopped cooking for four. How my parents stayed whippet-thin mystified me. I told my father I’d be happy to do him this favor. For an Irishwoman, my mother made a hell of a lasagna.
Once we got settled around the dinner table, me sitting opposite Mom and my father next to her, it only took me four bites to screw up.
“Ma,” I said, “this is even better than Kelsey’s.” I kept eating, head down, hoping my comment had slipped by unnoticed. It hadn’t.
“Kelsey who?” my mother asked, a flicker of fear in her eyes. I knew she worried Kelsey was a name she’d known but forgotten.
My father sensed it, too, and jumped right in. “Yeah, Professor. Kelsey who? I’ve never heard you mention no Kelsey.”
“She’s a friend of mine from work,” I said. “We had lunch together this after—, last week, rather, and she brought homemade lasagna.”
“That’s nice, boy,” my father said, “but get to the point. She a ‘just a friend’ friend or a ‘friend with benefits’ friend?”
I dropped my fork and glared at him, blood rushing to my cheeks. “Jesus, Dad.”
My mother slapped the back of his huge hand. “Robert W. Curran.”
“What? We’re adults here,” my father said, wide-eyed, clutching his injured hand to his chest. He’d always excelled at playing the misunderstood innocent suffering under my mother’s iron thumb. My mother tried not to laugh at him. She failed. They traded sly glances. I was watching my parents flirt. I dropped my eyes to my plate.
As parents, my folks were an inseparable team. Even Danny had struggled to play them against each other. But that night I realized for the first time that they had never hidden being a romantic couple, too. That they were the best of friends. I finally started to grasp how deeply and hard my father’s heart must be breaking. I knew he held his rosary every night praying for one thing. A little more time with his beautiful girl.
My eyes watered. I missed Danny like crazy. I was furious with him, too. What the hell was he doing in Brooklyn, staring at those screens, the monster Saturn staring down at him? What was he so afraid of? I had to get him back here, no matter what it took, before the nightmares dragged him under again, and before Mom got too far away for any of us, even Dad, to reach her.
My mother covered my father’s hand with hers. “You’re awful quiet over there, Kevin. Forgive this silly man. I know you forget what a Neanderthal he is; you don’t live with it every day like I do.” She smiled at him and then at me. “Please do tell us about Kelsey. I promise your father will behave.”
My father left one hand under his wife’s and resumed loading lasagna into his mouth with the other. I was relieved he used a fork.
“Kelsey and I work together at the college,” I said. “She’s in my departm
ent. It’s nothing serious. We’ve just recently started hanging out away from work. I like her, she’s cool. Smart, intense.” I decided to skip the part about her leaving town. “We’re getting together tonight, in fact.”
“That’s excellent news,” my mother said. “If the chance comes along, I’d love to meet her.”
“She Irish?” my father asked, his mouth full. He was being extra slovenly for my mother’s entertainment.
“Her last name is Reyes,” I said, “so probably not one hundred percent.”
Mom splayed her fingers on the tabletop. “It doesn’t matter. Besides, the Currans are black Irish, which means there’s probably some Spanish in you anyway. Right, Robert?”
My father grunted, tossing his crumpled napkin onto his empty plate.
“Well, I’m pleased as punch for you, Kevin,” Mom said. “Let us know how it goes.” She rose to clear the table. My father touched her forearm. He stood and started gathering the plates himself. She sat back down, glaring up at him. “I’m not an invalid.”
“I know, Eileen,” Dad said. “You cooked all day. Fair play to you. Talk to your son. I’ll do the dishes and make us a round of whiskeys.”
“Come sit by me,” Mom said, patting the back of the chair my father had just left. “I’m very happy to hear about that girl.”
“Kelsey,” I said.
“I know that,” my mother said, hurt. “You just told me her name a few minutes ago.” She feigned a grin. “I’m not that far gone just yet.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling awful. Not for the first time in my life, I wished I’d inherited my father’s charm. “We get along well, I think it helps we knew each other already, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“How could anyone not get along with you?” Mom said. “I just . . . I want to see you with someone who loves you. And I want to know her, too. While I still can.”
“Don’t say things like that,” I said.
“Why? Because they hurt? Because they’re true? I made that mistake with your brother, looking the other way. Let’s not you and I make it. Don’t be afraid of me, Kevin. Please.” She reached out and touched my cheek. “You’re a handsome, smart, wonderful boy but you were never very brave.”
I groaned, clutching at my chest with both hands, a sad attempt to imitate my father. Mom didn’t laugh, maybe because my feelings really were hurt. And she was right. I thought of Danny walking the halls of Bloodroot, and of Kelsey gripping my thigh on the park bench. I had to toughen up, as my father would say. My time to be brave had arrived.
“The two of you,” she said, shaking her head. “Danny running headlong into everything, you running away. It’s no wonder you lost each other. You seem so lost to me sometimes, too, Kevin. Adrift. Like your father was when I met him. This life is hard and full of surprises. You need a partner, an ally. You can’t drift though life up among the clouds, waiting for wherever the wind takes you. You’ll miss too much. You need a compass, Kevin. I don’t want both my babies lost in the world.”
She looked over her shoulder at my father, who stood at the sink, washing the dishes and whistling “Whiskey in the Jar.”
“What would happen to me now if I didn’t have your father?” she said. “Crazy as he is, he has always been true. This Kelsey may be your compass; she may not. But be brave enough to find out.”
“I will. I promise to be brave,” I said. “If you promise me the same, right now.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” Mom said. “I know we’ve never talked much about it.” She scratched at a stain in the tablecloth. “There’s a lot we’ve never talked enough about.” She looked back up at me. “And now I’m forgetting what a lot of those things were. It’s a terrible disease, but I’m facing it as best I can.”
I reached out and took her hands. “I know you are, and one day soon we’ll sit and talk about it. Tonight, though, there’s something else.” I squeezed her hands. “I know about Danny.”
“What about Danny?”
“I know where he came from,” I said. “How he got here. How come you never told me?”
My mother snapped around in her chair. “Robert! Come in here, please.”
Dad rushed into the room, wiping his hands on a dishrag. “What? What’d I do?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “It ain’t broke, just chipped it a little. I swear.”
“It wasn’t Dad,” I said. “It was Danny. He’s back. He turned up at my house a few days ago.”
Mom whirled back around. “What do you mean turned up? How is he?” Her eyes darted back and forth between my father and me, betrayal burning in them. “Bobby, you knew about this?” She covered her heart with her hand. “Danny. My God.” Blood rose to her cheeks. “Where is he? Why hasn’t he come to see me?”
My father put his hands on her shoulders. “That’s my fault. Kevin told me right away but I wanted to make sure Danny wasn’t pulling the same old act. I didn’t want him putting you through that again.”
“It’s only been a couple of days, Ma,” I said, leaning across the table. “I had the same concerns Dad did.”
Mom shook her head. “All the time you men have lived with me and what do you know? Nothing. He’s my boy, for chrissakes. That’s all that matters.” She stared me down. “Tell me about my son.”
“He’s good,” I said. “Clean for over a year. Living in Park Slope. He’s got his own business installing home electronics and computers.”
“All this before he comes to see his mother?” Mom said, pressing her palms to her cheeks. “I’m so relieved he’s doing so well. He’s never been clean that long.”
A line of sweat had gathered along her hairline. She didn’t know what to feel, the poor woman. She was overjoyed that Danny was alive and well, outraged that she was the last to know. I watched the emotions battle it out across her face, wanting to rewind the evening back to when we first sat down. My father brought her a glass of ice water from the kitchen. She sipped it and then looked up at him.
“I thought you were making whiskeys,” she said.
“Coming right up,” Dad said, grateful for an excuse to bail.
Mom held her glass but didn’t drink again. She rubbed at the fog on the side with her thumb. She hadn’t answered my questions.
“Did Danny tell me the truth?” I asked.
“It depends on what he told you,” Mom said.
“He told me you worked at Bloodroot,” I said. “That you brought him home from there.”
Mom slumped in her chair as if exhausted, staring away from me.
Dad placed three glasses of whiskey and water on the table. He sat at the other side of my mother, across the table from me. “What’s going on?” he asked.
Mom turned to him. “Danny told Kevin we got him from Bloodroot.”
My father lowered his untasted glass from his lips. “The asylum? That’s ridiculous.” The ice rattled against the glass as his hands shook. He couldn’t look at me. “It’s all lies. It’s more of your brother’s crazy bullshit. Another one of his crazy excuses for becoming a junkie.”
“Bobby,” my mother said. “Calm down.”
“I have to give him points for originality on this one,” my father said. “You see, Eileen? You see why I thought twice about letting that boy come back around?”
Mom straightened in her seat, gathering her strength for my father’s sake. Her jaw was tight and she wouldn’t look at either of us. “I know. I understand. It’s okay.”
I drank half my whiskey down, shifting in my seat with discomfort. It wasn’t the tension that unnerved me but the intimacy between my parents as they struggled to protect each other from my brother, the great burden of their lives. I’d caused the moment, but it still felt like something that should have no witness, that should exist only between them. I racked my brain for a graceful exit, checking the clock on the wall. Could I go to Kelsey’s early? No, I wouldn’t run. I’d promised my mother I’d be brave.
My father finally turne
d to me. “Yes, your brother is adopted.” He drank. “We never told you because it never mattered. The minute we carried him through that door, he was our boy, our blood. So now you know. What’s the big deal?”
“Then where did he come from?” I asked. “Really?”
“Back when I was a nurse at Methodist,” Mom said, “when we still lived in Brooklyn, a cop brought him into the emergency room—”
“Ei, why go into detail?” my father asked. “Kevin knows the important parts. None of that matters now. Right, Kev? The past is best forgotten.”
My father’s fierce eyes warned me, his history teacher son, not to contradict him. I struggled to make up my mind whose story I would believe, my folks’ or my brother’s. I decided the choice could wait. Right then, I just had to decide whose version of the truth I’d say I believed. I gave my parents another chance to be more convincing than my brother.
“So what about the nightmares?” I asked. “They make perfect sense if what Danny said is true. He told me the doctors there tested vaccines on the kids, hepatitis vaccines. Malaria, measles. Kids died, six, eight at a time, from the mistakes. He said most of the kids had severe deformities or retardation and they were just abandoned there, like Bloodroot was a junkyard.”
My father leaned across the table, a forced calm on his face. “Do any of those things describe Danny? Those things about Bloodroot are true. It all came out in the papers and on TV. It’s public record. You can look it up.”
“I did,” I said.
My father choked down something angry. “That doesn’t mean Danny’s from there. What it means is that he could’ve found out about it, heard about it anywhere.”
“Danny mentioned a doctor by name,” I said.
“Calvin,” my mother said. “The doctor in charge was named Calvin.”
My head snapped around. I’d almost forgotten she was there. I studied her for signs that she recalled speaking that name herself. I saw nothing. I turned to my father. His face had gone pale. He remembered. “That’s him,” I said.
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