Catching Genius

by Kristy Kiernan

  “Mom,” he pleaded. “Please, I know. I used a condom, every time, every single time, okay?”

  I was mortified and mollified all at the same time. “Okay. And, you know, if you have any questions—”

  “Mom.”

  “Okay. So, you broke up with this girl—”

  “Velvet.”

  “Yes, you broke up with Velvet, and then you went to Sean’s?”

  “Yeah. I was going to kick his ass,” he said, and I quailed.

  I did not want to think about my son having sex. I did not want to think about him kicking anyone’s ass either. He saw me flinch and muttered, “Sorry.” For the ass part, I assumed.

  “Anyway, she must have called to warn him and he wasn’t there. So I figured I’d go home.”

  “And you’ve been driving my Saab,” I said, just that second recalling it.

  “Dad said I could,” he said.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “So you went home.”

  “And I came in and heard voices on the patio. So I go through the kitchen and there’s this whole meal out on the counter. Lobster and champagne and stuff, and I figure you must have come home early, so I go out there and there’s this . . . this . . . slut in the spa with Dad.”

  I didn’t bother correcting his language this time. He looked at me, his eyes wide, as if confronted with the scene all over again.

  “They were naked. In the spa, and she’s on his lap, and I can totally see her tits and everything, and I don’t even want to think about what the hell they’re doing. It wasn’t even dark yet!” He shuddered.

  “Okay, I get the picture,” I said. “Then what?”

  He took another second; no doubt trying to separate his view of live, grown-up boobs in his spa from the fact that they belonged to the woman his father was having an affair with. I could practically see the therapy bills.

  “Then he almost drowns her.”

  “Really?” I asked, close to an incredibly inappropriate giggle.

  Gib, hearing the humor in my voice, warmed to his story. “He’s flailing all around, trying to hide her, trying to get out, trying to get a towel. It was pathetic. And she’s yelling oh my God, oh my God, Luke, Luke,” he said, making his voice high and girlish.

  Suddenly it wasn’t amusing anymore. Gib dropped the voice.

  “Anyway, he finally gets out, and she stays in there, holding her arms all crossed over her tits—like I’d want to see them—and he’s holding his towel with one hand and reaching out like he wants to hug me or something,” he said, making a disgusted noise deep in his throat. “And he’s all, now, son, don’t worry, like I’m an idiot or something. And I just got so pissed off, I hit him.”

  The punch line, so to speak, came so abruptly that it took me by surprise and I gasped. “You hit him?”

  “Well, not very hard,” he admitted. “I pulled it back at the last second and went low, so I got him on the shoulder. And knocked him into the pool.”

  Now I had to laugh, but Gib’s expression sobered me.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” I said. “I’d have felt like doing it myself.”

  “Mom, how can you laugh about this? You guys are going to get divorced. Aren’t you?” He looked at me accusingly.

  “I don’t see that we have much choice,” I said quietly. “He says he’s in love with her.”

  “You’re shitting me,” he said, his eyes wide. He got up, jamming his fists into his front pockets, and began pacing in front of the railing. “You’re shitting me,” he repeated. When I shook my head, his shoulders slumped. “What an asshole.”

  I couldn’t have agreed with him more, but I didn’t say anything.

  “So, what happens now? Do you want me to talk to someone? I’ll stand up in court and tell everyone what an asshole he is,” he said.

  “Stop saying that,” I said. “In fact, stop swearing in general. It doesn’t help, and I hate hearing it come out of your mouth. It’s vulgar.”

  He fell onto the bench with his hands still stuffed in his pockets. “It’s true, though.”

  “Maybe,” I acknowledged.

  He looked over my shoulder out at the water sullenly. “I won’t go live with him,” he said. I felt a surge of victory and just as quickly clamped it down.

  “That’s not something anyone has to decide right now.”

  “I already decided.”

  I sighed. “Come on, let’s get you some dinner.”

  He allowed me to reheat his plate, and he ate the shrimp without comment while Tate, Estella, and Mother sat on the porch and watched the stars come out. We joined them quietly and listened to their conversation without joining in.

  When Tate turned to leave he clapped his hand on Gib’s shoulder and said, “I’m going fishing first thing in the morning. Want to come along?”

  Gib slid his shoulder out from under Tate’s hand and shook his head without saying anything. Tate took it well.

  “Maybe another time,” he said lightly, and then left, promising to stop by the next day to make sure Mother had settled in all right.

  “So your mom tells me you need some help with algebra,” Estella said to Gib after Tate had gone.

  He shrugged. “It’s stupid,” he said. “Now I have to go to summer school to make it up.”

  “Maybe I can help,” she offered, and I gave her a grateful smile.

  “I have to go to summer school anyway,” he said.

  “Let’s talk about this tomorrow,” Mother said, getting up and tousling Gib’s hair. “You need a haircut. I’ll give you one tomorrow, and then we’ll spend the day on the beach. Now come on, I’m exhausted. Time for bed.”

  Nobody protested, and I walked up the stairs to the library, crawled on the bed, and stared into the darkness of the empty mattress beside me.

  Estella

  Vanessa and I stretch to the sky, greeting the sun, and then swoop down to the sand, inhaling up, exhaling down. She continues into downward dog before moving into her tai chi routine, and I take off for the Gulf, slipping in with a shiver, allowing the chill to motivate me to get moving.

  I breaststroke in the trough down to the dome-shaped house, then turn and begin my crawl, and within minutes my mind is blank but for my breathing. I occasionally catch glimpses of Vanessa, and then I see Connie take up her spot with her coffee cup in front of the dunes, and soon she is joined by Mother.

  On my next pass, I see Gib coming down the boardwalk, and by the time I have turned and am heading south again he is in the water, stroking beside me, gliding as effortlessly as a ray. I flip in front of the dome house again, sticking to my routine, and he turns with me, and we are in tandem again.

  He pulls slightly away from me, and I pull harder, catching up. He pulls away again, and now I understand that he is playing with me. I have no hope of beating him, and so I play too. I flip once more, long before I usually do, and head west toward the horizon.

  The depth of the trough abruptly turns to shallow sandbar and I am ready for it, but he is not and he explodes out of the water, spluttering, staggering to his feet. I am standing in water that only comes up to my knees and laughing at him as he looks around in bewilderment.

  He spots me and grins. I recognize that look in his eyes, but before I can dive off the sandbar he grabs me and flings me over his shoulder.

  “Stop, stop!” I yell, pounding his back to no avail.

  He bumps me along, sloughing through the water as though it doesn’t push back. He screams a primordial boy scream and dives with me off the far edge of the sandbar, where the water is black and the currents run fast. I am plunged deep and come up gasping for air but laughing still, turning quick circles in the water to spot him. He doesn’t come up.

  I turn once more and see Connie on the beach. She is at the edge of the water, holding a hand over her eyes and squinting into the water.

  Oh, shit.

  I turn again, willing Gib to come up, and just as I am ready to panic, something grabs my ankles
and I am pulled under again, with no notice and no time for a gulp of air. I struggle, kicking, and connect with something hard, and then we both come up, gasping for oxygen. I am no longer laughing; not only is Gib not laughing, he is clutching his nose with both hands and blood is pouring out from underneath them.

  I struggle toward him, more afraid of Connie than of sharks, and grab his arm. He lets go of his nose, and we stroke toward the sandbar. I stand and wave my arms over my head at Connie. Gib does the same, and she waves back, too far away to see the blood yet.

  “Oh, Gib,” I say. “Let me see.”

  He falls to his knees on the sandbar and I inspect him, but soon he is blowing little snorts of laughter at my panicked face, and I start to giggle too.

  “Stop now, your mom’s going to kill me,” I say.

  “Uh-huh,” he agrees, sounding like he has a sinus infection.

  “We can’t stop it out here,” I say, “and she’s not going anywhere. You ready?”

  “I guess. Crap, she’s going to make me stay in all day now.”

  “That’s what you get for trying to drown me. For extra punishment I might make you do some math.”

  He groaned. “Do you swim every morning?”

  “Yeth, I thwim ebry moanig,” I say, making fun of him.

  “Me too?”

  “Yeah, okay, but no more funny stuff.”

  “Okay,” he agrees, and we head back to the beach. As soon as Connie sees the blood she is on her feet and running, splashing into the water before we can emerge from it, Gib protesting that he’s fine.

  She shoots me a single murderous look and then hauls him up to the house. I fall to the sand beside Mother, who is chatting up Vanessa about rising real estate costs. Mother looks pleased and seems to have completely missed the little drama.

  She finally stops talking, and sees me for the first time. “Oh, did you have a nice swim?”

  I flop back on the dune, laughing—though it is not funny, not funny at all—while she looks on.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I could hear Estella’s laughter follow us up the boardwalk and my fury turned white-hot. I hustled Gib into the downstairs bathroom and got him seated on the edge of the tub.

  “What the hell happened?” I asked, squeezing his nose with a towel.

  “It wasn’t her fault,” he said, his answer muffled through the towel.

  “Just stay out of the water, okay?”

  “What? We’re at the beach, how can I stay out of the water?”

  I was shaking with anger at Estella. I’d seen plenty of bloody noses on Gib before, but to see them so far out in the water, struggling, and then to have him stagger out with blood streaming down his face, absolutely infuriated me.

  “Stay out of the water when Estella’s swimming, then,” I said. “No argument.”

  He shook his head but didn’t say anything. I was sure that under his closed lids he was rolling his eyes at me, but I didn’t care. I gingerly pulled the towel away, watching for signs of blood. It seemed to have stopped.

  “Go lie down on your bed,” I instructed. “I’ll come down to check on you in half an hour. If it hasn’t started bleeding again you can get up.”

  He obviously wanted to protest, but he remained silent and went to his room. I rinsed the towel in cold water and left it in the sink to soak before I headed upstairs to find Estella. She and Mother were frying eggs for breakfast.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” I demanded. They both turned around, Mother in surprise, Estella in resignation.

  “Is he all right?” she asked.

  “Connie!” Mother admonished me. “It certainly wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

  I ignored Mother. “Gib has enough problems right now. I don’t need you encouraging him to go out farther than he should and fooling around. One of you could have been seriously hurt.”

  Estella nodded, not meeting my eyes. “Absolutely,” she said. “I’m really sorry, Connie.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Estella.”

  She held her hands up in front of her. “I’m not. I’m sorry. It really was an accident, and I’ll make sure that Gib is well away from me while I’m swimming.”

  She was saying exactly what I wanted to hear, but something wasn’t sitting right with me. I braced my hands on the counter and took a deep breath, trying to slow my heart.

  “Okay?” Estella asked. Mother watched in perplexed silence while the eggs burned.

  “Connie? Are you okay?” Estella asked again.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m fine. I—” I stopped because I didn’t know what I was. I just knew that I didn’t want Estella anywhere near my child.

  “Connie?” Mother asked.

  “I’m fine,” I finally said.

  Mother nodded, but she was looking at me in that piercing way she had. I turned away and headed for the living room. “Do you want these records, Mother?” I asked, beginning to pull the albums out. It was time to get back to work on the house. We’d been acting like this was a vacation, a family reunion. It was no such thing. I was there by necessity, as was everyone else, and it was time we remembered that.

  “No, I don’t think so. Are you sure one of the boys won’t want them?” she asked while Estella tossed the burned eggs and started fresh ones.

  “If the boys need anything I’ll get it for them,” I said.

  While everyone ate breakfast I gathered more boxes from downstairs and began taping them together in the living room. Gib left for the beach, and Mother and Estella went grocery shopping while I divided the second floor items into trash, charity, and possible keepers. Everyone seemed unnerved by my sudden burst of energy. If I could have gotten away from me, I would have too. But eventually the work soothed me, a salve on my frazzled and uncertain nerves. My heart didn’t even jump when the phone rang.

  “Hello,” I said absently, wiping sweat off my brow.

  “Connie? It’s Bob. I’ve got Angela DeSantis on the line with me. She’ll be handling the divorce. Angela?”

  “Hello, Connie,” she said. She sounded young. “Please call me Angie. I’m sorry we’re not able to meet in person just yet. Bob has brought me up to speed, and I have all of your paperwork here in front of me. Is now a good time to discuss a few things?”

  Bob must have sensed my hesitation because he didn’t wait for me to answer. “Connie, I want you to know you’re in good hands here. Angie is the best divorce lawyer in southwest Florida. She’ll be keeping me posted on every aspect of the case, and you can always call me if you can’t get ahold of her.”

  For the first time since I’d known Bob he was in business mode, and I had to admit that it was impressive. “All right,” I finally said.

  “Take good care of her, Angie,” Bob said. “Connie, tell your mother I miss her.” And then he hung up, leaving me to his colleague.

  “So, Connie, tell me about you and Luke.”

  Telling her about me and Luke, and Luke and Deanna, and Gib and Carson, took longer than I expected. Estella and Mother returned and put groceries away while I talked, occasionally ranted, and once, to my humiliation, cried. Luckily, Gib remained on the beach. When I finally finished the phone call, I was exhausted.

  Mother and Estella hovered near, pretending to rifle through the boxes I’d filled, but in reality they were simply waiting, like nurses, to see what I might need next. What I needed was to be left alone.

  “I think I’m going to go for a walk,” I said.

  They both nodded, and I noted with amusement that they had the same tilt to their head, the same pointed chin bounced up and down at the same tempo. I wished I had a camera to capture it and then show them how alike they really were. They were more sisters than Estella and I. They seemed a pair, and in their twin show of understanding, they made me feel even more alone.

  I walked toward the cut, scattering sandpipers and crunching through patches of coquinas. The tide had pulled back, revealing rills of sand that kept small pools of water on th
e beach, some shallow enough to qualify only for puddle status, some calf deep, trapping confused pinfish.

  Once past the small cluster of houses on the north end of the island, the cut came into view. Two men fished in the surf. Not wishing to exchange pleasantries, I nearly turned around.

  But as I drew closer, I saw that it was Gib and Tate. Both were reeling in, but only Gib’s rod was bent with the weight of a fish. I quickened my steps in time to see him pull a stingray from the water as Tate secured his pole in a length of PVC pipe stuck in the sand.

  “Mom, look,” Gib shouted as I came upon them. The stingray, light tan with gray eyes set close together on top of its head, such as it was, fluttered its wings against the beach and lifted its tail in the air, its barb searching.

  “Okay, watch it now,” Tate said. He held the tail down carefully and maneuvered the stingray over, letting his tail go at the last second and then holding it down again once the ray was on its back. The underside of the ray was a soft, vulnerable white, with a tiny mouth locked in an almost comical smile. Tate used small pliers to release the hook and then, careful of the tail, he carried it to the surf and let it go. It disappeared before our eyes.

  “It seemed kind of small for how much it fought,” Gib said, his face already bright red from the sun.

  “They’re strong,” Tate agreed. “They head down, where a fish will head out, so it feels like there’s more pressure on the rod. How’s it going, Connie?”

  “Were you looking for me?” Gib asked.

  I shook my head. “No, honey, you’re fine. I’m glad you’re having fun. No, I was just taking a break from packing. How’d you two meet up?”

  Gib shrugged. “I was just out looking around. He had another pole so I thought I’d try it.”

  “Looks like you liked it,” I said.

  “I caught a lot more than that. Look,” Gib said, his eyes shining as he pointed to a small cooler. Tate opened the top and I could see several pompano nestled in ice. “Tate says he’ll show me how to clean them, and then we can roast them in palm fronds on the beach.”

  “Sure,” I said, shooting Tate a grateful smile. Gib was excited in a way I hadn’t seen in years. Luke had taught Gib how to play sports, but they were the sports of suburbia, not survival. The house had been filled with basketballs, footballs, hockey sticks, golf clubs, baseball bats, and soccer balls. They were initially plush, brightly colored toys, but had evolved into the dirty real thing. They took up room in all the closets, bounced out of the garage and into the street, and smelled of leather, sweat, dirt, and boy.