18
Mom was up. Not only was she awake, she was upset. I could smell the cigarette smoke from my room. In my mind there was only one reason for her to be smoking, especially at five o’clock on a Tuesday morning.
She’d found out about Frank.
I got myself dressed and wasn’t careful to be quiet going down the stairs. I wanted her to know I was coming. The only thing worse than Mom being upset about something was if she thought I was trying to sneak out the door.
She stood at the sink, looking out the window, a smoldering cigarette between her fingers. She’d bought a fresh pack since the last time.
“You know, when my window is open I can hear everything you and Jocelyn say.” She put the cigarette to her lips and breathed in.
“I meant to tell you.” I sighed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m sure you were surprised by him.” She blew the smoke out toward the open window. “Is he going to help your grandmother?”
“He said he would.”
“He’s said a lot of things.” She said it under her breath and rolled her eyes.
“Are you mad at me?”
Turning on the tap, she soaked her half-smoked cigarette before dropping it into the sink. “No.”
It was a clipped no. An unconvincing no.
“I have to get ready for work,” I said, heading toward the bathroom.
“Did you tell Joel?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“Do you think he remembers him?” she asked. “Do you know?”
“I don’t know how he would.”
“You’re probably right. He was so small.”
“He asks me about Frank sometimes.”
“Why don’t you take your brother to meet him,” she said. “After work today, maybe.”
“Do you want me to tell Frank anything for you?”
She shook her head. “I can’t think of a single thing I have to say to him.”
She turned toward me and crossed her arms. That was when I noticed she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring. When she caught me looking, she held her hand up.
“I don’t want him to get any ideas,” she said.
Joel and I rode our bikes out to the campground where Frank had said he was staying. I’d thought about driving, but it seemed like a waste of a sunny day and a bit of gas. We took our time, the afternoon warmer than it had been in a week. Once we got to the dirt road leading to the entrance of the park, we rode side by side.
“I don’t know,” I answered, pushing a stray hair away from my face. “Pleasant, I guess.”
“Pleasant?” He laughed. “I’m not sure I ever imagined him being pleasant.”
“Well, it’s probably not the right word. I mean, he isn’t horrible, really. But he isn’t all that friendly.”
“You aren’t really making me feel good about this.”
“All right,” I said, sighing. “He’s really smart. He reads a lot. When he thinks something’s funny, he smiles like Mike but doesn’t laugh. In fact, he’s a lot like Mike.”
“Except for the friendly part.”
“Right.”
We took the turn into the park. Bright blue flicker of a jay swooped between tree branches. Somewhere a squirrel chitter-chattered his disapproval of something, perhaps the bird.
“I’m nervous,” Joel said.
“You don’t need to be,” I said.
“What if he doesn’t like me?”
“How could anyone not like you?”
He shrugged. “I’m sure it’s possible.”
We pedaled down the road that led to the campsites. Only a couple of them were occupied. One site housed a pup tent and the other a small camper beside a rust-red pickup truck. A square of wood with the number 44 etched into it was nailed to the peeling trunk of a birch tree.
“I think that’s it,” I said.
We parked our bikes and knocked on the door of the camper, and an old hound dog bayed from where he lay next to a tree.
“Simmer down, Shadow,” Frank said, coming from around the backside of the camper, holding a tin kettle with steam ribboning out of the spout. “Don’t worry about him. He’s all bark and no bite. He’s too lazy to start a fight.”
He was wearing a white undershirt and the slacks he’d worn the day before. He hadn’t slicked his hair back, and it hung over his forehead.
Joel stood beside me, his eyes not leaving Frank’s face. His lips parted, and I couldn’t tell if he was trying to say something or not.
“Is that Joel?” Frank asked, setting the kettle on a fold-up table and putting his hands into his pockets. “My gosh, how you’ve grown.”
Joel pushed his shoulders back and tried to stand as tall as he could.
“I thought he should meet you,” I said. “Before the funeral.”
Frank took two steps toward us and put out his hand for Joel to take. Disappointment dulled my brother’s smile. But only for a moment. He did shake hands, but I wondered if he’d expected Frank to show a little more affection. I wondered if he’d wanted a hug.
“You drink coffee?” Frank asked, letting go of Joel’s hand. “I just heated up some.”
“You don’t have to make us anything,” I answered. “We can’t stay long.”
“I’d like some,” Joel said, stepping on top of my words. “If it isn’t too much trouble.”
“All I have is what’s left over from this morning. I hope that’s okay.” Frank crossed his arms. “How do you take it?”
“However you do.”
“Sure, thanks.”
Never in his life had Joel so much as taken a sip of coffee. He was in for a big surprise.
Frank stepped inside his camper and rustled around for something. A cupboard slammed and a silverware drawer clattered. Joel and I stood beside each other, trying to see through the narrow door at what he might have been struggling against.
After a few minutes, he returned, holding two camp cups by their handles. Tipping the kettle, he filled the cups, handing one to Joel. It looked more like sludge than liquid and I wondered if he’d made it thick on purpose.
“I hope it’s not too strong for you,” he said.
“It should be fine,” Joel said. “Thanks.”
“Your mother know I’m in town?” Frank asked, sipping his coffee and letting out a subtle “ah.”
I nodded in answer.
“She doesn’t care to see me, does she?”
“No.”
“I guess I don’t blame her.” He took a good-sized drink, looking over the rim of his cup at Joel. “It’s not too hot.”
Joel tipped his cup, taking a bigger drink than he should have. He held it in his mouth, his cheeks puffing out and his eyes starting to water.
“Just swallow it,” I whispered. “You won’t taste it anymore.”
He forced it down before hacking and spitting, his face red.
“It’ll put hair on your chest,” Frank said, grinning. “Takes some getting used to, I guess.”
Joel nodded, trying to hide the grimace he could hardly conceal on his face. He didn’t finish the coffee but looked around to see where he could dump it when Frank wasn’t looking.
“You don’t have to drink that mud.” Frank reached for the cup. “Even I don’t care for it. I had better when I was in the Marines. Come on. I’ll get you a bottle of Coke. I think I saw a machine out by the restrooms.”
“That’s okay,” I said.
“It’ll only take a minute,” Frank said. “You want one?”
“No thanks. I’ll just stay here.”
Frank handed me his empty cup and Joel’s that was still mostly full. I wondered if he expected me to wash them. As they walked away, Frank called the old hound to come with them and I stepped up into the camper. I’d decided I’d just put the cups on the counter or in the sink, if the camper even had something like that.
The ceiling wasn’t high enough for me to stand to full height, so I stooped. On one side of the camper was a small cot, with barely room for one, covered with a pea green, wooly blanket and a yellowed and misshapen pillow. The contents of the camper were sparse. A suitcase that seemed to function as a dresser, a hot plate, and a few provisions were what I could see without digging through things or opening the two cupboards. I set the cups on a tiny table pushed up against one of the walls.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a photo taped on the wall just above the pillow. It was a small square with scalloped edges. Moving toward it and bending down, I saw that it was of Mike, Joel, and me, sitting on the dock that used to be ours, each with our legs dangling over the edge. Mike’s feet were in the water, mine skimming the surface. But Joel’s chubby legs jutted out straight in front of him. We all wore our happiest smiles. Mom stood in the water beside us, her hands on Joel’s waist. She was in the middle of saying something.
Sitting on the edge of the cot, I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off the picture. I wanted to take in every detail. The baseball cap sitting sideways on Mike’s head. My pinstriped swimsuit that I remembered having been so proud of. The way Joel reached toward the camera with one of his little hands.
Every single thing about that picture said that we’d been happy once. At least in that moment.
I’d become so drawn in, I didn’t hear the creak of the camper when someone came in and stood beside me.
“She was worried that Joel would fall in the water,” Frank said, pointing at the photo. “Your mother was.”
I stood quickly, stepping back from the picture, leaning into the wall of the camper, hoping he wouldn’t be angry at my intrusion. If he was, it didn’t show.
“I told her he’d learn how to swim real quick if he did.” He shook his head. “She told me I was wrong. Well, in her way.”
“She likes being right,” I said.
“That she does.” He shrugged. “Nobody likes being wrong, though, do they?”
I told him I was sure nobody did.
“She’s a good mother,” he said. “I knew that from the time Mike was born.”
“She’s strong, that’s for sure.”
“Strongest person I ever met. Man or woman.”
He cleared his throat and went back outside, the camper jostling up and down as he exited. I gave that picture one last look. The crinkling, dried-out old tape that held it in place bore testimony to how long he’d had it there.
When I followed him down the camper steps, I breathed in the fresh air, feeling lighter somehow than I had in a week.