All That I Can Fix

by Crystal Chan

  “I’ve thought a lot about that day we made that cookie house,” she said. The barrette sparkled again in her hair. “I still have it.”

  I looked down at my shoes for a second, then back up at her. “You didn’t eat it?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “It’s still on my desk. It’s like a rock by now, you know?” She threw me a small smile and drew her arm back. When I opened my hand, I saw a picture of our cookie house with a newly vaulted ceiling. And she had made the sunroom bigger with a bay window.

  Right then, Jello came up to us, his backpack casually slung over his shoulder. He looked at me warily for a second, and then his face took on his normal chill expression.

  Jello glanced at the photo in my hand. “Hey, the cookie house,” he said. “George worked on that for a long time.”

  George, standing between the two of us, suddenly looked as awkward as I felt.

  “How are the bruises?” I asked, simply because I didn’t know what else to say.

  “You mean this one?” he said, pointing to his right cheek. “Or maybe this one?” he asked, lifting up the side of his shirt.

  I whistled. “Dang. They’re faded.”

  “Yeah. About that. To answer your question, they all sucked, thanks to you,” he said, grinning in a typical Jello fashion. Even though his grin was not as wide due to the bruise that remained on his cheek, it was the same grin that I had known all my life. And sure as shit, I felt myself relax. Maybe it was going to be okay.

  “Does this mean I can’t punch you in the arm anymore?” I asked. “Like this?” I mock went to punch him.

  “Hey, hey!” he said, dodging my blow and throwing his arms up. “We’ll see about any future punching. My people will talk to your people.”

  George looked back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match.

  Someone in the hallway called out to Jello and George in the same breath, and they both turned their heads and greeted one of George’s friends. The whole school knew that they were together. This was not news. I felt stupid and foolish and blind, and my chest tightened, even though I wished to God that it could have just turned to stone and saved me the humiliation. Instead, I felt a little wobbly inside as I started to walk away.

  “Wait, Ronney!” George said, waving at me.

  I turned to look at her, even though I wanted to keep walking, even though I was bleeding all over since my heart had not, in fact, turned to stone. “We’ll talk later, right?” George called out to me.

  “Sure,” I said numbly.

  “My dad wants to bake again,” she said with a hesitant smile. “Think about it?”

  My face softened. Then I left and took that walk around the block.

  • • •

  The tiger was getting worse. Even a kid could tell you that.

  “The tiger is getting worse,” Mina announced at dinner that night.

  “What do you mean, Mina?” Mom said.

  “It’s stopped going after cows,” Mina said.

  “Well, that’s nice,” Mom said.

  “Now it’s going after humans,” Mina finished.

  Dad’s eyebrows lifted.

  “The tiger attacked Mr. Marren when he came home from work,” she said, stuffing her mouth full of food.

  “From Marren’s Corner Store?” I asked.

  “Oh my gosh,” Mom said. Mina had her undivided attention.

  Mina swallowed. “The tiger was sitting by the front door, hiding in a bush. It leaped on him and bit him in the thigh, and as he was screaming, a neighbor came and started hitting it with flowerpots and everything, and it ran away.”

  I swallowed hard. I kind of felt bad right then for stealing shit from his store and freaking out his wife.

  “I’m scared, Mommy,” Mina said, and Mom opened her arms and took Mina into them. After a while Mina looked at Dad. “Daddy?” she asked him. He hesitated, then gingerly reached out and patted her on the shoulder.

  “How did you hear of this?” Mom asked as she stood up to switch on the TV, which I had plugged back in after Mina’s reluctant approval.

  “Mr. Marren is Sarah’s uncle, who’s in my class,” Mina said.

  Mom flipped the TV to the news, which was always a risk since Mina had freaked out with the lion shooting. A reporter was interviewing some county official. Guys were putting up yellow police tape in the background.

  “. . . and why is it that you haven’t been able to kill this tiger?” the reporter prompted.

  The official puffed out his chest. “Everything about this creature is designed for stealth. Its paws are deadly silent. It has laser vision. Let’s face the hard fact: A tiger is a killing machine.”

  The reporter took back the mic. “But this is the twenty-first century. I don’t understand how it hasn’t been found yet.”

  “Look, we’ve found almost all of these fifty-four animals. We’ve—”

  “But not the python,” the reporter interrupted.

  “No, not the—”

  “Or the camel.”

  “Right. No, not the camel. Not yet.” The official cleared his throat. “But let me tell you, we’re tracking them. There’s dogs and helicopters and boots on the ground. We’re doing everything we can to round up the last ones. It’s like Darwin’s . . . um. Darwin,” the official said, fading off. “The survival of the fittest. And these last ones are the fittest. We need everyone’s cooperation.” He looked into the camera, and his nose shone red like a lobster claw. “Please, people: Call in anything you see or hear. Getting these animals is not just our job—it’s everyone’s job.”

  Later that evening another incident of the tiger stalking a human was reported.

  • • •

  The next day I sealed the driveway. Sealing a driveway isn’t hard; it just takes time. You need a nice, sunny day, a thick brush, and tons of sealant, and you paint the sealant on like you would on a huge canvas. My back hurt from being bent over all morning, but I was in a pretty good mood from talking with George yesterday: Her cookie-house picture was in my back pocket.

  I was about halfway done when Dad came out. “You’re not at school?” he asked, looking at my work. “I didn’t call in for you.”

  “It’s Saturday.”

  “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “So, did you hear the update about Mr. Marren?” Dad asked.

  I continued brushing on the sealant. “Not yet.”

  “They say he’s going to make it,” Dad said. He stood there awkwardly. “I’m glad he’s going to survive.”

  “Me too,” I said, and I meant it. I took a deep breath, cleared my mind, and dipped my brush back into the sealant, continuing my long, slow way down the driveway. You need solid strokes when you do this work, and I knew my shoulder was going to be sore tomorrow, as well as my knees, with how they were grinding into the cement. Frankly, though, it all felt great.

  Except that Dad was still standing there, watching me.

  I looked up. “What?”

  He shifted. “I’m feeling better.”

  He paused as I squinted up at him.

  “I’m feeling better,” he repeated. “Not terrific, but better.”

  “Shall I write a thank-you note to your shrink?” I asked.

  Dad shoved his hands into his pockets. What did he want me to say? Did he expect me to give him some sappy hug?

  “Well, congratulations,” I said. I wanted to ask him if this meant he wasn’t going to try to blow his brains out again, but I held my tongue. I was proud of that, mind you.

  “Have you heard anything about Sam?” Dad asked.

  “Have you thought about getting a job?” I asked.

  “Have you thought about being a decent human being?” Dad asked. “Or is this the best you got?”

  I stared at him, mouth gaping. I had no idea what I was going to say, but as I opened my mouth to reply, the phone rang.

  Dad hasn’t answered the phone in years. It’s one of the many things you can’t count on him for. So I stood up,
and he watched me wipe my hands on my jeans and run into the house.

  I got it on the fourth ring, just before it went to voice mail. “Hello?” I said.

  “Hey,” the voice said.

  I’d know Nick’s voice anywhere. Somehow, hearing from Nick proved, again, that Sam was gone. Really the fuck gone.

  “So, Nick, how have you been holding up?” I said, not trying to hide the edge in my voice, and I didn’t know if it was because of him or Dad or both.

  “Where’s my brother?” Nick said.

  “Oh, you’ve finally heard about Sam?” I said. “It’s been seven days. You’re slower than I thought.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Why, he’s with you forming a colony for runaway kids.”

  A pause. “A what?” Nick said, disbelievingly.

  “That’s what they’re saying, at least.”

  “Sam’s not with me,” Nick retorted.

  “I assumed as much when I heard your lovely voice. I figured you wouldn’t call just to say hello.” I paused. “Though that would have been endearing.”

  “Knock it off. Where is my little brother?” Nick said again.

  “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but the definition of ‘missing’ is that no one knows where he is.” That last part was surprisingly difficult to say. I swallowed back the lump. “I know you get along splendidly with your dad. What did he say?”

  “I haven’t talked with my parents,” Nick admitted.

  “Oh, I’m the first? What an honor.”

  “I figured you would have heard . . . something.”

  “The last thing Sam said was that he wanted to be like you and run away.”

  “He didn’t say that,” Nick said, surprised. “Did he?”

  “Something like that,” I said evenly.

  “He didn’t.”

  “He did.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “He did.”

  A long pause this time.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Nick said, and his voice wobbled.

  “Well, surprise. Life happens how it happens,” I said. “Sam wanted to be like you, and now he’s disappeared. He’s well on his way, don’t you think?”

  Then the most unexpected thing happened: Nick began to cry.

  I shit you not, I lost all words at that point. I truly didn’t know what to say. So I said, “I’m going to go.”

  “Okay,” he said. I guess he was too uncomfortable for it all too.

  I hung up and let him cry.

  • • •

  Later, Mina came home from a trip to the library, and she walked on the grass so she wouldn’t mess up my sealant job. It was drying really well, and the sun was out and warm, which helped. I was raking up the leaves, which was a good thing, since I needed to think, and raking always helps me think. I couldn’t get over the fact that Dad had said that I wasn’t a decent human being. That I wasn’t doing my best. I dug the rake into the earth as I thought about that. I take care of Mina. Now I’m taking care of Sam. I mean, I’m not perfect, but at least I show up. What about him? It’s not like he’s some sort of superhero himself. How could he accuse me of shit when he doesn’t even take out the garbage? If I weren’t doing my best, I wouldn’t be raking the fucking lawn, especially without anyone having to ask me. Right?

  Mina joined me in the yard. I noticed that she was walking differently: She used to look like that orange bouncy ball with the way she would enter places—sometimes she would actually hop on one leg, just because—but now she walked. She just walked. Nothing more, nothing less. And a non-orange Mina, walking—I didn’t know what to make of it. I had this random urge to hit something when I saw her walk like that.

  “How’s it going?” I asked her, stopping to wipe the sweat off my forehead.

  “Pretty good, Ron-Ron,” Mina said. “Have they found Sam yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  Mina looked at my raking job. “Can I help?”

  “No, I got it,” I said, and propped my rake on the ground.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  I snorted. “Where do you think?”

  “He met me at the bus stop yesterday after school.”

  “Really?”

  Mina nodded. “I couldn’t get a ride home yesterday, so I had to take the bus. Maybe Dad will meet me on Monday,” she said hopefully.

  “Don’t count on it,” I said, and I started raking again. I paused. “Maybe,” I corrected myself, although it felt weird to say that.

  Mina watched me rake for a while. “Ronney?”

  “Yes?”

  “Have they caught the tiger yet?”

  “No, Min-o,” I said. I stopped raking. “There are no updates today.”

  “What if I’m walking home and the tiger comes out?”

  “You get a ride home from school. That won’t happen.”

  “So what if I’m on my bike and the tiger comes out?”

  “Hope it isn’t hungry,” I offered.

  Mina was silent.

  “That was a joke,” I said, giving her a light jab on the arm.

  “That wasn’t funny,” Mina said.

  “I don’t know what you should do. You can’t run away. The tiger’s too fast.”

  “Climb a tree?” Mina suggested.

  “Tigers can climb.”

  “Oh.” She looked at the ground and picked up a leaf. “So I’m not safe, then?” she said, turning the leaf over in her hand.

  “That’s not true,” I said. “I’m here to protect you.”

  “Like at school with the shooting,” Mina said, lost in her thoughts. “There’s danger everywhere.”

  “Hey,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. She looked up at me, and the way her eyes were so open and trusting, my chest suddenly ached. “Remember, there’s protection everywhere too.”

  “And the tiger?”

  “Don’t worry about the tiger,” I said. “It’s been eating cows, anyway.” I paused. “Well, a couple humans, but it’s a smart tiger. It’ll realize that cows are much better.”

  Mina looked at me skeptically.

  “Why would it continue going after tiny humans when it could go after big cows?”

  She thought about that for a long while. “That makes sense.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “So I shouldn’t be afraid of the tiger.”

  “I don’t see what that would do for you.”

  “The tiger doesn’t care about me, anyway.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Fuck the tiger,” Mina announced, nodding her head.

  “What?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Fuck the tiger,” Mina said again. Then she looked at me and smiled.

  My jaw dropped.

  Mina laughed.

  22

  UNSURPRISINGLY, I WAS LOOKING FOR Sam. Well, okay, I wasn’t actively looking for him at this point, with it being a week out already, but my eyes kept going over people in a crowd—even when I knew everyone there—and my ears were always straining to hear his voice.

  I wasn’t sleeping well, and neither was Mina. They had gotten some counselors in to talk with the kids from Sam’s class, in case the kids needed to talk about his running away. Mina talked with a shrink, but I don’t think it helped very much, because she was still sleeping in my bed every night, and I could hear her cry, even though she tried to be quiet. That’s when I would rub her back and we would both lie there in the night, waiting for a phone call that never came.

  At least, not from Sam.

  On the eighth morning after Sam disappeared, the phone rang. I jumped for it.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Hey,” Nick said.

  I swallowed back my disappointment and paused for a moment to collect myself. When I did, I said, “What’s up, O missing brother of the missing Sam?”

  “Meet me tomorrow,” Nick said. “I can’t stand this.”

 
; “What, so you can cry on my shoulder?” I said.

  “I want to talk about him. I want to make a plan.”

  “You going to be drunk? Drunk people do not plan very well,” I pointed out.

  “Shut up.”

  “Well? Will you be?”

  “No,” Nick said through clenched teeth.

  “Good. I hate liars, by the way,” I said. “If you come drunk, I’ll fucking hit you for wasting my time.”

  “Tomorrow at Rogers Park, three o’clock, by the statue.”

  “Fine.”

  I put down the phone and smiled for the first time in days.

  • • •

  Mina could tell I was feeling better. Later that evening, when the four of us were eating dinner, she looked at me. “What happened, Ron-Ron?” she asked.

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. You’re happy.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “No I’m not.”

  Mom sighed and continued eating her goat stew.

  Mina ignored her. “Yes you are. I can tell. What happened? Did they find Sam?”

  “No they didn’t.”

  Mina’s face fell. “The counselor at school said that this is an extreme time of unknown circumstances, and that it’s typical for us to be really stressed out.” She put down her fork.

  “You know what?” I said. “I don’t give a f—”

  Mina was looking at me.

  I looked at her.

  “A fart,” I said slowly. “I don’t give a fart what that counselor said.”

  Mina giggled.

  Dad stared. Then a slow half smile grew on his face.

  “Did you hear about the tiger?” Mina said.

  “What now?” I said.

  “It got into someone’s house.”

  “And?” I asked.

  “They were able to scare it away.”

  “Well,” I said, shoveling more food into my mouth, “they were butt wipes for letting the tiger come in in the first place.”

  Mina giggled. “Butt wipes.”

  “How do you let a tiger into your house, anyway?” I continued. “Do you open the front door for it? Does it ring the doorbell?”

  “Yeah, right?” Mina said. She sounded like me.