Evolution

by L.L. Bartlett

  “I’m sorry, no. But if you’d like to leave a message, I’d be happy to relay it to her.”

  Richard let out an exasperated breath. “Please tell her I’ll be there to visit her in the morning.”

  A long silence fell. “Sir, Mrs. Resnick is….”

  “She hasn’t got much time, has she?”

  “It isn’t my place to say,” the woman said, but her tone conveyed more than mere words could.

  “Please tell her to hang on, and that I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll do that, sir. And thank you.”

  Richard settled the receiver onto its cradle and frowned. It had been a mistake—a big mistake three months before—to have called his biological mother. If he’d known she was dying of cancer, maybe he wouldn’t have called. Then he could have been oblivious to her pain, to her suffering. But now, at the end, she’d reached out to him. He’d already reneged on the promise to visit her again, and now he had to make it right.

  He exited the conference room and headed for the charge nurse’s station to see if he could get someone to cover for him for a few hours.

  #

  I’ll never forget that cold Wednesday in March. Tommy Kravitz had been busting my balls all afternoon, swearing that The Big Orange—Syracuse—was going to nail a Sweet Sixteen birth in March Madness. No way! Villanova had much better stats, and their center was looking at a career in the NBA about thirty seconds after he graduated.

  The discussion had kept me thinking about other—lots more important—things … until I saw Richard standing on the walk outside my school’s main entrance. I’d only met him once before, but I remembered his face. Remembered that grown-up moustache.

  “I’ve got some bad news,” he said by way of greeting.

  I went cold over all. “She’s dead. Isn’t she?”

  He nodded, avoiding my gaze. “I’m sorry, kid.”

  A group of giggling teenaged girls passed us, giving Richard the eye. He motioned for me to follow him to the parking lot. The sky was bright blue on that raw March day. How could someone die on such a beautiful winter’s day? I slid into the passenger side of Richard’s red Porsche two-seater. I’d never sat in an import before. The dashboard looked strange—as foreign as the controls on a space ship.

  Richard took papers from the breast pocket of his topcoat and showed them to me. “As of today, I’m officially your legal guardian. You’re going to come live with me.”

  Anger flashed through me. “What if I don’t want to?”

  “I’m afraid you’ve got no choice.”

  I swallowed my pique and tried to be grown up. “What about school?”

  “You can finish the year here if you want. You’ll be going to Amherst Central next fall.”

  No choices. Just commandments. My mother was dead and a stranger was calling the shots.

  “What about my stuff?”

  “We’ll go pack a bag now. We can get the rest later.”

  I ground my molars so hard, I was sure they’d crack. “What about Mom? Can I see her?”

  “Tomorrow, at the funeral parlor. The service will probably be Friday.”

  I nodded, and stared ahead at nothing.

  The silence lengthened.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked finally.

  I looked into his clear blue eyes and saw fear—as if he was wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into.

  I shook my head. What else was there to say?

  A group of stragglers exited the building. What was the point of finishing the school year there? I had no close friends. Why delay the inevitable?

  Richard turned the key in the ignition and we drove away.

  #

  I unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside, with Richard right behind me. It wasn’t at all welcoming. I’d been staying there alone after my mother had been taken to the hospital by ambulance, but I’d kept up with my chores. The dishes still stood in the drying rack; the table had been wiped, and I’d done the laundry and folded and put it away. I’d kept busy because it was better than thinking about the future. I’d only visited my mother once in the hospital. It had taken two bus transfers to get there. Then, she’d been so doped up she didn’t even seem to know I was there. I had planned on visiting that afternoon, but it was too late. I never got to say good-bye, and it had been a long time since I’d told her I loved her. I didn’t want to think about it because it might make me cry—and I wasn’t about to do that in front of my new guardian.

  I stood in the middle of the living room for what seemed like a long time, not really taking in in my surroundings. Richard finally broke the silence.

  “Where do you keep your suitcases?”

  I turned and looked up at him. “Suitcases?”

  “Yeah, you must have a couple for when you travel.”

  Travel? I’d never gone anywhere in my entire life.

  “Do you have any boxes?” he tried.

  I shook my head.

  “Trash bags?”

  We had a whole mess of plastic bags from the grocery store. Richard gave me my privacy as I filled seven of them with everything I owned. The apartment came furnished. Except for an old black-and-white TV—we didn’t own a damn thing.

  I moved the bags into the living room. “What’s going to happen to mom’s stuff?”

  “You should go through it, but it doesn’t have to be today. I assume the rent is paid through the end of the month.”

  I nodded.

  “I think you’ve been through enough for one day,” he said kindly. “It can wait.”

  Again, I nodded. But before we left, I entered my mother’s bedroom and snagged her purse. Putting it in yet another plastic bag. Then we picked up the bags and headed for the door. I took a long hard look around the shabby apartment, the only home I’d ever known, then locked the door.

  Richard turned on the radio during the ride across town, which was good since we didn’t seem to have anything to say to each other. I was kind of numb—not really paying attention to where we were going until he pulled off Main Street and drove slowly down a road filled with really big, really fancy houses. A lump formed in my throat as he pulled into the driveway of a three-story house that kind of reminded me of stately Wayne Manor that I’d seen on reruns of the old Batman show. I glanced at the person who was my half-brother.

  “Are you rich?”

  “Well, yeah,” he answered rather reluctantly. “But this isn’t my house. It belongs to my grandparents.”

  My heart skipped a beat. My mother had told me about old Mrs. Alpert. Mom wasn’t a woman to swear, but she’d called her former mother-in-law a bitch. She hated the woman and described her as evil incarnate, whatever that meant.

  “How old are you?” I asked as the car came to a halt.

  “Twenty-six.”

  “And you still live with your grandparents?” I’d planned to hightail it out of our apartment and get my own place when I made eighteen.

  Richard let out what sounded like a defeated breath. “It’s just easier,” he said, put the car in park, and switched off the engine, yanking the keys from the ignition. He looked toward the house and I could see he was nervous. My mom had hated his grandmother. Had his grandmother hated my mom, too?

  “We need to get a few things straight before we go inside,” Richard said, his words filling me with dread. “My grandmother can be rather intimidating. But you’re my brother. You need to tell me if she gives you a hard time.”

  “You’re a grown up. Why don’t you have your own place?” I asked again.

  “It’s very complicated.”

  I studied his face. He didn’t seem pleased about the situation.

  “Okay.”

  We got out of the car. I bent down to grab a few of the bags, but Richard waved a hand to stop me. “Curtis will bring them up later.”

  “Curtis?” I asked.

  “Their chauffeur.”

  “Chauffeur?” I didn’t
even know people in Buffalo could have chauffeurs.

  We walked across the driveway and entered the home’s side door. Inside was a pretty big room with lots of shelves and cabinets filled with dishes and glasses, and places to hang coats and stow boots. A door to the left led to a brightly lit kitchen. At a table in front of the window overlooking the driveway sat a gray-haired black guy, while a white woman stood at the stove. The black guy stood as we entered.

  “Jeff, I’d like you to meet Curtis,”

  “Master Jeffrey. I’m very happy to meet you,” the old guy said and offered his hand. I shook it. The old guy smiled and for the first time since I’d learned my mother had died I felt a smidgeon of hope.

  “Hi.”

  “And this is Helen,” Richard said, indicating the middle-aged cook at the stove.

  The woman swiveled her head to take me in and I knew in an instant that she and I would never be friends.

  “How do you do?” she said.

  I nodded, unsure how to answer.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Alpert are in the living room,” Helen said.

  “Thank you. Curtis, there are some bags in my car. Would you please bring them up to Jeff’s room?”

  “I’d be glad to, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Jeff, this way,’ Richard said, and strode toward a darkened hallway. I followed, wondering why he’d warned me about his grandmother.

  I found out when we entered the large living room. An old man and lady sat reading in chairs that faced one another. The old guy looked okay, but the old lady seemed to radiate something awful. Was it her expression, or the way she sat huddled in her chair. She reminded me of a slug—something I’d only seen pictures of. Slimy and nasty. Why had Richard brought me to live with such an awful person? I looked to him for an explanation, but he strode into the room, leaving me to catch up.

  “Grandfather—Grandmother, I’d like you to meet Jeff.”

  The old people swung their heads to look at me. Then the old man stood and offered his hand. “Glad to meet you, Jeffrey.”

  I shook his bony hand. “Thank you.” I thought better and added, “Sir.”

  The old man took a step back and nodded toward his wife.

  “Hello, Mrs. Alpert,” I said.

  The old woman glared at me and said nothing.

  “We’re very sorry to hear of your mother’s death,” the old man said.

  Was I supposed to say thank you? I wasn’t sure, so I said nothing.

  “I hope you’ll find your room acceptable,” he added.

  “I was about to take Jeff up to see it,” Richard said.

  “Dinner is at seven tonight,” the old lady said, and then turned back to her book.

  Richard nodded toward the hall, and I followed him to a huge staircase that opened up into a cathedral ceiling. The floors around it were marble—like in a museum or a fancy hotel, not that I’d ever been to either.

  I followed Richard up the stairs. He paused at the landing. All the doors but one were closed.

  “This room on the right is my grandfather’s bedroom. Next to it is my grandmother’s room.”

  “They don’t sleep together?”

  “No. Here’s my room.”

  We walked on.

  “And this will be your room.” The door was open. Richard stood back and let me enter.

  Compared to all the other rooms I’d seen, it was small, with just a bed, a dresser, a small desk, and a straight-backed chair. I opened one door and found the closet. The other door had hidden a bathroom that seemed almost as big as my new bedroom.

  “Sorry, but we have to share a bathroom,” Richard apologized.

  So? I’d shared a bathroom with my mother. What did it matter?

  “I’ll move some of my things around so you can have your own space.”

  Space for what? All I had was a worn toothbrush.

  Curtis arrived with all the bags from the car and set them on the bed. “Would you like help putting your things away?” he asked.

  “No, thank you.” I didn’t want him to see my crappy stuff or how little there was of it.

  Curtis gave me a nod and a smile and retreated.

  Richard backed into the bathroom. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he said.

  “Wait! You’re not going to take off and leave me here, are you?”

  His answering smile was weak. “No. I don’t have to go back to work until Monday afternoon. We’ll have plenty of time to do what has to be done and get to know one another.”

  “Thanks,” I said, although I felt anything but grateful.

  Richard nodded and pulled the bathroom door closed.

  Silence surrounded me. I looked around that cold unfriendly room and tried hard to swallow down the lump that swelled in my throat.

  It took me less than five minutes to dump my stuff into the drawers. A small electric clock sat on the desk. I had ninety minutes to kill before dinner was served. Something told me it would be a terrible meal—not only the company, but maybe baked fish and boiled vegetables. I shuddered at the thought.

  I sat on the bed and looked through the window at the sky, which would soon start to darken. A tear leaked out of my left eye; it was only the first of what I knew would be a flood. I curled up on the bed, buried my face in the hard pillow, and at last gave into my grief.

  ***

  SHOOTING HOOPS

  Richard pulled the Porsche to a halt in front of the three-car garage—what his grandmother insisted on calling the carriage house—and cut the engine. After yet another exhausting shift at the hospital, he had two days off in a row. Two whole days and no one to spend them with. He’d lose half the day catching up on sleep, but his evening was still free. Maybe he’d call Tracy to see if she was free for dinner. And then he opened the car door, got out, and saw Jeff sitting on the back steps and his spirits plummeted.

  The kid sat with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands, looking absolutely miserable.

  Richard crossed the drive to the house. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Shouldn’t you be in school?” Was he in trouble … again? He hadn’t made it through the first day at his new school without playing punching bag for a couple of senior-class bullies.

  Jeff looked up at him. “It’s Sunday.”

  “Oh.” He waited for the kid to elaborate, but he wasn’t exactly loquacious. “Anything wrong?”

  Jeff shrugged. “There’s nothing to do. There’s never anything to do around here.”

  “Do you have homework?”

  “It’s done. Even a project for extra credit.”

  “Great.” Now what could they talk about?

  “Now that you’re home, I guess I’ll have to be quiet all day while you sleep.”

  “You haven’t woken me yet.”

  “I try to be quiet. I’m not a prick, ya know.”

  “You’ve been very thoughtful. I appreciate it; thanks.”

  The kid merely shrugged.

  “Well, I’m bushed. I’ll see you later.”

  “I guess,” Jeff muttered morosely.

  Richard stepped around him and entered the house. After hanging up his coat, he entered the kitchen to find Curtis sitting at the kitchen table playing a game of Solitaire.

  “Good morning, Mr. Richard.”

  “Hey, Curtis.”

  “Hello, sir. Would you like some breakfast?” Helen asked. She had a roast on the counter ready to go into the oven.

  “Toast and orange juice would be nice, thank you.”

  Helen nodded and hauled out the toaster.

  Richard took a seat opposite Curtis. “I saw Jeff sitting on the step. He looks pretty bored.”

  “There isn’t much to keep him occupied,” Curtis said, turning over a seven of hearts and placing it on the eight of clubs. “A boy with nothing to do could find himself in trouble someday.”

  “Jeff’s a good kid,” Richard bluffed. He spent so little time with the kid, he
really had no idea. But so far no one but his grandmother had complained about the boy.

  Curtis nodded. “Quiet with good manners. I’d hate for that to change.”

  Helen set a glass of juice in front of Richard. He looked up at her and smiled. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, but was tight-lipped. She’d made it clear she wasn’t happy when feeding an additional mouth was added to her workload, not that the kid seemed to eat all that much. “Will you be joining us for dinner, sir?”

  Sunday dinner was served at two. “Perhaps.”

  Helen nodded and returned to the counter just as the toast popped up. She got out a knife to butter it.

  “The boy likes basketball,” Curtis offered and turned over the ace of spades, setting it above the rest of the cards.

  Richard took a sip of his juice. “So?”

  “It might be nice if he could play some one-on-one with you once in a while, and when you be working—on his own.”

  “I don’t play basketball.”

  “You could learn,” Curtis said pointedly. “That boy needs a friend. Just because you’re his brother don’t mean you can’t be his friend.”

  Helen plunked the plate in front of Richard. “Sorry, sir.” She turned back for her roast.

  “Where would one get a backboard and a couple of balls?”

  “The big sports store on Transit Road sells that kind of stuff.”

  “Would they come out and mount it on the garage?”

  “If they don’t, I bet they’d know who would.”

  Across the way, Helen grunted in disapproval. Richard ignored her. “Are they open on Sundays?”

  Curtis turned over another card, inspected the layout, and placed it on the discard pile. “Yup.”

  “I know it’s your afternoon off, but would you be willing to go to the store and arrange it?”

  “I could do that, but once it’s up, it would mean more if you let the boy come to you.”

  Richard took a bite of toast, chewed, and swallowed. “What do you mean?” Obviously Curtis had put a lot of thought into this suggestion. As Richard hadn’t made much headway in connecting with the kid—and they were stuck with each other for the foreseeable future—he was inclined to listen.

  “Jeffrey’s a boy who ain’t never had nothing. A boy who know’d better than to ever ask for anything ’cause he knew what the answer would be. Might be time for him to learn better.”