It was as if the broken glass were trying to shred my brain. “I’m sorry,” I said, lowering my eyes. “Especially about everyone who got hurt.”
Adesina put her hand under my chin and tilted my head up. It wasn’t painful at all, which is a lie.
“Jeez Louise,” she said. “That’s not on you! Besides, nobody got killed. Things were starting to get super violent—but you gave that ginormous yell, and then everyone just sorta lay there like stunned tuna while the cops cuffed them.” She released my chin and took a step back. “‘Course, a bunch of people are pissed about their broken windows. Funny thing, though. Nobody knows who broke ’em.”
My joints, muscles, throat, chest, and head still ached. And I had more questions. But they could wait. A tension that had been twisting my gut had decided to relax.
“Right,” I said. “Now you can show me the bathroom.”
* * *
It was one door down the hall, which was good. When I finally emerged, another door across the hall opened, and Adesina peeked out.
“You alive?” she asked.
I nodded, which hurt. “I’m okay. But I’m concerned.”
Adesina stepped into the hall. “About?”
I rubbed my neck. “When I woke up, you were angry with me. And I don’t know why.”
She rolled her eyes again. “Dude! You pushed me off a roof!”
Somehow, I hadn’t realized that would be a problem. “Well, I did know you could fly.”
She crossed her arms. “It was mean. And when you hit the sidewalk, you yelled straight at me. I was tossed up, like, another two hundred feet. I almost hit a helicopter.”
I suspected she was exaggerating. But we had met in the midst of trauma, and then I had fallen unconscious for three days. During which she’d apparently been required to feed me.
“I apologize,” I said. “But you’re wrong about one thing.”
She raised her eyebrow again. “Oh, really?”
I nodded once more. Extreme pain. I had to stop doing that. “You said I saved everyone. But it was you, and Peter, and your mother. And Liam, the big hairy git.” I shrugged, and winced. “You played the music. I was just the instrument.”
Adesina rolled her eyes a third time, but now she was smiling.
“No way,” she said. “You were, like, the amplifier.” Then her expression changed. “Speaking of which, my bass amp has been making a stupid stinky buzzing noise. You know anything about stuff like that?”
As it happened, I did. Her amp and bass were in the living room, so we went out to have a look. The buzz was a ground-loop issue, easy to rectify. But I noted that the amp was a low-watt practice unit, and I thought she should have something with more punch. Especially since her bass was a lovely purple-sparkle StingRay. So we talked about small yet muscular amps she could get away with in an NYC apartment.
At some point, I remembered to ask if she knew whether I still had a job. She said the band and crew had moved on to Philadelphia—but that Liam had promised to rent a car and make a side trip to collect me the next Saturday, if I had recovered. Then we’d drive to Boston in time for the show that evening.
Adesina had taken out her phone and was showing me a game called Ocelot 9 when the apartment door opened and the Amazing Bubbles entered with two bags of groceries.
“Mom!” Adesina chirped. “Look who’s up!”
Bubbles was the same size as when I’d first seen her. She was dressed much the same, too, except that today’s big sweater was lavender. And her platinum hair was tied back in a ponytail. She hip-checked the door shut behind her, then crossed the living room to the open kitchen. She was giving me and Adesina a look I couldn’t read.
“This worries me,” she said at last, setting the bags on the kitchen counter.
My throat started to close around the wire brush again, and I had the urge to run for the exit. But I knew if I did, I’d flop over like … well, like a stunned tuna.
“No, it’s okay!” Adesina said. “He went to the bathroom by himself and everything.”
Bubbles began unpacking groceries. A whole chicken. Rice. Celery. Pasta. Black grapes. I focused on all of that so I wouldn’t look at her face. If I did, she might turn me to stone.
“I mean,” Bubbles said, “I’m worried because your bass is beside the couch, and you’re ignoring it. So I’m wondering if this rock-band roadie has talked you into wanting a new one.”
Adesina gave a short laugh. “God, no! He knows the StingRay’s awesome.” She tilted her head. “But he does think I need a new amp.”
There was a brief moment of silence. Then Bubbles said, “Of course he does.”
I risked looking at her, and tried to get enough air to speak. “It’s, you see, it’s not that her amp is bad, it’s—”
Bubbles didn’t seem to hear me. “At least we can all sit at the table for dinner. And then I can have my bedroom back.”
Adesina jumped up. “Mom! You can’t kick him out! He’s our guest! Besides, you’re the one who wouldn’t let them keep him in the hospital. You, like, insisted—and what were they gonna do, say no to you?”
The Amazing Bubbles regarded Adesina with a look of motherly reproach. “That isn’t quite true. Liam said Freddie hated hospitals and would recover faster elsewhere. But the doctors wouldn’t listen, since Liam was just a friend. So he asked if I could do something. Which I did, as soon as I—” She began folding the first grocery bag. “—realized I could. But I didn’t threaten anyone. I don’t do that.” She frowned. “At least, I don’t make a habit of it.”
It looked as if I was getting the boot. I wasn’t sure where I would go now … but I was grateful to Bubbles and Adesina for taking me in. And I didn’t want to cause further strife.
“Ms. Pond,” I said, “thank you so much for having me. But I’ve imposed quite enough, so I’ll take my leave.”
Or rather, that’s what I tried to say. But nothing came out except “Ms. Pond,” followed by a wheeze.
The Amazing Bubbles rolled her eyes, and now I understood how Adesina had gotten so good at it. “Four things,” Bubbles said. She held up a finger. “One: Adesina, I’m not kicking him out. I’m saying, now that he’s better, I can have my bed back, and he can have the couch.”
“But Mom!” Adesina protested. “He’s a guest—”
Bubbles added a second finger. “Two: He’s not a guest. And he’ll have his own space here, whenever he wants it, as soon as we clean out that room we’ve been calling an office, but which has really been the junk room. We’ll need another bed, too. For tonight, though, he gets the couch.”
Adesina stood silent and still. She blinked. Her antennae twitched.
Bubbles began emptying the second bag.
Then Adesina said, “What? Huh?”
Bubbles set a loaf of French bread on the counter.
“Freddie,” she said, looking down at the bread, “is your mother named Farishta Fullerton?”
It took me a few moments to answer. I’d almost never heard anyone use Mum’s given name.
“I—she—” I gulped air. It hurt. “Yes.”
Bubbles nodded. “When Liam told me your last name, I knew why you looked familiar. Doubly so.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “Your mother and I did some shoots together when I was fifteen. She was eighteen or nineteen. My so-called father came to those shoots, so I assumed he was keeping an eye on me. I thought he’d realized I was about to file papers to become an emancipated minor. But that wasn’t why he was there.”
Adesina and I were both staring at the Amazing Bubbles, and the Amazing Bubbles was still staring at the bread.
Finally, she looked at Adesina. “I’m sorry to spring this on you, honey. But it wouldn’t have been fair to him if I’d told you before he was awake.”
“Huh?” Adesina said again. “What?”
Bubbles gave a slight smile. “Adesina,” she said. “This is your Uncle Freddie.” She looked at me. “Freddie, t
his is your niece, Adesina.”
Now Adesina was staring at me instead.
“It’s traditional to shake hands when introduced,” Bubbles said.
I stood up, wobbling like a buoy in the wake of a speedboat. Adesina and I managed to shake hands, and she looked at me as if I had materialized from the ether.
“Uh, Mom?” Adesina said, sounding dazed. “You said ‘Four things.’”
“Oh, yes.” Bubbles held up three fingers. “Three: Adesina, please come help with dinner. I’d ask your uncle as well, but he still looks shaky. And we have things to chop.”
Adesina released my hand. She walked to the kitchen with her wings quivering.
I swallowed. Ow. “Um, the fourth thing?” I asked.
Bubbles didn’t hold up four fingers. Instead, she pulled a cutting board from a cabinet and dropped it onto the counter. Then she reached into a drawer and produced a large, gleaming knife.
“Four,” she said, cutting the wrapper from the chicken. “I’m not ‘Ms. Pond’ to you, Freddie, any more than you’re ‘Mr. Fullerton’ to me. My name is Michelle. Got it?”
I nodded. Ow again.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
She pointed the knife at me.
“I mean—yes, Michelle.”
Michelle slapped the chicken onto the cutting board and attacked it. “Damn skippy,” she said.
* * *
My new phone buzzed as Michelle, Adesina, and I came into the apartment late Saturday morning. We were stuffed with blintzes from Katz’s and loaded down with bags from other stops, including one straining with eight LPs from Bleecker Bob’s. One Jethro Tull, one Kinks, two Stones, and four from my employers: The Who Sell Out, Tommy, Live at Leeds, and Who’s Next.
After we’d discovered a turntable stashed in the “junk room,” I’d told Adesina there was only one way to fully appreciate classic rock: on vinyl. So we’d set up the turntable in her room, and now she had some records. They were all in decent shape, too. Of course, Michelle had grumbled about there being more than enough noise in the apartment already, what with the bass playing and the bandmates coming ’round. But she’d paid for the albums.
As we’d left Bleecker Bob’s, Adesina had asked me which song on which album was my favorite. “That’s a sticky wicket,” I’d said. “I don’t think I can answer.”
She’d rolled her eyes. “What if I threatened to push you off a roof?”
“Side one, track two,” I’d said. “Who’s Next.”
It had been a long morning’s hike, and I was sore. But we were all puffing a bit. The day was sunny for December, but the air still had a chilly bite. Michelle’s cheeks were pink, and once she’d hip-checked the door, she shuffled to the couch, dropped her bags, and flopped onto her back.
“This is mine,” she said, groaning. “You two can have the floor.”
Adesina hefted the bag from Bleecker Bob’s. “No, I’ll be in my room with the volume turned to—” She grinned at me. “What was it?”
“Eleven,” I said, setting down my own bag.
Michelle groaned again. Adesina and I fist bumped.
Then I took the new phone from the pocket of my jacket, which was also new. The jacket was almost like the one I’d lost in the riot, and Michelle had wanted to buy it for me. But I’d done it myself, since she’d already paid for my phone.
I had a text from Liam. CAN U MEET ME RATHR THAN PIKN U UP? FOUND SHOP LAST WEEK HANDMADE GUITAR STRAPS N LADS ORDRD SOM. NICE LADY FINSHNG THM UP BUT TIME SHORT MUST GO SOON AS SHE FINSHS F WE R 2 GET 2 BOSTN SOUNDCHK. 195 CHRYSTIE NEAR WHERE WE HAD ROW W YANKS N RUSSIAN. BE HERE IN 30? TELL MS BUBBLES N MORPHO GRL SRRY 2 MISS EM.
Bollocks. I’d thought I’d have another hour. Enough time for a proper goodbye.
But then, a proper goodbye might be too much like a goodbye.
I tapped my answer. BE THERE IN 30 MATE.
“What is it?” Adesina asked. But she knew.
I gave her a smile, hoping it didn’t look forced. “It’s Liam. I’m to meet him on Chrystie, not far from where I tried to throw you into a helicopter. Am I right that I can walk there in fifteen or twenty minutes?”
Adesina looked into her Bleecker Bob’s bag and didn’t answer. But Michelle sat up. “Twenty, if you don’t window shop,” she said. “We can walk you. Do you have to leave right away?”
I nodded. “’Fraid so. Liam sends apologies.” I looked from Michelle to Adesina. “I want you both to know, these past few days have been…” I took a moment to find the right words. “…the best of my life, other than my seventh birthday, which was the day I rode a pony.”
Adesina actually laughed. That was a relief.
“Let me put these records in my room and go to the bathroom,” Adesina said, with just a touch of a quaver. “Then we’ll walk you to Chrystie, and Mom and I can give you a genuine New York goodbye.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
Michelle stood. “It involves the same one-fingered salute you gave me a week ago.”
Now I laughed. Or chuckled, at least.
“Much as I hate to miss that,” I said, “I’d rather say farewell here. If you were to come along, I … might be tempted to miss my ride.” I was suddenly aware that my throat was still a bit ragged. “And I do want to keep my job.”
Adesina set down her Bleecker Bob’s bag and wrapped her arms around me. Then her wings wrapped around me as well. It was like being inside a warm blue cocoon.
“But you’ll come visit,” Adesina said into my neck. “Lots.”
“Of course.” I pushed away as gently as I could. Her arms released me before her wings did.
“If you don’t,” she said, “I’ll send Mom after you.”
I glanced at Michelle. “Good Lord. Nobody wants that.”
Adesina picked up the Bleecker Bob’s bag. “You better believe it.” Then she turned, went to the hallway, and vanished.
* * *
Michelle reached behind the couch and picked up my olive-drab duffel. “I’ll walk you down.”
We took the stairs, and neither of us said another word until we were in the lobby. No one else was there.
At the door, she handed over my duffel. “I know Adesina told you how I came to adopt her. So you know that, for us, the mother-daughter thing has been forged in fire. Which means you also need to know: If you’re going to be my brother, you can’t just be Adesina’s friend or bass-equipment guru or anything else teenagers might be to each other. There’s a duty. You know?”
I knew.
“You’ve only been aware of my existence for a week,” I said. “But my mum told me about you almost from the day I was born. So, for me—” I dropped the duffel, took a chance, and hugged her. “You’ve always been my sister. And now Adesina is my niece.”
Michelle hugged me back. “So if anything should ever happen to me…”
“Nothing could. But I’m her uncle. Always.”
“Good.” She broke the hug. “You’re gonna text us both, right? Maybe even phone or FaceTime once in a while?”
“I think I’m obligated, since you bought the phone. Besides, Adesina’s hooked me up with Ocelot 9, so I’ll be playing online with her and her friends.”
Michelle gave a mock grimace. “You’re braver than I.”
Then she held out a fist and opened it. A bright silver bubble lay in her palm. “This is a reminder,” she said, “that you have a place here. Whenever you have a break. I’ll buy the ticket.”
I plucked it from her palm. It had weight, like steel.
“Cor blimey,” I said. “It’s a pinball! I reckon that makes me a wizard.”
Michelle frowned. “Say what?”
I dropped the bubble into my jeans pocket. Sometimes music skips a generation. “Ask Adesina.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, fine. Make me feel like an out-of-touch mom.” Then she gave me a steady gaze. “Speaking of which. It might not be my business, but … maybe phone your own mom, too. You wouldn’t have
to tell her where you are or what you’re doing. But let her know you’re alive, okay?”
I scuffed one of my Doc Martens. “I sent her an email once. She knows I’m alive.”
“Like I said, might not be my business. But you kept her name. So I’m thinking, maybe you want to keep her, too.”
I nodded and picked up my duffel.
Michelle made a throat-clearing noise. “One more thing. Last week, when you were up on that roof…”
She looked at the floor. “I bubbled you pretty bad. Right afterward, I knew it was what you wanted. But that wasn’t why I did it.” She shook her head. “Adesina had already told me what you did in the Ballroom. And I knew my own daughter could fly. But when you pushed her, I lost control. And I hit you.”
She sounded torn up about it. Which surprised me.
“Well, I knew you would,” I said.
She looked at me again, her face tight. “Is my reputation that … monstrous?”
I realized she had been through some shite that would always make her doubt herself. And maybe, sometimes, that was a good thing. But in this case, it was a load of crap.
“Michelle, your reputation had sod all to do with it. I knew you’d do it because I knew I would.” I shrugged. “And you’re my big sis. So I kind of am you.”
Michelle let out a breath. “Poor bastard.”
I put my hand on the door. “That’s accurate.”
She crossed the lobby to the lift. “By the way, Little Bro,” she said as she pushed the button. “That bubble in your pocket will be stable for about six months.” The doors opened, and she stepped inside. “After that, it could explode at any moment. So you might want to come back before that.” The doors closed.
I pushed out into the crisp air and started south on Lafayette. But I’d only gone twenty feet when I saw the kilted figure of Segway coming toward me in one-wheel mode, zigzagging around pedestrians and saying “’Scuse me!” to anyone who seemed startled. He was wearing his NYPD helmet, which he’d been allowed to keep, and was carrying a trumpet case. He waved to me with his free hand, so I paused as he expanded to two wheels and slid to a stop in front of me. I saw that the NYPD shield on his helmet had been replaced by a JOKERTOWN MOB! sticker.
Naked, Stoned, and Stabbed Page 5
