The birthday party for Shan was up at Uncle Pete’s place, in the country north of town. We picked Gillian up in the family van. The Dewitt house was classy and old-looking, on the steep hill of a street where even the doghouses were probably mansions. There was a FOR SALE sign staked into the front lawn. It was pretty clear that the Garden Fairy hadn’t flown by in a while.
You could tell Shan was pleased I’d invited Gillian. She made a fuss over her, asking after her mom and sister. Gillian wore a red hoodie over her jeans, and she had a jacket with her. Uncle Pete had promised a bonfire after dinner.
Uncle Pete’s place was a summer cabin—a cottage, they called them up there—that he’d added on to and converted into a house. It was by a lake the size I wished Lake Ontario was. I knew from some of the home movies I’d watched that Danny had gone there a lot. Pretending to be forgetful was only going to take me so far. I asked Pete first thing what had changed since I’d been away, and he took Gillian and me on a tour. He said he’d taken the dock in for the season and that his boat was in storage, and I came up with a couple “memories” of fishing that I’d watched at Shan’s. Then he showed us how he’d redone the kitchen and put in a new bathroom “that you won’t remember.” He was right. I said it was good to be back.
Uncle Pete’s grown kids were there too, with their own kids. After supper we all took lawn chairs down to the fire pit by the water and Uncle Pete got the bonfire going. The dark came on as Matt and Brooklynne and Uncle Pete’s grandkids ran around with hissing sparklers. Gram and Grampy were blathering about getting ready to head to Florida. I sat next to Gillian, sunk in one of those saggy fold-up chairs that have beer-can holders in their arms. The heat from the fire was on my face and the night air was at my back. Uncle Pete passed out sticks for toasting marshmallows. From the joking, I got the picture that Danny had been some kind of marshmallow-toasting fanatic, which didn’t make me happy. I don’t much like marshmallows for one, and I haven’t been crazy about getting close to fire ever since Wayne the Bible thumper held my hand over the stove element. You better believe I wasn’t getting near those sparklers.
“C’mon, Danny,” Gillian said. She was already crouching, reaching into the heat. The light from the fire made her seem to glow too. I was about to say I had to use the washroom first and then slip back to the house to hit the purses when I noticed something. The sleeve of her hoodie had pulled up, and in the firelight two pale ridges on the underside of her wrist were showing. They gave me kind of a jolt. I knew what they were. I’d met kids in the Bad Time who’d done that to themselves. She had just turned to look at me, probably wondering why I hadn’t said anything, when headlights swept the lawn and a car with a bad muffler pulled in. We all turned.
“Better late than never,” said Uncle Pete. The motor cut out. There was a splash of light from inside the car. Two people. The doors clunked and they came toward us, surrounded by kids’ sparklers: Carleen and Ty.
All at once Shan was beside me. “I didn’t know if they were coming or not, hon.”
I looked at her. Gillian stood up, and Shan touched her arm. “He’s really sorry for what happened. He slipped, he knows, and he wants to apologize. And Gillian, I wouldn’t have let you come, hon, if I didn’t know it would be one hundred percent okay. Our Ty’s had some issues, and I’m so sorry you had to be involved. If you’d been hurt I’d never have forgiven myself and neither would Ty. But this—this is just going to be fun. It’s my birthday!”
Gillian looked kind of worried. I probably looked the same way.
“C’mon, you two,” Shan coaxed. “He won’t be in your face. He’s shy. Just let him take his time and you’ll see.”
Roy had come up behind her. His eyes caught mine and rolled. It might have been the one time we felt the same about something. He’d calmed down after I’d gotten the card and given him an extra ten bucks for Shan’s gift.
Carleen was in jeans and a Dale Earnhardt NASCAR jacket. Her face was a hatchet, sharp and dangerous in the firelight. Tyson was a step or two behind her. This time he had on a ballcap and a jean jacket over a hoodie, and he was carrying a can of beer. People called out hellos and he lifted the can like a toast. “Yo.”
“Sorry we’re late,” Carleen said, then to Shan: “Happy birthday, dreamboat.”
Shan went over and kissed her. Carleen made her way around the circle until she got to Gillian and me. Gillian’s sleeve was back over her wrist.
“Hey, Momma,” I said.
Carleen looked at us. If her face was a hatchet, her eyes were razor blades. There was a hard gleam in them. “Sorry about the other night. Understand, I had to deal with Ty. He’s not good with, uh, surprises.” There was a little something on her breath, vodka maybe; it was hard to tell. All I could smell for sure was cigarettes. This time, with everyone watching, she went all the way and gave me something like a hug. I introduced Gillian. Carleen went through the motions. Then she turned to Tyson and jerked her head at me.
Tyson had stayed at the edge of the firelight, sipping his beer and talking to Uncle Pete. He was still bouncing and rolling but not as badly as at the grocery. Now he came over to us. I think he was trying to look casual. He looked about as casual as a funeral. “Hey-ey-ey” he said, with kind of a hoarse little chuckle breaking up his voice. “Um. Little, uh, bro, can I—can I…talk to you for a sec?”
He led me a few steps away. He turned, and the fire lit up his skeleton face. He was twitching so much now that one of the kids could have waved him around in the dark to watch the sparks fly out of his eyes. “So, uh, listen, I’m really sorry, dude. I was just so…surprised and, like, it’d been so long and…so I didn’t recognize you…” The words rushed out, stumbling. He gave me the family sneer. I gave it back.
“’S all right.”
“No, lissen, dude, I was outta line. Lissen, I gotta level with ya…” He fished half a joint from the top pocket of his jacket, fired it with a lighter and sucked some in. His hands shook the whole time. “You want? No? No, I gotta level with ya. It’d been so long and I’d thought, you know, even after I heard that you—like, you know I got a little problem, right?” Now the words were racing each other. He spread his hands as if I was supposed to size up a shirt he was trying on. I nodded. “Lissen, you want a beer or anything?” He yanked one out of the pouch of his hoodie.
“No, it’s okay.” All I wanted was for him to get done.
“Okay, so I got a problem and sometimes I don’t even get things right, even when I hear them, and it had just been so long and I’d got it in my head that you were, like…”
“What?” I said. “Dead?”
“Whoo-oh, don’t even say that, man. ’Cause you’re not. You’re one hundred percent alive, dude, and thank God for it.” He squinted as he took another hit off the joint. “Thank God for it. But when you, uh, you know, popped up like that, oh man, I freaked. You know?” He blew out smoke.
“Sure.”
“Anyway, uh, this is just to, just to say sorry, you know? And like I know things weren’t always right between us, dude, but I—I kept somethin’ of yours all the time, like a momen, monu—memorial of you, in case you came back. So now I wanna give it back to ya, but just between us, okay? This is just between you and me, bro to bro.” He reached into another pocket, his jeans this time, and pulled something out. He took a last quick hit off the roach, threw it on the ground, grabbed my hand and pushed something into my palm. We stood there with him clamping my hand between his. “Between us, okay? No Shan, no Ma, just us. Brothers. All the way.” I nodded. His eyes were like the bonfire now. He had a surprisingly strong grip, and his hands were grave-digger cold. “You may need this some time, man. I couldn’t save you last time. This is for you. Never can tell. Just us? Brothers? All the way?”
He was waiting for an answer. “All the way,” I said. “All the way.”
And I was, too. I just didn’t know it yet.