Brother and Sister (6 page)

***

Paul didn’t stay out very late that night. The sudden appearance of Uncle James, and his threat to the house, rattled Paul more than he liked to admit.

Uncle James didn’t have a leg to stand on. Paul had the ownership papers, and Uncle James didn’t even have any notes on the loan. It was Paul’s house, no question about it. But it still scared him to have someone of Uncle James’ tenacity and stubbornness trying to take his home away from him.

He was even quieter and gloomier that night than usual, sitting silently in a corner at the bar, neither joining in the conversation nor taking much notice of the people around him. And they, in their turn, barely took any notice of him. When he left abruptly a little after midnight, most of them didn’t even notice his departure.

It was an eight-block walk home, and Paul strode along briskly, almost running, as though he were afraid the home would no longer be his if he didn’t get there right away.

The first-floor lights were all out when he arrived.

The house was dark, except for the one second-floor window which was to Angie’s room. The dimness of the glow against the window indicated that the meager light was coming from the reading lamp attached to the head of Angie’s bed.

The poor kid,
thought Paul,
she’s all alone in the house.

It was the first time he’d thought consciously of that since the day of the funeral.

He entered the house quietly, not wanting to frighten her. Once inside, with the door closed, he could hear a faint sound from upstairs. It took him a minute to figure out what it was.

Someone was sobbing.

He listened. It was Angie. She was crying softly, as though she’d been doing it for a long time and was now too weary to weep with full force.

He called out, “Angie!” and the sobbing stopped at once. There was silence for a few seconds, until her voice came to him, tremulous, saying, “Paul? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me.” He hurried up the stairs and around the turn to the left. The bathroom was first on the right, his own room beyond it. His parents’ bedroom was straight ahead, and Angie’s room was to the right, beyond the attic door.

Her bedroom door was half-open and, as he’d thought, the only light came from the reading lamp. She was in bed, wearing pale blue pajamas, covered only with the sheet. She was lying on her back now, the pillow bunched up beneath her head, smiling at him, incredibly young and lovely, her face framed against the pillow by her blond hair.

He stood in the doorway, feeling sudden tenderness for his sister, a sudden protectiveness and a feeling of guilt. “Hey, kid,” he said gently. “What’s the problem?”

“Nothing.” She smiled more brightly. “Not a thing, Paul. Honest.”

“You were crying when I came in.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Come on, Angie, what is it?”

The smile faltered and she looked away from him. “
I--I
’m sorry, Paul. I just get silly sometimes, that’s all.”

“What kind of silly? What’s the matter?”

“The
--
the house. All alone here, I
--
”

“Oh,
Jesus!
” For it suddenly came home to him what he’d been doing to her these last two weeks. He had left her alone, absolutely alone, in this house.
Her
parents had died, too, and while he’d been out fooling around, she’d had to stay here, day in and day out. No wonder it had gotten to her; no wonder she had to cry herself to sleep. That’s what she probably did every night and she’d never said a word to him about it. She’d never blamed him, never reproached him.

“Angie,” he said. He went on into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. He took her hands in his and said, “I’m sorry, honey. Goddamn it, I’m sorry.”

“Paul, it isn’t
your
fault
--
”

“It is,” he said. “I’ve been wandering around, thinking about myself. I haven’t paid any attention to you at all. And you were counting on me when I came home. I remember whe
n I first walked into the house--
” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Angie, honest to God I am.”

She sat up, putting an arm around his shoulders and leaning close to him to smile and say, “Don’t feel bad about it, Paul. We just had a very bad thing happen to us, that’s all. And we both had to fight our own way through it. You aren’t to
blame
for anything, Paul.” She hugged him and rumpled his hair. “Come on, big brother,” she said. “Stop looking so gloomy.”

“I just feel like a goddamn clown,” he said. “Not even
thinking
about you. I hate to admit it, Angie, but it’s the truth. I wasn’t even thinking about you. I wasn’t thinking about anybody in the whole goddamn world but me. Nobody but me.”

“Of
course
not, Paul,” she said. “It’s only natural. Don’t worry about it, please.”

“Listen,” he said. “Listen, Angie, that’s all over. I’m going to quit acting like a clown. I’m going to quit running around all over the goddamn place and settle down.”

“Paul, you don’t have to be responsible for me, honest.”

“Sure, I do,” he said. He grinned at her. “You’re my little bitty kid sister.” His eyes moved involuntarily to her nightgown and the glow of her naked flesh through the fabric and a sudden hot knife speared through his groin. He shook his head and looked away.

“Not so little, any more,” she said, smiling.

“No,” he said. “I guess not.” He got up from the bed, his heart beating wildly. “Wake me up early tomorrow, okay?”

“You don’t have to, Paul”

“I want to. Good night, Angie.”

“Good night, Paul.”

In his own room, he undressed quickly and went to bed.
It’s been a long time,
he thought, lying in the darkness.
I better find a girl pretty quick. It’s been a long
time. Too long, when I start thinking that way about my own sister.

FIVE

When Uncle James called the following Tuesday, it was Angie who answered the phone. Paul was down in the basement, trying to get the old phonograph working again, and she could hear him whistling away down ther
e. It was four in the afternoon--
Angie was in the kitchen starting dinner. She was making something special for the two of them for tonight, and the materials were all over the kitchen table.

When the phone rang she ran lightly to the living room, drying her hands on her apron.

The last five days had been fine. Paul had spent most of his time around the house, doing a lot of fixing, repairing and cleaning. He seemed a lot happier than he’d been when he was spending all his time with that Danny McCann.

And Angie was happier, too. It had been a hard and lonely time rattling around this house all by herself. But now, with Paul so near, with the two of them working together, eating their meals together, watching television together in the evenings, talking together,
being
together, it was a lot easier, a lot more pleasant. Life was a lot more livable. It was like old times.

No, not really like old times. It was different now. It was a
new
time. The house had a new balance and flavor to it.

It had been the same when Paul first went into the Air Force. Before that, there had always been the four of them, and their life together in the house had had a balance and a tempo and a feeling to it which had suddenly been lost. Then, quite naturally, the shift had been made
--
the new balance and tempo and feeling
--
with only three of them there, and things had gone along smoothly again.

It was the same this time, except that the loss had been so much more tragic, so much more final and complete. Now, there were just the two of them, and after those first two bad weeks, the even flow and balance of life had been restored once more.

And she had a job, to start Monday, as salesgirl in a clothing store in the city. That would mean another shifting of the balance, and so would the answer to Paul’s request for hardship discharge, whichever way the answer went.

But, for now, things were fine. The two of them shared the house and each other’s lives, and the presence of Paul was doing a lot to fill the emptiness caused by the loss of her parents.

She felt like whistling in harmony with Paul’s whistling from the basement, as she ran lightly through the house to the ringing telephone and picked it up.

It was Uncle James. “Angie, is that you?”

“Uncle James?”

“That’s right. I’m glad you’re the one who answered the phone, Angie. That brother of yours is too much of a hothead. I’ve just got a message to deliver, that’s all.”

“A message?”

“You and Paul are to meet me tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock in Jake McDougall’s office. You know who I mean?”

“The lawyer?”

“That’s right. At two o’clock, got that?”

“Is this about the house, Uncle James?”

“It is. Rather than have everybody shout at everybody else, I think it would be better to meet with Jake and get the whole thing straightened out legal. You follow me?”

“Maybe you should talk to Paul, Uncle James.”

“I can talk to both of you tomorrow, at Jake’s office. I don’t have time right now. I’ve got a million things to do here at the office. I’ll see you then.”

“But
--
”

But he had hung up and the conversation was done. Wondering, Angie returned the phone to its cradle, went back through the house to the kitchen, and down the cellar stairs.

Paul was at the workbench, surrounded by parts of the phonograph. He looked over at her as she came down the stairs and grinned. “Who was that on the phone, chicken?” he asked her.

“Uncle James,” she answered.

The grin faded. He put down the screwdriver with which he’d been dismantling the phonograph. “What the hell did he want this time?”

“He says we’re supposed to meet him tomorrow at Jake McDougall’s office. You know, the lawyer Dad saw that time when the man slipped on the ice out front and wanted to sue.”

“The son-of -a-bitch!” cried Paul. He threw the screwdriver down on the workbench angrily. “He isn’t going to get away with it, goddamn it! This is our house, Angie and that son-of-a-bitch isn’t going to get away with it. I promise you.”

“Maybe we’d better go see what he wants,” said Angie gently. She knew how much the house meant to her brother
--
more, perhaps, than it did to her. It symbolized home for both of them. In fact, it was the only symbol for home that either of them had, but she had never been away from it and he had. It made, she supposed, a difference in the intensity of your feelings.

“Why?” Paul demanded. “Why should we have anything at all to do with the son-of-a-bitch?”

“We might just as well get it over with,” Angie told him. She crossed to him and laid a hand gently on his arm, smiling at him. “Don’t be so upset, Paul,” she said. “You told me yourself we have the papers for the house. Mr. McDougall will tell him that and then he’ll leave us alone.”

“I suppose so,” said Paul. He shook his head. “Why the hell did he have to come bothering us, that’s what I want to know?”

***

After supper that evening, they played cards together awhile
--
Russian Bank, Casino and Cribbage. There was nothing they wanted to see on television before nine-thirty.

A little after eight there was the sound of someone on the front porch and then the doorbell rang. Angie and Paul were in the kitchen, sitting at the table. Paul looked up, sudden irritation crossing his face. “If that’s Uncle James again
--
”

“I don’t think so, Paul,” said Angie, getting to. her feet. “Not if he said he’d see us tomorrow at the lawyer’s office.”

“Let me get it,” said Paul. “You wait here.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” said Angie and she followed him through the house to the front door. In case it
was
Uncle James, she wanted to be present to see to it that they didn’t quarrel again.

But it wasn’t. It was Bob, grinning sheepishly at them.

Angie felt a sudden, cold, heavy lump in her stomach, and she felt dizzy. It was more than two weeks since the day of the funeral, when she had let Paul make the final decision for her. She had successfully put all thought of that decision out of her head ever since.

It wasn’t that she had thought:
Now I’m finished with Bob.

Actually, she had thought:
1 don’t have to see Bob for a while.

Without thinking about it, this had been her assumption. Bob was still there, in case she should ever feel the need to return to him. But he had been silenced, taken out of view, so that he could no longer press her for a decision about their future.

And here he was back again, suddenly, without warning, smiling sheepishly at them and saying, more to Paul than to her, “Is it okay if I come in for a minute?”

And Paul, looking awkward and uncomfortable, was backing to the side and saying, “Sure. Come on in.”

Bob stepped hesitantly across the threshold, the sheepish smile still on his face and said, “Hi, Angie. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said, surprised to hear that her voice was little more than a whisper.

Paul closed the door and said, “Come on into the living room.”

Once they were all in the living room, seated, there was an awkward silence for a few seconds. Then all three of them started talking at once. Then they were all silent again, confused. Angie and Bob looked at Paul, waiting for him to speak first.

Paul cleared his throat. “I wanted to say,” he told Bob, “that I was sorry about us fighting the last time you were here.
I--I was kind of upset and--
”

“Gee, Paul, it isn’t up to
you
to be sorry,” protested Bob. “I came in here like a damned fool. I just completely
forgot all about, uh--
”

“I was mad at the world in general that day, I guess,” said Paul. “I took it out on you and there wasn’t any reason for it. I’ve been thinking about that and I’ve been wanting to tell you that I was sorry.”

Bob laughed a little, still sheepishly. “Well,” he said. “Here we are, apologizing to each other. Anyway, I’m glad you aren’t still mad at me. Are
you,
Angie?”

“No,” she said immediately, almost desperately. “No, of course not.” And she wondered why her whole relationship with Bob had to boil down to this one thing: he asked questions and she tried to answer them, or tried to avoid them, or tried to live through and beyond them.

He’s going to ask me again tonight,
she thought with sudden certainty. It had been two-and-a-half weeks since Mom and Dad had been killed. Tonight, he would ask her again to marry him, she was sure of it. That was the only reason he’d come over.

And his arguments would be stronger than ever. Her parents were dead now
--
the only family she’d ever known was dead. Now was the time for her to start a family of her own.

With Bob.

Once again it was immediate. Once again it was the decision that had to be made
--
now.

And still she didn’t know. A lifetime with Bob? A lifetime without Bob? It was one or the other and which did she want?

She didn’t know.

Paul made as though to get to his feet, saying, “Well, I’ll leave you two
--
”

“No!” She said it too quickly, with too much force, and tried to make it less strong at once, adding, “You don’t have to go anywhere, Paul. Gee whiz, Bob came over to see
you,
too. And you wanted to see that show on television tonight.”

He looked at her, and she prayed he would be able to see the urgency in her expression, but that Bob wouldn’t.

He hesitated, glancing at an unhappy-looking Bob, looked back at Angie, and finally settled into the chair again. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll stick around a little while.” He turned back to Bob again. “How are things going with you since you got out of school, Bob?” he asked.

Bob shrugged, doing a good job at hiding his disappointment.

“Pretty good,” he said. “I’ve just been loafing, pretty much. I’ll be going into the Army in a month or two, so right now I’m just kind of waiting around. You know how it is.”

“Sure,” said Paul, and he started talking about how things had been with
him
just before he’d enlisted in the Air Force. Then the two of them talked about basic training and the military life in general.

Angie joined the conversation every once in a while, but most of the time she was silent. There was only one sentence Bob had said that really stayed with her: “I’ll be going into the Army in a month or two.”

And she didn’t even know if that made her glad or not.