Someone moans in agony. Janice stares at me, her face nearly shaking.
I raise my hand like I’m taking an oath. “I promise to embrace . . .” I produce a dramatic swallow and gaze up the ceiling. “. . . the SysCON . . . the K-KAR . . . and the— DAP.” I weaken my voice with emotion. “I will be open to process husbandry. If I ever live to see the day where a K-CONKAR graces our spreadsheets, I will embrace it as if it were the fruit of my very own loins.”
Janice’s chest rises and falls, her nostrils flaring.
“That is my pledge.”
“Yes,” Janice rasps, breathless. “Yes. Thank you, Rick. Yes, we should all take the pledge.”
“Right here,” I say and back away. “Right now.”
“Yes,” Janice rasps. “That’s right. We’re going to do this right now.”
I back away, bowing, hands clasped at my chest.
Janice faces the attendees and closes her eyes. “If there is ever a day in which this company produces a K-CONKAR process, I pledge to let it suckle from my bosom.” Her voice cracks and lower lip trembles. “To bounce it on my knee. To change its poopy diapers. To be the most tenacious helicopter parent anyone has ever seen.”
I backpedal to the conference room door and tap three times. I step aside, and Ernie walks in, nearly strutting, his shoulders proud, his head bobbing, the Nike bag under an arm. He stops, scans the room, and Bobby Flanduzi lifts his chin to him, fingers him over. Ernie releases a crooked grin, checks with me, and I nod an affirmative. He turns and struts over to Bobby Flanduzi, and—I swear this is the truth—not one attendee of the J-23 Incubation meeting gives him a mere glance. Not with the spectacle unfolding at the front of the room.
Ernie squats beside Bobby Flanduzi, looks to me. I fold my arms, lean against the wall, and nod to proceed. The young, hairless man seated beside Bobby Flanduzi stands up and eases toward the front of the room, ready to make his ass-kissing homage to bottom-tier data transformation at Robards International. Ernie lowers his lids in a way I’ve never seen—feeling cool?—and lifts the flap of the Nike bag, tilting it toward Bobby Flanduzi so he can get a private view of the bundles of cash. Bobby’s eyes bulge, and he nods as Ernie places the bag on his lap.
Janice sobs, “I pledge to terminate the HyperPHY process if that’s what this team decides.”
Ernie gets up and heads toward me. Bobby looks over and gives me the eye—I don’t know who you are, dude, but thanks. And like that, I’m struck by a strong emotion. Hell, I’m actually making a difference in someone’s life. I’m helping a family avoid foreclosure. I feel my chest rise in pride. I meet his moist gaze and hold it, nodding, wishing I were wearing a hat that I could tip to him. Bobby turns and pretends to listen to Janice, but succumbs quickly and stares long and hard into the bag.
More ass-kissers meander toward Janice, ready to make their pledges.
I open the door, and Ernie struts out of the conference room.
Janice releases a post-sobbing sigh. “Sometimes I feel so empty.”
* * *
“Beeline to the escape hatch, Ernie.”
Ernie giggles and nods.
“We did it, Ernie.”
His eyes gleam.
“We helped a family today.”
He makes his jowls crinkle. Smiles.
“That guy in there needed that money. For his daughter. I mean, they really needed that money.”
Ernie nods.
“I mean it. You really made a difference today, dude.”
His face flushes, and he stops to give me a little hug. I find myself hugging him back.
We reach the “escape hatch” in a matter of minutes, breathing heavy, limbs and faces tingling—alive. Ernie holds the barbecue prongs in his mouth as he slides the manhole cover back over the escape hatch, closing our portal to the Robards International universe. We scamper back to the Playroom on all fours, and I swear it feels so natural, like I’m a kid all over again, the magic of discovery coursing through me, a small smile spreading across my face, barely able to contain myself, reveling in that rare feeling of actually pulling it off—whatever it is, wanting so badly to tell my big sister that, indeed, I did it right, I didn’t screw things up. Scampering down the pipe, I nearly squeal at the bliss of it all. I just successfully dropped off $45,000 to a fellow working stiff, right in the middle of a J-23 Incubation marathon meeting, helping him avoid foreclosure.
I did it. I really did it.
Just wait till Ana hears—
But then the reality returns. Because Ana knows the real me. She knows what happened. What I did. She knows there’s no going back. Ever.
* * *
“Mama?”
“Ricky? Where are you?”
“It didn’t go too well.”
“Where are you, mijo?”
“I guess she was just being—”
“Ricky.”
“—nice. Okay?”
“What do you mean nice? Where are you?”
“She wasn’t really interested in me that way.”
“What? Wait, baby. What happened?”
“It didn’t work out.”
There’s a long silence. “Oh, mijo.” She sighs that sweet way.
I’d been doing okay until I heard the sympathy in her voice. Now a ball in my throat is enlarging and dipping into my chest, and I swallow hard.
“Ricky?”
“I’m fine. Seriously, I’m fine.”
“Where are you?”
“At the movie theater.”
“You went anyway?”
What happened was, I was supposed to meet Danielle Meza at the theater. I took my bike, and she was going to have her older sister drop her off. I had been thrilled. I had summoned a lot of courage last week when I caught up to her as she walked alone to History and I asked her out. It was the first time I’d ever done anything like that.
I called her from the theater, and she apologized. “I think I just want to be friends.”
I watched people meander into the theater, oblivious.
“Rick?”
“Yeah.”
“Rick, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to say. You’re such a nice guy, and you’re superfunny. It’s just that . . . I mean, I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Okay, well, I’m at the theater.”
“I’m sorry,” she squeaked.
“It woulda been cool if you’d called me last night or something, but it’s no big deal. But anyways . . .”
“I know, and I feel like a total jerk. I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”
“It’s okay. I just have this extra ticket.” I took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I’d call Mr. Tetherman to come join me, but I’ve been reading that psychopath principals don’t really enjoy movies.”
She let out a huge laugh. “Okay, well. I better go. Christina and Jennifer are waiting for me.”
I sat in the theater lobby for a long time, thinking. Eventually, I got up and went into the theater—Jerry Maguire was supposed to be pretty funny, and the thing had already started, so no one would see me come in alone.
“So where are you now, mijo?”
“The theater.”
“Just come on home, and you can get dinner with me and Dad.”
I feel my throat tighten. “That’s just the thing.”
“What do you mean?”
I screw my eyes shut and grimace. “I came out, and my bike is gone.”
“What do you mean? Someone stole it?”
The lump grows, and my voice fails. “I guess.”
“You locked it?”
“I don’t know. I was so nervous—I think I did, but maybe not?”
“Ricky.” She sighs, the sympathetic annoyance heavy in her voice, and all I want to do is hug her. “This is the second bike in six months.”
She’s right, and I can’t say anything unless I want to start bawling.
Long sigh. “Ana’s at Julie’s house. Do you want to come get dinne
r with us? You, me, and Papa?”
I’m embarrassed to say yes, but sometimes you just need your mom and dad.
* * *
From the blackness I emerge back into the Playroom, where Mama has given me back my phone and now is teaching Collin how to use the dog clicker. Collin looks like he’s having a blast, so I decide to take a seat. Soon, I find myself stretching out on the mattress, slipping my hands under my head, and staring up at the leaves shimmering in the sun. For a moment, it bothers me that I’ve gotten so comfortable in such filth, but then my mind settles on Audrey. I imagine her with me tonight at the Greek—in front of me, in my arms, as we move together to the Beat. That would be nice.
My cell rings. It’s her.
“I was just thinking of you.”
She offers a you’re-hopeless laugh. “Dude, you’re supposed to be bonding with your nephew.”
Collin produces a click and tosses Cujo a mini.
“I am. We’re having a Neanderthal adventure.”
“Yeah?”
I holler and thrust the phone into the air. “We’re in the wild right now, aren’t we, kiddo?”
Collin hollers, “Yeah, and it’s awesome.”
I bring the phone back to my ear, and Audrey says, “Wow. Nice.”
“And my friend got ahold of the Stanford Neanderthal expert.”
“Who?”
“Sabine Rorgstardt. One of the country’s leading experts on Neanderthals. I think we’re going to do a few more things, then go see her on campus.”
Audrey seems amused. “What are you doing, errands?”
I think of the $45,000 in cash I just dropped off. “Basically, yes.”
“Well, Collin sounds happy.”
“He is,” I say. “Compared to this morning, it’s like night and day.”
“This is what I wanted, so thank you.”
I think about the bus. “I didn’t realize he’s been so consumed with this school crap.”
“But it’s more than that.” She pauses. “Right, Rick?”
I think of Collin trying to break a leg so he can spend time with my sister. “Yeah, I guess.”
“I’m sure you can see that your nephew needs you, right?”
“Needs me?”
“To balance things out for him,” she says.
“You mean with the Overachiever Fever?”
“I was thinking, maybe you could intervene a little,” she says. “You know, knock some sense into his parents’ heads.”
Suddenly, the Greek Theatre fantasy seems a million miles away.
“My sister’s changed,” I say. “We speak different languages, practically.”
“And maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea if she let Collin come back to the States and hang out with you this summer.”
I think of the house-sitting gig, the chance to quit Robards International—I can’t blow that opportunity. “Yeah, maybe Collin needs more sanity time. More normal-kid time.”
“You could provide that for him.” After a long pause, she adds, “I’m not sure Ana and Samson can.”
I freeze with a familiar fear—I really don’t want to destroy any more lives.
Her voice is so sweet. “Rick?”
That’s what I promised myself.
“Rick?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m here.”
“Well, I’m excited about tonight.”
I shake myself out of it, like I’ve done for decades. “Tonight?”
She laughs. “Yeah, I’m in. You kept your side of the bargain. You guys are still gonna see that Stanford expert, right?”
“The Sabine lady? Of course.” Thinking about the Greek, I feel a grin spreading. “So how should we do this tonight?”
“I’ll buy the tickets online,” she says. “We can drive up together once you drop off Collin at the house.”
The skin on my face charges.
Finally.
Tonight.
Audrey and me.
“I’m so glad this is happening,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says, stretching it out. Energetic, but measured. “I am, too.”
I hear myself say, “I guess you know how I’ve always felt about you.”
Her voice lightens. “Maybe.”
“I think you’re very special.”
“Thanks.” She sounds like I just complimented her choice in rain gutters. “I consider you a friend.”
The music in my head stops.
“Rick?”
I swallow and taker a deep breath. “Do you mind if I ask you a possibly uncomfortable question?”
There’s a long pause. “I guess not.”
“Well, I guess—I mean, we’ve known each other awhile. And you’ve always known I’ve kind of always had this crush on you.”
“I don’t know.” She laughs. “Maybe, I guess.”
“And you’ve always been very nice about it.”
“Well. You’re a nice guy. And I can see you in Collin.”
“But you’ve always kinda deflected the attention.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“And then today, out of nowhere, you finally say yes.”
“Is tonight a date?” She laughs at herself. “I mean, I don’t know what tonight is.”
We both laugh.
“What I mean is, why tonight? After all these years, why’d you finally agree to go out with me tonight?”
“Well . . .” Silence. “Hmmm.”
“Is it because you’re no longer going to be Collin’s nanny, so dating his uncle would be okay?”
Another long silence. Finally, Audrey says, “I don’t know. I guess I just really wanted you to see what I see—with Collin. You know, with this being my last day—You know, I’ve been with the little guy since he was four weeks old.” She clears her throat. “I just want the best for him. And I just really think he’s gonna need you once in a while. Because, you know, I’m moving on. I need to. I can’t be his nanny—his de facto mommy—anymore.” Her voice cracks. “So I guess today was just a—you know—last-ditch effort.”
I hear myself saying, “You love him, don’t you? I guess that’s obvious.”
“Love him? Of course I love him. I’ve practically raised him. I mean . . .” She thinks about it. “. . . he’ll always be a part of me.”
“I think that’s beautiful,” I say. “This love you have for him. I mean, you’re willing to go out with me tonight so I might catch a clue.”
She forces a laugh.
“I mean, catch a clue about Collin.”
“I like you, Rick. I do. I think you’re a riot. I just . . .”
“Don’t feel that way?”
“Maybe not.” Long pause. “Sorry.” Another long pause. “I mean, not the way I think you want me to feel.”
My throat tightens. “It’s okay.” I take a deep breath, hoping to regulate myself a little. “Hey, it’s not your fault. You never asked for all this attention all these years.”
“Maybe not. But I’m flattered.”
Since we’re at this place, I decide to make sure I’m hearing her correctly. “So it’s cool if you don’t, but I think I’m hearing you’re never gonna feel that way?”
She’s squeaking now, embarrassed. “Sorry.” Empathy heavy in her voice. “I know you wouldn’t want me to lie to you. I just thought we could hang out like friends—in fact, I was thinking maybe we could bring my friend Sondra along.”
“The weight lifter with the boil?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind. And my sister’s friend Ben. You’d love him.”
My vision blurs. “Yeah, sure.”
“Or, we could just go the two of us, like we discussed. I’m totally fine either way.”
For some reason, I see the bike rack at the cinema. My bike is gone.
“Rick? I’m totally fine to just—”
“No, no. I’m cool.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. I’m having a blast today with Collin. A
nd I appreciate how much you care about him. He’s having a blast today. So it’s totally cool.”
“Oh . . .” She pauses, unsure of what to say next, maybe. “. . . good.”
“And so maybe we just take a rain check on the concert tonight.”
“Oh . . .”
“I just don’t want to be that charity case.”
“Rick . . .”
“Or that platonic friend.”
“No, I get it.”
“Or have tonight be weird.”
“I’m just—”
“Because I have so many fond memories involving you.”
“And me of you.”
“Maybe we just protect that and not screw with it by doing the Greek tonight.”
“Whatever you want to do. I really hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression over the years.”
I think about that. Maybe when you want someone so bad, you can convince yourself of anything.
“If I’ve given you the wrong impression, or if maybe I let this thing tonight feel like a date—and I guess that’s what it was, I suppose—I am really sorry, Rick. This thing with Collin has me all screwed up, and I thought maybe . . . I don’t know.”
“No, I understand. No worries.”
“Sorry.”
Protracted awkward silence.
“Okay, well . . . I think Collin just ran out of minis, so I better say goodbye for now.”
“Minis?”
Collin runs up and snatches the phone out of my hand. “Sorry, Audrey. But I’m training my Neanderthal in the wild right now, and we’re almost out of liquor. He might get feisty. We have to go.”
And he hangs up.
And I look at my phone, and see that bike rack again.
Mama shuffles up and hands me a mini, and I think, At this point, what the F? I twist off the cap and down it, shuddering.
“We’re going home,” Mama says.
I force myself out of it. “Home?” I sit up, shake my face. “What are you talking about? Your place?”
“Don’t play games with me, Dickie.”
My chest tightens. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“What I’m talking about, mister, is going to our home.” She looks away, the light reflecting off those thick glasses. “We’re bringing this family back together, and we’re doing it at the house—your place.” She turns and looks into me. “No more running, honey. No more running from your family, from your past. No more of that ditching you do—not with us. You hear me?”
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