by Rex Bolt
"Well I'm going to wrap it up in a couple of days, and then try to shoot back home fast. We can sample that place on Columbus again, this time I won't have dinner first."
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, last night my friend
Dana from work? She wanted to go out. She teaches spin classes."
"Unh-huh."
"We were sort of at a loss, so I suggested your place, on Chestnut."
"Weatherby's. How was it?"
"We ran into your brother."
"Oh yeah?"
"We just pretty much said hi. He was with a woman."
Christian was thinking, hmm, but didn't want to start asking who. It was a multiple choice question. Even Joyce could have worked her way into the equation, since there was a chance she'd stop down, freaked out by another visit from Cousins, and afraid to use the phone.
"What a small world," he said.
Kim said, "Chris, I was thinking . . . When you get back, you could always stay at my place for a while. If you didn't want to rush Floyd out of yours."
"Gee, that's very accommodating of you. You could put up with me?"
"I'd like to try."
"Well you've definitely got my attention in Indiana," he said.
45 - Big Sundaes
He put in one more big day, which brought him to West Stockbridge in the Berkshire Mountains, and Monday afternoon he made it to Bonnie's.
After the formalities Christian said, "Have I aged much since that time in Vermont?"
"To be honest," Bonnie said, "I don't have a clear image of what you looked like then."
Christian said, "This wasn't the worst drive, actually. What I always forget, until I get out there, is how much of the country is farms . . . What about work and stuff?"
"I'm on the computer. Grant writing, some management consulting, the occasional freelance project. It's good, because I can work around Bert."
"That is good, though whenever I hear someone say 'management consulting' I have no idea what they're talking about, but that's my problem."
"Before you get comfortable I have to pick up Bert. You want to come?"
"Do you think he'll have any idea who I am?"
"He didn't this morning, but I filled him in."
"Ah."
Bonnie had the middle floor in a squared-off three family house that Christian remembered they called a triple-decker in Boston. It felt like a working class neighborhood, but there were some fancy cars parked on the street, though Bonnie's was a beat-up Corolla.
"What do you pay for your place?" he said.
"Eighteen-hundred a month," she said. "Why?"
"I don't know, you could do a lot better in Phoenix. Floyd's neighborhood, you get a whole house for twelve. You can park in your driveway, and you don't need an ice scraper for the windshield."
"I don't think I'm Phoenix material. Bert's not either."
"You don't know that. I'll talk to him and feel him out."
"Chris, don't be confusing him, okay?"
"You know what? At his age, you can turn everything upside down and he's fine."
"Well his dad moved to Florida. So that part's not fine."
Christian said, "No. That wouldn't be."
They waited outside in a lineup with the other parents, everyone idling, Christian thinking turn off the damn engines and relax. It was clearly a private school, but he hoped Bonnie wouldn't get into the curriculum and whether it was a charter, Waldorf, alternative or whatever.
Bert approached the car. He was a smiling kid with curly hair that came down in his eyes. He was shorter than most of the others and had on a backpack that looked way too big.
Christian got out of the car with Bonnie, and without saying anything Bert came up to him and hugged him around the waist, and for a moment Christian felt his throat tighten. "Hey man," he said. "You're not supposed to know me."
"You're my uncle," Bert said. "Are you staying over at our house tonight?"
"I'd like to. If you can handle me being on the couch."
Bert said, "Hey, I'll sleep on the couch. You go in my room."
Christian said, "No, I'm not kicking you out of your room. But can you show it to me? See what we got going on in there?"
"Yeah!" Bert said.
Bonnie said since it was a special occasion why not go for ice cream, and they went to a place in Harvard Square that was full of college kids putting away big sundaes. Bert dug into his for the first few bites and then started to struggle, and Christian finished it off for him.
"That's good, you'll never be a fat guy," Christian said.
"I'm small though," Bert said. "I'm a shrimp."
Christian said, "Maybe now, but I was noticing something. You got big feet."
"He does,"Bonnie said.
Christian said, "I'm telling you, you're going to be tall."
"Well my dad's pretty tall," Bert said. Christian was picturing Wayne, and yeah, he was around six at least.
"There was a kid in my school," Christian said. "Peter Figg. He towered over everyone until about sixth grade. In eighth grade when we graduated, he was the shortest one in the class."
"Wow," Bert said.
"Another guy, Andy Hokapp, little back-up point guard on the freshmen team in high school? His junior year, he was dunking the ball. He grew like a foot. He had real big feet when he was young, just like you."
"Man!" Bert said.
"Just don't dunk on me though," Christian said. "When you come out to San Francisco."
Bonnie stared at him. Bert slid over and put his head on Christian's shoulder, and there didn't seem to be any rush to go anywhere.
+++
Bonnie told Bert to go in his room and take care of his homework, and she and Christian sat at the dining room table drinking red wine. Christian said quietly, "So what's the story with Wayne?"
"He met someone, she's from down there, and he moved in with her. About two years now. He's in a step-dad situation."
"Ah, man."
"Not sure if I ever told you, but Wayne was married once before me. He has a couple of teenage kids of his own."
"Christ."
"It's a mess. The sad thing is, he has a good heart. I see a lot of that in Bert . . . How about you Chrissy?"
"Well I don't want to jinx myself, but I feel like I've got something picking up steam in the right direction."
"Someone you could actually settle down with?"
"Some circumstances that need to pan out, but yeah."
"I'm happy for you. And what about Floyd?"
"Nah, that'll never happen."
Bert came into the dining room. "That was a little quick," Bonnie said. "You sure?"
"Pretty sure," Bert said. "Can't I play some hockey with Uncle Chris?"
Christian said, "Bert, I have to draw the line at hockey."
"He has a table-top game," Bonnie said. "He's pretty into it."
The hockey set was in the center of Bert's room, on a low table with two dedicated chairs. One team was the Boston Bruins and the other was the Chicago Blackhawks. Bert had given every player a name right off the NHL rosters, and he announced the action as they played. He kept getting the puck to his center forward, who would ram it into the net before Christian could find the handle for his goalie.
"Two things this proves," Christian said, after he lost 10-1. "First, mechanical games are much better than electronic ones. Second, if you don't grow enough to dunk, you can always make it as a play-by-play man. You're amazing."
"Can we go again?" Bert said.
"We can. In fact we can keep going until your mom drags me out of here."
Bert called into the other room, "Mom, me and Uncle Chris are busy. Please don't bother us."
"And even if she drags me out of here," Christian said, "I might sneak back in."
+++
They had breakfast together, and on the way to school Christian told Bert he was leaving today and Bert started crying.
"You know what?" Christian said. "You're the b
est nine-year old I've ever met in my life. It's not even close."
"Are you coming back?" Bert said.
"Either that, or what I'm hoping, you can come out and see me. Soon."
"Yeah! Mom, can we?"
"We'll talk about it," Bonnie said. "Right now you have to say goodbye, or you'll be late."
"Bye, Uncle Chris," Bert said, and he ran over to a friend who was being dropped off, and Christian was relieved to see them joking around as they disappeared into the school.
"It's a defense mechanism," Bonnie said. "That's how he says good-bye to his dad . . . Chrissy, you okay?"
Christian didn't say anything.
Bonnie said, "Well this visit, it's been good for all of us. Clearly."
After a minute, Christian said, "Okay I'm going to lay this out there. One of those 'life's too short' ones . . . Can you and Bert move to San Francisco?"
"Chris, you have to be real. How would we undertake something of that magnitude?"
"You got what, maybe a month-and-a-half left of school? Then you pack two suitcases, you get on the fucking plane, and I meet you at the other end. That's how you do it."
"Well you are certainly animated. I didn't see this coming."
"Neither did I. But sometimes, you just have to do shit."
"Okay, don't talk about it any further. I won't ignore what you've said, and we have to leave it at that right now."
"You and Bert can have my apartment. I've got a place to stay."
"Chrissy, what the hell did I just tell you?"
"I'm just saying."
46 - Family Swim
Christian decided in case this turned out to be his last cross-country trip he'd try a southern route home that he'd never been on. He took 87 South through the Appalachians to Knoxville, Tennessee, and then it would be 40 West all the way to Bakersfield.
The second night, in Midwest City, Oklahoma, he phoned Kim. "Just checking in," he said.
"Oh, hey," Kim said.
"Hey?"
"Chris I'm sorry, you've caught me at a bad moment."
"Yeah?"
"It was just a rough day at work . . . And a couple other things you don't want to hear about."
"Well I wrapped everything up, and I'm a few days away."
"Oh. So when do you think you'll be back, exactly?"
"According to Google, it should take me 23 hours and 38 minutes. That's in current traffic."
"So does that mean about Sunday?"
"I was thinking more Friday night. I'm looking forward to getting home."
"Okay. For me, the weekend would be better."
"That's fine . . . I can slow down, take in some sights along the way."
"Chris, everything I'm saying, it's coming out wrong. My frame of mind is not where it should be, plus my time of the month is close. I'm sorry."
"Don't be silly. I've got my place, I just have to give Floyd a little heads-up."
The next day at a gas station near Amarillo he called Bonnie. "How's the little man?" he said.
"He's fine," Bonnie said.
"But what?"
"I talked to him about coming out and visiting. We might."
"Wow, that's great news. But for how long?"
"I thought a week would be about right. Then maybe go see Floyd too."
"Jesus Christ, a week? Just stay."
"No Chrissy, that's not going to work."
"You know what? At least stay for the summer. Develop a little routine, get a bead on the city. There's day camps up the wazoo that Bert will love. On the weekends I'll take him bodysurfing at Stinson Beach."
"He's not that great a swimmer."
"God damn it . . . Now why is that?"
"He's just never taken to it very well."
"Okay, forget the camps. We'll get him lessons every day, and at night I'll take him to the Family Swim and help him."
"I feel like you're overpowering me here."
"That's because you need to be overpowered . . . I love you though."
"Love you too," Bonnie said.
One observation, as he'd rolled through Arkansas, Oklahoma and now north Texas: The portions were bigger in the restaurants than up off Highway 80, and the food was better.
He got into Flagstaff that night in time to go for a run, and fell asleep watching a Diamondbacks game on TV. The phone woke him up, and he answered without checking who it was.
"You fucking bastard," Bethany said.
Christian muted the sound on the TV, where a late-night weight-loss infomercial had replaced the baseball game. He said, "Why am I thinking your Dallas trip didn't pan out that great?"
"I'd just like to know," Bethany said, "what kind of low-life gets his rocks off meddling in other people's business." It sounded like she'd been drinking.
"I was there anyway," he said. "So I thought I'd try to help you out. Apparently, it backfired."
"My own husband, he's afraid to see me. How unbelievable is that . . . You look in the mirror Chris, what do you see staring back at you?"
"Kyle screw around with other people too, or just with you?"
"Fuck you."
"When you get a chance, ask him if he's been back to the Holiday Inn Express. And if it worked out any better."
She hung up. It was 1:10, Christian thinking a little late to call Kim, but maybe not that bad. Kim answered after four rings. "Jesus, Chris," she said.
"Something I didn't ask you," he said. "Your frame of mind situation. That have anything to do with Bethany?"
"What a crazy question, what are you talking about?"
"She laid something on me just now that was definitely out there . . . No?"
"I haven't spoken to her. I think she's on vacation."
"All right then, sorry to bother you."
"It's okay," she said.
+++
Friday he stopped for lunch at a Coco's in Barstow, and he sat at the counter and watched the short-order chefs work. He remembered a family trip to the Grand Canyon once where they stopped at a drive-in in Barstow and everyone got slushes. He remembered it because something went wrong with the slush machine and they all came out funny, and his dad would bring it up over the years and embellish the story. Christian was never real close to his dad, but he could picture him on those road trips, getting out of the car whistling, his shirt stuck to his back, and telling everyone to order whatever they wanted, that the price didn't matter.
Before he got back on the freeway he called Floyd. He said, "Hope I'm not throwing you off, but I'm making good time. I'll be there tonight. That okay?"
Floyd said, "Yeah, it'll be all yours. I got somewhere to go."
"No need to get out of there on my account. You been enjoying the neighborhood?"
"Really nice . . . In case I haven't told you, I appreciate everything."
"Well it's my pleasure to see you have a good time . . . How's Allison?"
"Pretty good, I think," Floyd said.
+++
The apartment looked spic 'n span, and Christian guessed Floyd had some help. There was a big bowl of fruit on the kitchen table.
It wasn't even ten, the night was still young, and he took a shower to get freshened up for Weatherby's, but he started to fall asleep putting on his socks and got under the fresh sheets and slept for eleven hours.
47 - Luccia Now
Christian woke up Saturday thinking this would be a good day to go back to Sebastopol, see if he could develop a game plan, and maybe catch Joyce on the way. He called her and she said it wasn't the best time, but she could meet him for an hour in town.
There was an outdoor place on the Petaluma River that had Philly Cheese Steak sandwiches and home-made potato chips. You sat on picnic tables with red and white tablecloths and watched the occasional boat sail past. "Did you know I came by?" Joyce said.
"Floyd doesn't volunteer much information," Christian said. "But I figured you might."
"That detective again," she said. "Should I be worried about anything? . . .
And Chris, going back to my impulse at the very beginning . . . should you be worried about anything?"
"No, and no."
"Well that certainly slams the door on any discussion. But fine . . . You went where, now?"
"See my sister. I'm trying to think, did you ever meet her?"
"No."
"She may be coming out, with my nephew, the greatest little guy . . . You get together with Floyd? Since you were there anyway?"
"What, Chris? I have to tell you my life story now?"
"What happened with Doug by the way?"
"Just what you saw . . . I'm going out with Dave Luccia now."
"From school? The guy who taught math?"
"He still does. I've finally found some stability. A good guy right under my nose."
"Well I'm happy for you. And he shouldn't even be a suspect. Or did he know Donny?"
"Chris, shut up."
Joyce had to go, and Christian could feel the drive catching up with him, the sun and a couple of beers on top of it now. He was going to have to forget about Sebastopol today, and he went home and took a nap.
After dinner he drove over to Birgitte's, no idea if she'd be around or what he might find.
"Chris, welcome back," she said. "Won't you come in?"
"Thanks, but that's okay," he said. "Is anyone here?"
"No. Why?"
"Well last time you were pretty scared, about that guy they found. And Steve wasn't around . . . He come back at all?"
"Steve has moved to Israel," Birgitte said.
"Holy shit."
"He sent an e-mail. That was how I found out my husband left me."
"Okay, let's back it up for a second. Did the police come here?"
"They have not."
"I see . . . So at this point, you don't think Steve killed anyone. But you still think the people who killed the Damirko guy are after Steve."
"That might be his concern, yes. Frankly, I'm not worried about Steve anymore."
"Oh."
"I'm not, Chris. I have the house, I have an efficient bank account, and I feel a certain strength in turning the page. You've been a big help there."
"Floyd's helped out as well?"
"Well you embarrass me a bit, but yes . . . he's helped out beautifully."
