The Masked Family (27 page)

Is he going to show up or what?

Though Celeste was the one who'd invited him, she really didn't know if he would come. She also wasn't sure if she
wanted
him to come.

The odds were fifty-fifty, she guessed. Fifty-fifty that she wanted him to be there, and fifty-fifty that he would be there.

Now, if she could just figure out what she'd say to him if he showed up.

With a sigh, she let the curtain fall, turned away from E.Q.'s front window...and just about fell over the little boy hiding behind the chair.

"Late!" she said, stepping around him.

Late put a finger against his lips. "Shhh."

Celeste nodded knowingly and touched a finger to her lips as well. Then, smiling, she headed for the kitchen.

Paisley was icing a cake out there for the Halloween party. She looked up and grinned as Celeste walked in. "Not here yet?"

My sister, the domestic goddess. Who would've thought?

Celeste shook her head.

"Pretty big step, Sis." Paisley's black hair, newly shortened, bobbed, and glossy, swung to one side when she shrugged and cocked her head. "Remember, when the china starts flying, I'm getting out of the way."

Celeste laughed.

Just then, E.Q. whisked into the room and gave Paisley a kiss on the cheek.

It was good to see. E.Q. and Paisley had been alienated for so long, and now they were housemates and pals.

Paisley had been living at E.Q.'s house since giving birth a year ago. Sometime during that year, she and E.Q. had smoothed things over and dumped the bullshit baggage of the past.

Celeste just hoped her fifty-fifty invitation wouldn't bring that baggage right back down on them all.

"How's the party coming, girls?" E.Q. tried to dip a finger in the icing.

Paisley swatted his hand away. "You tell us," she said. "Are the decorations up?"

"Every last cobweb and bat." E.Q. stroked his gray mustache and grinned.

"What about the 'boo-fet' table?" Paisley piped black spiders onto the orange frosting on top of the cake.

"In progress." E.Q. opened the refrigerator and took out a plastic bowl. He lifted the lid and pulled out a hardboiled egg without the shell. "When the kids reach into the bowl," he said, dropping his voice to a stage whisper, "they'll think it's an
eyeball.
"

"Don't forget the brains," said Paisley. "I mean the cold spaghetti."

E.Q. grabbed a second bowl from the refrigerator, then a third and a fourth. "I hope we can give 'em a good scare."

"If you-know-who shows up, we won't have to," said Paisley.

E.Q. stacked two bowls in each arm and headed for the dining room, pecking Celeste on the cheek on the way.

"Where's Lydia?" said Celeste, grabbing a pretzel from an open bag on the counter.

"In the yard with Daddy," said Paisley. "Where else?"

Celeste reached for the back door...just as the door flew inward, banging her knuckles. "Hey!"

Glo bounded into the kitchen and stopped. "Sorry," she said, looking at Celeste's hand. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, but please be more careful," said Celeste.

Glo smiled and gave her a thumbs-up. "Will do, Spellerina." Then, she bolted into the living room.

"Too much candy," said Paisley. "Bunch'a sugar junkies."

Celeste smiled and rubbed her knuckles. "I don't mind."

And the thing was, she really didn't. It was good to see the place full of kids again, like back in the old days.

Full of life again.

Outside, she found Baron and the baby, Lydia, playing in a pile of leaves. One-year-old Lydia sat in the middle of the pile, clapping and laughing as Baron gently scattered leaves on her.

What a daddy's girl.

So much for "fuck-man," the embattled newscaster. It turned out Baron had liked Paisley's idea about being the baby's surrogate daddy, after all. He'd moved down from Erie a year ago and taken a job at the local newspaper...which was just as well, what with the "fuck-man" scandal back in Erie.

He'd even moved into the house with E.Q., Paisley, Lydia, Glo, Late, and Pretzel.

And one other, of course.

"Oye, Beacon!" El Yucatango stopped raking the leaves and waved at Celeste with his usual gusto. "
¿Como estás?

Talk about your wild cards. The guy was at least half nuts...but you couldn't ask for a better babysitter, handyman, and mechanic.

Don't forget confidant. And margarita maker.

And bodyguard, too, in case Drill and Crystal ever showed their faces. Just because they hadn't popped up yet didn't mean they never would. It was a good thing El Yucatango's dual citizenship--he'd been born in California, though he'd lived in Mexico most of his life--enabled him to stick around as long as he liked.

"Hola, Yuca," said Celeste. "Will you be wearing your wrestling costume for the Halloween party?"

El Yucatango shook his head. "Not this time, señorita." A little of the spark went out of him for a moment, and Celeste knew why.

It's the one-year anniversary of when Cary died because of him.

That was how El Yucatango saw it, anyway. If he hadn't pushed Cary into the wrestling match, he'd still be alive today.

The guilt was one of the reasons he stayed and worked for the family...watched over them, was more like it.

Not that anyone in the family blamed him. The real culprits would always be Crystal and Drill, who'd treated the kids like garbage and without whom Cary would never have gone to Mexico in the first place.

Long may they burn in Hell.

"I
will
be dressing up, however." El Yucatango perked up all of a sudden. He smiled, and his gold tooth flashed. "Just wait and see."

"What is it?" said Celeste. "What are you coming as?"

"I'll just say this." El Yucatango raised an index finger. "You will laugh your ass off, Beacon."

"Hey!" Baron sliced a finger across his throat in a "cut" gesture. "Please watch your language around the baby!"

"You're one to talk," said Celeste, and then she and El Yucatango laughed.

 

*****

That night, when El Yucatango wobbled into the party in a dress and high heels, Celeste realized he'd been right.

She really was laughing her ass off.

The dress was a floral print, white with red roses...and El Yucatango looked like he was going to explode right out of it. His face was smeared with lipstick, blush, and eye shadow that looked like it had been applied with a spatula by a drunk truck driver. El Yucatango even carried a matching red purse and wore a red straw hat heaped with daisies.

"Hola, little ones," he said to the kids, speaking in a high-pitched falsetto. "I am your long-lost Auntie Matter from Timbuktu." He unsnapped his purse and pulled out an apple core. "Can I interest you in some treats?"

Glo was literally rolling on the floor with laughter. Late took the apple core and pretended to eat it, then rubbed his tummy as if it were delicious.

Lydia looked terrified and started to bawl.

"Oh, dear," El Yucatango said in his falsetto voice. "The poor thing's hungry." Then, he started unbuttoning the dress and fiddling around like he going to breast-feed her.

Celeste laughed so hard her sides hurt and tears ran down her face.

It was then that the doorbell rang.

As the rest of the family continued to roar with laughter, Celeste stumbled out of the dining room. She still had a grin on her face when she opened the front door.

And there he was. The one she'd invited.

Celeste's laughing smile changed to a look of surprise. The party had started hours ago, and she'd decided he wasn't coming.

But there he was. She hadn't seen him in a year, and there he was.

"Oh, hi," she said. "Thanks for coming."

"I brought b-beer." He held up a six-pack. "Forme, I m-mean. Iwasn'tsure if y-you'd h-have any."

Why did I invite him again?

Celeste nodded. "Come on in," she said, ushering him into the living room.

"So." Grogan Salt looked around. "We haven't r-really t-talked sinceyou f-f-found out I'm your b-brother."

Oh,
yeah.
That's
why I invited him.

"Want a beer?" said Grogan.

Celeste slipped one out of the six-pack and cracked it open. "Let's go outside a minute."

Grogan looked suspicious, then shrugged. "T-t-ten four, sis."

 

*****

Even from the driveway out front, they could still hear the noise from the party--shouts and laughter mixed with spooky sound effects playing on the stereo.

Grogan swigged his beer and looked nervous. Within ten seconds of setting foot outside, he had a lit cigarette in his mouth. He shook a second one out of the pack for Celeste, and she took it but didn't light it.

She was on the nervous side herself.

She'd known for a year that he was her brother. E.Q. had tipped her off when he'd mentioned that Aunt Agnes was her birth mother...and Celeste had remembered Agnes was Grogan's mother, too.

In that entire year, she hadn't gone to see him once. The only time she'd talked to him was a week ago, when she'd called to invite him to this party.

It was just something that was hard for her to deal with. Grogan the invader...Grogan the terrorizer...Grogan who'd almost killed Cary...Grogan whom she'd hated with all her heart...was her brother. It was like finding out she was related to Charles Manson.

Talk about your major head trips.

"So," said Grogan. "W-Why am I evenhereright n-n-now?"

Celeste shrugged. "Why do you think?"

"This isn't s-some kindof r-revengeplan, is it?" Grogan looked dead serious when he asked the question.

"Only if having a talk is some kind of revenge," said Celeste.

Grogan had a long drink of beer and stared at her through slitted eyes. He looked much the same as he had a year ago, though his gray hair seemed wilder, his beard bushier, and his gut bigger. "I c-can't replaceyour d-d-dead b-brother, youknow."

Thank you, master of tact.

"No shit, Sherlock." Celeste had a nip from her own beer. "Here I thought you two were so much alike."

Grogan took a deep, deep drag on his cigarette. He blew out half the smoke through his nose and the other half through his mouth while he spoke. "This f-family r-really has it in f-for me."

Gee, Grogan. Say what's
really
on your mind.

"Maybe it's time for a clean slate," said Celeste. "Just forget all that noise and start over."

"Why b-b-bother?" Grogan wiped his hands on his black t-shirt, which had a faded image of the leering ghoulish mascot of an 80s heavy metal band on the chest. "Who n-needs it?"

"Yeah," said Celeste. "Because you've got so much going for you these days."

Grogan looked like he was about to say something mean, but he flicked away his cigarette butt and drank more beer instead.

Celeste sighed. The conversation was going about as well as she'd expected.

Why am I even doing this? What do I care?

She knew the answer. She hated that she knew it, but she knew it.

Because as much grief as he's caused--and he's caused plenty--this fucking asshole is still my brother.

"Look." Celeste handed back the cigarette Grogan had given her. "Here's what I think."

Grogan lit the cigarette and had a puff.

"I think Cary wanted us together. For whatever reason. I think that's why he left us those clues."

"I d-don't c-c-care whathe w-wanted," said Grogan.

Okay, you're an asshole, I get it!

"He wanted to bring the whole family back together," said Celeste. "That's what I think."

"Wow." Grogan blew out a cloud of smoke. "If h-he was still h-here, I'd k-kiss his ass r-right n-n-now."

Celeste had a drink and thought about quitting at that moment. Grogan was
this close
to crossing the line--correction, he was
way, way over
the line--and she was so ready to give up on him, it
hurt
.

The only thing stopping her was that she knew it was exactly what he wanted her to do.

"Here's my idea," she said. "If you want to try to get to know each other, fine.

"We'll start over. Forget all about you being a miserable prick. Wipe the slate clean.

"If not," said Celeste, "go fuck yourself."

She had another drink of beer and set the bottle on the hood of his piece-of-shit cobbled-together pickup. "Capiche?"

Grogan just smoked and glared at her.

Suddenly, the front door of the house burst open, and Baron stuck his head out. "Hey, Celeste! It's time for the show!"

Celeste turned and grinned at him. "On my way!" When she turned back to Grogan, though, he was gone.

Turning further, she saw he already had the door of his truck half open. He was about to make his escape.

Celeste thought it over for an instant. If she was going to let him weasel his way out of her life for good, now was the time.

He was still acting like a professional jerk. He'd demonstrated no repentance for past acts, and he's made no promises not to ruin things in the future. Why let him shit all over her life again before cutting him loose? Hadn't she learned anything from all her defective boyfriends?

Then again, it wasn't like she didn't know a good defense mechanism when she saw one. Grogan's lashing out just didn't seem to have the same evil edge it once had. Maybe she was wrong, but his heart just didn't seem to be in it anymore.

Plus which, if he hated everyone so much, why had he shown up at the party in the first place? Just to louse it up? Maybe.

Or maybe not.

Not so fast, Blacksheep.

Before Grogan could climb into his truck, Celeste scooted over and grabbed his arm. "Come on," she said. "Let's go scare the crap out of some little kids."