The Things a Brother Knows

by Dana Reinhardt

  I close my eyes and see her butterfly tattoo. The royal-blue wings with purple swirls. Those wings begin to flutter slowly and I watch as that butterfly takes flight from her smooth, bare shoulder.

  “I have to go,” I say, and I snap my phone closed.

  I find Paul and Bo in the kitchen, sitting at the table with coffee, a pile of toast and the local paper. I want to know where Celine is but I can’t very well ask. It would come out sounding wrong. Or I guess it would come out sounding right—like just what it is. Like the way Zim sounds when he talks about Sophie Olsen. It would come out sounding like I’m hot for Celine.

  I sit down and pour myself some coffee.

  I think I hear footsteps upstairs. Is she awake? Will she come down and join us for breakfast? I could eat slowly, complain of a headache, find a way to drag out the morning so I can spend more time with her.

  Or maybe she’s not even here. Maybe she’s gone by now. After all, she could have a job. Or a boyfriend.

  “I might be able to think of some other folks who’d put you up. My sister lives south of here a stretch. Not too far out of your way. She makes a roast chicken that makes grown men weep,” Paul says. “In fact, you should give me a copy of your route. I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  Yeah, good luck, Paul. I’d like a copy of his route too.

  “Sure,” Bo says. “Thanks.”

  I stare at him with a mouth full of toast, but just then Celine arrives in the kitchen. I couldn’t say if I smell her or see her first. Either way it’s aces.

  She’s just out of the shower. Her hair is spiky and wet.

  “Morning, honey.”

  “Morning, Pops.”

  She goes right for the refrigerator. Doesn’t even look my way.

  “You’re up early. Going somewhere?” Paul asks.

  “Yeah, it’s my day at Mom’s. So I thought maybe I’d do something kinda crazy and walk there.” She takes a swig of juice right out of the carton. “With these guys.”

  Excitement whips its way through me like I’ve just hit blackjack.

  “Honey, your mother’s house is ten miles from here.”

  “Duh.”

  Paul is the kind of dad who thinks before he says no. I’ve seen the type. The opposite of Abba. Paul’s the I’m your friend kind of dad. The I dress younger than I am so I’m cooler than your dad kind.

  I can see him thinking it over. He’s probably thinking that it’s all fine and good to throw a barbecue for a marine he doesn’t know, but letting his daughter wander off with one and his long-haired little brother is another story entirely.

  “Dad. Mom’s isn’t out of their way. And anyway, I could use the exercise. I’m getting flabby.”

  So totally not true.

  “Is your mother okay with this?”

  “Are you kidding? Walking instead of filling the air with pollutants from my gas-guzzler? She’ll probably want to buy me a pony.”

  Paul pulls his hands through his white hair.

  “How about you guys? Okay if my daughter tags along for the day?”

  “Yes,” I say way too quickly. Crumbs fly out of my mouth. “I mean, sure. That’d be cool. Right, Bo?”

  “Of course.”

  After we finish up breakfast Paul and Bo disappear to a room with a computer to go over our route.

  “And a lovely morning to you.” Celine is hiding behind the front section of the paper. She shakes the page as she turns it. “I trust you slept well.”

  If only she knew.

  “I slept okay, I guess.”

  “You should thank me. I could have left you passed out on the lawn, but the sprinklers kick in at five-thirty. I took pity on you.” She puts the paper down. Cocks her head to the side.

  “You’re funny,” she says.

  “I am?”

  “Yeah. I would have sworn that you were going to kiss me last night. And then: Nada. Zip. Zero.”

  “I … I … I …”

  I … need to do a lot better than this.

  “It’s all right, Levi. I’ve been wrong before. This wasn’t the first time.” She pats my hand. A friendly pat. With the flavor of condescension.

  “So tell me. What does a girl need to do to properly prepare herself for a day’s walk with you?”

  “Well, you could start with some shoes. I noticed you favor bare feet.”

  “So you noticed something about me.”

  “Oh, I noticed.”

  She holds one leg out. Twists her foot this way and that. “I do have very attractive feet.”

  “They’re not half bad.”

  “Shoes it is, then.” She gets up from the table and I watch her walk out of the room.

  I never figured leaving could be such a beautiful sight.

  “So this is what it’s like,” she says.

  “Whaddya mean?” Bo’s up ahead a ways. Keeping his distance. I’m not sure if he’s leaving me alone with Celine or just leaving me alone.

  “I’ve never been on any sort of a political march before. I guess I thought it’d be a tad more exciting.”

  She has absolutely no idea how much more exciting this day is for me than any of the days before it.

  “I’m not so sure this is any kind of a march.”

  “What is it, then?”

  The question of the day.

  “I’m … just keeping an eye on my brother.”

  I could tell her about the box. I could lean in close and let her in on a secret. We could hang back and whisper about Bo and wonder what he’s up to, but I’m not going to do that, no matter how nice it’d feel to lean in close.

  “Aren’t you headed to DC?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why else do people walk to DC except as part of some political statement?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been.”

  This doesn’t answer her question, but it does happen to be the truth. I spent the sixth-grade class trip to Washington, DC, home in bed with strep throat, and I never had occasion to go back.

  I sent along a card to the president, bundled with those of my classmates, part of a pretty uninspired civics assignment. In it I thanked him for protecting our freedom.

  I was only a kid. My world was different. Even the president was different.

  But still.

  We all have things we wish we’d never said or done in our lives, and among many regrets, one of my greatest is that folded piece of blue construction paper dotted in white stars affixed with the last dregs of a glue stick.

  If I could have that card back, I’d shred it into blue and white confetti.

  Celine grabs the bottle of water out of the pocket of my cargo pants. (And Pearl thinks these pants serve no purpose! Ha!) She takes a long drink. It’s hot out here. Very hot. And sunny. But there’s no way in hell I’m putting on that flowered hat.

  “Does he ever tell you anything? Anything about what happened over there?” she asks.

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Mitch either. I try asking him, but all he does is tell me I don’t want to know. Which is annoying, because if I didn’t want to know I wouldn’t bother asking. Then he just says I might think I want to know, but the truth is I really, really don’t. So I don’t ask him anymore.”

  “I don’t even try.”

  “You don’t even try?”

  It isn’t until she repeats this that I realize how ridiculous it sounds.

  “I mean, I know there’s no point.”

  “Except for the part where he knows you want to know.”

  “Yeah, except for that.”

  “Hey, don’t beat yourself up. You’re here, aren’t you?”

  I look down at her laced-up boots. I’m missing her bare feet.

  “Listen. With Mitch I had to sort of relearn how to talk to him,” she says. “How to relate to him. I had to stop being Ass Wipe and start being Celine.”

  “But do you recognize him? Does he treat you the same? Does he treat your parents the same? I m
ean, does he seem like the same person he was before he left?”

  “Yes and no.” She looks at me. “You think Bo is totally different? Because a certain amount of different is unavoidable.”

  “He’s different. That’s for sure. He seems so lost. He can go through the routines, you know? He can show up to dinner and comment on the food and kiss my mom on the cheek when it’s over, but sometimes I wonder why he came back at all. It seems he’d rather be anywhere but home.”

  “But he came home.”

  “Yeah, I know. I know he came home and we’re all grateful. Of course we’re grateful.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Levi. I mean he came home. He didn’t have to. He could have reenlisted. Or moved in with friends. Or started out someplace new on his own. But he came home. He … chose to come home. So he must miss you too and he must want … your help finding his way back.”

  Bo has turned into a dot. A small figure on the horizon. We’ve fallen far behind. There’s no doubt that Celine slows me down, but I could do this all day. Forever.

  Eventually we catch up to him outside a convenience store. He’s been waiting awhile; he’s taken off my Red Sox cap and he’s sitting on the curb with a half-eaten sandwich and an empty bottle of soda.

  I go in to grab some food for Celine and me. I don’t know what she likes so I buy too much. I cover all the bases.

  When I come back out she’s sitting beside him and she’s laughing at a story he’s telling. It’s a story about her he heard from Mitch. About when she was three and she’d gone to the mall with her family, and she’d wandered off during the scramble in the food court as everybody searched for something different to eat, and they didn’t find her again for over an hour, and when mall security brought her back to her parents, she was wearing a scarf and sunglasses and carrying a purse, none of which belonged to her. She seemed surprised at how upset everyone was.

  Where were you? they asked her.

  I was shopping! she said.

  “I’ve never been much of a shopper since,” she says now. “I guess it’s not as much fun when you actually have to pay for what you want.”

  There are too many things to count about this scene outside the convenience store that shock me:

  He knows her. He knows something about her that I don’t. He has stories. He remembers how to tell stories. He can charm people. He hasn’t lost that. He’s still able to make those around him smile. People can be with him and feel at ease. Unguarded.

  Just look at Celine.

  I stand there stupidly with my bags of too much prepackaged food.

  “Your brother,” Bo says. “He’s a good man.”

  Celine laughs. “A man? He still has a pair of Spider-Man pajamas in his drawer and I know all his ticklish spots.”

  I spread out my purchases on the sidewalk.

  “Your lunch is served, my lady.” I do a little bow. “I’ve tried my best to cover the major food groups.”

  She eats more than I’d have thought possible, including packing away three bags of chips. When she’s done she dusts the crumbs off herself, stands and says, “Well, guys, I guess it’s time for us to go our separate ways.”

  “But … we’re going to take you to your mother’s. This is a door-to-door delivery service.”

  “She lives another two miles east of here. I’m pretty sure you want to continue south.”

  “Door-to-door,” I say again.

  Boaz nods.

  “How very chivalrous of you.”

  The two miles go by like two blocks.

  Before I know what’s happening we’re standing in front of a town house.

  “This is it.”

  “This is it?”

  “Turn around,” she says.

  I’m afraid she’s about to push me on my way without anything more. I have no idea how to do moments like this.

  Bo pretends to study his maps. He’s leaned up against a lamppost. She waves to him. He waves back.

  “Safe journey,” she calls out.

  He returns to his studying.

  She unzips my backpack and takes out my cell phone and flower hat. She turns me back to face her, then programs her number into my phone with her nail-bitten thumbs.

  “I’ve already followed you over ten miles on foot.” She hands my phone back to me. “Now it’s up to you.”

  She puts my hat on my head. Grabs the wide brim with both hands and pulls me into her. She kisses me lightly. Way too quickly. Then she smiles.

  “And win back your Red Sox cap, will you? This one doesn’t go with your eyes.”

  SEVENTEEN

  WE WALK UNTIL SUNDOWN.

  We stop, finally, to spend the night in Philadelphia: the City of Brotherly Love. The motto comes from William Penn, the English Quaker, who imagined the area as a place where everyone, no matter his color, religion or background, could come and live in harmony and peace.

  I learn all this from the motel pamphlet, which I’m reading for the second time, because Bo won’t talk to me. In fact, our room is like a Quaker meetinghouse. Totally silent.

  Some city of brotherly love.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  Nothing. I wish he’d tell that story about Celine again. I wish he’d say something. Anything.

  I get up from my bed and I go to the table and I take out the cards and I shuffle them. I do this because it gives me something to do. And I do it because I like the way the cards feel in my hands. I like the soothing sound of a perfect bridge, like running your finger over the teeth of a comb.

  “I mean, you’ve got to try and see where I’m coming from. I just want to know. I want to know what you’re doing. Why we’re here. Where we’re going. I’m kind of flying blind. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there. If you’ve ever been in a situation where you’ve not known what it is you’re doing. It’s not an easy place to be.”

  I take a few of the nuts we use for betting and I pop them into my mouth without thinking about it.

  “So I’m sorry, Boaz. I’m sorry I went looking through your pack. I really am.”

  He gets up from his bed and comes over to the table, and he takes the seat across from me.

  “Deal,” he says.

  I start whipping cards his way. I don’t give him a chance to change his mind.

  “I know what it’s like to not know what you’re doing.”

  “You do?” I ask.

  “Yes. I do. So deal.”

  I wake to someone pounding on the door.

  Bo’s bed is empty, but I hear the shower running so I know it’s not him.

  Celine.

  I throw on my cargo pants and run to the door and fling it open to find Zim and Pearl. He’s got one arm draped around her shoulder and a large, wrapped gift in the other.

  “Happy birthday, my birthday brother.”

  “What? How?”

  Then I remember that Pearl was the last person I talked to before I went to sleep and I read to her from the motel brochure. In there somewhere it must have mentioned the name.

  “Richard and I decided your eighteenth birthday warranted a road trip,” she says.

  “But? How?”

  “Well.” Zim’s cheeks redden. “She came over last night at midnight. To, you know, be the first to wish me a happy birthday. And then we got to talking about you, and how my birthday wouldn’t be the same without you because my birthday belongs to us, so we decided to come surprise you.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. Wow. There I was, alone with a girl in my room at midnight, and I gave it all up for you.”

  “I’m the girl,” Pearl says. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  “So happy birthday,” Zim says.

  “You too.”

  The funny thing is, I didn’t even remember. So much of growing up you wait until the day you’re eighteen, when the world sees you as an adult, and then the day finally comes, and I can’t even remember.

&nbs
p; “Come in,” I say.

  “We can’t,” Zim says. “We both have to be at work in six hours and it took us five and a half to get here.”

  “You’re really going to turn around? Right now? You’re going to drive all the way back?”

  “Yep,” Pearl says. “Luckily, there’s good company.”

  She steps across the threshold to my room and kisses me on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Levi.”

  Zim hands me the wrapped gift.

  “But I don’t have anything for you,” I say.

  “That’s all right. I’ll consider you not giving me any shit about Pearl my birthday gift.”

  They look crazy happy standing on the threshold of my motel room. They’re here. They’ve come all this way to see me. And I’m guessing they took the drive just to sit next to each other and to hold each other’s hands. And I get that. Because I’d drive twelve, twenty, one hundred hours just to sit next to Celine. But also, they came to see me. I’m not getting left behind.

  He gives me one of those guy hugs with lots of hard pats on the back and then I watch them walk down the stairs to Pearl’s car. He has his hand on her elbow. I watch Zim open the passenger door for her. She climbs in and he walks around to the driver’s side and starts up her car, and they take off.

  Bo is still in the shower. He takes showers that last longer than the administrations of some small nations. I sit down on the bed and unwrap Zim’s gift.

  It’s his skateboard.

  Bo comes out with a towel wrapped around his waist and a puzzled look on his face.

  “It’s Zim’s,” I say. “I don’t have one anymore. But we used to skate all the time. We lived for skating.”

  “I remember.”

  “Zim and Pearl stopped by and dropped it off for me.” I turn it over in my hands. “It’s my birthday.”

  Bo pulls on his clothes. He doesn’t need to bother toweling off his head. He doesn’t have enough hair to hold water.

  “I guess I missed a lot in the shower.”

  “Your showers last forever.”

  Bo sits down next to me. He spins one of the skateboard’s wheels.