“I thought you’d never ask. Give me a ride home and my mother will feed you dinner.”
“What’s the Friday-night special at the Coughlin house?” he asked.
“Pizza.”
He took a moment to weigh the offer. “I’m in.”
When I threw my bike in the hatch and climbed in, I suddenly realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d brought a friend home.
—
Curtis pulled into the driveway and immediately surveyed the yard. “What’s up with all the little mounds?”
“It’s a long story. I haven’t told you about my brother yet.” I gave Curtis a quick crash course on Caleb while we headed into the house. Before opening the door, I warned him that he was about to be interrogated.
Caleb met us in the front hall with his arms crossed.
“Good evening, Caleb,” Curtis said, extending his hand to him. “I’m Curtis.”
Caleb squeezed his hand briefly, crossed his arms again, and studied Curtis a moment. “CURTIS GRANDMOTHER DEAD!”
Curtis turned to me casually and whispered, “Was that a question or a statement?”
“That was a question,” I whispered back.
Curtis turned back to Caleb. “Well, as a matter of fact, Caleb, both of my grandmothers have passed away.”
“Caleb!” my mother shouted from the kitchen.
“GRANDFATHER STILL LIVING!” Caleb continued.
“One died about five years ago,” Curtis explained. “However, my mother’s father is still alive and kicking. Next question?”
“Caleb!” my mother yelled again.
Caleb scrutinized Curtis once more for a moment, uncrossed his arms, and marched toward the kitchen.
Curtis turned to me. “Have I been granted permission to enter the Coughlin premises?”
“I hope you don’t think he’s finished,” I told him as we entered the kitchen.
“I’m up for the challenge,” he said.
Mom was at the counter, making salad. When I introduced Curtis she was pleasant enough, but I could tell her mind was focused somewhere else. Mom asked Curtis twice within a five-minute interval what year he was in at school and how he liked Ladue. She invited Curtis to take a seat at the table with Caleb, then grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the sink. “Your father promised he’d be home an hour ago. I know he’s playing golf with his buddies,” she hissed. “But don’t you worry. He’ll be wearing his suit and pretend that he was just working late at the office—some ‘unscheduled meeting’ or something.”
I nodded. “Sorry, Mom. Curtis and I can clear out if you want us to.”
“Nonsense. We’ll give your dad ten more minutes. If he’s not home by then, we’ll just sit down and enjoy this meal without him.”
Enjoy? I thought. Not likely.
A moment later I heard the unmistakable thump of Dad’s silver Chrysler tires rolling over the curb and into the driveway. I wasn’t sure whether I should sigh with relief or prepare for the ensuing battle. It wasn’t like I was worried about Mom and Dad having some big ol’ knockdown, drag-out fight in front of Curtis or something. My parents didn’t fight that way. It was going to be something less certain, and that might be way worse. My parents were skillful at getting underneath each other’s skin. Mom took advantage of Dad’s screwups in a passive-aggressive way. She cataloged his mistakes and exploded on him at the most inopportune moment and in the most unpredictable way.
Mom opened up the oven and pulled the pizza pans out with a thin dish towel, cursing under her breath when the second pan singed her fingers. Dad appeared just as Mom predicted—he was wearing his suit, but the knot of his tie was loose around his collar. He had a sheepish grin on his face like he’d already had a few.
Mom stood rigid at the cutting board with her back to Dad, slashing onions, her knife pecking against the cutting board. Dad placed his briefcase on the counter, then strolled over to Mom and kissed her on the cheek. “Hi, honey.”
She turned the other cheek and nodded toward us. “Your dinner is ready,” she announced.
I decided it was time for me to try and squelch the rising tension in the room. “Dad, this is Curtis,” I said a bit too brightly. Curtis stood up from the table and they shook hands.
“Nice to meet you, Curtis,” Dad said in a friendly voice. “Glad you can join us for dinner,” he said, but Dad was also distracted by Mom’s cool reception. He knew she was onto the golf game. “I bet after all that running, you boys are famished.”
Dad removed his coat and tie, loosened his collar, and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet. He snatched some ice cubes from the freezer and poured some vodka. When he set a glass next to Mom, the chopping paused as she considered the drink. Then she nudged it away with the tip of her knife.
It’s on, I thought with a slight heart skip.
Dad let out a loud sigh and owned up. “So I played a little golf, Elise,” he confessed. “That’s part of doing business. I’ll slice the damn pizza.”
Curtis raised an eyebrow. I winced.
Dad opened the counter drawer and pulled out a long knife. He chopped the two pizzas into quarters—a deliberate move to irritate Mom—placed the pizza trays before us, and took his seat at the head of the table.
When Mom put the salad on the table, she took one look at the pans and rolled her eyes. She snatched the knife and began sawing the pizzas up. Melted cheese, onions, peppers, and sausage bits clumped to the knife blade as Mom mangled the pizzas.
That set Dad off. He took a long, slow sip of his drink and considered his next move. I sat beside Caleb, and Curtis sat opposite us at the table, alone.
Caleb was the one who finally broke the silence. “CURTIS LIKE HONEY NUT CHEERIOS!” he announced.
Curtis looked up at me. I followed his eyes as they traveled from my father, to my mother cutting the pizzas, to Caleb, then back to me. He smiled. “As a matter of fact, Caleb, I do like a good bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.”
Mom finally finished hacking the pizzas, placed the knife on the counter, and sat down.
Caleb then resumed his interrogation. “CURTIS LIKE KELLOGG’S FROSTED FLAKES!”
Dad stood up and retrieved the knife.
“Okay, Dad,” I interjected. “Curtis and I are big boys. We know how to use a knife and fork.”
“Oh no, Leo. This is my pleasure. I’m just trying to help out your mother,” he said mockingly. He leaned over one of the pizzas and, using the tip of the knife and a firm wrist, chopped at the crust to make the slices into sixteenths.
Beneath the tension, Curtis continued to answer Caleb’s questions politely. “To tell you the truth, Caleb, I can’t remember the last time I had Frosted Flakes.” Curtis glanced at me, his eyebrows slightly raised. I rolled my shoulders slowly upward, shrugging an apology.
Dad placed the knife back on the counter and sat down again.
Now it was Mom’s turn. She grabbed the knife and began cutting the pizza again.
How much could one pizza take?
Caleb began to warm to Curtis and his voice calmed. “Curtis like Cocoa Puffs?”
“Come to think of it, Cocoa Puffs are nice every now and then,” Curtis answered.
“Raisin Bran?”
“Sorry, Caleb,” he said, shaking his head. “Not a big fan of Raisin Bran.”
Caleb quizzed Curtis about a few more cereal brands while Mom sliced the pizza. When she finished, there were thirty-two razor-thin slices of pizza before us. Mom put the knife down on the counter, sat in her chair, and glared at Dad.
Caleb was the one who finally stopped the nonsense. He took the delay in action as a cue that it was finally time to eat. He held both hands up in the air and shouted, “SAY PRAYER!”
“Amen!” I whispered to myself. I glanced at Curtis, who mouthed “Jesus!” to me and hid a smile.
I grabbed Caleb’s hand and reached for Mom’s.
My father turned to Curtis. “Caleb insists that we pray before dinner,” he explained
. “It’s a routine we’ve kind of fallen into.”
Curtis took my father’s hand. “No problem. Let’s give thanks.” He looked over at my mother and extended his hand to her, too.
Caleb began his unique version of the prayer aloud in a single note. “Blessed our Lord, for these our gifts, about to receive, from my bounty, through Christ our Lord. AMEN!” he shouted. “HOW MANY SLICES PIZZA HAVE?” Caleb asked my father in the same breath.
We dropped hands. “As many as you want.” My father sighed. “There’s certainly plenty here!”
After his second drink, Dad started to calm down and managed to ask Curtis a few polite questions, mostly the same ones Mom had already asked. Caleb ended the breakfast-cereal survey and then moved on to cataloging the makes, models, and years of cars Curtis’s family had owned over the years. Curtis was patient with Caleb; his responses were upbeat and conveyed genuine interest. I even managed to coax a few words from Mom about her day.
As soon as we stepped out of the house, Curtis burst out howling. “So is that a typical dinner?” he asked.
I considered his question a moment. “I wouldn’t say it’s typical, but it’s within the bell curve.”
“That was priceless,” he said. “Our family dinners are nothing in comparison with that.”
“I hope not.”
“What do you mean?” he said as he climbed into his car, still laughing. “That was good, wholesome family entertainment!”
“Let’s say you experienced a slice of life in the Coughlin household,” I said in defense.
“If that was just a slice,” he answered with a sly grin, “I’m going to bet it was a very small slice.”
7.
AFTER CURTIS LEFT I WATCHED some old Seinfeld episodes, then crashed, falling asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. As luck would have it, that was the first time Caleb came after me during the night. He had trouble pinning me with his knees in the darkness, but he managed to slap my head a couple of times before going for my eyes. I got a knee into his crotch, pulled his hair, slipped from under him, ran across the room, and flipped on the lights. He was sitting on my bed rocking back and forth wildly and biting his fist.
I scrambled into my shorts, grabbed a T-shirt from the floor of the closet, snatched my running shoes, and made a run for it out the basement back door. I laced up my shoes by the side of the house, listening for Caleb’s footsteps.
I took off through backyards and down side streets. It must have been the middle of the night. House lights were out and the streets were empty. I ran a few miles, until I relaxed and felt ready to deal. When I finally returned, Caleb was focused on a van Gogh Starry Night paint-by-number beside the television set. His painting made the sky look like it was raining fire.
He didn’t even look up when I came in through the back door. “Sorry, Leo,” he said to me. He had calmed down.
“It’s all right, Caleb,” I told him. It was no use mixing things up now.
“God not punish you?” he asked me.
I was thinking God should be on my side, but I paused and thought about his question a moment. “No, Caleb. God not punish you.”
“Jesus love you?”
Where did he get this?
“Yes, Jesus loves you,” I told him, and headed back to bed.
8.
I WAS SAVORING AN ENORMOUS BITE of my salami and cream cheese on an onion bagel when I saw the girl with blond hair standing at the salad bar. Mary.
Not that I have a photographic memory, but there was not a doubt in my mind that she was wearing the same black jeans as the last time I saw her, and I was fine with that. However, the white button-down shirt had been replaced with one of those long, button-down shirts that come down over girls’ waists and turn into a skirt. The shirt’s swirling pattern of green and black complemented her hair. Normally, I inhaled my sandwich in three or four bites. Today I involuntarily paused and gawked as she picked through a dodgy assortment of raw veggies with metal tongs.
Curtis followed my gaze from our lunch table to my target. “Her name is Mary Seisen. A junior like you,” he informed me between bites of sandwich. “She’s a little out of the box. I’ve known her since grade school.” He took a sip of his Gatorade and nodded. “Interesting taste, Leo. Personally, I prefer brunettes.”
Mary circled the salad bar, examining each item she placed on her plate.
“And if I’m not mistaken, she’s single at the moment. I might be able to provide you with some assistance for a nominal charge.”
“No, thanks.”
“Whatever,” he mumbled. He pointed at my face. “By the way,” he said, “what’s up with the scratch under your eye?”
“It’s nothing,” I mumbled. I kept my eyes glued on Mary and thought up a lie. “I took a shortcut biking home yesterday and got smacked by a tree branch.”
“And who was holding the tree branch?” he joked. He continued looking at me with this expression on his face like something didn’t quite add up.
“I was gassed after practice yesterday,” I finally told him. “I totally spaced out on the ride home.”
“You gotta be more careful, man.”
I directed my attention back to Mary. She paid for her salad and took a few steps into the chaos of the school cafeteria, searching for possible refuge. That’s when Curtis began frantically waving his arms like a lunatic. Mary acknowledged him with a nod and made her way toward us.
I tried to make a run for it, grabbing what was left of my sandwich and paper bag. “I have to get going,” I told him.
“Sit your butt down and relax, Coughlin,” he commanded. “Your lunch isn’t over.”
I did as told. I ran my hand through my hair nervously and wondered what I looked like.
Curtis stood up, wiped down the table surface with his napkin, and pulled out a chair for her as she approached the table. “Greetings, Miss Mary,” he addressed her. “How are you on this fine afternoon?”
“Always the gentleman, Curtis,” she said drily.
“Indeed,” he said as he removed the paper napkin from her tray and placed it on her lap. “Would you like to see a wine list?”
“No, thank you. Instead I would like for you to stop speaking like a pompous, overeducated freak.”
“My apologies, Mary. Growing up as the only child of two university professors who’ve made me attend frequent dinner parties listening to their peers endlessly pontificate has inevitably influenced my elocution. But I digress,” he said, nodding toward me.
“It’s annoying, Curtis,” she said.
“Duly noted,” he said insincerely. “Miss Mary Seisen, please allow me to cordially introduce you to my new friend, Leo Coughlin,” he said.
She glanced at me and smiled. “We’ve met,” she informed him.
I froze. Again.
“Mary and I have known each other since the fourth grade,” he informed me. Curtis sat down with a huge, stupid smile on his face and resumed eating. I was cheap entertainment. He was enjoying that Mary clearly unhinged me. “So how was your summer, Miss Mary?” Curtis asked.
She nibbled on a carrot and pondered. “I was in Chicago for way too long with my father and his new wife. You’d think I’d have something in common with her. She’s closer to my age than my dad’s.”
“Not the case?” Curtis asked.
Mary shook her head. “Let’s just say she’s something else altogether. But my dad gets this huge, dopey grin on his face whenever she walks in the room, so I suppose I’m happy for him.” She looked at me again, giving me a thorough going-over with her eyes.
“Leo is a new arrival here,” Curtis explained. “A transfer from Parkway Central, and more important, a new member of Ladue’s elite cross-country program. He’s quite a runner.”
Mary looked directly into my eyes. “Why did your family move here?” Then she nodded at Curtis. “And how did he convince you to go out for that insane sport?”
I thought for a moment, hoping some words wo
uld come out that made sense. “The move mostly has to do with my brother, and that’s actually a longer story. The cross-country part was my choice.”
“What’s up with your brother?” she asked, brushing aside a mushy chunk of tomato with her fork.
“Well, for one, he’s autistic,” I explained.
“Like Bill Gates autistic?” she replied casually. “Or like Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time autistic?”
“Bill Gates’s autism is pure conjecture,” Curtis interrupted.
“Once again you’re missing the point,” she said, rolling her eyes at him before looking back at me.
“The autism is just one layer,” I told her. “He’s got a few other disabilities he’s dealing with.”
Curtis couldn’t help himself. “Leo has quite an interesting family,” he told Mary. “Maybe we can all go over there some night for pizza.”
Thankfully, Mary ignored him as she poked at her salad. “So why did you have to move here on account of your brother?”
“Go on,” Curtis said, motioning with his hand for me to continue. “You haven’t told me this part yet.”
I glared at Curtis. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if he was laughing with me or laughing at me. So I just looked down at the table and tried to formulate a concise explanation.
“Let’s just say that some of the stuff he pulled didn’t always go over too well in the neighborhood where we were living,” I told her. “Our house is a lot closer to his school now, and we don’t have as many neighbors.” I was now squirming in my own skin.
The bell rang and lunch was over. Curtis nodded and shrugged. “Personally, I’m glad you moved here, Leo,” he said with an expression that sounded actually genuine. He stood and gave me a little slap on the back before departing. “Besides, your brother isn’t the only one who’s not exactly normal. I think your parents take the cake on that.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, and got up to go to Spanish.
Mary tapped my shoulder as I turned to leave. “Nice to finally meet you, Leo.” She smiled. “Again.” Her green eyes drilled right through me.
This time I remembered Mom’s advice and smiled back. “Nice to meet you, too,” I said. I was too rattled at that moment to say much else.
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