The Beresfords (5 page)

Jonathan came and found me in the
treehouse
.

“I feel partly responsible, Frannie.” He was in his senior year of high school and busy with many things. Schoolwork, SAT prep, swim team, youth group leadership, and—worst of all—his first girlfriend. I had only myself to blame for the last. Tammy was a volunteer counselor at my church day camp the previous summer, and I had spoken so constantly and admiringly of her that Jonathan took note. Worse yet, I couldn’t hate her, though I wanted to. She was cute and chipper and devout and unfailingly kind to me. And on the genuine plus side, she was homeschooled with very strict parents, which meant she and Jonathan were only allowed to go on group dates or be over at each other’s houses when the parents were home. (An allowance was made for Aunt Terri, after Tammy’s parents met Aunt Marie in church.) Had Jonathan been a different sort of boy—been Tom, for instance—he might have spent his energies attempting to bend rules and outwit Tammy’s parents, but as it was, his relationship with Tammy remained as innocent as her mother and father hoped. All of which is to say, Jonathan was still the best friend I had in the world, but I rarely saw him by himself and our conversations dwindled sadly.

I hugged my knees, hoping I didn’t look too gleeful that Tom’s brush with death brought my cousin to me. “It’s not your fault,” I said.

He smiled at me. “You mean, any more than it’s your fault, or Rachel’s, or Julie’s, since we’re the only ones who know this wasn’t Tom’s first time getting falling-down drunk?”

“Everyone his age gets falling-down drunk,” I said stoutly. “At least, lots of kids brag about it.”

His smile widened. “Don’t tell me—even the sixth graders at Mission Elementary are doing it? What’s the world coming to?”

“No-o-o…but their older siblings are. And the kids my age talk about it like it’s something fascinating that they can’t wait to do. Get drunk and get stoned.”

Jonathan was silent a minute, fingering the fringe of the worn bathmat Aunt Terri grudgingly allowed me to take from the Goodwill pile and use as a
treehouse
carpet. “It’s too bad about you growing up with cousins so much older than you, Frannie,” he said at last.

“Rachel and Julie aren’t much older than I am,” I pointed out. And nothing could be bad about growing up with Jonathan, I added to myself.

“You know what I mean. Tom hasn’t set the best example. You shouldn’t even know what the word ‘stoned’ means in sixth grade. I bet Tammy still doesn’t have the clearest idea.”

Because Tammy’s folks have kept her under a rock
her whole life! my unruly brain protested. And had he forgotten my mother’s example? I’d known what stoned was since I knew
my name. Out loud I only said, “But remember, Jonathan—I started school late. I might be in sixth grade, but I’m already twelve-and-a-half.”

“That’s right. Twelve-and-a-half. My mistake. Then maybe it’s all right for me to consult you. Do you think I should tell Dad that bringing Tom home might not solve the problem—that Tom might need more help than that?”

My eyes widened. “Help like what? You mean you might squeal on Tom?”

“Well, if you put it like that…I guess, yes. Squeal on him. For his own good. Sometimes people who can’t stop drinking or doing other things need extra encouragement.” He read the question forming on my lips. “He could go to a place that specializes in treating things like this.”

“Like the Betty Ford Clinic?” I’d read an article about it to Aunt Marie while she got a massage. I could picture Tom there among the palm trees and movie stars, with his Beresford good looks. All the Beresford children were well-proportioned with clear skin and
quirkless
features, but he and Rachel were perhaps the best-looking of the four. To others, I mean. In my eyes, Jonathan carried the prize. Kindness lent his blue eyes greater warmth; humor softened the lines of his mouth and jaw; gentleness added grace to his strength. My own physical development might have stalled, but not my emotional—in the previous months, my childish adoration of my cousin had become something more. Now, those rare times he was near me, I felt my heart speed, my stomach clench. I loved even to hear him spoken of and would draw my innocent Aunt Marie into reminiscences of him. To my more suspicious Aunt Terri I was careful to praise and discuss all my cousins, that a percentage of the conversation would naturally include Jonathan. (This was more difficult, as Rachel was always her favorite, followed by Tom.) And to speak to him alone—! I’m sure Jonathan mistook my flushed cheeks and croaking voice for concern over Tom. I hope he did.

“Along those lines,” said Jonathan, “though not that place in particular.”

“Oh,” I said. He waited. He really did want my opinion. “Maybe this scare will be enough, and he’ll be smarter. Maybe he won’t get into too much trouble because his friends are still off at college. You know—Steve and Dave.”

“I thought of that. Though I suspect
Steves
and
Daves
can be found anywhere.”

“Besides,” I continued, “even if you had said something to Uncle Paul before Tom went to college I think he still would’ve let Tom go, and Tom might have done this anyhow.”

“Yes.” He’d thought of that, too.

“Tom does look thinner and weaker. He probably doesn’t even
feel
like sneaking out and getting drunk.”

Jonathan laughed at that. “I don’t think that part of it will last long. And with Aunt Terri hovering over him like she does, he’ll probably make a speedy recovery. But it sounds like you think we should wait and see, Frannie.”

I did and told him so.

“Well, I trust your judgment,” he said, giving my lank hair an affectionate tug and adding teasingly, “especially when it tallies with mine. We’ll wait. Give Tom the benefit of the doubt.” I was so thrilled by his compliment to my judgment that I couldn’t reply. He stayed a few more
minutes, asking how school was going and reading over the theme I was working on, but then, too soon, he disappeared back down the ladder.

I often wondered how things might have played out if I made a different recommendation that day. If Jonathan had gone to Uncle Paul and convinced him to check Tom into a clinic. Then Tom might have entered Santa Clara a quarter later and never had that Music Appreciation class with Eric Grant, the only class they ever had together. If Tom and Eric never met, then Eric and Caroline would never have come over that summer day. Eric would never have met Rachel and Julie. And Eric’s sister Caroline—

But Jonathan would be the first to say this line of thinking is fruitless. That we are who we are because our stories are our stories, complete with mysteries and mistakes and detours. Without those, we would not become who we become.

But I already loved Jonathan, I want to say, before he became who he became. Before Caroline.

Tom did
not
go to a clinic that fall. He
did
transfer to Santa Clara University in the spring. He
did
meet Eric Grant in Music Appreciation. And the Grants entered our lives.

“There’s a letter from your father,” said Aunt Marie at the dinner table, Jonathan’s first night home from Westmont. She blinked at Aunt Terri, who was handing more fried chicken across the counter to Rachel. “Have you seen it, Terri? It was blue and on that thin air-mail paper.”

“What did Dad say?” asked Jonathan, grabbing another piece. “Will he be home at all this summer?”

“I didn’t look at it yet,” his mother replied. “It’s too hard to read on that paper because it bleeds through. I was saving it for Frannie to read to me.”

“Who knew when Frannie would get to it,” Aunt Terri said, just as I was opening my mouth to respond, “so I opened it myself. Apparently there are all sorts of issues to be sorted out—real headaches for him. Infrastructure problems. He said half the time there are power brown-outs and then some quality control things. And he has to deal with all this while he’s under the weather. It might be forever before he can come home. Maybe spring.”

“Poor Dad!” Jonathan exclaimed. “What’s wrong with him? Should we call him, Mom?”

“Whatever it was, it all happened at least a week ago,” she said. “Air mail from China is not very fast.”

“Some stomach bug,” said Aunt Terri. “Half the time he doesn’t know what’s he’s being fed, but whatever it is, it doesn’t always agree with him.”

“We should call him, Mom,” Jonathan insisted.

“The time difference is so confusing, and he’s working so hard. He’s never in his hotel room. Why don’t you just write him back, Jonathan? Tell him we hope he feels better soon.”

Jonathan looked as if he might pursue the subject further, but when Aunt Terri dumped another scoop of mashed potatoes on his plate and launched into a discussion of how overpriced international phone calls were, he gave up. Uncle Paul would have to wait another week to ten days for any cheerleading from home.

“Tammy’s been calling,” volunteered Julie. Rachel elbowed her.

Jonathan turned a faint scarlet. To my unspeakable relief, he and Tammy had broken up at Thanksgiving, their first visit back from college. They had dated for fifteen months—in high-school years, the equivalent of ten years of marriage. Jonathan never told me why, but I didn’t need him to. Ever since I met her, Tammy was a girl with a mission. Literally. She wanted to become a missionary nurse in Central America like her grandmother and marry a missionary doctor like her grandfather. End of story. For a time I thought Jonathan would abandon his own dreams to fulfill Tammy’s, chucking the planned history major for Biology and seminary for med school, but his
lukewarmness
on the whole idea must have gone past the ignorable threshold because they called it off. What did she want now?

“What did she want?” Jonathan asked.

Julie shrugged. “You to call. Whenever you got back. I told her when we expected you, so you can’t dodge her.”

“I wouldn’t try to dodge her.”

“
I
would,” said Tom. “Saint Tammy was way too zealous for me. I thought for sure I’d been doing
some
thing wrong whenever she looked at me.”

Jonathan’s eyes flicked over to me and his mouth twitched. Yes. If Tammy ever predicted Tom was up to something unsavory, it wasn’t like she was Nostradamus.

“I’ll invite her over,” said Jonathan.

I took this as a good sign—if he had been dying to get back together with her, he would surely have gone out to see her alone. Better that Tammy come where I could observe her and see if she still liked Jonathan. Or, worse, if he still liked her.

“Jon!” Tammy called out, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing really hard. “It’s so good to see you again. Have you read
The Seduction of Christianity
yet? I just did finally, after finals, and I’m dying to talk about it with someone.”

“That sounds like a religious book I could actually get into,” said Tom from the doorway before Jonathan could get his breath back to answer.

Tammy released Jonathan and gave Tom a punch in the arm that he pretended to find painful. “I bet you could. That’s why I’m still praying for you.” Over his groan she grabbed me in a hug, too. “How’s my favorite Frannie? Glad to be done with seventh grade?”

If Jesus compared the Holy Spirit to wind, Tammy was a tornado. Certainly she made Tom and Rachel and Julie run for cover, and soon it was just her and Jonathan in the living room, hashing out whether Positive Thinking was the sign of apostasy. I perched on the arm of the couch, hoping neither one would mind me being there.

“That’s what I’m saying, Jon,” Tammy said. “This generation is being
seduced
. It’s not just that the New-
Agey
self-help and name-it-and-claim-it is the latest fad—all this stuff could be a sign of the End Times! That’s what this book is saying. It makes getting the Word out even more urgent, get it?”

“I don’t know, Tammy. I mean, people always think they’re in the End Times, don’t they?”

“Well, clearly they weren’t, in the past. And assuming time is linear, we’re by definition closer to the End Times than they were…”

Their vigorous debate was evidence neither for nor against continued romantic feelings because Tammy loved stirring up controversy and debate with anyone. Hence her needling of Tom. Jonathan, who always took a gentler approach, used to cringe over her forthrightness (“What is it, Jon? Don’t you bring it up with people? We’re not supposed to be ashamed of the Gospel. What if that person were to
die
tonight, and you didn’t share the Word?”), but he also relished grappling with weighty issues. I could see he was enjoying himself now, but there was no soft look in his eye, no reaching for her gesticulating hands or half-flirting baiting her.

I exhaled. He was over her.

Tammy I was less sure of. She poked him in the chest and arm to emphasize certain points, swung her hair, said, “Oh,
you
!” Any other college guy, freshly home for the summer and at loose ends, would probably have responded to her because—well—why not? Not Jonathan.
He was friendly and fond and no more. I would have expected no less from him. He wasn’t one to toy with someone for entertainment.