Blind Sight (19 page)

“Luke, go bring the cupcakes in from the kitchen,” Bubbles tells Luke, and Luke moves into the house. From the living room, he hears the sound of lowered female voices coming from another room. Because of the acoustics of Bubbles’s house, Luke hears several sentences quite clearly before he enters the kitchen.

“Does anybody know anything about the mother?”

“No. Who knows what she might be after? She’s got other kids from someone else, too. Did Tony ask for a paternity test?”

“Well, Bubbles thinks …”

Luke enters the kitchen. There are three women there: Mark’s Aunt Sheila, his Aunt Audrey, and one of the honorary cousins. They all stop talking when they see Luke. Aunt Sheila smiles brightly.

“I’m supposed to bring out the cupcakes,” Luke says.

“Oh, okay!” Aunt Sheila says loudly. “We’ll get them.”

The women spring into action. Bakery boxes and more paper plates with American flags on them are produced. “These look good, huh?” Aunt Audrey asks, angling a box toward Luke. Luke looks at the red, white, and blue frosted cupcakes, inhales the aroma of refrigerated plastic, is repulsed, says nothing. He leaves the kitchen, goes to his father’s old bedroom, grabs his cell phone from his backpack, and moves through the house to the front door. On the way he passes Aunt Sheila, coming out of the kitchen with a handful of plastic forks. Luke waves his phone at her.

“If my dad asks, I had to make a phone call,” Luke says.

“Okay!” Aunt Sheila says.

“I’m calling my family,” Luke says.

“Oh!” says Aunt Sheila. “Okay!”

“They live in Delaware,” Luke says. “That’s where my family lives. I’m calling my sisters now. They’re both in New York City. My sister Aurora has a full scholarship to Columbia.”

Luke does not wait for Aunt Sheila to reply, but moves determinedly to the front door and out of it. He almost lets it slam shut behind him, but does not.

Luke walks down Maple Street, where there are no maple trees, and calls Pearl.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Luke says, into his phone.

Pearl does not pick up, so Luke calls Aurora.

“Luke!”

“Hey Rory.”

“I was just thinking about you!”

“Where are you?” Luke asks.

“Montauk,” Aurora says. “Dr. June has a house here. There’s a big party. It’s all feminists and those who love feminists.”

“Can you talk?” Luke asks.

“Yes, I’m going outside now. Hold on.”

Luke can hear voices, laughter, what might or might not be the sound of a dog attacking a feminist, and the sound of a screen door rattling. Luke sits down on the curb of the sidewalk where the chalk outline of a game of hopscotch has nearly been rubbed away.

“Ah. Here I am. What’s going on? How’s the party?”

“It’s okay,” Luke says. “I’m down the street now. There’s a lot of people.”

“Is it all your dad’s family?”

“Uh-huh. Mostly.”

“Interesting,” Aurora says. “Very interesting. Do you feel a connection to them?”

“Not really,” Luke says. “No.”

“Well, you’re amazing. They’re lucky to have you.”

“I don’t know that they’re all that interested in me,” Luke says. “As a person, I mean. Nobody has asked me any questions about myself.”

“Of course they’re interested in you. They might be a little shy, or maybe they want to be polite and not overwhelm you. You have to look at how they are feeling too. It’s a lot for them to take in. Just give it a little time, Luke.”

“Sure,” Luke says. “I’ll do that.”

“You okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Listen, I read this great thing the other day. ‘Are you so afraid of losing your moral sense that you are not willing to take it through anything more dangerous than a mud puddle?’ ”

“Is this a trick question?” Luke asks.

“It’s Gertrude Stein. Isn’t that great? It means that your morals have to be able to withstand pressure. It’s one thing to have the courage of your convictions in a … in a closet. But you have to take those convictions out in the world.”

“Funny you should use that analogy.”

“What’s that? I’m losing you a little.”

“What? No, I think Pearl’s calling me. Have fun at your party, Rory. Say hi to all the feminists for me.”

“I will. Take care, Luke. Call me anytime, okay? Love you.”

“Love you too,” says Luke.

Luke hangs up his phone. Pearl was not, in fact, calling him back, but Luke could tell that he didn’t have Aurora’s full attention. Luke watches a line of ants following a crack in the sidewalk into the grass of a front lawn. Luke sighs. His cell phone rings. It is Pearl.

“Luke Prescott here. Man of the hour.”

“Luke! You need to come back here immediately and rub my feet for me. Get on a plane. I’m dying.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in six hours.” Luke smiles a little. “Why are you dying?”

“I sling the hash, Luke,” Pearl says darkly. “I sling the hash. I serve the eggs. To couples. Reading the newspaper. Couples who have gotten up early on a Sunday morning to go to a restaurant and read the newspaper at the same table. Instead of staying home and having sex and smoking weed like sensible people. I despair for humanity. Seriously. I weep for it.”

“ ‘Are you so afraid of losing your moral sense’ …” Luke begins.

“Jesus!” Pearl interrupts, screaming. “I know! Gertrude fucking Stein! She was over here yesterday lecturing and quoting at me. Miss Fancy Pants Montauk. We need to stage an intervention. I think she’s stopped shaving her armpits.”

“Well, I’ll come back immediately then.” Luke stands up and steps carefully around the ants.

“So,” Pearl says. “Tell. What’s the family like?”

“They’re okay. They’re, you know … very welcoming. On the surface.”

“Are they cool?”

“Um …”

“They’re not cool.”

“Mostly they are nice,” Luke says.

“Well, you think everybody is nice,” Pearl says. “So that tells me nothing. Would I like them?”

“Well, you don’t like anybody,” Luke says. “So that will tell you nothing either.” Luke begins to feel a little better, imagining what it would be like if Pearl were with him. He pictures his sister, one hand on a skinny hip, the other holding a cigarette, saying something very funny and sarcastic about the cupcakes, and Aunt Sheila.

“True. Very true,” Pearl says. “Seriously, how is it, Luke? It’s got to be a little weird, even for you.”

“It’s a little weird even for me.”

“But you really like your dad, right? He’s still the Best Dad Ever?”

“It’s not,” Luke says, “like I have a selection to compare him to.”

“ ‘All happy families are alike,’ ” Pearl says. “ ‘But each unhappy family is unhappy in their own way.’ ”

“Is that also Gertrude Stein?”

“Tolstoy. Oh crap.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to get in the shower. Shawn is having a party tonight. The chances that there will be anyone there
remotely
interesting are very slim, so I’ve got to leave enough time to shower and smoke some pot before I go.”

“Is that what Aurora was lecturing you about?” Luke is walking now, back to Bubbles’s house. He would like to keep Pearl on the phone with him a little longer, and he would like Pearl to prod him a little more, ask more questions about how he feels. He would like to tell Pearl everything and be able to listen to her reactions, which
would be loud and dramatic and indignant. He is not sure how to make this happen without telegraphing his need for it.

“Yes!” Pearl says. “I told her it was a phase and that I am fully cognizant of its dangers and that I believe judicious use of cannabis to be a helpful social aid.”

“That seems reasonable enough. What did Rory say to that?”

“That’s when she laid Gertrude Stein on me,” Pearl says. “I told her it was an inapt quotation. I’m not afraid of losing my moral sense. It’s other people’s moral senses that are the problem. Hey, can you bring back any California weed?”

“Well,” Luke says, “I’m not sure becoming a drug mule is the best option for me at this point. I’ve … you know, I’ve got enough to worry about.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Okay, gotta go, sweetie.”

“I miss you,” Luke says, hopefully.

“Miss you too. Come back soon, okay?”

“Okay,” says Luke. “Okay. Bye, Pearl.”

“Love you!”

Luke arrives back at Bubbles’s house just as the front door opens and Mark comes out, carrying an American flag.

“I was just looking for you,” Mark calls out. “We forgot to hang this. Give me a hand?”

Luke shrugs.

“There used to be a pole in the garage,” Mark says. “I have no idea what happened to it. I don’t know. Maybe we should just drape it over a bush or something?”

“A bush? No,” Luke says. “I don’t think so.”

“Right,” says Mark. “How about over the front window here? Wait. Let’s hang it from the gutter. We can put some of these rocks on the edge, to hold it down.”

“Is there a ladder?”

“Get on my shoulders,” Mark says.

“Dad, maybe we should get one of the kids. I’m too big,” Luke says. “You seem to be really good with kids, I’ve noticed.”

“I can’t go back there yet,” Mark answers. “We’ve reached the stage where everybody makes a circle around me and asks which famous people I know and what are they really like? And doing imitations of me. Not me. James. And then they want to know how come James didn’t do this, or that, or why is he such a pussy; he should have done Naimi when he had the chance. Only for that, they don’t say ‘James.’ They say ‘you.’ ‘How come you were such a pussy? You should’ve blown his head off.’ ”

“ ‘All happy families are the same,’ ” Luke says. “ ‘But all unhappy families are unhappy differently.’ ”

“Who has a happy family?” Mark asks. “Here, take these rocks and put your foot in my hands. We’ll do a boosting action. Grab onto the window ledge.”

Luke puts the stones in his pockets, takes the flag, tucks it under his arm, and puts one foot into his father’s hands.

“One, two, three.” Mark hoists Luke up and grabs him around his knees.

“Okay, I got you,” Mark says. “This gonna work?”

“It’s going to get the flag dirty.” Luke peers doubtfully into the gutter. “Is that okay?”

“We’re kind of a dirty country,” Mark says. “Do it, man.”

“Move me to the left.”

Mark staggers to the left.

“Too far,” Luke says.

“Are you shitting me?” Mark says. “Just do it before anyone catches us. I can’t believe you suggested this. What were you thinking?”

Luke cannot help laughing at this.

“Execute!” Mark yells. “Execute maneuver! Hang this bitch!”

“I got it!” Luke yells. “We’ve got flag! I repeat! We’ve got flag!”

Mark steps backward with Luke, grabs Luke’s waist, and swings him around, tackling him to the ground. They tussle. Even though his father is playing, Luke uses a portion of his actual strength. This, his father counters easily. Luke is torn between enjoying his father’s
size, the comfortable breadth of his chest, which makes Luke feel pleasingly small and young, and an actual desire to hit his father, for real, in some way. Luke punches Mark in the arm, not as hard as he can, but hard.

“Ow,” Mark says. Luke thinks about hitting his father harder.

“Oh shit, I ate too much,” Mark groans. “You win.”

Mark and Luke lie side by side in the grass. They look at the flag, which is hanging at a slight angle. Luke tears out a handful of grass and throws it at his father, who closes his eyes and smiles.

“We should get back to your family,” Luke says.

“They’re your family too.”

Luke says nothing.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I don’t like them that much either.”

“I heard someone,” Luke says. “Saying something. About my mom. As if … she maybe had some sort of agenda getting you and me together. A financial agenda. It seemed like—”

Mark is up off the grass and at the front door of the house so fast that it takes Luke a second to register what is happening. Luke sprints after his father and catches Mark at the kitchen, which is now empty.

“Wait. Dad.” Luke grabs his father’s arm. “Wait. Calm down.”

“Who said something?” Mark asks him. “WHO?”

Mark’s raised voice is so loud it causes a slight echoing bounce off the stainless steel appliances.

“It doesn’t matter,” Luke says. “It’s not a big deal, really.”

“I will,” Mark says, “fucking KILL whoever said that. I will fucking KILL them.”

Full-blown adult-male rage lies outside Luke’s experience. This is not his uncle Louis speaking sharply to a grocery-store clerk, or Coach hectoring the team for increased sprint times. Mark’s anger: the sight of it, the sound of it, and most of all the unpredictable ramifications of it have caused a sympathetic surge in Luke’s own hormonal system. Luke freezes as he hears the sound of the screen door in the living room sliding open and children’s voices.

“Tell me who said something.” Mark lowers his voice. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I don’t want you to,” Luke says. “Really, I don’t. Please, Dad. Forget it. I don’t want you to be mad.”

Two of the cousins’ children come running into the kitchen, red, white, and blue frosting smeared on their faces.

“Holly and I had a cupcake fight!” says one, to Mark. “We smashed cupcakes in each other’s faces!”

“That sounds like a pretty stupid thing to do,” Mark says, after a moment. “You’re supposed to
eat
cupcakes.”

The children run out again.

Luke looks at his father carefully. He cannot tell if Mark’s anger has subsided, or if Mark is shoring up for some larger and more violent outburst.

“It will really upset me,” Luke says, “if you say anything. Who cares what they think, right? They don’t know us.”

The muscles in Mark’s jaw move, but the rest of his face remains impassive.

“It’s nothing to make a big deal about,” Luke says. “Chill.”

At this, Mark rolls his eyes.

“Chill,” Mark says. “Chill, my son says to me.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Luke says. “Chill out. It’s a fucking barbecue.”

“Wow,” Mark laughs. “Wow, Luke. You said ‘fucking.’ ”

Luke smiles tentatively at his father, who, after a moment, puts his arm around him briefly. The two move through the house and into the backyard. For the rest of the afternoon, Mark does not leave Luke’s side.