The Bob Watson

by Greg Bardsley

  We take a quick left on Eleanor, and it feels like I ran over a bag of sand. The Porsche wobbles and swerves, then drops with a loud crack, and I see one of my—I mean, Dick’s—wheels rolling past me and onto someone’s manicured front lawn.

  Crap.

  I pull the Porsche to the curb, come to a loud stop. I grip the steering wheel, screw my eyes shut, trying to think. I open my eyes, glance at the clock on the dashboard—5:54. Eleanor Drive is a giant circle, and Collin’s house is on the opposite end. If we walk it, or even run it, I’m not sure we’ll get there in time. But what options do I have at this point? I get out of the Porsche, remove my—I mean, Dick’s—jacket, and throw it into onto the driver’s seat, shut the door. I call Collin out, and we start trotting along Eleanor.

  Six minutes. We can do this.

  A car approaches from behind. I crinkle my face, waiting for a quick blast of siren—but there is none. Instead, a black Mercedes-Benz G-Class SUV rolls past us, and I feel a wave of relief spread across my body—until I realize it’s Ana’s SUV, and that is Ana in the driver’s seat. She seems to slow down at the same moment I realize that it’s her. She lowers her head a little to get a better look at us through the rearview mirror, so I yank Collin and we make a hard right and leap over some shrubs and onto someone’s lawn, realizing that unless we get to the house now, we’re hosed. I won’t be able to explain any of it, and it will all unravel from there—no house-sitting offer, no Summer of Sanity with Collin. I just can’t leave him with Luke the vegan chef for six weeks.

  Luckily, there’s a pickup truck approaching—more yard workers (the area is packed with them).

  “Dude,” I huff.

  “Yeah?”

  “You wanna make sure you can come back this summer and hang out with your uncle? Maybe even see Cujo and Mama and Ernie?”

  His voice cracks. “More than you’d ever know.”

  “Okay.” I step out onto the street, waving for the truck to stop. “Get ready.”

  The truck rolls to a stop, and I reach for my wallet, rifle through the bills, pull out sixty dollars. Three young Mexican immigrants look at me with amusement. I nod to the back of the truck, which is packed with bags of clippings. “Can you give me and my nephew a lift down this road?”

  They glance at each other, look back at me, and scan the surrounding area. The driver tightens, nods to the back the truck—Go for it. I offer the money, which seems to annoy him. “No.” He smiles, nods to the back again. “Let’s go.”

  Soon Collin and I are sunken in the bags of clippings, giggling as the truck rolls down the street. I peer out to see where we are, and there’s my sister in her Mercedes; she’s idled on the side of the road, talking to a mom in yoga pants holding a giant Starbucks latte. Ana glances at the truck, and I duck with a laugh, the horns still popping in my head.

  Bup-bup bup-pup

  Bup-bup bup-pup

  Bup-bup bup-pup

  Beeeep bup-bup-bup

  After another block, I tap on the cab window, and we slow down.

  “Come on, kiddo. Let’s do this.”

  “But we’re not there yet.”

  I help him out of the truck, and I thank the guys one last time. They’re laughing and exchanging comments in Spanish as the truck rolls away, waving to us.

  “We can walk the last bit here,” I tell Collin. “This is better than your mom seeing us pile out of the back of a yard truck.”

  I look behind us, and there’s Ana’s Mercedes again.

  Shit.

  I grab Collin and yank him into a stand of bushes. The Mercedes rolls past, and Collin says, “Now what are we supposed to do? We’re supposed to be there.”

  I look around and take his hand. “Follow me, kiddo. Time for one last adventure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We need to cross the backyard of this house. Do you know these people?”

  Collin takes a look at the house—it’s enormous—and shakes his head.

  “Let’s do this.”

  I help Collin up onto the fence. Then I clamber over. My—I mean, Dick’s—pants catch and tear as I tumble to the other side. Collin lands on his feet unscathed—somehow. The yard is giant and very sparse, which seems odd to me until I see the ostrich galloping toward us. We scramble to our feet, turn, and run for our lives as the ostrich closes in, its head low, its wings spread out. I suddenly recall a comment from Audrey about a neighbor with an “attack ostrich” in the backyard, but I’d thought it was a joke.

  I certainly don’t now.

  Collin screams—not in excitement, but in terror. I scoop him up and sprint as the sound of the bird’s disturbingly enormous feet gets louder and louder. Collin buries his face in my shoulder, and I let out a tight shriek. I pull a hard right, trying to lose the bird, and failing, so I course-correct and make it to the opposite enclosure, a Cyclone fence covered with vines. I lift Collin onto the fence and scramble up and over as the ostrich jabs its beak into my ass. Collin and I tumble into a carefully manicured and—more important—unpopulated lawn and race across it, realizing at last that I’m approaching my sister’s side fence. We slow down, gather ourselves, and take our time climbing over that last enclosure.

  On the other side, we stand in my sister’s bushes as I try to catch my breath and watch the proceedings inside the house. Fortunately, Ana and Samson James Barnard IV had the entire house remodeled three years ago so that the family room and kitchen look out to the backyard through expansive floor-to-ceiling glass walls and sliding glass doors, which now give me a clear view of Ana walking into the kitchen, purse in her clutch, greeting Audrey, who’s slicing an apple at the counter. Taped-up moving boxes are everywhere.

  Ana looks at Audrey, then at her wristwatch.

  I know what we need to do. I take a knee and look into Collin’s eyes. “Listen, kiddo. About today—maybe we don’t tell her about the riot.”

  He nods, so serious.

  “Or about Mama and that guy Larry.”

  Another nod.

  “And maybe we don’t mention the laser game at Dick’s house.”

  Collin says, “We better get in there.”

  I take his hand, and we dart from the bushes to the sliding glass door connecting us to the kitchen. I force a smile and tap on the glass. Ana and Audrey turn to us, surprised. I think Audrey is most surprised, judging by the frozen look on her face, but fortunately she recovers and beats Ana to the door, unlocks it for me, and opens it with a smile. “There you are,” she says.

  The clock on the stove says 6:01.

  Ana’s face darkens. “You’re late,” she snaps.

  “You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  Half her mouth is turned up, teeth showing. “What were you doing out there?”

  “I just wanted to see if I could find that pin.”

  Ana looks at me like I’m crazy. “Pin?”

  “My pin for twenty years of service at Robards International. I think I lost it here the other week.”

  Ana’s still looking at me like I’m crazy. “You hate that place.”

  “Still.” I look away, embarrassed. “Twenty years is a lot of—”

  “What happened to your face?” Her look has switched from bafflement to disgust. “Did someone scratch you?”

  “No, I just got tangled out there.”

  “Rick.” She has that disappointed tone I’ve heard all my life. “I mean, what the hell is going on here?”

  “Mommy,” Collin says. “I met real-live Neanderthals today.”

  “Collin, I’m talking to Uncle Rick.”

  I clear my throat, force a peaceful look onto my face. “What do you mean, what’s going on?”

  “I mean . . .” She points to the spiked metal collar still locked around Collin’s neck. “. . . I thought I told you, no more dress-up things for Collin.”

  “That’s just—”

  “Rick.” She’s talking in that sarcastic, whispery, why-don’t-you-get-it tone. “The
point is, you don’t listen to me. You don’t respect my choices as a parent.”

  Collin looks at me, then at her, and then back at me. He moves to hug her, but she redirects him to Audrey, who’s waiting with open arms.

  “Maybe I’m not as bad as you think—What I mean is, it’s good for kids to spend time with people who love them. People who are outside the nuclear family.”

  Ana studies me and finally turns to Audrey. “Can you take Collin to his room for a bit? You can do the Mandarin flash cards with him, okay?”

  “Come on, kiddo.” Audrey takes Collin by the hand, leads him out of the kitchen. “Your mom and uncle need to talk.”

  “But, Mom,” Collin says. “We played tag in a bunch of empty cans.”

  “Collin, have you done your Mandarin flash cards today?”

  “No,” he mumbles.

  “Exactly.” Her voice hardens. “Get in there and do your cards.”

  Once they leave, Ana looks down at her Peruvian hand-scrubbed granite countertop, sighs hard. “I just don’t know, dude.”

  I try to be oblivious. “What do you mean?”

  “The whole house-sitting thing,” she says. “Today was exactly what I don’t want—forgetting the body-language coach, neglecting the Mandarin flash cards—I even gave you a set to keep in your car. All this fantasy crap with the Neanderthals. All the screw——” She stops herself.

  I explode. “What? Screwups? Is that what you were going to say? I’m always screwing up?”

  “That’s not what I meant, Rick.”

  “It’s exactly what you meant.” My face burns, and my heart aches. “That’s what I am to you, huh? All these years later. Still a screwup.”

  “No.”

  “Your little brother who’s always screwing up. Who screwed up his whole life—got yours screwed up, too. Your little brother who got Mama and Papa killed.”

  “I’ve never said that.”

  “Yes, I screwed up, Ana. I screwed up really bad that day, and Mama and Papa got killed. It was my fault.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. I was a kid when I said that. When are you going to forgive me?”

  “And I’m probably gonna screw up again. Hell, I screwed up today. Big-time.”

  Ana snaps, “You always nail me for that, every chance you get.”

  “Forget me for a minute, because . . .” My chest softens and my voice fissures. “. . . screwups are actually good. For kids. For adults. For everyone.”

  She can’t look at me anymore. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “So yes, I screw up. Deal with it, because your son needs me, Ana.”

  “Needs you? I think that’s overstating—”

  “No, it’s not.” I steady myself and go for it. “Ana, you know what today taught me?”

  She folds her arms and stares at the floor.

  “You and Samson are negligent.”

  She looks up and stares at me. Eyes thinning.

  “Collin needs a lot more than you seem willing to give. Today made that abundantly clear.”

  Her chest rises, and her face darkens. “You don’t know the first thing about kids.”

  “I do know that this kid needs support.”

  “We have him at the most exclusive school on the peninsula. And his scores are extraordinary. What do you mean, he needs support?”

  “Ana, what happened to you? Where in the hell is my sister?”

  “She grew up.” Her chest rises and her nostrils flare. “She got married, had a kid, and became an adult.” She glares at me. “Do you realize what an amazing little boy Collin is?”

  I was ready to shout something, but this gets me. I let out a bunch of air, my shoulders sagging. I get a flash of Collin lecturing a room of executives, leading the conployee revolt, talking me into doing the right thing. Changing the course of a company. Impacting tens of thousands of lives.

  She’s right—this kid is amazing.

  “Don’t you realize? Everything we do, we do for him. Don’t you realize, he’s going to blow this world away? All those crazy things we do with him—it’s not about me or Samson. He’s going to change the world.”

  He just might.

  “Okay,” I say and look away so I don’t have to meet her eyes. “Maybe I’ve been a little shortsighted.”

  She’s looking at me.

  I hear myself say, “Maybe I’ve made some of this about me, and didn’t even realize it.”

  Her face softens. “There are the plans and ideas you have before you are a parent. And then once you actually are a parent and you’re deep in it, there’s the reality.”

  I let out another long breath and bite my lip. “Maybe I’ve been a bit idealistic and shortsighted. But what I do know for sure—what is an absolute certainty—is that he needs another kind of support from you.”

  She looks away, her chest rising again, her eyes moistening.

  “Ana.” I wait for her to look me in the eye. “I think you got scared. I think after Mama and Papa, you got scared of ever giving yourself the way you did back then.”

  She shifts her weight and shakes her head.

  “A busy husband. A big, all-consuming house in Woodside. Overachiever Fever. Hiring Audrey to take care of Collin. Did you ever think that maybe it was all about creating some kind of protective layer? Never getting too close to anyone again? Never getting destroyed like that again?”

  I wonder if Ana is going to heave something at me. Instead, she gives in to a spasm of sobs. She holds herself, her chest heaving. “I miss them so much.”

  “I do, too, Ana.” I close my eyes and try to ground myself. But I lose control of my breathing, which turns to short bursts of panting. And I break down, too. “I miss them every hour. Of every day.”

  I come over, and she lets me hug her. We cry. And hug and squeeze. The torrent builds.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry what I did, Ana. It was all my fault.”

  “No.”

  “It hurts so bad.”

  “You didn’t kill them.”

  “I did.”

  “Tom Morrison did.”

  Tom Morrison was the drunk who blew through a red light and plowed into our Mama and Papa.

  I sniffle and sigh. “But now we have Collin, and he needs us.”

  “I try,” she squeaks, “but sometimes it’s just too much. It feels too . . .”

  “Ana, your son needs you.”

  She sniffles, nods.

  “And I say this because I’m your brother and I love you. I’ll always tell you the truth when everyone else is blowing smoke up your ass. So I’m telling you—you need to do whatever you need to so you can let go of that fear. I mean, find someone who can help you do that hard work.”

  “This, from a man who’s spent his whole life avoiding loss.”

  “I’m totally screwed up,” I say. “But right now, it’s your turn. You have a son who needs you, so here’s what you’re going to do. First, you’re going to find help in Buenos Aires. Not just a really good person who can help take care of Collin, but help for you and these issues. I mean, you guys have the money—get the best person down there to help you change, like, now.”

  She closes her eyes, nods.

  “Second, Collin will come spend some time with me. I’ll try not to screw up too much, and you will use the time to find that help. Your hear me?”

  Ana says nothing.

  “Ana Theresa Blanco.”

  This surprises her. It’s like that old name slices into her.

  “You’re going to get help.”

  Ana pushes away from me, straightens her blouse, and sniffles. “Okay. But you have to promise me you’ll do the Mandarin cards.”

  My sister might have turned into a crazy gringa, but she’s my crazy gringa.

  And right now, I love this crazy gringa more than anything.

  * * *

  By the time Ana and I have doped out the house-sitting details, Audrey has fed, cleaned, and prepped Collin for
bed. She’s reading him one last story, her voice a little weak. I loiter near Collin’s door, not sure what to do. I want to say goodbye to my nephew and tell him about our Summer of Sanity, but I want to give him and Audrey some space. So I return to the kitchen and have a glass of pinot with my sister. Samson James Barnard IV sits three feet away, ignoring us, tapping away on his ultrathin laptop, his icy blue eyes devouring a seemingly endless array of tables and charts and graphs.

  Ana and I talk about Mama and Papa, and it’s actually fun.

  Samson never looks up.

  When I finally return to Collin’s bedroom door, it’s quiet in there. I poke my head in. The lights are dimmed, putting a soft glow on all the moving boxes. Ana’s in the far corner, in a rocking chair I’ve never quite noticed. Collin is cradled in her arms—far too big to be cradled, limbs dangling—as she rocks him back and forth, back and forth, running a finger along his hairline, looking down at her sweet sleeping child. When I try to withdraw, she looks up. Her cheeks are wet, her eyes puffy.

  I don’t know what to do.

  She whispers, “Help me get him in bed.”

  I tiptoe over and lift Collin out of her arms. His limbs and head are so heavy when he sleeps; it’s like they melt into mine when I bring him close and hug him one last time, kiss his forehead, and lower him into his bed. He gathers up his favorite lovey—Totty—and rolls and curls, and I slip the comforter over his little body.

  I’ll see you real soon, buddy.

  I turn and nearly slam into Audrey, and she asks for a hug. I bring her in, wrap her up in my arms.

  “It’s gonna be okay.”

  “I love him so much,” she gasps. “He’s a part of me.”

  “You’ll see him again.”

  “I know.”

  “This summer,” I whisper. “He’ll come up, and we’ll all have a fucking blast.”

  “I just worry about him.”

  “I know.”

  “I wanna go down there with them, but I can’t do this forever.”

  “I talked to my sister. She’s gonna work on some things.”

  “Is he going to be okay?”

  “I’ll just have to make sure.”

  She pauses a long while. “Me, too.”

  I lead her out of the room, and we collect ourselves in the hallway.