“I’m so glad you’re here, Rick.” She opened the door wider. “And your timing is perfect.”
I stepped in. “Yeah?”
“They’re gone.” She smiled, like she could read my mind, like she knew I’d rather not do this under the watchful eyes of my sister and Samson James Barnard IV. “He just woke from a nap and had a feeding.”
Then gentle and rapid thumping.
Audrey stepped back with a grin.
The thumping got a little louder.
Audrey said it so light and sweet. “I think I hear someone.”
The thumping got faster and closer.
Audrey looked at me, smiled. “Where’s our Collin?”
And then from around the corner peered a moon-shaped face. Giant brown eyes. A shock of dirty-brown hair. Enormous round cheeks. He was smiling up at Audrey, oblivious to me. Audrey knelt down and threw her arms open. “Hey, buddy.”
He giggled and thumped around the corner. But stopped short. God, he’s cute, I thought, and I felt a smile spreading across my face. I lowered myself to the floor and sat crisscross.
“C’mon, honey.” Arms still open. “Come say hi to your uncle Rick.”
Collin looked at me, turned to Audrey. He shuffled to her, his diapered butt wagging and crackling in movement. He reached her and plopped himself into her lap. “That’s my little man,” she said and wrapped him up in her arms. She lowered her face to his, kissed him on the cheek, and looked at me. Does she look at everyone this way? And I noticed her hairline—so lovely.
Then I noticed his intense gaze. He was staring at me, deciding.
She softened her voice, nearly whispered. “Can you say hi to your uncle Rick?”
He continued to give me a good, long look.
Please don’t cry.
I tried to make my voice soft and light, and felt like a dork doing it. “Hey there.”
We looked at each other some more, and I noticed that unmistaken Blanco family forehead. Just like me, my sister, and our father. He’s got that delicate chin of my mother’s, and his father’s lighter skin. The sweet eyes are all his own.
And I had to admit, he was beautiful.
He watched me some more, and Audrey said, “I think this is the start of something special, Collin buddy.”
He gave me another long look and allowed the briefest of grins.
And I said to Audrey, “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”
Bob Watson Step No. 8:
Gain New Insights
We spot the bus just south of Gilroy.
We come up on its flank so quickly that Mama needs to pump the brakes so we don’t sail past it. She grips the steering wheel and hollers, “Boys, we need your help.” But they aren’t listening; Cujo has Ernie in something he’s calling the butt lock, and they’re laughing uncontrollably.
“I’ll just wave down the driver,” I say. “Speed up.”
Mama accelerates, and soon we are adjacent to the bus. The windows are tinted, but we can clearly see that it’s packed with Chinese tourists. Some are pointing at Mama’s old car and exchanging comments. I also notice the thick blue line running down the side of the bus. Collin’s in there.
Mama produces three clicks, and the boys stop their horseplay. “Boys,” she says, pointing to the bus, “I need you to get their attention. Can you do that?” Within seconds, Cujo and Ernie are flashing BAs at the bus. The tourists pull back from the windows, their mouths open. Then come the perplexed smiles. Then the laughter and pointing. Then come the cameras.
“Boys!”
Ernie giggles as he scrambles into the back bay of the wagon and presses his naked butt against the glass. Cujo sits up and eases his head out the window, flicking his tongue between two fingers. I roll down the window and make eye contact with the driver, a gray-haired fellow who looks like he could be a conductor on a steam locomotive. I show my him phone and motion for him to pull over. He nods and starts to slow down, easing onto the shoulder of 101. Mama lets off the gas and pulls in behind. When we come to a stop behind the bus—the cars screaming past us—I let out the biggest sigh of relief. We’ve got him.
“Go get your nephew,” Mama tells me. “I’ll keep the boys here with their new reward for being such good helpers.” Slowly, she pulls out two new minis of whiskey. “That is, as soon as they get their jumpsuits on.” The boys whine and complain, and Mama snaps, “I mean it.”
I get out of the car and trot to the bus, the gravel crunching with each step as the doors open with a long hiss. I look up at the windows and see the faces staring, cameras snapping—but no Collin. When I reach the door and look up, the driver motions me in. “Are you Collin’s dad?”
I step into the bus, and the cameras start shuttering like I’m a world leader. “I’m his uncle.”
Collin is standing on the front seat, holding a microphone. He’s telling the tourists something in Mandarin, and they’re nodding with polite smiles. He turns and seems surprised that it’s me. Where’s his usual smile? He blinks and says something in Mandarin—I’m impressed with his fluency. The tourists offer a collective ahhh, a sympathetic tone, and he looks down like he’s going to cry. I wave to everyone and holler, “Thanks for looking after my amazing nephew,” and they smile and nod. A man in the back says, “He’s a very good little boy. Very smart.”
Collin says, “Where’s my mom?”
“On the phone with Princeton.”
“Does she know I’m on a bus giving a tour in Mandarin?” He looks at me. “For people from China?”
“Yes. Okay, let’s go, kiddo. I’ve got something special planned for you.”
He straightens and faces the tourists. “Can you take a photo of me talking to them?”
I pull out my phone. “Sure, then we have to go.”
“My mom will love this.” He puts the mike to his mouth and thrusts a finger into the air like he’s a lecturer. “It will be great for my college application.” He pauses, glances at me. “Was she worried about me?”
Which is when I notice the dark rings around his eyes.
* * *
I walk Collin to the wagon and stop him short. “Are you okay, kiddo?”
He’s looking down, thinking to himself as the cars roar past us.
“Collin?”
He looks up, his face drawn, so serious, his mouth twisted tight. I’ve never seen him like this. “This will work out okay,” he mumbles, more to himself. “Now maybe I can make it back in time for SAT Prep. I’m still scoring poorly in critical reading and math.” He shakes his head. “Math is really my weak spot.”
I take him by the shoulder and give a light shake. “Collin.”
“I’m hoping the tour bus will score as extra credit, win me some points with my mom and the admissions boards.” He looks up at me, for reaction, hopeful he’s on the right track. “And maybe they’ll overlook my relatively poor performance in math.”
“Collin.”
He looks into space. “I hate math, Uncle Rick. So much pressure.”
I nod. “Whoever invented math was a sadist.”
“My mom says she’s getting me a math coach. Three hours a day all summer.”
I look at the rings around his eyes. This is a new thing. “Are you sleeping okay, kiddo?”
He turns and looks at me, deflated. “The greatest achievers don’t need a lot of sleep. That’s what my dad says.”
“All I know is, you’re a very smart and talented boy.”
Collin snaps, “That’s not good enough.”
I bite my lip and smile. “Listen, how about a Neanderthal adventure?”
This seems to really depress him. It’s like he’s about to cry. “I don’t have time for Neanderthal adventures, Uncle Rick. I’m eight. I need to start thinking about activities that will help me with the college admissions boards.”
“Your mom said it was okay.”
This reaches him, and his eyes brighten. “Really?”
“Really.”
He pinc
hes his chin and thinks. “But I can get to school in time for the SAT Prep. It will look better on my final school record—I helped a busload of Mandarin-speaking tourists, and I still made it back for SAT Prep. That will look good.” He thinks about it, adds, “Did I tell you that Ping and Xiùyīng said they’d write letters of recommendation for me? They’re gonna say what an amazing Mandarin-speaking tour guide I am?”
God, does this kid need a Bob Watson.
“Listen.” I square him toward me and look into his eyes. “What if I told you you could get credit for attending SAT Prep and still go on a Neanderthal adventure? All at the same time?”
An eyebrow lifts. “I do still love Neanderthals . . .” He looks at me, eyes so serious. “. . . even if my mom says there’s no time for them.”
I direct him toward the wagon. “I think it’s time you learned how to pull a Bob Watson.” The bus pulls away with a goodbye honk. “Plus, I have some people I want you to meet.”
* * *
I can tell Collin doesn’t know what to think of Mama and her old Fleetwood station wagon. And he’s a bit suspicious of Ernie’s happy silence. But there’s no question that he loves Cujo. Suddenly, Collin’s eyes are alive, and the vein on his neck is showing. He looks at Cujo, then at me, and then back to Cujo, then back to me. His voice awash in awe, he says, “I can’t believe you did it.”
I buckle Collin beside me in the front seat, and Mama pulls us back onto 101. “What are you talking about, kiddo?”
Collin looks up to me again. “You’re amazing,” he gushes and leans into me affectionately. “The best uncle in the universe.”
“Feel free to tell Audrey that, if you want. Today. Okay?”
His eyes are full of wonder—this is the Collin I know. “How’d you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Get me one.”
“Get you what?”
He looks at Cujo again and shakes his head in happy disbelief. “You know.”
“No, I don’t know. What are you talking about?”
“How’d you . . .” Collin pulls me close, whispers into my ear. “. . . get me . . .” He takes a big breath and he looks at Cujo again. “. . . a real . . . living . . . breathing . . .”
Cujo shifts and announces, “I’m bored.”
“. . . Neanderthal.”
Nean——
I turn back and glance at Cujo and note the stocky build, the heavy brows, the slightly smaller skull, the plentiful body fur. “Oh, no, Cujo is—”
“Thank you.” Collin leans into me, hugs me with all his might. “Thank you so much, Uncle Rick.”
“Collin, honey, you need to under——”
“Uncle Rick?” Collin gazes up at me, his eyes enormous.
Suddenly, I realize I don’t have a car seat for the little guy. Crap!
“Uncle Rick, I just knew it.”
“Knew what, kiddo?”
“I just knew I’d see you one last time.”
“Of course.”
“I just knew we’d go on one last adventure.”
“Just be sure to tell Audrey how awesome it is.”
“I just never could’ve guessed this.” He releases me, throws his hands up in the air, squints into space a moment. “It’s like Danny and the Dinosaur, only better.”
Mama asks, “Ever done a cash transaction, Dickie?”
“Me? Of course.”
“For forty-five thousand dollars?”
Collin announces, “We need to find a lab that can do DNA testing.”
Mama coasts the Fleetwood to the next exit, drives us across the overpass, and gases us back onto 101, northbound. “Get ready to do some counting,” she says.
“Wait a minute,” I snap. “What about Sabine Rorgstardt?”
“Help me with the forty-five thousand, and I’ll get you Sabine.”
“But you said—” My cell vibrates. It’s Audrey. I press the phone to my ear, plug the other ear with a finger, and hunch down. “Audrey?” I say. “I have him.”
She sounds relieved. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine now.” I look at Collin, who is straining to turn and look back at Cujo. “When he came off the bus, he just seemed so focused and wound up. And he’s got rings under his eyes. Is he sleeping?”
Audrey says, “He’s exhausted and stressed out. Has he been talking about the admissions boards?”
“Oh, so that’s a normal thing now? Lovely.” I pull the phone off my ear and shake my head, take a breath. “Do you feel comfortable slapping my sister and her husband back into reality? They’d listen to you. Plus, you’re a short-timer. It’s your last day. What could they do if you pushed them around a little?”
She laughs, says, “I don’t want to think about that.” She clears her throat. “How’s he doing now?”
Collin has unbuckled his seat belt and is climbing over to join Cujo and Ernie in the backseat, nearly whacking Mama in the jaw with his heel. I stiffen in horror at the risky move in a speeding relic. Cujo and Ernie giggle and buckle Collin into the spot between them.
“He’s doing pretty well,” I say. “So I was wondering, what time should we leave tonight for the Greek?”
“Oh.” Her tone is so apologetic. “Well . . . I guess I’m still planning to go to yoga tonight. Sorry.”
“What?” I laugh. “Have you no faith?”
“Well, I guess I really meant it when I said it needs to be special—what you do for Collin. And I guess I haven’t seen that yet.”
I imagine sending Audrey a selfie of me and Collin with Sabine Rorgstardt, Collin’s eyes bright and happy, his cheeks flushed with excitement. “Audrey, I promise that will happen today. Just keep your phone close, okay?”
“Well, call me when you have an update,” she says, “and I can always cancel on yoga.”
Mama glances at me and frowns. “Tell that tramp to retract the claws for a few hours, will ya?”
Audrey says, “Who’s that?”
My face heats up as my mind grinds to a halt.
Mama leans right, pulls an arm off the steering wheel, and snatches the phone out of my hand. She fumbles with the phone before getting it to her ear—only she has it upside down. “Listen, you slutty little home wrecker. Do you think you could find it within yourself to stop the phone fucking for a bit so Dickie here can help me with the boys and handle the forty-five K?” She pulls the phone off her face, looks at the screen, and presses the hang-up button. Tosses it back to me, adds, “And do you think it’s possible to not think about yourself for a change and focus on the family?”
I try to call Audrey back, but it goes to voice mail. I sit back and close my eyes.
Mama says, “Just manage the boys while I drive.”
“Where are we going?”
“Don’t worry about that.”
In the backseat, Collin’s little voice drips with empathy. “Cujo? Do you ever feel . . . you know . . . misunderstood?”
Cujo scratches his beard, straightens his back, and squints into space, thinking. “Misunderstood? You mean like people don’t know the real Cujo?”
Collin’s eyes twinkle as he looks up at him. “Exactly.”
“Totally, little bro.” Cujo squints out the window and mumbles, more to himself, “People don’t understand the real me.”
Collin turns to me, his eyes intense, the vein on his neck popping. “See? It’s exactly what I was telling you. Specism is real.”
Cujo says, “You think I like being shoved into this little piece-of-shit uniform? It’s like my body can’t breathe. I mean, hell, it needs air. You know, ventilation.” He stretches and unzips his jumpsuit to the stomach, exposing large curls of body hair. “A cool breeze of mercy.”
Mama asks me, “Do you have access to a firearm?”
“Me?” I turn back, look at Mama. “No, I don’t have a firearm. What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well, we’ve got the boys, I suppose. You know, in case things go tapioca.”
My
phone vibrates—text from my sister. Have Princeton in sec. . . . Remember: vegan snacks ONLY. Whole Foods good option. I’ll repay.
Collin gazes up at Cujo. “You feel like you can’t be you.”
“I’ve always had a lot of hair,” Cujo says, his voice tight, “but it was never a big deal, until now.” He shoots a look at me. “It’s like the Warden and his folks—It’s like they’re saying there’s something wrong with my body.”
Collin snaps, “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Cujo says, “It’s like the suits think the real Cujo needs to be covered with this little outfit in this stupid color. A color for gomers and dandies.” He twists his mouth and grumbles, “Wage earnin’.”
Collin takes a big breath, lets it out slowly. Finally, he looks up at Cujo. “Do you know about Darwinism?”
“Dar-what?”
“You know, survival of the fittest?” Collin says. “The so-called scholars use that term when . . . when they talk about your . . . your . . . you know . . .” His voice lightens. “. . . your kind?”
“Survival of the fittest?” Cujo shifts and ruminates. “Hell yeah, little bro. That’s exactly what I’d call it.” Cujo wipes a droplet of sweat from his scalp, and Ernie listens eagerly. “My kind? We’re supposed to run wild and free. I mean, there was a day when I’d take what I wanted, when I’d do what I wanted—and yeah, you could call it survival of the fittest.” He cocks his head, licks his lips, and smiles at a thought. “And damn did we have a fucking blast.”
“Hey, dude. Watch the language.”
“All those times, all those years,” Cujo says. “It was like I was expressing myself. Like I was saying, ‘This is me, eggheads. Now try to stop me.’”
Mama takes the ramp for 280 North.
“Where are we going, Mama?’
“Shut up and mind the boys.”
“See, Uncle Rick? The idea that these people have been naturally selected into extinction is an utter fallacy. They live among us still.” Collin bounces in his seat, smacks his hands. “Where did you find him?”
I don’t have the heart to ruin the moment, so I’m selective. “I found him—You’re not gonna believe this, kiddo. I found him in the bushes near my work. You love it in the bushes, don’t you, Cujo?”
The Bob Watson Page 10