The Return of Jonah Gray (18 page)

“So long as he's not touchy about me sleeping in his old bed if I need to stay over,” I said.

Finally, my mother raised her eyes. She looked straight at Marcus, her face expressionless. “Well, which would you prefer?” she asked him.

“It really doesn't matter to me,” Marcus said.

“Go ahead and take mine then,” I said, afraid that there would be some sort of showdown between them. I got up from the table. “Here. Follow me. I'll show you the way.”

I DIDN'T SLEEP IN KURT'S OLD BED THAT NIGHT, BUT
happily dozed in my own, back in Oakland. Bright and early though, I was back in Piedmont. I felt obligated to make sure that everyone else had survived the night, too.

They had, and over breakfast, the idea of a picnic trip to Stockton took root and then shape. It was Sunday, the weather was fine, and though others may have been content to visit Stockton, I wanted the real reason Kurt had skipped dinner. I suspected that it had been some sort of protest.

My mother called Lori to coordinate, and then my parents, Blake, Marcus and I packed up and headed out to the driveway.

“Whose motorcycle?” Blake asked, his eyes wide.

“Mine,” Marcus said.

“Wicked cool,” Blake said. “Are you going to ride to Stockton on it? Mom, can I ride with Marcus?”

“No, you may not,” my mother said. “You'll ride with your father and me.”

“You don't want to come in the Truckster?” I asked Marcus, as he reached for his helmet. My mother had remained without a car of her own, her first nod to a budget in years.

“I've got to bring a couple things down from Sacramento,” he said. “Figure I'll head there straight from this picnic.”

“Are you okay to ride up there all alone?”

“You can ride with me,” he said. “If you're so worried.”

It wasn't an offer I expected. “I don't have a helmet.”

“I carry a spare.”

“No fair,” Blake said. “She doesn't even like bikes.”

“I like bikes,” I said.

“I meant motorcycles, not bicycles.”

“Blake, would you get in the car, please?” my mother asked.

“Sorry, man,” Marcus said to Blake. “Maybe next time. What about it, Sasha?”

I'd never ridden on a motorcycle or even on a moped for that matter. “Have you ever gotten into an accident?” I asked. It seemed like a reasonable question.

“A car hit me when I was seventeen.”

“And since then?”

“You don't have to ride with me,” Marcus said. “I was just offering.”

“No, I will. I will.” I said it as much to myself as to him. “What do I need to do?”

I pulled on the helmet, and he showed me how to climb on, where to put my feet and how to avoid touching the hot exhaust pipe. There was room on the seat behind him, and a backrest I could lean against. Once I settled in, it was surprisingly comfortable.

My mother got out of my father's car and walked up to me. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she whispered. “Are you sure it's safe?”

I wasn't sure of anything at that point, but I didn't want Marcus to think that I didn't trust him or wouldn't take any risks.

“I'm already on,” I told her. “It'll be fine.” In truth, I was uneasy. I was that person who always offered to drive, so that I'd be certain to arrive on time and leave on time and take the right routes and I wouldn't get stuck somewhere I didn't want to be. That person didn't ride on the backs of motorcycles.

“You be careful with her,” my mother admonished Marcus.

“We'll see you there,” I said. Marcus accelerated out of the driveway and I felt the thrust of the motorcycle push me back into the seat. “You and my mom seem to be surviving each other so far,” I said, yelling toward him as the wind whipped my face. Riding on the back of Marcus's motorcycle was more fun than I wanted to admit.

“She reminds me a little of my mom,” Marcus yelled back.

“You're kidding.”

“Not in every way. Mine was a lot more demonstrative.”

“To you, I'm sure,” I said.

“To everyone. Of course, I never saw her at a comparable time. You know, losing a husband.”

“She never remarried?”

“She never married,” he said, correcting me.

A bug hit me in the thigh. I flinched from the sting of it.

“You scared?” he asked.

“No,” I yelled into the wind. It was true. I felt as if I was flying. There was something so freeing about letting someone else worry about the road ahead. Why hadn't I done it before? “It feels like you know what you're doing,” I said.

“I could have a death wish. You think of that?” he asked, pulling up to a stop sign. He turned around and looked at me. “This whole thing could be a trap.”

“You said you didn't hate me,” I said.

He gave me a quick smile, then he turned back to the road and didn't take his eyes off it until we arrived in Stockton.

 

We met at a regional park across town from where Lori and Kurt and the boys now lived. Winding into the parking lot, I spotted their car, and then saw Kurt and Lori spreading a cloth over one of the picnic tables. Jackie and Eddie sat on the sidewalk, running model cars over sticks and leaves.

Marcus pulled his motorcycle into an empty parking space in front of where the boys were playing. I watched as they looked up at the growling machine. Eddie poked Jackie and the two let go of their cars.

I waved at the boys as Marcus parked the bike and cut the ignition.

“Hi Eddie! Hi Jackie!”

Eddie pulled Jackie closer.

I jumped off the bike and stepped toward them. Now, Eddie pulled Jackie to his feet and the boys began backing away. I realized they didn't recognize me with the motorcycle helmet and sunglasses.

“It's okay. It's me. It's Aunt Sasha!” I pulled off the gear and finally got a smile.

By this point, Kurt and Lori had spotted us—or at least spotted two adults talking to their children—and were hurrying in our direction.

“What were you wearing?” Jackie asked.

“That was a motorcycle helmet,” I said.

Eddie squinted up at Marcus. “Who's he?”

“This is your uncle Marcus,” I said.

Marcus squatted down and held out his hand. “Which one of you is Eddie?” he asked.

Eddie raised his hand.

“I see,” Marcus said. “So which one of you is Jackie?”

Jackie raised his hand and giggled.

“Uh-huh,” Marcus said, scratching his chin. “So who is Marcus then?” he asked.

“You are!” the boys yelled in unison.

“Smart kids.”

Kurt and Lori were watching us, waiting, so I tapped Marcus on the shoulder. “I should introduce you,” I said.

Marcus got to his feet and held out his hand. “Kurt,” he said. “I'm Marcus. I don't think we've ever met.”

Kurt nodded and shook his hand.

I wondered whether they were sizing each other up. I knew I was. Side by side, I could see that they shared my father's jawline and the shape of his face. But I could pick out few other traits in common. Marcus was both taller and thinner than Kurt, and frankly, better looking.

“This is my wife, Lori,” Kurt said to Marcus.

“Hello, Marcus,” Lori said, extending her hand. “I understand you'll be helping out with Jacob.”

“Trying to,” Marcus said.

“That's all we can ask,” Kurt said.

“Sometimes we can ask for more,” Lori said. The comment seemed directed at Kurt.

“Can I lend a hand getting ready?” Marcus asked. “Got anything left in the car?”

Lori smiled at him. “You really sound like Jacob. Your voice and everything.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Marcus said.

Kurt pulled me away. “Can I see you for a minute?”

“Ouch. Gentle,” I said, following him.

“Where do you get off introducing him to my kids as their uncle?” Kurt said, when we were far enough away. He looked genuinely confused. And angry.

“He
is
their uncle.”

“Oh no, he isn't.”

“What is your problem, Kurt?”

“Well, for starters, maybe you forgot already but our dad is dying.”

“You don't get to be an ass to the rest of us because Dad is sick. It's not as if you're the only one who's freaking out about it.”

“Oh, I'm the one being an ass.”

I looked around the park. “You see anyone else?”

Kurt turned away and mumbled something I couldn't hear. I said as much.

“I said,” he spat, as he turned back toward me, “that it doesn't feel right.”

“What doesn't feel right?”

“Anything. This whole thing. Dad being sick. Marcus showing up out of the blue.”

“It wasn't out of the blue. Dad got this ball rolling a while ago. In every way.”

“Well, it sure is convenient for Marcus. He moved in awfully quick.”

“So this is really about Marcus. Not about Dad,” I said. “Go ahead. He can't hear you.”

Marcus and Lori were at the picnic table, uncovering various containers of potato salad, coleslaw and greens.

“He's a stranger, Sasha. Some stranger is going to be taking care of our father. Think of the influence he'll have. Think of all the ways he can wheedle in.”

“He's not a stranger to Dad. And I didn't hear you chiming in to offer. You want to take a leave of absence from your job to spend the next six months in a sickroom?”

“I can't,” he said.

“I know. We all know you can't.”

Kurt leaned against the side of his car and looked at his shoes. I went and stood next to him, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body down my left side.

“Did
you
offer?” he asked.

I shook my head. “He wouldn't want my help.”

“That's not true,” Kurt said.

“No?”

Kurt shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe. He does get snippy with you.”

“Tell me about it.”

My dad's old Mercedes began winding through the parking lot. For the first time ever, we were all there, all four of my father's kids in the same place at the same moment. As Blake and my parents began to climb out of the car, Kurt stalked off toward the picnic table. I amended my thought. Maybe we were all in the same physical location, but not the same place.

 

While the rest of us took seats around the picnic table, Blake roughhoused with the boys. He gave them airplane rides, pony rides and allowed himself be tackled and dragged to the grass.

“Eddie, Jackie! It's time to eat. Leave your uncle alone,” Lori called, as the boys tried to keep Blake pinned to the grass. Blake was laughing so hard that his eyes were tearing. Eddie whirled around to answer his mother just as Blake looked up, and their bodies collided, Eddie's elbow with Blake's nose.

“Dammit!” Blake yelled, as blood began to gush.

“Mom!” Eddie screamed.

But it was Marcus who sprang into action, rushing to Blake with one of Lori's ice packs already in hand.

“Just sit tight and let's aim to keep the swelling down,” Marcus said, his voice calm and steady as he led Blake to the picnic table.

“Oh, my baby boy,” my mother said.

“I'm not a baby,” Blake managed to say, sounding cottony.

“Is it broken?” Lori asked.

“Hard to tell just yet. Could be.”

Blake groaned. Marcus took a closer look.

“It doesn't look like it's out of alignment. Sure is a spouter, though,” Marcus said.

Blake groaned again.

“Eddie, come here and apologize to your uncle Blake,” Lori said.

Eddie dragged himself over to the picnic table. “Sorry Uncle Blake,” he said.

“It's okay,” Blake said. “It was an accident.”

“Thanks for helping, Uncle Marcus,” Eddie said.

“Any time,” Marcus said.

Kurt got up from the table and moved away.

“How about you eat something now,” Lori suggested to Eddie, who dutifully began to pick at his lunch plate. Jackie, on the other hand, insisted that he wasn't hungry.

“Here, Jack, let's practice our throws,” Kurt said, tossing a football to his younger son.

Jackie happily retrieved it, and Kurt kept tossing, a little farther every time. I watched as one of my brother's throws flew high over Jackie's head.

“He's only three,” Lori called. “Give him a break.”

Jackie ran to get the ball, but no sooner had he touched it than he started screaming. In an instant, Lori was on her feet, racing toward him.

“What happened? What's wrong?” she called out, but he kept wailing. It took a full ten minutes of shrieking to ascertain that a bee must have alit on the colorful foam ball and stung Jackie's hand as he reached for it.