All Manner of Things Page 10

  I still had his Kipling book on the shelf in my bedroom. I’d never opened it on my own, fearing the stories wouldn’t be nearly as good as I’d remembered from when he read them to me.

  “I’m done,” I said, putting my glass of pop on the table and pulling out the chair across from him. “Bernie said we could talk here. Unless you wanted to go somewhere else.”

  He put his finger up to tell me to wait just a minute before dog-earing the page and shutting the book. I tried not to let that annoy me. He’d been gone for twelve years and he couldn’t put his book down before finishing a sentence. I clenched my jaw to keep from saying anything about it.

  “What are you reading?” I asked instead.

  He turned the book so I could see the cover. “Some Steinbeck,” he answered. “He travels around the country with his dog.”

  “Is it any good?”

  “It’s Steinbeck.”

  I bobbed the straw up and down in my glass, trying to decide if he meant that the book was good or bad.

  “Aren’t you going to eat something?” he asked, folding his hands on the table.

  “I already had lunch.”

  “You been working here long?”

  I shook my head. “Just a month or so. Since graduation.”

  “Are you planning to go to college?”

  “I don’t think so.” I sipped my Coke, hoping it would settle the nerves that had taken over my stomach. “It’s too expensive.”

  “I imagine Michael would be halfway through by now.”

  “He’s at basic training.”

  He shook his head. “Army?”

  “Yes.”

  “Somebody should have told him to enlist in the Navy,” he muttered, grimacing.

  “Why?”

  “Because they won’t send them.” His voice was deeper than I remembered it, full of more gravel. He sounded a lot like Grandpa, and when I realized that, it stung. “They always send the Army. Always.”

  “How would we have known?” I asked, surprised by the calm of my voice.

  He held his empty mug with both hands, spinning it around and around, keeping his eyes on it. I turned in my chair, my legs off the side of it, and looked out the window. Larry came in from the kitchen with the crate of glasses he’d just washed. I hoped he wouldn’t look over at Frank and me.

  “Your mom still lives in the house?” Frank asked.

  I knew he meant the one that backed up to the lake. I shook my head.

  “We had to sell it after you left,” I said.

  He let out a sigh that had a low rumble to it. I prepared to pounce on his words if he had anything to say about that. But he didn’t.

  “We live on Lewis,” I said. “Not too far from Oma.”

  “You still live at home?”

  I nodded.

  “I thought you might have been married by now.”

  “I’m just eighteen.”

  “Plenty of girls your age are married.”

  I shook my head. “No qualified candidates have presented themselves so far.”

  His lips rose in his half smile. “It’s good to be picky, I suppose.”

  “Where have you been?” I turned toward him.

  He crossed his arms and kept his eyes on the table between us.

  “Well—” he started. “The loons come this year?”

  “They come every year.”

  “I’d like to see them while I’m in town.”

  “I’m sure you will.” The sun coming through the diner window warmed me, making me sleepy. “Are you going to tell me where you’ve been?”

  “I traveled for a while,” he said. “I made it out west for a few years. The weather didn’t suit me, though, so I came back to Michigan.”

  “To Bliss?”

  He nodded. “Somewhere in between Detroit and Toledo.”

  “Do you have a job?”

  “I do.” He didn’t elaborate.

  “Doing?”

  “I own a car shop,” he said. “We fix them up and sell them cheap.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “I’ve got a dog. He’s out in the truck if you want to see him.”

  “No thank you.”

  He rubbed at his nose with the backside of his forefinger and turned his attention to a spot on the floor where a dot of light jolted and jerked around, reflecting off something. I wasn’t in the mood to figure out what it was.

  “It would have been nice to know you were still alive,” I said. “You could have written at least a few times. At Christmas or our birthdays.”

  “Maybe I could have.”

  “Why did you make Grandma keep it a secret?” I leaned forward on the table. “Why would you do that?”

  He didn’t answer me. Instead, he thrummed his fingertips on the cover of the Steinbeck book.

  “How’s your mother?” he asked after a few minutes.

  “Fine,” I answered. “She works for Dr. DeVries.”

  “I’m sure he loves that,” he mumbled, crossing his arms.

  “Well, she had to get some kind of job after you left.” I tried to keep my voice calm but failed miserably. “How else were we supposed to survive?”

  He cleared his throat again.

  “It was hard for us, you know.” I pushed up my glasses, hoping they’d hide how watery my eyes had gotten. “It was especially hard for her.”

  “Not nearly as hard as if I’d stayed,” he said, raising his head and squinting up at me.

  “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  As a little girl I’d entertained daydreams of when Frank would come back. We’d be having supper at the table and he’d come right through the front door. Mom would welcome him straightaway and all would be as it was.

  But in my imagination, Frank didn’t have heavy bags under his eyes and age spots on his forehead. Somehow I hadn’t factored in that he would have aged at all. In my mind, he’d been stuck in his early thirties.

  And in my imagination he’d smiled, glad to see us, eager to make all right again. The man sitting across the table from me didn’t seem capable of gladness.

  “Your mother won’t like that I’m here.” He clasped his hands together on the tabletop.

  “Does it matter?” I asked.

  “She won’t want to see me.”

  “Probably not.” I shrugged. “You can’t blame her, can you?”

  “Fair enough.”

  I bit my lower lip, raking my teeth over it before letting it go. “Have you met anyone?”

  “What do you mean?” He frowned at me.

  “Have you seen anyone,” I said. “Since you left?”

  “I haven’t taken up with another woman, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  I sighed and my shoulders relaxed. Looking into his eyes I saw earnestness there. I couldn’t help but believe him.

  “I’ve never been unfaithful to your mother. Not in that way, at least. I haven’t even made a single friend,” he said. “Can you believe that?”

  “You aren’t exactly friendly.”

  That half smile again.

  “I’m staying for the week,” he said. “I’ll be over at the campground. I’ve got a trailer.”

  “Why won’t you stay at Grandma’s house?”

  “Too many memories,” he answered. “But if you need me, you can find me there.”

  “Will you help her?” I asked. “She needs someone to make funeral arrangements.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “What should I tell Mom?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “What if she does want to see you?”

  “That would surprise me.” He stood, taking his wallet from his back pocket and digging out a few bills.

  “You haven’t asked about Joel,” I said, an edge to my voice. “Remember, your youngest child?”

  “Of course I do.” He swallowed hard. “How old is he now? Eleven? Twelve?”

  “He’s turning fourteen next week.�
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  “Have I been gone that long?”

  “Yeah. You have.”

  I stood, going toward the exit. He followed me, stepping to the side when I opened the door.

  “I suppose I should have been a gentleman,” he said, squinting at the bright day.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I should have opened the door for you.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I can manage.”

  He looked at me before walking out to the sidewalk behind me.

  “You aren’t one of those feminists, are you?”

  “Would it matter if I was?”

  For that I’d earned a full smile.

  “You sure are like your mother,” he said.

  That time, I took it as a compliment.

  I didn’t tell Mom that night that Frank was in Fort Colson. She was already worn out by the time she got home from work. She heated up frozen dinners for us in the oven and told Joel and me we’d eat in the living room.

  She didn’t even have the energy to set the table.

  Joel set up TV tables and Mom took her place in her chair, curling her legs up under her. There she fell asleep before her dinner had even had the chance to cool off.

  Joel and I watched more coverage of the riots in Detroit. The reporter interviewed a white woman wearing a headband to hold back wilted hair from her head. She stared at the camera as if she couldn’t believe what was happening.

  “It sounded like we was in Vietnam, all the shooting and such,” she said. “I got down on the floor and prayed none of them bullets would hit me. I thought I was going to die. I think I’ll have nightmares the rest of my life over this.”

  I thought of Frank alone at the campgrounds.

  I wondered if he still had nightmares.

  “He just showed up at the diner?” Jocelyn asked, whispering into the space between our windows. “He didn’t call first or anything?”

  I shook my head. It had felt good to spill the beans to somebody. Whenever I had a secret to tell, I went to Jocelyn first.

  “Unbelievable.” She shook her head, her eyes wide. “What did your mom say?”

  “She doesn’t know yet.”

  “You’re kidding me.” She let her mouth hang open. “You know she’s going to slap him. I sort of hope I’m there to see it.”

  “Yeah, she might.”

  Then Jocelyn tilted her head and made her sympathetic face. “Do you think he’s here to stay for a while?”

  “I’m not sure,” I answered. “He said he’d be here for a week. I don’t know if he’ll extend his stay or not.”

  “Do you want him to?”

  I didn’t answer right away. Shrugging, I looked at the roof that peaked above her head.

  “It’s okay if you don’t know what you want,” she said. “It makes perfect sense. It’s all positively confusing.”

  There were few people in the world who had the privilege of seeing me cry. Jocelyn was one. And on that night, I didn’t hold back. Not even a little.

  “Are you going to be okay?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  Eventually I would.

  Fort Knox, Kentucky

  Dear Mom, Annie, and Joel,

  Thanks for calling me about Grandpa. I know I was awful quiet on the phone, Mom. That was because I was trying not to cry in front of my drill sergeant. He’s been calling me a ninny ever since the day I got off the bus, and I didn’t think he needed another excuse for the nickname.

  I asked if I could get leave to come home for the funeral. No such luck. I can only go if it’s an immediate family member, so unless we can trick them into thinking Grandpa was my big brother, I’m stuck here.

  I know I shouldn’t tell jokes at a time like this, but it’s the only way I can keep from boo-hooing in front of all my buddies.

  Gosh, I’m heartbroken over not being there with you all. I’ll bet Grandma’s not taking it so well. She’s been doing everything for him for so long. And I’m not just talking about when he was sick. Tell her I’m sorry, will you? And, Joel, give her the best hug you’ve got for me.

  I’ll be thinking about you all day on Wednesday. And I’ll even think about Frank if he decides to show up. I hope he does the right thing and comes home. It would do Grandma’s heart good, don’t you think?

  Write me again soon, will you? I miss everybody back home something awful, especially when I think about how I’m missing out on something so important.

  I sure do hate being so far from you all.

  Love,

  Mike

  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.

  “What’s he like?” Joel asked.

  “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.”

  “Black?”

  “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.