The Devil's Demeanor (14 page)

Dad hesitated
even longer this time. “Have you talked to your mother about any of this?”

“I didn’t think
of this until now. Are you my real dad?”

Dad sighed.
“No, I’m not.”

An unpleasant sensation
coursed through Don’s body, but he ignored it. “Do you know who is?” He tried
to get past this revelation as quickly as possible; he needed to know more. He
had steeled himself for that answer already.

“No. I never
met him, and your mom never told me anything about him.”

Don nodded
again. He wasn’t surprised.

“How did you
know?” Dad asked quietly. “Was it really the dream, or are you just using that
as an excuse to cover for someone?”

“Who would I
cover for? Who else knows?”

“Any number of
people might know. There’s no telling.”

“How did
you
find out?” Don asked.

“Your mom told
me.” Dad ran his fingers through his hair. “She was a few weeks pregnant when
we first met. We...you know...on our second date. She could have easily passed
you off as mine, but she told me the truth a month before you were born.”

“Did you get
married before I was born?”

“Yes.” He
chuckled. “In fact, when your mom told me, I almost divorced her. I was
so
angry.”

“At Mom?”

“Yes. But then
I realized it didn’t matter, because I would love you no matter what. You’re
my
son.”

Don grinned,
but a question nagged at him, one he just had to ask. “Dad,” he said, “do you
think the...other guy had the—”

He stopped
abruptly because Dad had suddenly taken on an incredibly ugly, angry expression.

“There is no
curse, son.”

“Okay. Dad.”

Getting back to
his old routine proved difficult for Don once he got back to Augusta. It wasn’t
every day you found out the only father you’ve ever known wasn’t your real
father. Don wasn’t terribly upset by this revelation anymore, but it was
incredibly distracting; he could think of nothing else.

Another
distraction was the absence of Adrian. He hadn’t stopped by the house at all
since the boys returned from Texas two weeks ago. When Don asked about him one
day, Mom only said she didn’t know where he was.

The house had
become even trashier than before summer vacation. Dirty dishes spilled out of
the sink and the trash can overflowed. Luckily, the kitchen was worse than the
living room, and Mom had put up a curtain divider between the two rooms to hide
the mess from Dad. That hadn’t stopped him from eyeing the living room warily,
though. Receipts, newspapers, magazines, fast-food bags, coffee cups. Don was
embarrassed.

Dad had decided
not to tell her that Don figured out the secret involving his real father. Not
yet, at least. She would have to be told eventually, though. Don had trouble
keeping it to himself, wanting to know who his birth father was and whether or
not he was cursed as well. Only Mom could provide answers.

*
 
*
 
*

In February of
’98, Don rode his bike to the laundromat where he and Nick used to play the
arcade games. The place held a lot of great memories but Don also felt saddened
and wound up leaving after only a few minutes of playing. Instead of going back
home, however, he decided to ride through his old neighborhood.

The main street
into the neighborhood was very long and went past his old street before ending
at the intersection that led to Clark’s house. Don stopped at the tip of his
old street and looked at his old house. He didn’t want to risk Nick seeing him.

He then looked
at his old house directly across the street from Nick’s. The new owners had cut
down the big oak tree from the front yard. What a shame.

He shook his
head and continued down the long street. He briefly looked up at the cloudy
sky, wishing the sun would come out and chase away the gloom.

“Hey, you!” a
familiar voice called.

Don stopped
directly in front of a house built on a medium-sized hill and saw Monica Harris
waving down at him.

“Hey,” he
called back as he got off the bike. That old familiar burn coursed through his
legs as he hiked up the driveway and joined Monica in her carport. “I’m glad I
lost weight over the summer; I probably would’ve had a heart attack getting up
here.”

She laughed as
she sat down on the steps that led up to her kitchen. “How have you been? I
haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Good, I guess.
How are you and Nick?”

“We’re good,
too.”

Don looked to
the front yard around the corner and remembered how he, Ethan and Monica used
to roll down to the street (against Mr. and Mrs. Harris’s protests). And then
there was the trampoline in the backyard, where Don once hit his head on the
steel frame. All these memories came rushing back to him, making him feel
surprisingly worse.

“You look
glum,” Monica said from what seemed like far away.

A cold wind
rushed through the carport, stinging his face. He looked at her and said, “I
am.”

“You never came
to church with us when you lived over there.” She pointed past the trampoline,
to his old house. “You should go with us tomorrow. Your mom and brother can
come too.”

“Ethan would
probably catch on fire if he stepped in there,” Don said, and Monica laughed.
“Will it make me feel better?”

“It sure will,”
she assured him.

“Okay; I’ll
go.”

“Cool. I’ll
tell my parents.” She was about to stand up, but stayed put. “What
is
bothering you, anyway?”

Don thought
about telling her what he’d found out over the summer, but decided against it.
“Nothing,” he finally said.

*
 
*
 
*

As soon as he
got home, he told Mom about his plan to attend church with the Harrises. She
asked if Ethan could go as well, to which Don reluctantly said yes. He then
picked out the only suit he had: a white shirt, gray trousers and a black
jacket with shoulder pads. He looked awful in them, but tried not to care.

The next
morning, the Harrises swung by and picked the boys up. Mom waved goodbye as she
got in her car to go to work. The church was on Fort Gordon, near Don’s dojo,
and was pretty nice. This was the first time Don remembered ever going to
church, but he did know that black churches were incredibly fun.

Ethan, by the
way, did not catch on fire. He did, however, keep falling asleep during the
service. The collection-plate lady sneered at him as she passed, and Don
apologized for his little brother. There were cookies and punch after the
service, to which Ethan showed more interest.

“Are you guys
going to the bowling lock-in?” Mr. Harris asked the boys.

“I didn’t know
there was one,” Don replied between bites of his lemon cookies.

“It’s on the
thirtieth, I think,” said Mrs. Harris.

“I’ve never
been to one before,” said Ethan. “What is it?”

Mr. Harris
explained that it was like a sleepover, but at the bowling alley.

“That sounds
cool,” Ethan said, his eyes wide.

“I’ll ask Mom,”
Don said. He hadn’t heard of the lock-in, even though he went bowling every
Saturday morning. Monica wasn’t on the league, but she was going.

*
 
*
 
*

Where the hell
was Adrian?

Don wanted to
call him and see if he was still alive, but didn’t know his phone number. There
was a phone book in the living room—Don had seen it while cleaning up—so he
quietly opened his door and made his way down the long hallway to the living
room.

The ceiling fan
was on in there, along with the light attached to it, so the bulb swayed along
with the blades’ rotations. It was a slightly disorienting effect, and Don
wanted to be back in his own room as soon as possible. He searched for the
phone book in the crook between the couch and love seat, where he’d seen it
last.

There it was,
on the floor. He had to reach down over the armrest to get to it, and as soon
as he had his hands on it, he rushed back to his room and locked the door. He
didn’t want Mom to know what he was doing.

What was
Adrian’s last name? Don was astounded at the fact he couldn’t remember; he’d
known the man for years. He was fairly sure it started with an “L.” And it was
Italian.

Don turned to
the “L” section and began leafing through until he found “LeBlanc.” There was
only one name: “LeBlanc, Adrian.” Don dialed the number on his clear plastic
phone he still hadn’t grown too old for and waited while the other line rang
and rang. Don told himself this meant nothing, Adrian just wasn’t at home.

After the
twentieth ring, Don hung up. He would try again later.

*
 
*
 
*

Days went by,
and on each one Don called Adrian. No one ever answered. After a week of this,
he gave up and tried to put it from his mind. If something bad had happened to
Adrian, it was because Mom found out about the other woman he’d been seeing.

*
 
*
 
*

Uncle Johnny
stopped by unexpectedly in early March, much to Mom’s consternation, just to
say hello. It seemed plausible enough, considering he only lived ten minutes
away, but Don didn’t believe his uncle’s alleged motive for visiting.

Uncle Johnny
was checking in on them.

Don had spoken
with Dad a few times since summer vacation. He even told Dad about Adrian’s
disappearance.

“You haven’t
seen or heard from him in months?” he asked Don during their last phone
conversation.

“No. Do you
think something happened to him?”

“It’s probably
nothing,” Dad muttered, more to himself than to his son.

Don groaned; he
was getting tired of this skepticism.

But then a
thought came to him and he said, “You’re thinking about Agatha, aren’t you?”

There was a
very long silence on the line before Dad said, “Agatha?”

“You know, the
lady you cheated on Mom with.”

“I know who you
mean.”

“Were you
thinking about her? About how she died?”

“Yes, son, I
was.”

“You think Mom
killed her, don’t you?”

Another
silence. Then Dad said, “Do you think that, son?”

“Yes,” Don
answered bluntly.

“So do I.”

Don tried to
think of how to respond. That was the first time he’d voiced his suspicion
about his mother in Agatha’s death. And then Dad announced he shared the same
thought. It was progress.

“Why would she
do that, Dad?”

“Because she
was mad at me for what I did to her back then.”

“Then why
didn’t she kill you?” Don couldn’t believe they were talking about this so
casually.

“Because I’m
the father of her children.”

“But I’m not
yours,” Don said before he could stop himself. “Dad, I didn’t mean it like
that.”

“Yes, you did.”
Dad chuckled. “You weren’t being cruel; you were just stating a fact.”

“I love you,
Dad.”

“I love you
too,
son
.”

“What are we
going to do about Mom?”

Dad sighed. “Do
you like staying with us during your summer vacations?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think
you’d want to live with Yvonne and me permanently?”

This wasn’t the
first time they’d had this discussion, but it was the last. Don loved his
mother and the thought of leaving her all alone didn’t sit well with him.

“I want to stay
here,” he finally told Dad.

And now Uncle
Johnny sat on the couch in the living room, pretending not to be uncomfortable
with the mess. Don and Ethan sat on the love seat next to the couch, and Mom
sat in a recliner, rocking back and forth. She didn’t look a bit pleased by
this “visit.”

Uncle Johnny
pretended not to notice as he said, “You guys feel like strangers to me, and I
live right down the street.” He laughed at his own joke.

“I know why
you’re here, Johnny,” Mom said quietly, still rocking.

“I’m here to
visit my family,” he said with a cool grin.

“Tell you
brother things are just fine here.”

Uncle Johnny
looked briefly at the kids to his left before returning his gaze straight
ahead, to Mom. “Patrick didn’t ask me to come over here.”

“Sure he did.
It’s just like him to want to control things, no matter where he is.”

“I’ve never
known him to control anything, and I’ve known him longer than you have.”

Mom stopped
rocking. “Yes, you have. But I still know him very well, and I recognize his
tricks when I see them.”

Uncle Johnny
looked around the trashy living room again and said, “Can you blame him for
worrying?”

Don and Ethan
watched this war of words between the adults, wondering how it would end. What
did Dad hope to accomplish, sending his brother over here? What would Uncle
Johnny report back that Don hadn’t already?

“He wants to
take my children away from me,” Mom said.

“They’re his
kids, too,” Uncle Johnny replied.

Mom suddenly
smiled.

“To be honest,”
he continued, “I don’t see the harm in letting the boys live with their father
for a while. The summer visits aren’t long enough.” He cleared his throat after
he finished; he was nervous now.

“They don’t
want to go,” said Mom. “They already told me.”

“Is that true,
boys?”

They nodded. It
was true...to an extent. Don wanted to live with Dad, but he didn’t want to
leave his mom alone. He also didn’t want to leave his friends and start a new
life in some new state, with new schools and new kids.

Or did he?
Suddenly the thought of starting over appealed to him. He’d lost the girl he
really liked to his best friend. What else was there to stay for?

“See?” Mom
said. “They want to stay. Go ahead and tell your boss.”

Uncle Johnny
looked at his nephews again, but they avoided his eyes.

*
 
*
 
*

Don was at
school, sitting in English class, when he came to the decision to live with
Dad. He didn’t care what Ethan would decide to do, but Don knew he wanted to
leave. He had to leave. He wasn’t happy where he was, and though he doubted
he’d be much happier in Texas, there was one positive: Dad wasn’t cursed.

But then again,
Dad wasn’t his read dad.

“Mr. Scott?” a
voice called from the head of the classroom, drawing Don’s attention from the
courtyard outside the window. “I hope you managed to finish your poem I
assigned last week.”

Mr. Clifford’s
aristocratic voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard, but Don managed to
nod. It was a rather cathartic poem, and he had enjoyed composing it. He stood
and walked to the head of the class, facing his classmates as he prepared to
recite the poem. Mr. Clifford sat on his desk, staring and waiting.

In the
darkness it will wait,

It uses me
as bait,

To find me
unaware,

I must
beware,

Nothing can
save me from hate.

*
 
*
 
*

When he stepped
off the bus after it stopped in front of his house, he immediately knew
something was wrong. He knew because the screen he once pried off the front
window was lying on the porch. That window was also open. Did Ethan lose his house
key and resort to sneaking into the house the same way Don had long ago?

Or were they
robbed?