“I think Dennis is tired of root canals and pulling wisdom teeth. What he really wants is to be some kind of mogul. Like that. That’s what he wants.” She pointed to the label on the beer bottle. “To have his name on something. Loomis.” She scrolled her finger in the air. “The Loomis Dental-Surgical-Big Deal Medical Park.”
Her laugh made him squirm. “It’s beautiful out here,” he said, looking toward the gently rolling green hills. Four golfers with pull carts moved through the rose-tinted twilight.
“Maybe you and Dennis can play this weekend.”
“No, I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t know how. I never played before,” he added, seeing her frown.
“Dennis’ll teach you.”
“No. It’s too late. I’m too old.”
“Not for golf!” she scoffed.
“But that’s something you learn when you’re young.”
Dennis hadn’t played golf as a kid, she said. But Dennis was a born athlete, he reminded her. Sports had always come naturally. “Like everything else. Dennis just had the touch. No matter what he did.”
“That must’ve been a little hard to swallow, huh? I mean, you being the older brother.”
“Actually, I was always very proud of Dennis. He was very, very gifted.” He smiled. “And in a way, it diverted attention away from me. Which I wanted!” he added. “I was always so big. All I ever wanted was to fade into the background, and that’s not easy when you’re bigger than everyone else.” He laughed.
“Oh! Poor Gordon.” She patted his arm.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said stiffly. “I’m not feeling sorry for myself or making excuses. That’s just the way it was. Actually, it wasn’t until Fortley that I finally appreciated being so big.”
“But . . .” She sighed. “But in a way that’s part of it, when you think of it. I mean, being so big and always holding back. It all just seems so unfair. I mean, if you hadn’t felt that way, you probably wouldn’t have even gone with Jerry Cox that night, and none of this would have happened.”
“But it did.”
“But you didn’t mean to . . .” She gestured for the unspeakable.
“No. I don’t think that way. I can’t,” he said uneasily. If Dennis were here, he would have cut her off by now.
“You have to! You can’t keep being so hard on yourself, Gordon.”
At the trial his lawyer had portrayed him as a loner, a loser, a big, goofy kid so desperate for friendship that he had unquestioningly followed the sly, handsome, popular Jerry Cox into the house that night. So what? the prosecutor had roared during his closing argument. So what if he was the most unhappy boy in Collerton? Or in the universe? What justification could that possibly be for taking the lives of two innocent people?
“I have to be realistic, that’s all. I did what I did. And nothing can change that. Nothing.” If it were anyone else but Lisa, he would have gotten up and left.
“That’s what you say, but that’s not really what you mean, is it?”
“Yes. That’s what I mean,” he said coldly.
“I look at you and I see this . . . this tightness. Like a coil. Like it’s all inside and you can’t get rid of it.”
That she might think him still capable of violence left him speechless for a moment. “It’s hard. I—”
“Of course it’s hard, because you’re too hard on yourself, Gordon. God’s forgiven you. I know He has. Now why can’t you do the same?” She rubbed her arm, frowning. “You didn’t mean to . . . It’s not like you wanted to . . . to do that. You were just a kid. You were scared.”
What else was there to say? That Janine Walters had been so scared she wet the bed? That she wasn’t supposed to have been there? Jerry Cox had said the house would be empty, that she and her husband were in New York for the weekend. But Jerry Cox had said a lot of things that night, that she was hot for him and always left the key in the garage for him to let himself in any time he wanted. He said the booze was in the back pantry, so the plan was to just help themselves and then be on their way. But then Jerry started opening drawers in the dark kitchen and feeling around inside cupboards for the money he said they owed him for yardwork. Probably upstairs, he said. She did that sometimes, left it in her underwear drawer for him, wrapped up in the silk panties she’d worn that day.
It had all been said, all written down somewhere, delivered in testimony no one believed. Why should they? And even if they did, which word, fact, or detail would change a thing? No matter what he knew and remembered, the truth was ultimately meaningless. Like her grave marker, there remained only this rock-solid, irrefutable pyramid of facts: Suffocated or strangled, Janine Walters had died and would always be dead, no matter how awkward, scared, misled, lonely, or gullible the boy Gordon Loomis had been. It was murder! the prosecutor had cried. Murder! Nothing else. It was what it was.
The front door flew open and the damp-haired children raced through the kitchen, calling for their mother. Gordon stood up as they burst onto the deck. “Come here, Jimmy, Annie,” Lisa said, gathering them close as if suddenly for comfort.
With all three facing him, Gordon’s self-consciousness boiled to a rising panic as Lisa told them how lucky they were to have their wonderful uncle Gordon back home again and with them forever and ever.
“Now you both go give him a great big hug and a kiss,” she said, nudging them along. Jimmy forced a smile. His younger sister glanced back at her mother. “You’ll have to bend down, Gordon,” Lisa said. “Otherwise they can’t reach you.”
He bent forward, but sharing his discomfort, the children tilted their heads away from his clumsy embrace. He felt bad. He had positioned their pictures so that their beautiful faces were his first vision with the morning light into his cell and his last with sleep. Yet he was as much a stranger to them as they were to him.
“Now you go sit in the corner and tell Uncle Gordon all about yourselves,” Lisa said on her way into the kitchen.
Gordon and the children had the same pleading expressions as they watched her go. Though he already knew the answers from Lisa’s letters and visits, he asked Jimmy what grade he was in: Fourth. His teacher’s name: Mr. Kelly. Did he like school? Well, sometimes.
“Sometimes he hates it,” Annie confided, careful to look at her brother and not her uncle.
“No, I don’t!” Jimmy fixed her in his indignant stare. “I never hate school. I just don’t always like it the same, that’s all.”
“Yes, you did! You said you hated it, and Mommy got really mad because we’re not supposed to say ‘hate.’ We’re not supposed to hate anything.”
“You’re not?” Gordon said.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” The little girl wet her lips and brushed the long dark hair from her face, conviction growing as she explained that hating was ugly and if you hated something, then you’d be ugly, too, like a creature or some kind of monster everybody was afraid of.
Like your uncle, Gordon thought. His first night here, Dennis had leaped out of his chair when Jimmy pushed his sister out of his way.
“She’s only six, that’s why she still believes in monsters,” Jimmy said, laughing.
“Mom!” Annie called, running inside, leaving Gordon alone with the boy. He couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“What was the jail like?” Jimmy asked.
“Uh, big. It was big. There were a lot of . . . different parts to it.”
“Did you ever try and break out? Like, saw through the bars or something?”
“No. No, I never did anything like that.”
“How come? Didn’t you want to get out?”
“Well, I knew I had to wait. Until it was time. Until—”
“I woulda climbed right over the wall, at night, with black stuff all over my face and these special things on my shoes, like suction cups that’re so strong they—”
“Jimmy,” Lisa said from the doorway. She sent him downstairs to apologiz
e to his sister.
Gordon went inside and watched Lisa cover the zucchini and summer squash with foil wrap. “It’s getting so late. Seven-twenty.” She put the casserole back in the oven. “Maybe we should just start without him.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” he said.
“I do. He’s missed dinner just about every night this week.”
Just then the floor vibrated as the garage door rumbled and then closed again. Dennis hurried into the kitchen, red-faced and breathless with apologies. He had taken a potential investor out to see one of the properties, but then the guy insisted on seeing the other one, which was clear across town, so the time just—
“The grill’s already lit.” Lisa handed him the platter of swordfish.
“I said I was sorry,” Dennis said as she turned abruptly away. He looked at Gordon and rolled his eyes, then touched his shoulder. “Your shirt’s wet. And so are your pants. What happened?”
“I got caught in the sprinkler.”
“Well, go change. I’ve got things you can wear.”
“He doesn’t want to, Dennis. I already asked him,” Lisa said. “Now will you go put the swordfish on? Please?”
Gordon followed him onto the deck. “What’s that you’re putting on?” he asked of the oily mixture Dennis was brushing onto the fish.
“I don’t know, some kind of marinade.” Dennis kept adjusting the flame.
“What does it do?”
“Keeps the fish wet. Moist. I don’t know, something like that,” he said with an irritable toss of his hand.
“If anyone asks me in the Market, now I’ll know what it’s for.”
“Yeah.” Dennis moved the swordfish to the back of the grill. He closed the hood, opening it again a few minutes later to turn the swordfish. He brushed more marinade onto the cooked side.
Gordon fidgeted in the silence. He regretted mentioning the Market. He bent over the railing and sniffed at the pink flowers in the window box.
“They don’t smell. They’re geraniums.” Dennis sounded annoyed.
“Oh, that’s right. Mom used to plant those. Red ones. By the front steps. Maybe I’ll do that. I did some work on Dad’s roses. Quite a bit, actually. Yeah, I got rid of a lot of the dead stuff. You should see all the new shoots.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dennis glanced back as if to say something, then sighed and began moving the swordfish around on the grill again.
Gordon remembered these moods, even when Dennis had been little. Like black clouds obscuring the sun, they could pass as quickly as they came. But for as long as they lasted, everyone would feel not only their chill, but a kind of desolation. Gordon cleared his throat. “Boy, that’s some grill. It’s huge. It must be twice as big as the stove at home.”
Dennis’s head shot up. “It was the only one that would fit into that miserable little kitchen.”
“No, no! I wasn’t complaining. I just meant the grill, it’s so big. I never saw one so—”
“You don’t have to stay there.” Dennis glanced toward the kitchen. “As a matter of fact, I was just talking to the Realtor. She said she’d be glad to get you an appraisal on the house.”
“But I don’t want to move. I—”
“Why? Give me one good reason you wouldn’t rather be living in a brand-new condo with all the latest modern conveniences.”
“I like it where I am. I know where everything is.” He tried not to be rattled by his brother’s smirk. They’d been all through this before. “It’s comfortable, and I like puttering around. Plus I’m so close to work I don’t have to—”
“So what was the degree for, then? All those courses? All the money, what the hell was that all about?”
“I said I’d pay you back. I always said that,” he mumbled, feeling like a leech again.
“You know I don’t give a damn about the money!” Dennis exploded, leaning close. A wind gust roiled through the trees. The swordfish sizzled, and the flames sputtered an orangy blue. “All I want is for you to have some kind of normal life, that’s all I want. Jesus Christ! Is that so hard to understand?”
More than hard, it was almost unfathomable that Dennis could think normal life was possible. But then how could his brother understand his meager expectations when Dennis’s had always been fueled by that relentless optimism and drive that delivered men like him to success? “I know,” Gordon conceded rather than argue. “I guess I’m just trying to get a feel for things. I just need to take it slow at first.”
“Fine! I can understand that. I just hate seeing you settle for less all the time, that’s all.” Dennis patted his shoulder. The light was back in his pale eyes. “So anyway, this gal I know, the Realtor I was talking about, she’s going to call you. Her name’s Jilly Cross. I asked her to show you some condos.”
“Condos?” Lisa said, coming onto the deck with a large blue bowl of salad. “Don’t tell me. Not condos again. Dennis should get his broker’s license. Lately everyone he meets he’s trying to sell condos to. Last week after church he’s got Father Hensile by the arm, trying to talk him into one for his sick mother! Like all of a sudden condos are the answers to everyone’s problems.”
Dennis laughed, unfazed by the edge in her voice. “But it’d be perfect. Especially for someone in Gordon’s situation.”
“His situation?” Lisa turned back from the doorway.
“You know what I mean. He’s stuck in a house that’s depreciating faster and faster every day that goes by.”
“But that’s where he wants to live, Dennis, so isn’t that the most important thing?”
“When you’re living on Clover Street, the most important thing’s not getting killed,” Dennis called after her as she went inside to get the children. He turned off the grill and didn’t say anything.
“We gather here together to thank you, Lord,” Lisa said softly, bowing her head as they all joined hands around the table.
“For these thy gifts,” Annie said.
“Which we are about to receive,” Jimmy said.
“From thy bounty through Jesus Christ, our Lord,” Dennis said with a sigh.
Lisa’s eyes remained closed, but the children and Dennis looked at Gordon, waiting.
Annie squeezed his fingers. “It’s your turn.”
“Uh, thank you . . . thank you, Lord, for—”
“No!” Jimmy said.
“Just say ‘Amen,’ that’s all,” Dennis said.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I guess I forgot how it ends,” Gordon told the children.
“Well, say it, then,” Annie said, delighted that someone so big could mess up something so simple.
“Amen,” he said softly. Mindful of the little grunts Dennis had criticized him for at lunch last week, Gordon tried to eat slowly. He was used to wolfing down his food. So accustomed was he to eating in a daze and not speaking to anyone that he wasn’t sure where to look, at his plate or his dining companions. In an effort to do both, he kept dropping food onto the table, into his lap.
Jimmy was watching him. “Did anybody else ever try and break out of your jail?”
There was a clink clink as both parents put down their forks.
“No.” Gordon shook his head. The children knew their uncle had gone to prison because someone had died. If they asked, he should just answer their question, Dennis had advised on the ride home. Tell them as much as they need to know. No details about the incident, of course. As if he ever would, Gordon had thought, amazed.
“You must’ve wanted to, though, huh?” Jimmy asked hopefully.
“Your uncle always did what he was supposed to do,” Lisa said. “We may not always like our situation in life, but we do our best. Uncle Gordon was very brave.”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “How were you brave?”
Gordon had no idea. He hadn’t been brave. He had only been. “I guess I just obeyed the rules, that’s all. I did what I was told.”
Dennis’s hands were clenched. “So, Jimmy, tell us how swimming went today,” he said
, but the boy had already launched into his next question.
“Did any prisoners ever try and stab you or anything?”
“No.” Gordon smiled as if that were a very far-fetched possibility. He caught himself. He had been about to say he had seen a few men stabbed and knew of many others who had been.
“My friend Jack said you killed a lady.” Jimmy watched him closely.
Gordon nodded.
“That’s enough now, Jimmy,” Dennis said, and Lisa began to talk about Jimmy’s swim meet next week. It was for the country club junior championship. Jimmy reminded her that she’d said he didn’t have to be in it if he didn’t want to. Lisa patted his hand and said they’d talk some more and then decide. Decide what? Dennis asked, staring at Lisa. Jimmy was on the team and he would be swimming in the meet, and it was as simple as that.
Gordon felt as if his mother had just spoken. He pushed vegetables onto his fork with his finger, then licked bits of squash from his thumb.
“Here.” Dennis held out the basket of rolls.
“No, thank you,” he said. He’d already had four, and there were only two left. He pushed more squash onto his fork and licked his finger.
“Please.” Dennis set the basket in front of him. “Use a roll, will you?”
“I’m sorry,” Gordon said.
“Dennis,” Lisa chided in a low voice.
“Like this.” Annie demonstrated, breaking a roll. “You just push it—”
“Thank you, Annie. I’m sure Uncle Gordon knows how to do it.” Lisa looked at Dennis.
“So what happened to Delores?” Dennis asked. “You said you were going to bring her.”
“No.” Gordon wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin. “I said I’d call her.”
“And did you?”
“No, because she came over. She just came,” he added, though his brother clearly didn’t regard this as the intrusion it had been.
“Well, you dropped the ball, then, Gordon. I mean, after all she’s done for you through the years. So now you’re home and you don’t even call her?”
“I . . .” He felt oddly winded. “I just didn’t get to it.” He took a deep breath. Then another.
A Hole in the Universe Page 6