An Exaltation of Larks

by Suanne Laqueur

  “I only found out this morning,” Jav said. “And now I’m here.”

  They stood two feet apart now, uncle and nephew, looking each other over. Ari’s eyes were nearly on a level with Jav’s. Kid was at least six feet, but Christ, he’d fall over if you yawned in his direction.

  “Mind if I sit down?” Jav asked.

  Ari shrugged and flopped back into the easy chair. Jav sat in the one opposite, shrugging out of his jacket.

  “I’m really sorry to meet you like this,” he said. “And I’m sorry about your mother.”

  Ari put an ankle on one knee, his arms crossed again. “Are you?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  Jav closed his eyes to do the mental math. “Coming up on twenty-six years. I left home in nineteen-eighty.”

  “And what, you never spoke again?”

  Jav shook his head. “It was an ugly situation. Did you mother tell you about it?”

  “Dude, I didn’t even know you existed until yesterday.”

  “Then you can see how ugly it was. I didn’t know about you until this morning.”

  “Twenty-six years,” Ari said. “That’s a long time to hold a grudge. What was all the bad blood about?”

  “Did your mother tell you anything about her family?”

  Ari shook his head. “When I asked, she said her parents were both dead.”

  Jav stared at the crossroads a moment. He could give a vague, sanitized version of events, but the kid was already reeling from his mother withholding information. It wasn’t fair. Jav had to lob the truth out there and see if Ari wanted anything to do with it.

  “The shortest version,” he said slowly, “is a misunderstanding led my family to think I was gay. And they threw me out.”

  Ari blinked twice. “For real?”

  Jav spread his hands out. “Twenty-six years, you ever hear my name?”

  Ari’s eyebrows pulled down to make a single thick line. “So they thought you were gay but you’re not?”

  I’m not sure, Jav thought. “No,” he said.

  “No one believed you?”

  Jav shook his head.

  “One strike, out on the street, slam the door and goodbye forever?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Dude, that’s fucking harsh. Even my mother cut you off?”

  Then Jav felt like shit, casting Naroba in this light when she’d been gone only a few days. Pouring brine on a bleeding heart. “Look,” he said. “Out of all the animosity I’ve carried around for my family, my sister had the least of it. Let me be honest about what I know. I heard Naroba ran away after I left. But did she stay away? I’m inclined to think she went back.”

  “Why?”

  “Because in a household full of tigers, she was a baby gazelle. My mother always said Naroba couldn’t decide her way out of a burning building. She was a follower, not a leader, happy to do what someone else told her. So who knows how my mother bullied or brainwashed her into cutting me off, but it couldn’t have been difficult.”

  “Yeah.” Ari was nodding and picking at one of his shoelaces. “Mom didn’t always make good decisions when it came to people,” he said. “Which was weird. Because at work, she—”

  “What did she do?”

  “She was a nurse. A good one. Really competent and confident. Few times I saw her on the job, it was like looking at a completely different person. Soon as she was out of her scrubs, she became…afraid. She always needed someone telling her what to do. You’re right about that.”

  “What happened to your father?”

  “My real father?”

  “No, I mean Nick Seaver. The man who adopted you.”

  “He died. Six years ago. Heart attack.”

  “And he had no other family?”

  One of Ari’s shoulders rolled. “Only child. His parents were dead.” The eyes that turned to Jav were far older than seventeen years, the smile below filled with irony. “Seems to be the story of my life. You sure you want to hang out with me?”

  Jav nodded, unable to think of anything to say.

  “Nick was a great guy,” Ari said to the fireplace. “Nothing was the same after he went.”

  “Did you call him Dad?”

  “I was starting to. He was good to Mom. Good for her. When she was with him, it was like she had her scrubs on all the time. And when he died…”

  “All her confidence died, too?”

  “Pretty much. She got involved with a real loser a few years ago. Tom Kingston. Started out fine, he seemed like a nice guy. But pretty soon it became obvious he was hooked on painkillers, and her being a nurse was convenient for him.” Ari shook his head. “It got real ugly real fast. Talk about not being able to decide your way out of a burning building.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “In jail. Arrested for dealing heroin. Huge drug ring got busted up. Ever have a police raid smash down your door? It’s a gas. We were real popular in the neighborhood afterward. Not.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Ari stared at Jav a long time, his lower jaw moving back and forth. Then he freed a hand and reached across the space between them. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Jav said, shaking it. The kid had a good grip. “You feel all right staying here?”

  Ari shrugged. “It’s okay. People are nice.”

  Jav looked around the room. Tall windows with the beautiful views. A large sofa, a couple more easy chairs. Two tables with mismatched seating. A good place to chill out or study.

  “You’re a junior?” Jav asked.

  Ari nodded.

  “Play sports?”

  “I wrestled. Then I got sick last year.”

  “Your lawyer told me. How are you feeling now? All things considered.”

  “Like shit.”

  Jav crossed his arms and ankles, feet stretched toward the fire. “That’s fair.”

  Ari glanced at Jav. “So what do you do?”

  “I’m a writer.”

  “Books?”

  Jav nodded. “And some web copy and freelance journalism.”

  “You live in Manhattan?”

  “Little bit north of Harlem.”

  Ari’s gaze slid far away. Jav studied him out the side of his eye. The thinness of Ari’s face couldn’t support his strong nose and jaw. But when he gained some weight back, he’d be a good-looking kid.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” Jav asked.

  “I got nobody,” Ari said evenly, cracking his knuckles one at a time beneath his thumb. “I have my dog, Roman. And he almost died, too.”

  “What about your real father?”

  A chuckle. “I have no idea who he is, where he is or if he even knows I’m alive.”

  Jav leaned forward. “What can I do to help you right now? Tonight. Or tomorrow.”

  The boy rubbed his face vigorously, raked his fingers through his hair. “I want to see Roman.”

  “Done,” Jav said. “I’ll stay the night somewhere. I’ll come back first thing in the morning and take you to see him. He’s at a shelter, right? Close by?”

  Ari looked over, nodding, mouth pressed in a tight line.

  “Okay. We’ll go tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” A single thick syllable but half of it got stuck in Ari’s throat and he looked away.

  “Look,” Jav said, not sure where he was going but feeling he had to say something reassuring.

  Jesus, what the hell do I know about being an uncle? Only that an uncle’s love comes at a price.

  “Look,” he said again. “I was cut off from the family, but none of the reasons have anything to do with your mother. Or with you. It was long before you were born. None of this is your fault. You’re my sister’s son and I’ll help you. But I need to say…two things. One is you owe me nothing. None of my help comes at a price. Second, I might not be good at this. I’ve never taken care of anyone except myself.”

  And m
y clients.

  Ari sunk further in the chair, looking gaunt, overwhelmed and helpless.

  I can help him.

  “I’m kind of a solitary and selfish individual, Ari,” Jav said. “Maybe this can help me change.”

  “Don’t change for me,” Ari said dully. “I’ll be out of your hair in a year.”

  “Have you eaten? You want to go get something in town?”

  Ari shook his head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “All right. I’m going to find a place to stay tonight. And I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “All right.”

  They both stood up. Jav hesitated, decided it was too soon and too weird for hugging. He went for a handshake and a back pat. He could feel the bumps of Ari’s spine and the edge of a shoulder blade.

  “It’ll be all right,” Jav said. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “Sure,” Ari said, reaching down for the book he dropped on the floor. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  “Vale, hasta mañana.” Jav made to leave but turned back after a few steps. “Do you speak Spanish?”

  “A little.” Ari’s head bobbled around. “I mean, I can understand a little. I don’t speak much. Sorry.”

  “No, I was just curious. Goodnight.”

  Ari held up a palm. “Adios.”

  Deane Lark-Penda thought sex was weird.

  She and her boyfriend Casey started Doing It after New Year’s and so far, after two months, sex felt superficial and phony to Deane. Somehow required. Perfunctory lines on a social resume instead of a conscious act of passionate expression.

  “I thought sex would be bigger,” Deane said to her best friend, Stella.

  “Bigger?”

  “More monumental.”

  “Casey’s not a monumental kind of guy,” Stella said. “Don’t get me wrong. I mean, he’s good to you.”

  “I know,” Deane said. “But I don’t feel changed by this. I thought sex made things more serious. And I thought being in a serious relationship would be more…more.”

  “Well, look at your parents,” Stella said. “What in hell could measure up to what you see in front of your face every day? You were doomed to be disappointed in love.”

  “Thanks,” Deane said.

  “Sorry, Pooky,” Stella said. “I guess it’s better than if they fought all the time. Or maybe it’s just as hard having parents who are painfully in love.”

  Deane’s parents were ridiculous. Always hugging and kissing and grabbing each other’s asses. Walking down Main Street arm-in-arm, holding hands at Deane’s lacrosse games. Once Deane and Stella came back to the house to find Alex and Val wrestling in the back yard. Rolling around in the grass, laughing and roughhousing while the dog barked her head off and Stella stared in open-mouthed fascination.

  “Jesus,” she said. “Is this normal behavior for them?”

  “Yes,” Deane said. “It’s fucking mortifying.”

  “It’s epic,” Stella said. “My mom and dad shake hands goodnight. I look at all my other friends’ parents and feel sad and tired. I look at your parents and all I think about is sex.”

  “Ew,” Deane said, caught in her own crossfire between fascination and embarrassment. She knew when her parents were making love. It was more than their bedroom door being shut and the dog kicked out. More than overhearing little noises and soft laughter. It was the way the air in the house vibrated. It changed color, like an aura. Deane would get up to pee or get water and it might be utterly, spookily silent. Still she knew they were Doing It.

  “They Do It even when they’re not Doing It,” she said to Casey once.

  Casey, who could be maddeningly literal sometimes, shook his head, not getting it. A star football player in fall and captain of the baseball team in spring, imagination wasn’t in his DNA. He made love by the playbook, running the bases in order. Kissing. Touching above the waist. Touching below the waist. He’d put a condom on and then they Did It.

  Deane held county records in three ski events and was co-captain of the lacrosse team, but this neat, structured passion wasn’t her idea of lovemaking. She was starting to think Casey Bradshaw might be a bit of a prude.

  “He wants it,” Deane said. “But he never talks about it.”

  “Well, he’s Catholic,” Stella said. “Of course he wants it, but he’s not supposed to.”

  Casey never said anything like, Let’s make love tonight. Or, I can’t wait to make love tonight. The school week went along with their time eaten up by homework and jobs and sports practice, and it was simply a given that the weekends were for sex.

  Tonight was Friday and they were Doing It down in Casey’s basement TV room.

  Woo-hoo.

  Deane didn’t make any little noises when Casey was moving inside her. They didn’t laugh softly together. The air didn’t shimmer or vibrate. It stood around, wondering what it was supposed to do, like guests at a really lame party. Or the losers who arrived at the party on the wrong night.

  She was missing something here. Or maybe she was doing something wrong. Her mother often left her phone lying around and Deane would see texts from her father:

  Can’t get shit done today, I keep thinking about last night.

  And her mother’s text back:

  I fucking love being your wife.

  The words bewildered Deane. Her parents’ passion was an eternal flame, while Deane’s inflated and deflated like a balloon. After sex, Casey said he loved her. She thought you couldn’t help but love the person who made you come a minute ago. He never texted her the next day, saying he was still thinking about it. To distraction. He never said he loved being her boyfriend.

  Tonight she’d tried a trick play. After they rounded third and before he reached for the condom. She stilled his hand and pushed him down on his back.

  “Whoa,” he said. “You want to be on top?”

  “I just want to look at you.”

  “What?”

  “Shh. Hold still.” She lay on her elbow and ran her hand over his naked body, from his head to his feet, looking at everything close up in the flickering light from the soundless TV. Touching. Searching. Looking for what it was about him that worked with her. That turned her on and moved her.

  He’s sweet, she thought. He isn’t moody. You always know how he’ll react and behave. He’s loyal to his friends. He’s decent. He doesn’t target weakness or make fun of people who are different. These are all good things. He’s good.

  Her hands moved over the planes and curves of his muscles. The hair on his chest and under his arms. The four-pack he was so obsessive over. The whorl of his belly button. Ignoring his erection, she ran her hand down his strong quads, the rough skin on his kneecaps and his calves. His feet jerked away from her touch, too ticklish. She turned around and headed up his body again, looking at his handsome face.

  He wasn’t returning her gaze with adoration or tender amusement, his face saying I love being your boyfriend.

  He looked impatient. Almost…annoyed.

  Like, Are you done yet?

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. She stopped her exploration and tore open the Trojan packet. He took it out of her fingers and rolled it on himself. Weird how he never let her do it.

  “What,” she said, leaning on her elbow and stroking his arm. “I can be trusted with a hand job but proper condom technique is beyond my skill?”

  The pink crawled across his cheekbones as he shook his head. “You’re so funny.” He slid on top of her, they Did It and afterward he put his face in her neck and said he loved her.

  Why? she thought.

  She shouldn’t be so cynical. He wasn’t a bad guy.

  She just wished he were more monumental.

  They got dressed and she walked home. Casey always asked if she wanted him to come with and she always said no. It was two blocks on well-lit streets. This was Guelisten—people left keys in the ignition and parked napping babies in strollers outside stores. She didn’t need an escort.
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  Besides, she wanted Casey not to ask to come, but just come. Because he couldn’t stand her leaving.

  She wanted him to be dire. To text, Do you miss me?

  I love making love with you.

  I can’t stop thinking about it.

  The house on Tulip Street was quiet and dark. Her parents liked to know when Deane was back, so she rattled soft knuckles on their bedroom door and pressed her mouth close to the jamb.

  “I’m home,” she called.

  A shimmering pause.

  “Thanks, honey,” Val said.

  “Duerme bien, cosita,” Alex said.

  Deane got into the shower, reaching for her Clarisonic facial brush, which she’d used on her face for a week until she discovered it had a much better purpose. With the spinning head on its lowest setting in one hand, and the detachable shower head in the other, she could come in twelve seconds.

  Breathing hard, her head lolling with the release, she leaned into the warm spray, now limp and relaxed as a cat. Why was it so simple alone and so maddeningly difficult with Casey? How many times did you have to take a guy’s hand and tell him, “Dude, it’s right here.” If he had that kind of learning disability in sports, he’d be a bench decoration.

  She was inept at this game, something she wasn’t used to. The rules kept changing.

  Deane Lark-Penda hated not knowing the rules to a game.

  She wrapped up in a towel and crept past her parents’ room.

  Behind the door, she heard them laughing softly.

  Ari woke up hungry.

  He wasn’t supposed to skip meals—the hospital warned against putting any undue stress on his body. But he found he thought better on an empty stomach. In a weird way, he liked waking up to a gnawing hollow in his belly.

  Hunger became a funny little friend to him in his wrestling days, when he had to hold steady at 132 pounds, or drop down to the 126-pound weight class if his coach was short. He liked being able to rise above his stomach’s needs, reducing bulk without reducing his strength, converting every bit of fat into muscle and keeping the muscle as compact as possible. He discovered when hunger curled up in his belly like a warm cat, his mind curled easier around things. He felt sharper. Keener. He was faster when he fasted.

  The sun sliced through the thin curtains of his little room at Lark House. He sat up, twisting from one side to the other to get his back to crack, then he reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand. The mattress sucked and it was roasting in here. Pulling the curtain aside, he saw a cloudless, brilliant-blue sky. A walk and some air seemed a good idea. He dressed and made his quiet way downstairs, ignoring the salty, greasy smell of bacon wafting from the dining hall.