All That I Can Fix

by Crystal Chan

  Dad watched us. That half smile lingered for a long time.

  • • •

  The next day—the day I was supposed to meet up with Nick—I went to school. It always amazes me how many kids are there. I mean, I look at all the students milling about, and I’m kind of shocked that they choose to go to school every goddamn day. I was standing in the hallway between classes, looking at all of them, when I spotted George in a sparkly T-shirt, her hair tied back. When she saw me, she dashed over and threw herself on me.

  I was shocked. Especially since “throwing herself on me” does not mean an attack.

  She was hugging me.

  “Oh, Ronney,” she said, crying into my shoulder.

  My hands went around her. I couldn’t help it.

  “What is it ?” I asked, alarmed. Then I remembered. “Was it the competition? You didn’t win?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I finished in the tenth percentile,” she moaned.

  “That’s not that bad,” I said, trying as hard as I could not to rub her back.

  George tilted her head up at me, and I leaned my head down. “I was in the tenth percentile from the bottom,” she whispered.

  “Oh.”

  Tears streaked her face. “Don’t tell anyone, Ronney. You can’t let anyone know.”

  “I won’t, trust me.”

  “My life is over,” she said, pulling away slightly.

  “Not really, George,” I said, looking into her eyes. “You’ll be fine.”

  “But what am I going to do now?”

  “Maybe not be an architect?”

  That’s when she slapped me. Kids stopped and hooted.

  Her hand went to her mouth. “Ronney, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice watery.

  “Yeah, me too,” I said.

  “No, I’m really, really sorry,” she said, and I had the feeling she wasn’t just talking about having slapped me.

  “I know. And it’s okay to feel shitty.” I paused, took a deep breath. “I’m here for you, George.”

  I put my arms back around her, and we stayed like that until well after the bell rang.

  • • •

  After school that day I went to the park and sat right at the base of a statue of some guy on a horse. Just as I was supposed to.

  I knew it was Nick from a mile away. For the first thing, there was no one, absolutely no one, else in the park. For the second thing, he walked like someone who was guilty as hell. As he got closer, I could see his firm jaw and his sandy hair combed to the side. I was surprised he actually combed his hair.

  “You’re uglier than I thought,” I greeted him as he approached. He was wearing a T-shirt and flannel that seemed too thin for late fall.

  “You’re not too beautiful yourself,” Nick said. He eyed me a little longer than necessary.

  “What?” I asked.

  “No, I—” Nick looked away. “Um.” He blushed. Then he cleared his throat. A foghorn went off in the distance, and then another one, and then another one. But it seemed like Nick didn’t even notice; his eyes kept darting around the park.

  “Chill out, commando,” I said. “It’s not like there’s a squadron of police here or anything. I didn’t tell anyone.”

  Nick didn’t reply, but he seemed to relax a little. “What’s with the animals?” he asked. That was, after all, Makersville’s official new greeting.

  “What’s with you?” I asked back. “Are you drunk?”

  “If you have to ask, then I’m not,” Nick said.

  “Just wanted to see if you were a liar on top of it all,” I said.

  Nick scratched the back of his neck. “What do you have against me?” he asked.

  “Where do I start? You ran away like a loser when your parents tried to help you.”

  “They didn’t try to help me.”

  “I’m talking. You left your brother with your dick father. You refused to come home and protect him.”

  “I had my own stuff to take care of,” Nick muttered.

  “I said, I’m talking. Then when I let you know that your little bro is waiting for you to come home, like fucking pining, you really couldn’t give a shit.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It’s not?” I gave a little smirk. “Then you pulled a good one, because that’s exactly what it seems. Or did you run away because you cared about Sam so very much?”

  “You have no idea what my life is like,” Nick said.

  I snorted. “You want mine?”

  “I don’t have to defend my choices to you,” Nick said.

  “No one said this had to be a love fest,” I said.

  “Hey, hey,” Nick said, putting up his hands. “Sam.”

  “Ah, yes. Sam.”

  “You gotta find him,” Nick said.

  I snorted. “Why? So you can hide away in peace?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Look. You know what that kid wants.”

  Nick sighed and massaged his neck. “I can’t go back.”

  “This,” I said, “is why you’re a dick.”

  “You don’t get it! You’re not listening to me!” Nick shouted suddenly. His face was red.

  I stiffened.

  “It’s a problem, okay?” He walked away from me. Then he came back. “There. I said it,” he said, waving his arm in the air. “It’s a problem. I didn’t think it was a problem. I thought I had it under control.” Nick took a deep, shaky breath.

  I didn’t say anything. Oh please, I thought, for the love of God, don’t cry.

  He didn’t. He started pacing. “I know how stubborn Sam is.”

  I nodded.

  “He’s not coming back,” Nick said. “Unless something makes him.”

  “Like a stalker-killer who chops up little kids and hides them in his freezer?” I suggested.

  “Shut up!” Nick made as if to lunge at me, then caught himself. He backed away a couple steps, as if the space between us would keep him sane. Gunshots went off. I thought just then of a hungry tiger, but instead of mentioning that, I asked, “You said you had a plan?”

  “I said I wanted to make a plan.”

  “So make it,” I said. I wasn’t feeling all that generous.

  “Fine,” Nick said. “How about you go to those places you and Sam went to before, talk to people with big mouths.”

  “Yeah? And?”

  “You leave them a message that would hopefully get back to him.”

  That’s when it hit me. “Wait. ‘You’? What’s this ‘you’? What about ‘we’?”

  Nick smiled. “I don’t see any other volunteers, do you?”

  “Yes I do,” I retorted.

  “I don’t. You told me to make a plan, and I’m making a plan. You going to do it or not?”

  I stared at him. “You’re a fucker.”

  Nick grinned wider. “Well?”

  I grimaced. “Fine,” I said sharply. “I’ll do it. What’s the message?”

  Nick looked away for a long time.

  “Hello, princess?” I said. “I’m waiting.”

  Nick kept staring into the distance. Finally he turned to me with a strange expression on his face. “The message is: Nick’s coming home.”

  23

  MINA WAS WATCHING HER FAVORITE TV show that afternoon when another gunshot went off. It came from down the street, and Mina jumped, just slightly. Then an empty look settled over her. It was creepy: The look on her face changed, and even though she was still staring at the TV, I could swear she wasn’t seeing it.

  “Maybe they got the tiger. Or the python,” I said. Like I had to remind her.

  “I know,” she said, still with that distant look in her eye.

  Then another gunshot, and another. Mina looked away from the TV, wrapped her arms around her legs, and started rocking gently. “Make it stop, Ronney,” she said quietly.

  “I can’t,” I said as I stood there, and my heart broke.

  Three gunshots went off in quick succession.

  Min
a continued rocking, almost doubled over. “I hate this. Please, Ronney,” she said a little louder.

  Another gunshot. Mina’s body jerked.

  “Daddy’s dead,” she said.

  “No he’s not,” I said, and I sat down next to her on the couch, but when I touched her, she jumped again, and I drew my hand away.

  Another gunshot. Mina shook her head. “He kills himself again and again and again and again and again and—”

  I would’ve done anything to stop those guns for her, and right then I felt like an absolute, helpless ball of shit. That was when Dad came into the living room. He actually noticed that Mina was all weird.

  “Mina, are you okay?” Dad asked, and his voice sounded funny, with a mixture of concern and shame.

  “Does she look okay to you?” I snapped. “After two years, you’re finally figuring out that Mina is in fact not okay?”

  “Does she need a doctor?” Dad asked as he watched her rocking. He didn’t make any move to approach her.

  “Give me a break,” I said, standing up and facing him squarely. “I can’t believe that you’re even saying this. You know what she needs.”

  Mina wrapped her arms around her knees so she was an even smaller Mina ball.

  Another gunshot went off.

  Mina tightened the grip on her arms and tucked her head into them.

  Dad looked at Mina. “Honey, I think they’re trying to get the tiger,” he said to her. He looked at her for the longest time, then ran his hand through his hair and started to walk back to his room.

  I snorted. “Is this the best you’ve got?” I called out after him.

  Dad stopped. Then he turned around sharply, his face red. “You have no right to say that to me,” he said.

  I gave a little laugh. “Oh, you can’t take your own medicine? Well, do you have any idea how to deal with this?” I asked as I waved my hand toward Mina. “What we’ve been through? No, Dad, you have no idea, and you never will.”

  “Maybe we should have her—”

  “Shut up, Dad. Let me tell you something: The little things fucking matter. For instance, you could sit down next to her and try to give her a hug. But you don’t. It’s little, but it matters.”

  “—see a therapist or something.”

  “The problem isn’t her, it’s you.”

  Mina lifted her head. “Daddy, I want to sit on your lap.” But it was more of a question. Mina hadn’t said this in over a year.

  Dad rubbed his chin with his hand and looked at her for a long time. “Maybe later. Are you okay?” he asked again.

  “I’m fine, Daddy,” Mina said blankly.

  I scowled. “Bullfrogs,” I said.

  She giggled. In that moment Mina came back. She tilted her head up and smiled at me. “You’re funny, Ron-Ron.”

  I threw Dad a look. “It’s all the little things.”

  Dad walked back down the hallway to his bedroom.

  “You’re such a fucker,” I muttered.

  The smile disappeared from Mina’s face, and she looked down at the ground: At that moment I realized that what I had just said was a little thing too.

  I winced and wished I could take those words back, but of course I couldn’t.

  “Sorry,” I said quietly to her. She looked up at me, startled, and that was when I opened my arms to her. Mina crawled off the couch and gripped me tight around the waist. I rubbed her back in the way that calms her down.

  “Ron-Ron, you’re the best,” she said into my left rib.

  “Not really,” I said.

  “Well, maybe I could sit down for a couple of minutes,” a voice said from around the corner. We both looked over to see Dad walking back into the living room. He hesitated when he saw the two of us hugging. “I mean, Mina, if you want to,” he said, gesturing to the couch with his chin.

  Mina gave a squeeee of excitement and launched herself onto Dad, who was still standing up, and the two of them lumbered their way over to the sofa. He sat down, and she climbed all over him like he was a tree and she was a squirrel. After her explosion of excitement, she settled down into the crook of his side, and he draped his good arm over her. He didn’t say anything at all, he just held her, and Mina started to wordlessly sing to herself. She was about to climb all over him again, when he slowly stood up. “Okay, honey,” he said. “That’s enough.”

  “But, Daddy,” she said pleadingly. Her voice grew thick with tears.

  “Next time,” he said, and he held her chin in a tender way that made my stomach flip.

  “Please don’t go, Daddy.” The tears started to fall down her cheeks.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Next time, I promise.”

  At that her face brightened. “Next time? Promise?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  I had to leave so that I could go around town delivering Nick’s message. It was a good thing, too, because I was so jumbled up at that point I couldn’t stand being there one moment longer.

  • • •

  I seriously wished that I had those question-mark jeans, because I would’ve been wearing them as I delivered Nick’s message. I mean, what the hell was that? I had witnessed Dad do something . . . fatherly. He actually made Mina happy, which is something I couldn’t remember him doing for years, for her or any of us.

  My crappy, stable world had just experienced an earthquake. I couldn’t argue with the fact that Dad had actually acted like a dad with Mina. What do I do now? Do I give him a second chance? But even as I thought that, my stomach tightened: Just because he did something great once doesn’t mean that he’s going to do it again. Don’t trust this. And yet, if I don’t trust him and he is proving himself, does that mean that I’m wrong?

  It was a good thing that I was biking around town from store to store, because there were a number of times when I biked as hard as I fucking could, trying to get some of these thoughts out of my head. After I hit the third store, Jello texted.

  How’s the animals?

  Not bad, what about for you?

  I got a mangled-up raccoon in my garage, been feeding it.

  A raccoon is not a safari.

  I know, but I found it, the tiger probably attacked it, and I want you to help me with another photo shoot.

  No go, I’m getting out a message for Sam, you want to help me?

  I already did help.

  One more time?

  A long pause. In the time he was deciding, I hit another place.

  I’m waiting.

  Fine, I’ll help you, but then you’ll help me with my raccoon.

  No, I won’t.

  Come on, R-Man, help me.

  No.

  There was another long pause. Then my cell phone rang.

  “What do you mean, no?” Jello asked, and I could hear the tightness in his voice. “This is the third time I asked.”

  “And this is the fourth time I’m saying it. No.” The words felt strange in my mouth.

  “Come on.”

  “No. Fifth time.”

  He gave a weird yelp. “Jesus, Ronney. Do it.”

  “No. Sixth time.”

  Jello tapped his phone’s microphone a couple times. “I don’t know, is this thing working? I keep hearing this strange word, and it keeps sounding like ‘no.’ ”

  “I think your phone started working, nice and clear,” I said, feeling like the king of the world.

  A long silence.

  “Wow, R-Man, you got balls,” Jello said. “What the hell happened?”

  “So you can help me with Sam if you want, but I’m done with safaris.” My voice was strong, firm.

  I could hear Jello’s TV in the background.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “I’ll be there. Give me ten minutes,” he said.

  I don’t know who was more surprised, Jello or me.

  • • •

  It was a lot faster with Jello helping out, to say the least. We got to the same businesses Sam and I had gone to before, making doub
ly sure to hit the corner stores and other places where a ten-year-old might buy shit. Which was actually pretty depressing. I mean, if Sam was going into a corner store, what would he buy? Beef jerky? Toilet paper? Or would he be stupid and buy a car air freshener, just because he could?

  Jello was a sport and stuck with me until the whole town knew that Nick was coming home. The most surprising thing was, a lot of people already knew Nick—not just about him, but actually knew him—and were genuinely happy to hear the news. Like he was some decent guy or something.

  Take, for example, when we were talking to Mrs. Marksteiner, who manages the local burger joint in town, Happy Dog. They don’t sell hot dogs, by the way; Mrs. M really loves her dog, who—you guessed it—is named Happy Dog, after the seemingly endless smile he has on his face.

  Or may I say, had.

  Mrs. M let Happy Dog out to go roam the neighborhood sometimes—she says that everything likes its freedom—and for the whole day Happy Dog would paw at people’s front doors and wait for them to throw him food. Mrs. M. demonstrated her keen sense of judgment when she continued to let her dog out with the tiger on the loose: One day Happy Dog had gotten close to the tiger and got hit with a stray bullet. He probably still had that smile while he was bleeding to death, which is pretty fucked up, if you ask me.

  “He was such a great dog,” Mrs. M said. This was her answer to “How are you?”

  “I’m sure he was,” I said.

  “He had looked at me confused, like he had done something wrong,” she said, and her voice got watery.

  “I’m sure he had.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “You’re right, he didn’t.” I paused. “It was one bullet?” I asked, despite my urge to run from Happy Dog.

  “Two, if you count the one we used to . . .”

  “Oh, yeah. Right.” I fidgeted. I couldn’t stand this conversation. “And Sam—”

  “Ah, yes, I know him.”

  “You do?”

  “Well, I knew his older brother. Nick. Such a sweetie,” she said, smoothing her Happy Dog shirt.

  “He was?”

  “Yes. Just like my Happy Dog.”

  I refrained from snorting.

  “Well, Nick is coming home,” I said.

  Mrs. M’s face brightened. “He is?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s wonderful,” she said happily. “He would always order my Happy Dog double burger with everything on it, and he would tell me stories about school and his baseball and whatnot.” She shook her head, remembering. “There was that great story, the one about the ice cream. You ask him about the ice cream. Then you tell him to come in here, and I’ll give him a free Happy Dog Meal. On the house.”