Res Judicata (6 page)

Andy didn't even turn and look at me. She just let out a hiss of smoke and went, “Biff who?”

Compensation
1) Payment for work performed or 2) the amount
received, usually from an insurance company,
to “make one whole” after an injury or loss.

“I gotta get Biff and Andy back together again.” Kendall got off his board and looked at me. He scratched his neck. All he'd ever heard me do was complain about the guy, and now here I was all desperate for Biff to come back. Kendall must have thought I was crazy, but scratching his neck in a thoughtful sort of way was about as close as he'd ever come to mentioning that kind of thing.

He just went, “Oh, yeah? They broke up? What happened?”

I thought of Andy standing there at the sink, and the way the red blotches started spreading around her eyes as if someone had just dumped a package of cherry Kool-Aid into a jug of milk. I thought of the way her chin quivered and how mean her mouth looked and the big pile of cigarettes she'd already smoked down to little crumpled butts by eight in the morning.

I thought about Kendall saying how he liked Eddie because at least Eddie made his mother happy. I realized what a jerk I used to be to Biff and what a moron I was for resenting him even though Andy had never had another boyfriend the
whole time I was growing up. Not because there weren't guys who were interested—even I could see there were—but just because she didn't want me to go through the whole Dad-of-the-Month Club thing. She didn't want me to get attached to someone if she wasn't sure it would last. For fifteen years she did nothing but be my mother, and then some guy comes along—some perfectly nice guy—and I can't even say, “Good for you, have fun.”

“I don't know,” I said. “I don't know what happened.”

But I did know. Or at least I thought I did. Andy wouldn't tell me what was up that morning, but I was pretty sure it had to do with that stupid long board.

I had this feeling, this I-ate-something-rotten feeling, that it was all my fault.

I
knew
Andy hated it when someone butted into our family business. I knew how mad she could get, how unreasonable she could be, how she could just go totally berserk at the least little thing and never, ever get over it. Didn't matter. I still made Biff swear he'd ask her about buying me that board.

My exact words: “And don't come back empty-handed. I mean it, Biff!”

I was only joking—sort of. I was only joking too when I said I wouldn't help with the meal unless he promised to get it for me. But everybody knows a lot of jokes aren't meant to be funny. Biff knew I was telling him I wanted that board, and I wanted it now.

Who cared about a stupid board? Who cared that Andy owed it to me? Who cared that she broke her promise? I mean, it's not like that was the first time she ever broke a promise.

Big deal.

When you think about it, I got paid plenty for that stupid factum. I had to stay inside one night—one night!—and do a couple hours' work so that Andy, for the first time in fifteen years, could actually go out with a guy. And look what I got for it: Andy was happy. She stopped bugging me about stuff. She hardly ever swore. She quit smoking. She laughed all the time. She cut way back on the black eyeliner. The apartment was clean. There was food on the table.

Like, what more did I want?

For the first time in my life, we were almost normal. I wanted that way more than I wanted a new board.

Kendall went, “It's probably nothing. Mom and Eddie broke up once too. They'll get over it. I bet they're back together again already.”

Easy for him to say. He didn't know Andy the way I do. He didn't hear her that morning. I mean, I thought she was joking at first with that whole “Biff who?” thing.

I went, “Ahhhhhh...Biff Fougere? You know, your boyfriend? The love of your life?” She spun around like I just said rich people deserve to rule the world or something. She was panting and her bottom teeth were all stuck out at me. It was like Andy's evil twin was back again or something. She went, “Don't ever mention. That name. To me. Again.”

I knew right away this wasn't some joke. She was serious. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and said, “He's gone. He's out of here. Good riddance! Believe me, we're better off without that
beeping
guy.” She tried to smile, but she couldn't pull it off. It was like a corpse smiling or something. It was scary. It looked like it hurt.

I went, “C'mon! Like, what are you talking about? Better off without Biff? No, we aren't! We need Biff! Who's going to cook? Who's going to...”

I stopped. I wanted to come up with something really, really convincing that would make Andy go, “Oh, yeah, sorry. What was I thinking? I'll ask Biff to come back right now.”

But all I could think of was that time I forgot to bring my homework to school, and Juliana Karlsen came into class and said, “There's someone in the foyer for you, Cyril. I think it's your dad.” I didn't tell her any different. I just said, “Yeah, thanks” and walked down the hall like I was sporting a brand-new pair of Nikes.

I wasn't stupid enough to say something like that to Andy. Not the way she was looking at me then. It was like she was a hyena on the Discovery Channel and I was some nice rotting wildebeest carcass. She attacked. She didn't actually tear my limbs from my body, but it probably wouldn't have felt any worse if she had.

She went, “You think he's such a great guy, do you?
Do you
? Well, just goes to show what you know! You don't understand. You don't understand anything, Cyril! You think he's Dudley Do-Right. All big and strong and looking out for the little guy and everything. Well, I got news for you, Buster. You're way off. That's just an act. The truth is he—”

She stopped dead. She stood there staring at me, breathing hard, chewing on her lip, watching something play out in her brain. I was bracing for the next big blast, but it didn't come. She just yanked her head up like she was trying to get some really irritating fly off her face and turned away from me again. Her voice was quieter, but she sounded just as mad. “Forget about him,” she said. “Just forget you even
met the
beeping beep
. We'll be fine. Better than fine! We'll be great.” She dragged so hard on her cigarette it squeaked in pain.

There was no way Andy and Biff were back together again. That much I knew for sure. Kendall was wrong.

I shrugged. “Yeah. You could be right,” I said. “Wanna go down to the bowl?”

Non sequitur
(Latin)
Literally, “It does not follow.” A statement
that is the result of faulty logic.

Maybe if life had just gone back to the way it always used to be before Biff showed up, I could have stood it. Take-out food wasn't that bad. The mess in the apartment had never bothered me until he started cleaning it up. Andy'd always been a nutcase, but at least before—when it had just been the two of us—she could occasionally be an amusing nutcase. She could still laugh at stuff and do totally goofy, irresponsible things and say, “Who the
beep
cares? We're having fun, aren't we?” Other kids' parents didn't do that. That was at least one good thing about having a former juvenile offender for a mother.

But life didn't go back to the way it used to be. It was as if the more Andy said, “Forget about Biff!” the harder it was to do. She acted like making a big point of not sitting on the love seat he gave us would be enough to make him disappear. In fact, it only made it worse. Trying to get comfortable in a leaky, secondhand, beanbag chair when there was a perfectly good love seat sitting there empty was proof positive that we'd never be normal, that whenever we got even halfway close, we'd go and do something to totally screw it up, to totally blow our cover.

It was like “Why even bother?” We were doomed.

I didn't know how long I could stand it. Somehow I had to get Biff back.

In the meantime, I tried to just keep my head down and avoid Andy as much as possible. I didn't want to do anything to set her off. Why is it that when other mothers get sad, they cry? When Andy gets sad, she gets mad. She was at me all the time about my homework, about hanging out at the bowl, about doing my share of the chores.

My “share” of the chores.

Like, right.

My 114 percent of them, that is.

Andy wasn't doing anything anymore, at least not around the apartment. She'd get back from work at about seven with some greasy bag of take-out, dump her stuff in the hall and start working on that stupid malicious prosecution case again. The worst part was that she usually had Chuck with her too.

I was supposed to pick up after her, do the laundry, do the dishes, take out the garbage and just generally run around getting her anything her little heart, little belly or little black lungs desired. I didn't mind the occasional trip to the law library—I was used to that at least. I'd been doing that for her for years. But I swear if I had to run down to Toulany's once more to buy Chuck a “thoda,” I was going to scream. I mean, let him get his own pop! What was I—his servant or something? For some “timid” guy from backwoods Nova Scotia, he sure took to running the world pretty fast.

I'd kick the lampposts the whole way to the store and back. I couldn't believe how bad I'd messed things up this time! I'd gone and traded in a nice normal guy who actually cooked and cleaned and looked after us for some slob who
treated me like I was his house elf. I mean, come on! I didn't owe Chuck Dunkirk anything. He never tried to save
my
life.

I would have loved to say something to him, but I couldn't. Andy would have totally lost it. All she could think of now was winning that stupid case. She kept on saying, “Just you wait! You'll see, Cyril. This lawsuit will be worth millions! We'll win and then we won't have to worry about money anymore. I'll buy us a nice little house somewhere in the North End. We'll take a trip maybe, buy a new
TV
, a computer, another round of milkshakes—whatever we damn well feel like. The sky's the limit! I'll even buy you that stupid long board since you seem to want it so bad...”

She made it sound like this was all about the money, but it wasn't. It wasn't about justice either, at least not justice for Chuck. If anything, it was about justice for Andy. I got this weird feeling she was working so hard on the case just to get back at Biff. It was as if she thought winning it was going to make him really sorry for walking away from her, for losing her, for doing whatever it was that he did to her. It didn't make any sense, but that's how I knew I was right. Andy never made any sense.

The whole thing was nuts, but what could I do? If she needed me to buy Chuck a “thoda,” I bought him a “thoda.” It wasn't all bad. For one thing, it got me out of the apartment for a while.

For two, it's how I caught Biff.

Summons
The document used by the police to compel an accused
to attend court to answer charges against him or her.

I was on my way to Toulany's for Chuck's pop. I took the back door. I didn't usually go that way, but it was the nearest exit, and I had to get out fast. I was desperate for fresh air. These days, Andy was smoking like a wet log at a Boy Scout campfire.

Chuck was producing his share of hot air too. If I had to listen to him say, “Now, I'm juth a thimple boy from back-woodth Nova Thcothia...” once more, I was going to scream. Who did he think he was kidding? The guy was a major Mr. Know-it-all. He'd act all humble and then argue with Andy as if he actually knew more about the law than she did. I don't know why she took that crap from him.

I had to escape.

I pushed the garbage cans out of the way and stepped into the parking lot. I heard a sound—a crunching sound, as if someone just stomped on a cheap toy or a small chicken or something. It made me jump. I'm not as wimpy as that sounds. You never know what kind of stuff could be going on behind our apartment. You hear something back there, you jump. Even the tough guys jump. I flicked my
head around just in time to see a leg disappear down the side of the building.

It was sort of dark and everything, and I only saw it for a second, but it didn't matter. I knew it was Biff. I distinctly saw the crease in his jeans. I distinctly smelled his cologne.

I didn't think anything of it. It didn't seem creepy to me or anything. Like,
au contraire
. I was happy. I mean, Biff was back!

I started thinking, Here's my chance. I can talk to him, reason with him, work this thing out.

I ran around to the front of the building to try and catch him. I went, “Hey, Biff!” He was across the road by now, walking away from me down a side street. I screamed, “Biff!” again and ran after him.

I called him three times. I had to grab him by the arm before he finally turned around.

He acted all surprised. He went, “Oh, hey, Sport. What's up?”

I'm like, “What's up with me?! What's up with
you
? I saw you behind the apartment. I called to you. How come you didn't answer?”

He went, “Behind your apartment? Nope.” He frowned. “That's weird. Wasn't me. I wouldn't have any reason to be behind your apartment. I'm just down in the neighborhood to...um...issue a, you know, summons.” He couldn't even look me in the face. He squinted up at the street signs. “I should know this—but how do I get to Gerrish Lane from here?”

I just stood there and stared at him for a while. The guy was lying to me. I knew it. That was absolutely, positively his leg. Nobody around here irons their jeans. Nobody around here wears that much cologne either, unless you're counting
the old lady down the street with the big hair and the souped-up walker, but I somehow doubted that “Grizzly” was her signature fragrance.