Look How You Turned Out (3 page)

Marcus is right about the water. A plan unfolds accordion-like pages, endless scenarios. I'm getting my old job back, that's a given. They say you can't go home…maybe I never really left. It's
The Truman Show
…my life. Chicago was an illusion.

I wish.

"Bedilia," Dad calls, his gloved hand closing on a beautiful shimmering fish which he holds for my perusal then drops into the basket at his side.

I give out a "Whoot," from upstream, and Marcus does the same further up.

I sigh as I look at him…Marcus, not Dad…standing in the lazy current, the brightness creating an arch around his…I fumble to put my pole under my arm and dig my phone out of my bra. I snap a picture of Marcus, and he's looking at me.

I make the slightest move, he looks. Possibly afraid I'll drown and take out Artie. But I'm not shy about the picture taking if he even gets what I'm doing.

I have a collection in a file on my phone. I need an update. Waders and a wife beater…I'm freaking freezing, but he's already told me he runs hot.

So it's back to fishing and letting my plan unfold, and he's making his way to me now. Least I like to think so.

"Hey," he says, lifting the lid on his basket to show me two fat ones. We're very close, and I look up at him, and it's a little like looking straight into the sun, but I don't squint.

He does. He squints behind his dark glasses. I love the way the sides of his eyes have that crinkle. I love his shoulders, roundy but straight across. His lips…they could eat the corn off my cob any day. That's gross, but you get my meaning.

He smirks at me a little and walks around me shaking his head. Yeah, whatever. Deal.

Dad wanted to cook the catch right here at the picnic site which is no surprise, he loves to do that, so he fusses around and makes the fire and puts his two beauties on the grill. He's telling me all about purchasing Billy's.

"You're the one who told me I need to think about my future," he says as he carefully seasons the fish.

"Sure but...did you announce this at the station? Two years?"

"I'm ready pumpkin face," Dad says.

My eyes jet Marcus's way already knowing he's smirking. He loves when Dad calls me that. He knows I love-slash-hate it because I don't have a round face. It's heart-shaped, and he turns me into an adolescent girl when he says that, not the sexy siren I'm trying to be here as I crunch handfuls of potato chips.

"Hey…want to see a natural arch?" Marcus says bringing Artie the last of the fish cleaned and ready.

"Get over yourself, Stover. I'm not looking down your throat," I say.

"Suit yourself," he says walking off. He's put on a dry t-shirt, and he wears his jeans again. My very favorite nearly disintegrated ones.

"Don't take too long," Artie calls.

"Back to the law?" I ask trying to catch up to Marcus and zip my jacket while I continue our conversation from this morning. "I thought you gave that up when you joined the department."

He isn't ruffled by my question. "Nose is red," he says flicking the bill on my cap.

"I hate that," I say like a girl, holding onto my sun-sensitive nose that defies sunscreen.

He laughs. "Don't be a hater."

"I hate you," I say, and I smile at the end of it, and he smiles too. "That's supposed to upset you."

He makes a little gasp and clutches his heart. "How's that?"

"Stupid," I say.

He shakes his head. "You remind me of Juney."

"Ha-ha." I'm a little stung he should bring up my 'sibling' like this.

"Hey…the natural arch is too far away."

"So…what are we doing?" My heart picks up. He's gotten me off on our own on porpoise? Yes, I meant to say porpoise.

I'm giddy!

"Well…he ah…he needs your support."

I stop. "Who…what?"

"Your dad. He needs you to support the retirement idea. It's…hard." He's looking at me, he's talking to me like I am Juney.

"I get it," I say, also like Juney. "No…you know what? I know I've been away with school…and…life? I get that, Marcus. But he's still my," I emphasize 'my' by spreading my hand over the center of my chest, "dad. And you," I point at him, "don't get to tell me how to speak to him. Alright?" I fold my arms and throw my weight on one leg and stare.

He is rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry."

"I'm a little tired of that too. Sorry doesn't…take it away." That's twice he did the sorry routine on me, twice in one day.

"Take what away?" His hands go to his hips.

"Your arrogance." I'm out of control—I've done air quotes.

"My what?"

"Hubris. Pride. Assholery."

"Wha…?"

"Jessica? For real? Isn't she like…a hundred?"

"Okay, okay. Be nice."

"Why? Why should I? I'm nine."

"You said it…."

"Oh," I bat my hands at him and walk away. I give him the bird, but I don't look back.

I don't know what just happened, but I told you we'd dropped another level. I told you we were in a new place.

He catches up, hand on my arm. "Bedilia…slow down. Give me a chance to explain."

Artie is busy cooking, but he's looking our way. He's curious.

Explain what? That I need counseling?

"It's about Juney isn't it. You don't have to worry. He's getting to really…he's a, it's getting better between them."

Oh, I can see the whole deal in his eyes. There's a conflict between Jessica and Juney. I love that little cretan.

"Doesn't she have a couple of…?"

"No. She doesn't have children."

"But I thought you didn't want to do that to Juney. You said you weren't going to date until he was older." I kind of mean this and I kind of don't. Yeah, I'm a liar, too, a big one. I'm pretending it's always been about Juney.

"He is older Bedilia. You just said it, he's nine. And he's never had to share me before, and he's fighting it. But Jessica's been patient. She's been…."

"I don't want to hear how Jessica's been," I say, a little too much intensity on the 'J.'

"Hey…no one replaces you."

What does that mean?

"I told you, he can't wait to see you."

Oh…that's what it means.

"And I can't wait to see him," I say sweetly. And we stare at one another just a beat too long.

Artie calls us to dinner.

He's not that glad to see me. After the awkward ride home in Artie's truck, me sitting between Artie and Marcus, one half of me asexual, the Artie side, what do you think, and the other side on freaking fire, well after that it was another attempt to clean up and meet downstairs for Juney's homecoming from his grandmother's house and feign normal.

Half an hour later I open the door and wave to Elaine as she drives off. Juney's a cute kid, looks just like Marcus must have, super cute. I have to admit I'm really glad to see him. "Hello Junior," I say, playing up the name he hates.

"Hello Bedilia Susannah," he says, like touché.

He squeezes under my arm with his backpack and walks right past me. "Where's Dad?" he says.

"Out back with Artie. Hey, don't I get a hug?"

"No," he says, taller than last time, when I left for Chicago, and he wouldn't come and give me a hug then either.

And he goes out the back door, and I hear Dad say, "Hey there he is," like it's Justin Bieber and Dad's a middle school girl.

So it's high-fives between him and the Beebs. I have my hands in my pockets, and I'm not exactly hurt, but hey, am I that bad? I've wiped this kid's butt for heaven sakes.

So I'm out there, and Marcus is holding him, cause even if he's nine, he's more like six than nine in terms of being affectionate. I always assumed it was because of his screwed up Mom. I was the same way—kind of needy, but I grew out of it.

So I squeeze into the glider next to Dad, and he puts his arm around me. It's old times.

They are telling Juney about the fish. Marcus kisses his cheek, but he won't look at him. He does look at Artie when he tells him his fish were bigger than his dad's. He smiles then.

This kid only ever wants to play the most convoluted games. Can't we just play Uno? I ask him that. I don't want to start the game of Life nine o'clock at night. Especially when I have to shop tomorrow for Thanksgiving.

But I know he's trying to punish me the little brat. Then I remember about Jessica, how he's giving her a hard time, and I soften. But he's giving me a hard time too.

"No Uno," he says, drunk on power. He's laying out the board game.

"Juney," Marcus calls up the stairs.

I put my finger to my lips so Juney won't call out and Marcus will be forced to come up here for the second time today.

"Hide, hide," Juney whispers.

For the first time, we are giggling together. We run in circles, and I try to squeeze behind my hamper, but it's too much trouble, and he grabs my hand, and we run across the hall into the dark front bedroom and drop between the bed and the wall. My heart hammers as I hear Marcus's footsteps approach. "Juney? Bedilia?" he sing-songs. We hear him walk along the hall, into my room, still saying our names. We are so still, so serious. Marcus is in the doorway now. He snaps on the light. We don't move.

He switches off the light and enters the room, goes to the window, my crow's nest. He's looking out, even with us now.

"Great view Bedilia," he says low, noticing what a great view I have of his whole house. I start to raise up, and Juney pulls me down.

Marcus turns suddenly and growls loudly and takes two big steps to Juney and grabs him and Juney squeals and giggles and Marcus throws him on the bed. Then he reaches for me, and I'm airborne and I'm laughing and squirming, and I land hard on the bed next to Juney. Juney bobs up and scrambles to his feet and runs out of the room, and Marcus has a pillow, and he's hitting me with it, and I curl in a ball for a minute and the pillow slams against me, and I'm laughing, then Juney is back, and Marcus is hitting him with a pillow too, and Juney hits back and I grab a pillow and start to swing, but I get in the middle of father and son and get smacked around at the same time, and I go down and bounce off the bed onto the floor, and they call my name in unison and hands are on me, and Marcus ends up holding me like I'm a little baby, cradling me against him while Juney stands on the bed and finally shows me a little mercy, "You alright Bedilia?"

And I look at Marcus and all the care and concern in the world. And I mouth his name, but no sound. And I almost say it, "I got fired," and the light comes on and, "What the hell," Artie says.

Holy moly. I let Juney sleep in my room, and I go across the hall and fall onto the wrecked bed that used to belong to Mom and Artie.

He saw it…Marcus did…for the first time, he was in the crow's nest where I make my porn. About him. Where I spy and stalk and violate his privacy. The scene of the crime.

We were just goofing around. We can't even do that. It doesn't work. Is it just me? Is he feeling this at all? Something? I know he feels something. But he won't act on it. He won't. He's so obnoxiously proper. He's like an apostle or something.

He looked so guilty when Artie turned on the light like his own son wasn't right there like I was stark naked.

I was in his arms, and it felt…I fit there.

"Bedilia?" Juney calls me from across the hall. He does this. He loves to do this, have the power to call out…and I come. I get it. I do.

I go in there, and he's sitting up, and it's little Marcus's profile in the dark. I'm stabbed…with love. I love this little bird.

"Why do you have to go to Chicago?"

Not this again. "I…the job."

"Quit." He's like a prophet sort of.

"I…," I sit on the floor by the bed. "Juney, I didn't want to leave you."

"I know. You wanted to put me in your suitcase, but Dad is the police."

"Exactly. You remember."

"But Artie misses you. He's got Perkinson's Disease. I Googled it. It's why he shakes."

"What?" Can this be true? "Who told you this?"

"Dad said it. On the phone. I heard him."

I go for my laptop and fire it up and Google Web MD. For the next fifteen minutes, I get a crash course in Parkinson's.

Everything I share with Juney he already knows.

I close my computer and lay back on the floor, hands on my stomach. It doesn't surprise me a bit that he didn't tell me.

Early retirement. Buying Billy's with Marcus. He's working on his bucket list.

I feel tears leaking into my hair.

"Don't cry Bedilia," Juney whispers his feet softly thudding against the floor. Soon he's sitting beside me. He takes my hand. "Dad won't let anything bad happen to Artie."

I squeeze Juney's hand and smile at him as I sniff. "I know that," I try to scoff. I don't want to scare Juney, but he's such an old soul.

"It sucks when you just have one, huh?" he says meaning one parent.

"Juney," I whisper, "you have more than one, you know." I mean us. Me and Dad.

"I have," he takes back his hand and silently counts up, "four plus Dad," he announces. He's added his grandparents.

"And you have," he's doing the math again, "two plus Artie."

"Two?"

"Me and Dad."

"Aren't you a little young?"

"Eat," he says very close to my face with Cheeto breath, "your," he says moving in again, "spinach."

He falls beside me, and we laugh a little.

I make him go to the bathroom and brush his teeth. I start to get up, but he calls, "Don't leave."

So I settle back again. Parkinson's.

He quickly climbs into bed. "Dad says you're the prettiest girl in Washington."

I don't say anything for a minute while he settles. I know I just found out my dad might have Parkinson's, but I still feel the ridiculous, self-centered need to track down this statement. "When…did he say that?"

"The day you went to Chicago," he says. "We were watching you drive away, and he just said it—There goes the prettiest girl in Washington."

Okay, this is low, but I ask, "What else?"

He sighs. "I'm not supposed to tell home-stuff."

I thump my fingers against my stomach. "You started it," I say, kidding sort of.

"She's not your mother." He says this in a deeper voice I assume is supposed to be Marcus's.

"What?" I get up on my elbow.

"She's got a right to live her life," he's still mimicking. "We need to be happy for her." He's rolling around. "I hate that most of all. I told him I wasn't happy. He wasn't happy either."

I sit up, and he's rolled, facing away from me. "He wasn't happy?" I diabolically continue.

"No," Juney says simply. Then I hear him yawn.

"Well,…he's happy now…right? Jessica?"

He rolls back and stares at me. "I can't stand her," he whispers.

A little thrill goes through me. But I'm wrong. "Why…why not?"

He rolls away. "He wouldn't want me to say it. She's got this really high laugh. Just like a witch."

I'm happy…and so disappointed. "She can't help it," I say with fake magnanimity.

He rolls back. "She's so annoying. She makes homemade mac and cheese instead of the kind I like in the blue box."

No. This is what he has on her? "Not…so bad," I whisper.

"And this one time…she said You know what I want for Christmas Marcus. And later when he's putting me to bed he sits there…," now it's Marcus's voice, "hey, bud…we've been on our own a long time. What would you think if I found you a mom?"

My bottom lip is pumping, the way my vagina used to before I heard this story.

"And?" I push because there's no way he's not finishing this.

"And I said, I'd think…well, who? Not Jessica."

"And?" I say louder.

"And he said, Well I'll do what's best for this family. And that was the end."

I get on my feet.

"Hey, wait until I'm asleep."

"No. Close your eyes I'm right across the hall."

I hurry back to the crow's nest and go to the window. I'm looking over there. Of course, he wouldn't be the type to drag it out. He's not a dater. He's a martyr, not light about stuff. He'd want to 'get 'er done,' and put a ring on it. A ring. He's going to give her a ring for the holidays. You just watch. He's got it now. It's probably in his sock drawer right this minute.

Then the door opens. It's him. He's in those running shorts and glorious in the light from the streetlamp. Two runs today? One at the crack of dawn, and one now?

And then he looks up, right at me, and waves.