Evolution

by L.L. Bartlett

  “I wouldn’t be here,” Richard said.

  The old man shook his head. “After we lost your father, you were the only thing that kept us going.”

  “And for that to happen, you took me from my mother,” he added.

  “It is the biggest regret of my life. When you’re in the middle of grief, you sometimes make very foolish mistakes.”

  Grief. That’s exactly what Richard was experiencing. Grief over losing Cathy. Grief over his lack of a relationship with Jeff—and angst over his inability to make any decisions about his—and Jeff’s—future. He also knew he was in no condition to make any life-changing decisions that night.

  Richard stifled a yawn and then stood. “I’m working on about three hours of sleep and I’ve got to be back on duty at six in the morning.”

  “Sleep well,” his grandfather wished him.

  Richard took the glass and its remaining Scotch with him, and plodded up the long staircase to the home’s second floor. As he rounded the landing, he noted Jeff’s bedroom door was closed. His grandmother’s door closed with a loud click. Had she been waiting up for him? Had she heard any of the conversation between him and his grandfather?

  At that moment, he didn’t give a damn.

  ***

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY?

  It was after ten on a balmy evening in May when I rode my bike up the Alperts’ driveway. I got off and walked it over to the side door, unlocking it and putting the bike away. Richard’s car was parked alongside the old folks’ Caddy, with Curtis’s rattletrap taking up the third bay. That was odd, since I knew Richard had been scheduled to work that day. I shrugged, closed and locked the door, and headed across the drive for the big house.

  The butler’s pantry was dark, but as I hung up my jacket I noted the kitchen light was on. I couldn’t wait to get up to my room to strip off my uniform and wash off the stink of fast-food grease before I hit the rack. I was bushed, but I walked slowly toward the kitchen door which was ajar, wondering if I really wanted to enter.

  With one finger, I pushed it open, but saw no one. I shrugged and entered and nearly had heart failure when a chorus of “Happy Birthday” assaulted me. In front of me stood Richard and Curtis, and on the counter stood a trio of chocolate cupcakes with a single candle burning on one of them.

  “Oh, wow. I don’t know what to say. Thanks, I guess.” I wasn’t exactly overflowing with gratitude at the gesture, which was rude of me. My mother would not have approved. “What are you doing here?” I asked Richard. “I thought you had to work.”

  “I took the evening off. You didn’t think I was going miss your birthday, did you?”

  As he’d missed all my other birthdays, why would I expect him to honor this one?

  “Make a wish and blow out the candle, Jeffrey,” Curtis encouraged.

  A wish? I had a wish all right—of hitting the shower and standing under it for five or ten minutes and then falling into bed for seven or eight hours of mind-numbing sleep before I got up in the morning to head to my job stocking shelves at a chain pharmacy.

  To placate them, I blew out the candle, which was followed by a round of enthusiastic applause. Honestly, the two of them were enjoying the spectacle far more than me.

  “Well, aren’t you going to eat it?” Richard asked.

  I wasn’t much of a chocolate fan; maybe if it had been an apple pie I might have been keen. “Are you going to have one, too?”

  “Damn right,” Richard said.

  Curtis moved the plate and a stack of paper napkins to the table and we all sat down. Richard indicated I should take the one with the candle before the two of them took the others. I unwrapped the paper cup. I figured if I ate fast, I could be in the shower in under five minutes. I took a bite. It was okay. Richard and Curtis tucked in, too.

  I associated cupcakes with grade-school birthday parties. When moms who didn’t work baked and frosted them and then we got to skip math class for the day—not that my mom had ever baked a damn thing. Why would she? We’d lived over a bakery and she’d buy day-old stuff for cheap. Hey, they weren’t stale enough to spoil the taste.

  “This is a milestone birthday for you,” Richard said and took another bite of his cupcake, getting frosting on his mustache.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Now you’re eighteen, you can legally drink.”

  “Oh. Yeah,” I said, taking a big bite of cupcake, hoping to bring this little party to a quick end.

  “Yeah. I thought I might take you out and buy you your first brewski.”

  I looked at him, not sure how to react. If cancer hadn’t killed her first, I was pretty sure our mother would have drunk herself to death.

  “What do you say?” Richard asked, smiling. “There’s no school tomorrow.”

  My first impulse was to say no—and loudly, but he looked so hopeful. And the truth was, since I’d had my appendix yanked, he’d actually made an effort to spend time with me. We’d played one-on-one out on the driveway a dozen or more times, played chess at the small table in his bedroom, and had even gone out for burgers a few times—although we’d each paid for our own meals. I still didn’t want anything to do with that tainted Alpert money, and he didn’t push me—about that, or going to college in the fall.

  But I was eighteen and he was right, it really did warrant some kind of celebration.

  “Okay,” I said, and took another bite of cupcake, chewed and swallowed. It really did need a glass of milk to wash it down. “But I stink like a deep fryer. Let me take a quick shower before we take off. Are you coming, Curtis?”

  The old man shook his head. “My drinking days are over, thanks to the pills I gots to take. But you go and enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

  I felt a smile starting to form at the corners of my mouth. Yeah, maybe I did.

  ***

  They didn’t talk much as Richard drove along Main Street heading for McMann’s. It wasn’t what you’d call a boisterous bar, but then Jeff wasn’t a boisterous kid—man, Richard reminded himself. For weeks he’d planned this outing—and his big announcement.

  At last he pulled the car into the lot and cut the engine. “We’re here.”

  “Yeah,” Jeff said, taking in the front of the bar. The parking lot was only half full at ten-thirty on a Friday night.

  “Party, party,” Richard said and got out of the car. He led the way. “I haven’t been here in a couple of years, but as I recall, it’s a nice place.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Jeff said, sounding unimpressed.

  Richard held the plate glass door open, letting Jeff head in first. The place was dimly lit, sedately decorated with lots of plaid, and from hidden speakers Sammy Davis Jr. belted out What Kind of Fool Am I?

  “Not exactly rocking,” Jeff muttered.

  Several older couples, who’d long passed their thirties, were seated at tables. More sat at the bar, steeped in conversation. Two stools stood empty at one end and the brothers gravitated toward them.

  Jeff took in the taps. “What the difference between bottled and draft beer?”

  “Draft tastes better.”

  The bartender approached. “What can I get you fellows?”

  “A couple of Labatts, on draft if you’ve got it.”

  The bartender sized Jeff up. “Got some kind of ID, kid?”

  “You mean like a driver’s license?”

  The bartender, Tom by his nametag, nodded.

  “No.”

  “He doesn’t drive,” Richard said, and reached for his wallet. “But he does have a birth certificate.”

  “You don’t look old enough to be his father.”

  “I’m not. I’m his brother,” Richard said and handed over a much folded and yellowing piece of paper.

  The bartender examined the paper. “Today your birthday, kid?”

  Jeff nodded.

  “Happy Birthday.” He handed the paper back to Richard then stepped over to the taps and drew a couple of beers. He set them on t
he bar before them.

  Richard paid for them, leaving the change on the bar.

  “Nice tip,” Jeff said.

  “People in the service industry don’t make all that much.”

  “Tell me about it,” Jeff muttered.

  Richard picked up his beer, holding it up. He indicated to Jeff he should do the same. “Happy birthday, kid.”

  They clinked glasses and Jeff took a sip—then winced. Richard tried, without success, not to smile.

  “Not sweet.”

  “Definitely not,” Richard confirmed.

  Jeff took another sip. “So what’s the big deal? It doesn’t even taste good.”

  “It’s an acquired taste,” Richard agreed. “You don’t get a good buzz from Coke, but after a few of these, everything mellows out.”

  Jeff put his glass back on the bar. “Mom didn’t mellow out when she drank. It just made everything worse.”

  “Did she ever tell you why she drank?”

  “Because she missed your father. Because your grandparents took you away from her. They went to court and proved she was a bad mother. She was ordered never to contact you. She told me she drank to forget the past, only it didn’t work. It only made her more miserable.”

  Richard swallowed. He’d never heard this version of the story of his past, but he didn’t doubt it, either. He knew just how cruel his grandmother could be. Much as he loved his grandfather, he knew he could be spineless when dealing with his grandmother.

  Richard sipped his beer, studying his younger brother’s face. Had he ever had one happy day in his entire life? “There’s a big difference between social drinking and alcoholism,” he offered.

  “Yeah, but I learned in school that if you’ve got a parent who’s an alcoholic, chances are you could be one, too.”

  “It’s possible. It all depends on the choices you make. And speaking of which, school ends in a month. Have you thought about what you want to do?”

  Jeff looked away, picked up his beer and took another tentative sip. “A little.”

  Richard sipped his beer. “Me, too. I’ll be done with my residency and I hadn’t done much about a job search until these past couple of weeks. The other day I had a phone interview with a think tank out in California. They’ve asked me to come out for a face-to-face meeting.”

  “If you get the job, you’d be moving to California?” Jeff asked.

  “Yeah, and if that happens, I’d like you to come with me.”

  “To California?” Jeff repeated, sounding shocked.

  “It could be a fresh start for both of us. What do you think?”

  The kid looked absolutely stunned, and for a moment Richard thought he might cry. His hand shook as he gulped his beer. “It’s not a done deal, but I was told I’m their leading candidate.”

  “When will you go for the interview?” Jeff asked, his voice husky.

  “My flight is on Sunday. I meet with them on Monday. But obviously I can’t start the job until my residency is up and you’re out of school.”

  “One more month,” Jeff muttered, staring into his glass. “Just one more month.”

  “I know these past few years have been really rough on you, and I didn’t make it any easier. But I promise you, things will be a whole lot better for us once we get to California.”

  “What if you don’t get the job?”

  “Then I think we should go anyway.”

  “What about your grandparents? Have you told them?”

  Richard shook his head and took another sip of beer. “Grandfather knows it’s past time for me to leave. Grandmother will throw a fit. That’s why I have no intention of telling them my plans until a day before I leave.”

  “The day before, huh?”

  Richard nodded. “That way we can avoid a lot of drama. I’m sure she’ll beg me to stay, but I’ve made up my mind.”

  “How long have you been thinking about this?” Jeff asked.

  “Since February.”

  “That long? And you didn’t say anything?” It sounded like an accusation.

  “I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

  Jeff nodded and his gaze returned to his glass.

  “So what do you think?” Richard asked hopefully.

  “It sounds … great,” Jeff said, but there wasn’t much excitement in his voice.

  Richard held up his glass in another toast. “To the future.”

  Jeff raised his glass and they clinked once again. “Yeah. The future.”

  ***

  The ride back to the house was quiet. I sure as hell didn’t have anything to say after Richard’s big announcement about moving to California. I was too heartsick to say a word. How the hell was I going to tell him that only twelve hours before I’d visited the Army recruiter that had come to school the month before. That now that I was of legal age, I’d signed away the next four years of my life? Why, why, why couldn’t he have said something sooner? Why had he kept it a secret?

  Because, stupid, he wanted to surprise you for your birthday. That was some surprise. And now he was stuck. There was only one thing to do—exactly what Richard planned; keep that piece of news from him until the last minute before he had to leave for basic training … to avoid a lot of drama.

  The past few months had been pretty good. Not only had we actually been talking, we’d gotten along well. Maybe we weren’t best buddies, but we’d finally established the groundwork for friendship. Why had the jerk waited so damned long to become a good guy?

  Richard pulled up the driveway and hit the button for the garage door opener. “Better get out here,” he said.

  “Thanks for the beer, Rich.”

  “Hey, you’re welcome.”

  “I’m going to remember this birthday for the rest of my life.”

  Richard’s smile was wide. “Me, too.”

  I swallowed down the lump that had formed in my throat and figured I’d better get the hell out of that car before I started to bawl. I shut the car door and started across the drive for the back door. Lights were on in the kitchen. I could have sworn Richard turned them off when we’d headed out for the bar, but then maybe a cupcake hadn’t been enough and Curtis had come back to the kitchen for an almost-midnight snack.

  I pulled out my key, but found the door unlocked. I knew we hadn’t left it that way. Something wasn’t quite right.

  I entered the house, unsure what I’d find. The pantry was dark, and I ventured over to the kitchen door. Peeking inside, I saw old Mrs. Alpert sitting at the kitchen table. Dressed in a cream-colored bathrobe, she sat at the kitchen table, her arms crossed and looking formidable. In all the time I’d lived in that house, I’d never seen either of the elderly Alperts in that kitchen. Neither of them ever used the back door when they went out or came in. Curtis always delivered them to the front of the house where they’d enter through the big oak door.

  I stepped into the kitchen. Before I could say a word, Mrs. Alpert sprang to her feet.

  “Where have you been?” she practically screamed.

  Startled, I blurted, “Out—with Richard.”

  “And where was that?” she demanded, her eyes blazing.

  “To a bar.”

  Her eyes were so wide and her anger so fierce, I could almost feel its heat.

  The back door opened.

  “Richard!” the old lady screamed.

  Richard burst into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

  “You took him to a bar!”

  Richard seemed taken aback. “Yeah. It’s his eighteenth birthday, so I took him for a drink.”

  “You took him to a bar, knowing that his mother was nothing but a common drunk. And now he’ll be one, too.”

  I blinked, surprised. Why would the old lady care what happened to me?

  “Well, I won’t have it. I won’t have a drunken lout living under my roof.”

  “He had one beer,” Richard said, and I could tell he was as angry as I was stunned. “And how did you know we’d even gon
e out?”

  “Curtis told me.”

  “Did he volunteer the information?” Richard asked.

  “Of course not. I told him if he didn’t tell me that I’d fire him—and I’d make sure he’d never find work again.”

  Richard stared at her for long seconds. “I’m so ashamed of you,” he said quietly. “I have never been so ashamed.” He turned to me. “I’m sorry, Jeff. I apologize for her, because I know damn well she’ll never do it herself.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  My emotions shifted from stupefaction to intense anger. I had never hated anyone like I hated that old woman, but I didn’t dare say a word, and instead tried to step past her, but the old lady lashed out and started punching me, screaming at me. For someone who claimed to be so frail, she landed a good one to my left eye that sent me reeling.

  Richard leapt forward, grabbing her from behind and hauling her off of me.

  “Go on upstairs,” Richard hollered over her abuse. “I’ll see if I can calm her down.”

  I didn’t have to be told twice and practically ran up the stairs. As I topped the landing, I saw old Mr. Alpert standing in the doorway of his bedroom, dressed in a pair of striped pajamas. “What’s going on?”

  “You’ll have to ask Richard,” I said breathlessly.

  “Where is he?”

  “Downstairs with Mrs. Alpert.”

  The old man’s face seemed to crumple. “What did she say to you?” Before I could answer, he shook his head. “No, don’t tell me—I know it was terrible. That woman has a vicious tongue. I apologize for her now, and for all the vile things she’s said while you’ve been a guest in our home.”

  The old lady had made it abundantly clear that I’d been an unwelcome guest. And until that minute, Mr. Alpert had never spoken more than a sentence to me at any given time.

  “Thank you,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. “Good night, sir.”

  “I doubt that,” he said, and looked toward the stairs once more.

  I went to my room and was glad to shut the door behind me, grateful I didn’t have to deal with the old bitch, but sorry for Richard who did. I peeled off my jacket and entered the bathroom, turning on the light. I examined my eye, which was already red and puffy. I’d have a shiner by morning. I stared at my reflection and let out a long breath.”