“Well, you know in Magic cards the multiverses are sort of equal. You can hop back and forth between them. All of reality is sort of like a fan, it springs from one source or player or spell or whatever, but then you can bounce around a lot back and forth. Grown-ups seem to think that this one, the “in real life” one, is the most important because that’s where we live. But I don’t. I think every moment on the fan is of equal importance, if you can get there. You know how they say ‘value’ in math? I think every moment has the same value. I don’t think now, or this playing field, matters more than any of the others. I think we can work to change that, because, well, it’s dumb. And it keeps me from the things I want to do.”
He paused and looked at the clear blue sky. “Every day I pray I can go there. I pray that I can go there and come back. By the time I’m in high school someone will have invented a way for me to do just that. Then I won’t have to waste time praying anymore. I’ll just be where I am.”
He stood up. “Come on, Donny,” he said. “We should be getting home. The funeral must be over.”
Donny stood up, too. “What about the dog?” said Donny.
“In one of my sideways multiverses, Squidward is already home,” said Miles. “In another, he’s probably roadkill.”
They started to walk across the field toward Miles’s house.
Back on Bowdoin Street, the talk circled again to Kevin.
“If he was my kid,” said Miles, “I’d just freeze him. His head, you know, if they can’t afford to cryo his whole body, or even just his DNA, from his bones or hair. The technology is almost there, we could almost bring him back, right this minute. With cloning and the singularity, I mean, I wouldn’t hurry to give away his room to one of the girls.”
“You’ve got good instincts,” said Donny.
“Thanks,” said Miles, puffing up a bit. Even if Donny was a dummy, he was supposed to be a genius, and Miles liked to be praised. “When my machine gets built, his parents can hop around, see what it’s like with him here or there, if he didn’t jump in front of the train or not, I mean. What if Kevin grew up to be an evil genius or something? Maybe at that point they’d like to hop right back here.”
They were in front of Miles’s house now.
“That’s interesting,” said Donny. “Do you think people would pay to take these kinds of multiverse shuttles?”
“Sure,” said Miles. “Wouldn’t you? They pay me a lot now for Magic cards, and they’re just pieces of paper. My parents pay for bottled water. My mom pays to take her own money out of an ATM. Why wouldn’t they pay for a service that is the real deal?”
He turned around and started walking in the carport.
“Hey. Where are you going?” said Donny.
“Inside,” said Miles.
“Can I come, too?” said Donny. “I want to keep talking.”
“Sure,” said Miles. “But I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”
“That’s all right,” said Donny. “I’ll wait outside in the hall. Besides, I promised your mom I’d look after you.”
“Right,” said Miles. He climbed up the back stairs. The door was unlocked and he held it open for Donny.
“Miles,” said Donny.
“What?” said Miles.
“You should come work for me,” said Donny.
“After I pee,” said Miles. He entered the house, Donny following.
* * *
Dan wasn’t sure why after funerals all anyone ever wanted to do was eat, because he himself was usually nauseated. He remembered after his father’s service, the groaning tables of appetizing foods set up by the neighbors, waiting for them back at the house; bagels and lox and herring (his cousin Louis saying: “There’s herring,” to his wife, as if the slimy fish in cream sauce finally made this a party worth attending), platters of roast beef and tongue and pastrami sandwiches, and the salads: whitefish and cucumber and tuna and macaroni and potato—all that disgusting mayonnaise making his stomach turn. He could still see in his mind’s eye his relatives stuffing their faces while his stepmother sat on a wooden box and cried and laughed with her mouth full of babka, a delicious Russian chocolate coffee cake, that used to be one of his favorites. He couldn’t bring himself to taste it that day and he had never eaten it again since.
When his roommate from college died in a hang-gliding accident at thirty-five, Dan flew to the wake in Chicago and drank whiskey and eyed the corned beef on the sandwich platter warily; a different culture and religion, sure, although the ingredients were similar, cured brisket, and smoked salmon sandwiches, this time on brown bread. He hadn’t taken a bite but spent all night with three of his old buddies getting drunk. At 2:00 a.m., the cute midwestern hotel concierge called up to the room they’d retreated to, and said: “I’m sorry your friend died, but could you guys please stop singing ‘Danny Boy’? There have been complaints from the rooms above and below you.” Dan’s roommate’s name had been Dan, too; and once he and the fellas started passing joints around after all that drinking, they couldn’t stop singing it. Dan’s roommate Dan had been too young to die, and at the time his death had flattened Dan, but he wasn’t a baby like Kevin.
Now, sitting in the Chois’ backyard, Dan watched with a certain kind of awe as Amy and some of the other boys’ mothers rolled out the food on the Chois’ big outdoor dining table, which was covered with a white cloth on their redwood deck. He was surprised to see that the feast was Chinese. But there was Amy directing the deliverymen, who were laying out platters of roast pig, chicken, duck, something that looked like a vegetable-tofu stew, and rice. On an auxiliary table was fruit, tea, beer, and wine, and then all different pastries the guests must have magically brought or sent: cookie and brownie platters, coffee cakes, pies. Tall incense sticks were burning and placed around the deck, their gray brume curling up into the sky.
“Holy moly,” said Dan to Jack.
Jack said, “The smoke is a signal to Kevin’s ancestors to help him on his journey to heaven. Marilyn’s parents had a fit yesterday because the service wasn’t going to be ‘Chinese,’ so she threw them a bone for the reception, Mom told me. But they are still going to have hot dogs and hamburgers for the kids.”
“That’s thoughtful,” said Dan.
“Mom’s idea,” Jack said.
Dan looked out over the yard. Already Josie and Suz were playing tag with their friends. Adults milled around, some drinking tea, some drinking beer out of the bottle or wine out of plastic tumblers. Round little picnic tables that must have been rented just for the day were spread out over the lawn. There were plastic chairs, with cheery red-and-white-checked plastic cushions on them, most likely from the same rental company. Dan wondered if Amy had had a hand in this, too.
He put his palm on Jack’s shoulder. “You were amazing in there, son,” he said. “You showed such strength and grace. I could never have done that when I was your age.” Dan paused, and thought. “I don’t think I could even do that now.”
“Thanks, Dad,” said Jack.
“Was that Lily you were talking to on the phone?” Dan said.
Jack nodded. “I don’t think I could have done it without her. She gives me courage.”
“That’s good,” said Dan. “Do you want something to eat? You must be starving. Do you want me to fix you a plate?”
Jack shook his head. He looked pale and tired. “I don’t know. I don’t feel so good. It’s hard to think about eating now. I’m surprised there’s food. And drinking. Mom warned me, but I’m still surprised.”
“Do you want to sit down?”
“I don’t know. It feels like a party, Dad. It feels like a party.”
Dan looked out at the crowd. The children playing, the adults clustered in circles, eating, talking, drinking. Some were even laughing.
“People here are hungry. They’re thirsty. They need a break from all the sadness. It doesn’t mean they don’t love Kevin. It doesn’t mean they are not sad.”
“I know,” said Jack
. “I just want to go home.”
“Okay,” said Dan. “Then let’s go home.”
Jack looked at Dan. His eyes so wide. “Can I? I mean, Mom? Marilyn?”
“Sure, you can. I’ll explain it to your mother,” said Dan. “And then I’ll go with you.”
“You’ll go with me?” Jack asked.
“You betcha,” said Dan. “Let me just tell Mom.”
“Okay,” said Jack. “Lily and I will wait for you in front of the house.” He reached into his pocket for his phone.
“Sounds good,” Dan said.
He found Amy inside the kitchen. She had a big box of Saran Wrap out and she was covering a bunch of serving dishes. She kept unrolling that thin plastic, ripping it off the metal teeth of the container, and stretching it clear and tight again around the rim of whatever she had in front of her. There was a lot of repetitive motion involved, and Dan was reminded of the guys who made those giant iridescent bubbles in Golden Gate Park.
“People brought too much,” said Amy. “They brought the wrong things. Carnitas and deli plates. There’s stuffed ziti here. Someone left homemade quiches on the front steps uncovered—Nellie, you know, their sitter? She almost stepped on one answering the door. If I wrap and freeze, the Chois and their guests can eat it all later in the week.”
“Sounds smart,” said Dan.
Amy raised her eyebrows.
“I mean it, Aim, you’re doing so much to help, you’re amazing. I wouldn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I’m sure Marilyn appreciates it.”
“Marilyn is in hell,” said Amy, coldly. “If it weren’t for the girls . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“I’m taking the Lifeguard home,” said Dan, using her private nickname for Jack. “He’s worn out. He’s exhausted.”
She hesitated for half a moment, about to protest, and then thought better of it. “You’re absolutely right. This is way too much for him, way too much for anyone.” She waved Dan off. “Go on, go ahead. I’ll stay on here. That’s enough. You boys go home.”
“Thank you,” said Dan.
Then he dug in his pocket and took out the car keys. “Here,” he said. “You take the car. We’ll walk.” He put them on the counter.
Amy looked at them for a moment. She bit her bottom lip. Then she turned back to the Saran Wrap. She ripped off a sheet and pulled it taut over a homemade lasagna in a burnt orange casserole dish. Some of the red sauce and oil splashed against the top of the clear plastic film; it seemed so violent. Dan had to turn his eyes away so that he wouldn’t vomit.
Dan couldn’t bear the idea of going back out into the yard, of shaking Wei’s hand again or hugging Marilyn, of watching the once hot food coagulate in the big silver trays on the serving table. Instead he walked to the front door through the dining room, which had piles of paperwork on it. Was that the work that comes with death? Dan wondered. Forms to sign? Checks to write? Or had Wei or Marilyn brought the stacks and disarray from their offices the night before Kevin died, because they’d planned on catching up with some stuff at home and never had a chance to look at it again? Was this “before” or “after” paperwork?
The hallway was tidy and so was the living room. There were flowers on the coffee table and on the end tables. There were flowers on the hall table, and under the stairs there were shoes, Wei’s running shoes, Kevin’s flip-flops, the little girls’ plastic clogs—what were they called? Crocs. They were bright pink and orange and they had tiny little charms embedded in them. Dan opened the front door.
Jack was leaning on their car across the street.
“I gave Mom the keys,” Dan said. “I thought we’d walk. Okay by you?”
“Sure,” said Jack.
Dan crossed the street and they headed down the sidewalk.
“Do you want Lily to join us?” Dan said.
“She went for an early dinner with her mom,” said Jack. “It’s later there, and they were starving. Her mom watched the whole thing with her. Cindy said I was awesome.” There was a hint of pride in his voice.
“You were,” said Dan. He put his arm on Jack’s shoulder as they walked. “Cindy likes you, hunh?”
“Yeah, I guess,” said Jack. “What’s not to like, right?” He grinned weakly at Dan, looking for his approval, Dan supposed. It was a phrase Dan used a lot. What’s not to like.
“Nothing. You’re a great kid,” Dan said.
“That’s what Marilyn said,” Jack said.
They turned the corner. The sidewalk was slick with rotting persimmon paste; the skins had busted open a while ago and people and dogs had trodden on them. The muddy mold that grew on the fruit’s intestinal slime gave off a specific composite odor, the sweet scent of putridity.
“Let’s cross,” said Dan. There were no cars in the street anyway, so they walked in the middle for a while before stepping up onto the opposing sidewalk. The first house on this side had a lemon tree in the front yard. Sunny yellow and prettier than the persimmons even in their prime, Dan thought. They would look lovely collected in a bright blue bowl.
“When did she say that?” Dan asked.
“Marilyn?” said Jack. He pulled his ponytail holder out of his hair with his right hand. He shook his head like a wet dog and those long dirty-blond locks rolled down his shoulders. They were still damp from being gathered up after his shower and were browner at the edges. “When I finished speaking.” He rolled the ponytail holder up onto his right wrist, next to a light gray twisted rubber bracelet, three strands, one that read HOPE, the others COURAGE and FAITH.
“That bracelet in honor of Kevin?” Dan asked. “You know the school expressly frowns on stuff like that.”
“I know. Teddy made them for the team. The school is a bunch of morons, Dad.”
“They’re afraid of copycat . . .”
“I’m not going to kill myself because I think a bunch of dumb kids are then going to wear some ugly rubber bracelet.”
“Okay,” said Dan.
“We just wanted to do something for today. I’ll take it off Monday.”
“Okay,” said Dan. Then, remembering where they had been in the conversation . . . “So she was thanking you, Marilyn, I mean, when she called you over?” Dan said. “After you finished speaking?”
“Yeah,” said Jack.
“Is that what she whispered in your ear?” Dan asked. He was thinking of Jack’s little flinch and the squaring of his shoulders.
“Yeah,” said Jack. “And then she said, ‘Now you have to live for the both of you.’”
“What?” said Dan. He stopped walking.
“Yeah, Dad, that’s what she said,” said Jack. He stopped, too, he looked bewildered. “The thing is, I don’t even know how to live for one of us. I mean me.”
“Well, it’s not true,” said Dan. “She shouldn’t have said that. I mean I know we can’t . . . I mean she’s beside herself. She’s to be forgiven. But it’s so not true.” He took Jack’s shoulders in his hands.
“You don’t have to live for Kevin and you can’t anyway. You never have to live for anyone else. You have to live for you, Jack. That’s all. Do you understand? Not me, not your mother, not Lily, not anyone.”
“Yeah, Dad,” said Jack.
“All right, then,” said Dan. They started walking again.
“Dad,” said Jack. “Why did you go to Japan?”
Now it was Dan’s turn to flinch. “Because I was selfish,” said Dan.
“The way you’re telling me now to be,” said Jack.
“There’s a difference between selfish and selfless,” said Dan. “You can’t allow yourself to be sacrificed on that boy’s funeral pyre.”
“Do you wish you didn’t go?” said Jack.
“I don’t know,” said Dan.
“If you didn’t go, maybe Mom wouldn’t have gotten so drunk at dinner, and I wouldn’t have taken your car in the middle of the night, and I wouldn’t have dropped Kevin off at school, just a few minutes before the Caltrain.”
>
“You’re going to blame that on me?” Dan said.
“Maybe,” said Jack, not looking at his father. “Maybe if you were where you were supposed to be and I was where I was supposed to be, Kevin would be where he is supposed to be right now.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Dan. “And it’s certainly not mine.”
“I think maybe it is,” Jack said. “Lily thinks so. Cindy, too.”
“Look, I know you all feel bad, and everyone wants to find a reason, but that’s just ludicrous,” said Dan.
“I don’t think so,” said Jack. His voice began to rise. “You cheated on Mom, didn’t you?”
“None of your business,” said Dan.
“She’s my mother. She is my business,” said Jack.
“I didn’t go to Japan,” Dan said. “I made that part up. I was asked to go to Japan and I thought about going to Japan and I wanted to go to Japan but I went to Boston instead. I did what was best for our family. I made the choice not to go. In life, we have choices. I went for a job I didn’t get.”
“Dad,” said Jack, clearly incredulous.
“I didn’t go,” Dan said.
They stopped walking and looked at each other for a while. Dan noticed he was panting even though he was standing still.
Because even as he knew in his panic he was dissembling, being craven, and childish, and ridiculous, he tried to cover up. “Is it still my fault? Kevin’s death? If I went to Boston like I said I would, would Kevin not be dead?”
“Do you love Mom?”
“Of course I love her. She’s your mother.”
“Are you leaving her? Are you leaving us?”
“I don’t want to. We’re a family. I went for a story, Jack.”
“A story.”
“Yes. A story. I’m a reporter, remember? And it’s a big one. An important one. It’s about radiation leaking out of the crippled nuclear reactors in Fukushima Prefec—”
“You’re not a reporter, Dad. It’s been years since you’ve been a reporter. Who hired you anyway?”
“Well, I met someone. She needed a partner, and we did it on spec. Everyone is ignoring this thing, sometimes in today’s world you need to sell a story after you write it or present a sizzle reel—”
Come With Me Page 25