“I’m thinking about having a baby,” she said.
“You’re forty-two years old,” Val said, setting her coffee cup down, far away from the heap of white voile in her lap.
“Apparently my brain is thirty-six.”
“Who’s the lucky, imaginary father?”
“I haven’t gotten that far in the thinking. Although Javier gives me a big shove from behind.”
Val held up a protesting finger but the protest died in her mouth. “I could actually support this,” she said, “because it would be an insanely beautiful baby.”
Trelawney lifted her chin with a closed-mouth grin. “Thank you. I could also ask Francis.”
Val laughed. Francis was Trelawney’s massage therapist. Fabulously gay, built like a bull and, the sisters joked, the only man who got to see Trelawney naked.
“I could also support that,” Val said.
“Well, anyway.” Trelawney stood up and kissed Val. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For playing along and not trying to fix.”
“It’s not fixable,” Val said.
She took another careful sip of coffee and settled back into her chair, picking up her work. She was content. It was still winter and her instincts wanted to nest. Hang around home, making soup and stew and bread. Build fires and take naps. Make love and be nothing but married.
She became aware of a presence on the other side of the window and looked up to see Jav watching her, the tilt of his chin showing interest in her work. Against the grey, chilly skies and the backdrop of the train station, he was beautiful. Jeans and a pea coat, a cup of coffee and his car keys in one deft, casual hand. Obviously on his way back to the city, but lingering, watching her. Just like he used to linger at her bedside before leaving.
Their eyes met and he smiled.
Feeling slightly Pon Farrish, she smiled back.
Hey, little boy. Want some candy?
May 2006
Guelisten, New York
I found a friend.
The sentiment was identical, eerily and fabulously identical to when eleven-year-old Alex rode home from his first trip to Stowe with the Larks. Dozing off with Roger in the back of the station wagon, Alex knew, in a warm haze of certainty, everything was different now. Monday at school would be different. After school would be different. The weekends would be different.
I found a friend.
The moment Alex recognized Jav on Main Street, he felt the same crackle of serendipitous relief.
Finally. You’re here. You’re back. Are you staying? You want to hang out? Will I see you at school tomorrow?
Within six weeks, Jav had rented Roger’s apartment over the bookstore and moved himself and Ari in. Roman presented a problem: the shelter needed the space he was occupying, and Trelawney was protective of her investments and wouldn’t budge on the no pets policy. Ultimately, it was decided Roman would stay with the Lark-Pendas, and Ari had carte blanche to come see his dog whenever he wanted.
At first, Jav, running around like the proverbial chicken, had no time for anything. The legal, financial and spiritual details of getting Ari settled and safe took up all his hours.
The emptying and selling of the home in Morgantown was the most draining ordeal. The house was broken down in coordinated waves. First Ari went through, collecting what he wanted to have and keep and cherish. Some things he took to the apartment, some went into storage. Then an auction company came through. Then the Salvation Army. Last, a volunteer group made up of Guelisten residents and Lark House teens—organized by Alex—cleaned out the rest and threw a coat of paint on the entire downstairs.
One hard-working day, Alex saw Jav wrestle a handful of photographs from where they’d fallen behind a bookcase. Long minutes passed as Jav went through them and something in the tense line of his jaw made Alex curious.
“Find treasure?” he asked, looking over Jav’s shoulder. Funny how his memory recalled Jav being much taller twenty years ago when they were actually the same height.
The photos were faded Kodak prints, all of the same three kids against an urban backdrop. Two boys and a girl. Playing in the spray of a fire hydrant. Mugging over ice cream cones. Big toothy grins as they sat cross-legged in front of a Christmas tree.
“Is that you?” Alex said, pointing to one of the boys. Gangly and awkward, but already showing signs of being dangerously good-looking.
“That’s me,” Jav said quietly. “This is my sister.”
“Who’s the other guy.”
“My cousin. Ernesto.” Jav flipped over the last picture. This one of just him and his cousin, later in their teen years. Shirtless and laughing, arms around each other’s shoulders.
“Do you talk to him?”
“He died,” Jav said. “Long time ago.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
Jav shook his head a little, then gave Alex a closed-mouth grin before lobbing the stack of pictures into one of the ubiquitous industrial garbage bags. His stride walking off was so full of hurt bravado, so don’t-give-a-fuck, Alex was moved to retrieve the pictures and tuck them in his pocket. Later he put them in his desk drawer, clipped together with Jav’s old business card. He wasn’t sure why any more than he knew why he’d kept the card all these years, or lunged so quickly to keep Jav from tearing it up.
Maybe he’ll want them back someday, he thought, lingering at his desk and turning the old dagger, Albacete, over and over in his hands.
I’ll hold them, he thought. Like I hold this for my dad. Just in case.
“Out of my way, fucky,” Alex said, bringing the pot of boiling pasta to the sink. Val stepped aside, chopping garlic.
“Did you just call her fucky?” Jav said.
“Don’t ask,” Val said.
His glasses fogged up with steam, Alex put the empty pot on the stove, then put his arms around Val. “She’s my wittle fucky,” he said into her neck.
Val’s knife never broke rhythm. “This is the crowning achievement of my life, Jav.”
“It’s the point of getting married,” Alex said. “To have a fucky.”
“And all this time I thought it was a tax deduction,” Jav said, reaching up to get the salad bowl off the shelf. Alex smiled at the ease with which Jav now moved around his house. Knowing where to find dishes and the bottle opener and extra paper towel. Answering the phone or taking out the recycling.
I found a friend.
Jav and Alex hung out, or at minimum touched base every day.
Qué lo qué? Can you hang? What you got going on? Qué onda? What’s up? Want to grab a beer?
The availability made Alex wonder if Jav was still escorting, until one afternoon when Jav called him with a strange request.
“I know this is weird,” he said. “But I’m meeting a new client tonight. She lives at 474 First Avenue, apartment C.”
“Oh. You’re still…in the business?”
“Yeah. We’re going to a charity event at the Cloisters, then back to her place. Probably.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“In case things go south and I end up floating in the East River. You have a trail back to her.”
“Jesus, man.”
“I know, I know,” Jav said. “Usually I write it down and tape it to my mirror. I can’t really do that anymore with Ari around.”
“What did you tell him about tonight?”
“That I have a date. Which, technically, I do.”
“Of course,” Alex said, wondering if he should find this outrageous. Because he didn’t.
“Anyway, someone needs to know where I am. It’s the rule. You’re the someone.”
“I’m honored,” Alex said, laughing. “Do I get a cut of the income?”
“No.”
Alex had less sexier commitments: rescues, adoption events, school meetings or work meetings. He and Val were taking Deane to visit colleges on weekends. Or they had date nights. The proverbial shit happened. But whenever Alex
and Jav got together, planned or spontaneous, it was easy as hell and always a good time.
I’m happy, Alex thought. Which was like reuniting with another sort of long-lost friend. He felt good. More relaxed and content than he’d been in years. And holy crap, he hadn’t spoken this much Spanish since his childhood.
“Move, fucky,” Jav said, pushing Alex aside so he could get into the fridge.
Val laughed from the stove. “Has a nice ring to it, right?”
From her bed in the kitchen corner, Sheba barked. Roman replied and the two dogs headed out. The front door opened and slammed closed. Footsteps pounded up the stairs and across the kitchen ceiling, followed by the louder slam of a bedroom door.
“That ain’t good,” Jav said.
A big sigh from Val. “Cause of death: adolescence.”
Glances slowly lowered and exchanged around the room. Alex and Val shook fists and did a quick rock-paper-scissors. Alex lost.
“Fuck,” he muttered. He wiped his hands on a dishtowel and tossed it at Jav. “Cover me.”
“Estas el más valiente,” Jav called after him.
Alex picked up a stack of mail that had tumbled off the foyer table from the force of the door slam. Sheba followed him up the stairs, where he arranged his face into neutral lines and turned off the power switch on his Y chromosome, shifting from fix-it mode to listen mode.
“Deane,” he said, tapping on her door. “You all right, babe?”
From within he heard sniffling and the distinct sound of tears being muffled.
“Cosita.” He turned the knob and cracked the door. Deane lay on her stomach with her face buried beneath pillows and stuffed animals. Alex crouched down and put his hand on her hot, damp head. “Qué onda, hija?”
“Nothing.”
Alex pulled his cheek in tight to keep from laughing. Teenage girls. They’d be holding a knife to their throat or dangling off the side of a bridge and they’d still say, “Nothing” when you asked what was wrong.
“I see,” he said. He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and reached around to tuck it in her fingers. “Everything nothing? Or a specific nothing?”
“I got dumped a week before prom nothing,” she said, her voice falling apart on the nothing.
“Qué mierdas pasa?”
“Casey broke up with me.”
“Why?” Which was exactly the wrong thing to say. “I’m sorry—”
“Dad, please?” She was crying again.
“I’m sorry, honey. That sucks.” He’d woken up the bear and was now frantically pelting it with berries.
“Dad, please just leave me alone.”
“All right.” He kissed her head and got up. “Stay,” he told Sheba, who threw him a look of I got this, and lay down on the rug.
He went downstairs rolling his eyes and mumbling. Jav looked up as he came into the kitchen. “Everything all right?”
“You may want to go up for this one, honey,” Alex said.
Val turned from the stove. “What?”
“Apparently we’ve been dumped and we’re not going to prom.”
“Not going to… Oh, good lord.” She downed the rest of the wine in her glass, handed the wooden spoon to Jav and walked out.
Alex popped another beer. “I never liked him.”
“Casey?”
“Yeah. I don’t even know why. I got no concrete reason not to like him. I just don’t.”
“It’s chemistry. Some people rub you the wrong way on sight.”
Alex picked a clump of spaghetti out of the colander and ate it, staring out the back window. Concentrating on keeping his Y turned off, otherwise he’d use it to flatten Bradshaw until the kid had to roll down his socks to shit.
Val stormed back into the kitchen. “Life has rules,” she said, pointing first at Alex, then at Jav.
“Here we go,” Alex said.
“You do not dump your girlfriend a week before prom. Especially if she’s bought the dress.”
“That’s a rule,” Jav said. “Why’d he break up with her?”
“I guess he found himself a better date.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Alex said, his face in a hand. “Jav, get the shovel. Forty acres behind Lark House, they’ll never find him.”
“On it.” Jav made a show of going to the back door and then jumped back. “Oh look,” he said. “It’s Stella.”
“Hello,” she said from the porch. “Cleanup on aisle eleven?”
“God, Stella, you are my favorite,” Val said. “Come in. Please. Save us.”
Stella came in, followed by Henry. “Hi, Doc. Hi, Mr. Landes.”
“Would you call me Jav already?”
She smiled, showing her lovely teeth. “I’m not allowed.”
Deane came into the kitchen, her eyes swollen, her face blotchy.
“Oh, Pooky…” Stella walked over, arms outstretched and gathered Deane in an enormous hug.
“Well this sucks,” Deane said, sniffing and running Alex’s handkerchief under her eyes. “He’s taking Brenna Scarsgaard. Can you believe that shit?”
“Who’s Brenna Scarsgaard?” Jav asked.
“Queen of the drama club,” Val said. “Cagey little bitch.”
“Reeow,” Stella said, curling imaginary claws at Val.
“When did they become a thing?” Alex asked.
“A week before prom he springs this on you?” Jav said.
“It’s fucking humiliating,” Deane said.
Stella put arms around her again. “Men are assholes,” she said, rocking her friend. “No offense, Doc.”
“What am I, chopped liver?” Jav said. “I’m offended.”
“And the dress, Mom,” Deane said, her voice rising up. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“I’ll take you,” Jav said. “I have an Armani tux and a friend who owns a private helicopter. You and I will land on the roof of the venue and dump pig blood on all of them.”
“Then set the place on fire,” Val said. “I believe in you.”
“Oh my God, do it,” Stella said, staring open-mouthed at Jav. She turned to Deane. “Dude. It would be epic.”
“Jav, you’re so sweet,” Deane said.
“Excuse me,” Alex said. “I don’t give permission for this. Maybe the tux and pig blood, but not the helicopter.”
Val whacked his shoulder. “Be quiet, fucky.”
“He’s soothing my ego, Dad, do you mind?” Deane give Jav a hug, then slid open the freezer drawer and retrieved a pint of ice cream. “C’mon, Stel. Let’s go get fat.” She took Stella by the hand and headed out, all three dogs following.
Stella waved over her shoulder at the adults. “If you don’t hear from me in an hour, call Weight Watchers.”
“Man, I love that kid,” Jav said. “Everyone should have a Stella.”
Deane and Ari were at one of the stainless steel sinks, gently scrubbing down a rescued Bichon. The miserable dog looked like a rat, its wet fur stuck to its little body, pink shivering skin stretched over bones. The triangle of black eyes and nose stared up at Deane and Ari, both grateful and pathetic.
“Poor thing,” Ari said, washing a back paw. “He’s skinnier than I am.”
He felt Deane’s sideways glance. He’d already told her a little about his experience with Waterhouse-Friderichsen Syndrome. How it came from the same bacteria that caused meningitis. The doctors thought it was meningitis, until Ari started bleeding into his adrenal glands. He was in the hospital a month, fighting both the infection and septic shock in his extremities. He lost two toes off his left foot, and the nails on his ring and pinky fingers still hadn’t grown back. The whole ordeal made a wreck of his stomach and reduced him to bones. His mother fought back tears at the kitchen table, watching her once-ravenous son nibble and pick at food, choke it down and fight like hell to keep it down.
When he got back to school, classmates either did double and triple takes before realizing it was Ari, or they walked straight past him with no
recognition at all.
“Bunch of the alpha males started calling me Auschwitz,” Ari said.
Deane sucked her teeth. “Jesus.”
“I know. That’s the best you got, dude? Really?”
Their hands worked in tandem, soaping up the little dog. “Will you ever gain the weight back?” Deane asked.
“I’m trying.” Ari flicked on the shower hose and began rinsing the suds out. “I think Jav is a little horrified about how much I can eat now.” He sighed. “I wish my mom could see it.”
Her hands were full, but Deane reached her elbow and pressed it to his arm. “I wish, too.”
When he shut off the water, Ari heard soft singing in the hall outside. Alex walked by the door in his scrubs and cap, a blanket-wrapped dog in his arms. He was rocking it and singing over the little whimpers and anxious yips. His voice traveled down the corridor and back again.
“Caballito blanco, llévame de aquí. Llévame a mi pueblo, donde yo nací…”
He stopped in the doorway and leaned on the frame, cradling the dog to his chest. “She’s having a hard time coming off the anesthesia,” he said to Ari’s questioning look. He kissed the dog’s head. “It’s all right, don’t cry. You want to walk? Let’s walk.”
He set off down the hall again. When he began another verse, Deane joined in under her breath.
“Son los angelitos que andan de carrera. Buscando la leche pa’ la mamadera…”
She glanced up at Ari and rolled her eyes. “It’s a Chilean song. ‘Caballito Blanco.’ He sang it to me when I was little.”
Ari smiled. He wanted her so much, he felt like he was dying.
Deane, he discovered, came in two flavors. Her competitive, athletic side was a solid scoop of chocolate. Always dependable, always consistent. As long as Deane showed up to play, everyone showed up.
Skiing was in her DNA and the sport she loved best. In the spring she played varsity lacrosse. Played to win. Suited up and on her game, Deane was lethal. Eyes filled with fire. A field general with a foul mouth and a voice that carried authority two hundred yards.
An Exaltation of Larks Page 25