Duck Boy (8 page)

“Time for tinsel,” Aunt Shannon announced. “Start at the bottom, and please
don’t put any tinsel above the top ornament.” The tree was heavily decorated,
but the top foot and a half of the tree was bare, green toilet-brush.

“Steve, can you put on the star?” The crowning touch was offered to him.
“This was my great-grandmother’s once.” She held a blown-glass star carefully
in her hands. “It’s nearly two hundred years old.”

Steve set up a chair, and nervously mounted the star on the top toilet
brush. A beautiful crown for an ugly tree.

When the tree was done, Aunt Shannon took a seat on the couch, a little
winded. “Edward, come take a look,” she shouted into the kitchen. The legs of a
chair squawked as Uncle Edward got up to join them in the living room.

“Oh, oh, oh. Shannon, my dear, what have you done?” He looked at the tree in
astonishment, looking years younger than he had seconds earlier. “Oh, it’s a
glorious thing. Wondrous.” The glow lasted for another second or two. He looked
as though he might shed a tear, too, but before he did, he dove into his book
again and the emotion on his face evaporated. His age returned. “But he’s dead
now, so I wish you wouldn’t remind me of him.” Like a bad Christmas-light bulb,
the joy that had just been there disappeared, replaced by darkness. He turned
from the room and headed to the kitchen.

“Did you bring any gifts for Christmas?” Aunt Shannon asked. “Ones we can
put under the tree?”

“Ahhh. Ummm. No,” Steve admitted. “I completely forgot.”

“Well, then, we shall go to the mall. We can’t afford anything extravagant,
of course, but I think we need a little something for one another under the
tree. Let’s go,” she commanded, heading off to her room to get ready.

Steve got his coat and went to meet her in the kitchen, by the back door. It
was kind of a long wait. She came back with her hair in a bun, a thick coat of
overly red lipstick, and a loud polyester-print dress, apparently pleased with
her efforts.

I’m going to the mall with a cartoon.

The two headed out into the weak afternoon sun. “It’s warmer than it looks,”
Aunt Shannon said, as she opened the garage door.

Inside was a white monster. Aunt Shannon’s car was old and very large—a 1966
Dodge Monaco convertible. It was in fairly good condition considering its age.
Kind of like Aunt Shannon herself.

“I haven’t started her in a while, so we’ll hope she goes.” She gingerly
lowered her bony bottom into the driver’s seat. Steve folded himself to fit the
bench seat next to her. Too bad he couldn’t remove his legs and put them in the
trunk.

“How you doing, old girl?” she asked, patting the dashboard. “We need to go
to the mall.” She slipped the key into the ignition and turned it. The car talked
back to her: “Woah, woah, woah,” it said. She released the key. “I know it’s
cold, but you’ll warm up quickly.” She tried the key again, and the dragon
rumbled to life.

“I’d like any old thing you can find me,” Aunt Shannon announced as she
backed out of the driveway. She leaned forward in her seat as she drove, so she
could see over the dashboard. “It’s been years since I’ve been Christmas
shopping.” She glanced quickly at Steve. “Edward and I don’t usually buy one
another anything. Do you know what old ladies like?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you can buy almost anything that’s chocolate, but I’m sure you know
that. You can buy perfume and lipstick and that sort of thing. These are the
sorts of items men like to think women want. But they’re really last resorts.”
She glanced at him quickly. “If you see something that you think I’d like, and
it’s not one of those things, get that.”

“What about Uncle Edward?” Steve asked.

“Books, books, books,” she replied quickly.

“But I don’t know what he’s read,” Steve replied.

“It doesn’t seem to matter.”

“I don’t know what he likes.”

“He reads anything on any topic.”

“Wow. That’s easy.”

“Yes. But I wish he’d put those books of his down.”

“Does he like candy?”

“Yes. But he’s fussy. The only candy I know he likes are those jellied
candies shaped like fruits, like lemons and limes.”

“That’s what I’ll try to buy him. Sounds like candy might be better for him
than another book.”

“Good thinking.”

They circled the parking lot for quite a while before they could find a
spot. Actually, there were two smaller spots, but the Monaco likely wouldn’t
have fit. Aunt Shannon waited for several minutes until a huge pickup truck
backed out of its spot, leaving enough room for the white beast. They hurried
through the cold parking lot to the mall, but just as they stepped through the doors,
she stopped. “Here’s some money,” she said, holding out three twenty-dollar
bills.

“Ah.” Steve felt awkward. “I can get some of my own money, Aunt Shannon. I
have enough in my bank account. And I have my bank card with me.”

“Take this, just in case,” she insisted, holding the money to his nose.

“OK,” Steve sighed, secretly relieved.

“Meet you back here in two hours.” The two of them plunged into the
Christmas mob and disappeared in the currents.

Steve found the fruit-shaped candies for Edward right away. An easy score.
Aunt Shannon would be more difficult, though, because, for some reason he
wanted to find her something special, something that would surprise her. So he
spent most of his time browsing the shops, row after row of doodads and
geewgaws. Sale this, and percentage off that. One free with purchase. He was
about to settle for a season of
Gilligan’s Island
episodes on DVD, when he found an odd little square case in a suitcase shop. It
looked about the same size as the box that contained Richard’s ashes. It was
multi-colored, which he knew she’d like. It was extremely square and looked
like a purse. It seemed like leather, and had been reduced from $79.99, to
$39.99 to $17.49, and sat on a table marked “All items $9.99.” Perfect, he
thought. He took it to the till and paid for it.

He felt surprisingly good and decided to shop for more. Next he bought a
little chocolate for Aunt Shannon and a massive photographic book on the
Beatles for Uncle Edward—all on sale. Then he went to the bank and tried to
withdraw some money. The words “Insufficient Funds” blinked on the computer
screen, canceling his transaction automatically.

“Stupid bank,” he said to the machine.

He wandered through the mall for the last half hour before closing, buying
himself a small drink in the food court and sipping it until it was time to
meet up with Aunt Shannon. He wandered to the meeting point just outside the
mall entrance and waited until she emerged from the crowd, dazed and laden with
bags. Though she looked directly at him, she didn’t seem to recognize him. He
sidled up beside her and touched her elbow. “Aunt Shannon.”

Her head turned to look at him and the confusion slowly melted away. “Let’s
go home,” she said. And home they went.

They came into the kitchen with their bags of things and set them down on
the counter. Uncle Edward emerged, suddenly, from the living room, looking
sheepish, his eyes rimmed with red, as though he’d been crying. He moved
quickly to the kitchen table where his book lay, splayed open, spine up, like a
seagull in flight. He snatched it from the table.

“I’ll be reading in the bedroom,” he announced and disappeared.

Aunt Shannon made a quick pot of tea for herself, while Steve made himself a
hot chocolate in the microwave.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did Richard pass away?” Steve asked, as
they drank tea in the kitchen.

“Oh. I don’t mind. He drowned.” Steve waited a few moments hoping she might
explain, but she didn’t.

“Ah. Oh.” The ice was thin, best to tread lightly. “That must have been
difficult.”

“Yes.” She replied. Silence.

“Um. How did he drown?”

“Oh. Yes. I’m sorry. Of course.” Aunt Shannon seemed to suddenly wake up to the
question he was asking.

“It was a snorkeling accident. He loved to snorkel, you know. I’m not sure
what really happened. Somehow, he ended up in his bedroom drenched, on the
floor, wearing snorkeling equipment. The coroner said he’d… um… drowned.”
Grief twisted her face. “But… how?” Her lip trembled. “How? His bedroom door
was locked.” Her face was torn with emotion, and the tears coursed down her
cheeks. “That…” Her chest heaved up and down as she struggled to control
herself.

Steve felt like he should do something, but he wasn’t sure what.

After a few minutes, she managed to speak a single word, “Tissue.” Steve
figured it out and yanked three tissues from a box on top of the fridge,
handing them to her. She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose with one, then
balled the other two and pushed them up her sleeve.

“Let’s wrap our gifts,” she suggested. She went briefly to her lab and
returned with tape, scissors, and several old rolls of wrapping paper. “You
first,” she said, leaving the living room to allow Steve to wrap things up. He
was quick, and clumsy, but his packages were together and under the tree in a
matter of minutes.

“Aunt Shannon,” he called. “Your turn.”

Aunt Shannon nearly pranced into the living room. “You can finish up the
dishes from tea. They go in the dishwasher.”

Steve nodded and suppressed a comment, and reported for duty in the kitchen.
It didn’t take him long to arrange the cups on the top rack of the crusty old
dishwasher. How effective it would be at cleaning them, he couldn’t say.

“I’m done,” Aunt Shannon bellowed right after, clearly excited. “Just look,”
she cried as he entered the room.

“That’s great,” Steve replied, sticking to what he knew she wanted to hear.
In reality there was a giant, badly decorated toilet brush, with several poorly
wrapped, odd-shaped lumps beneath it.

“Oh, I forgot to wrap one thing. Can you pass me some wrapping paper?”

Steve grabbed a roll of paper and passed it to her.

“No, no, dear. That’s completely inappropriate,” she chided, after taking
the roll from his hands. “It’s a bit too, um, feminine, really. I’d like
something with richer colors.” As she spoke, Steve noticed that her hand gently
covered Richard’s remains.

He sighed quietly, scooped most of the rolls from the floor and placed them
beside her as she knelt on the carpet.

Aunt Shannon deliberated for quite a while, finally choosing a
regal-looking, mostly red paper. She carefully cut a square away from the roll
and placed Richard’s remains in the center of the paper. Then, slowly, fold by
fold, she wrapped him up like a present. “There, Deary, don’t you look
festive!” she announced to the box. Out of a large tangle of ribbons and
wrapping fragments, she pulled a gold-colored bow.

“Can you put him under the tree, dear?” she asked.

Steve, too tired to argue, took Richard to the toilet brush tree and placed
him under the branches. Aunt Shannon followed him.

“I won’t leave you there for long, Son,” she said. “Just a little Christmas
fun.”

With the decoration complete, the trio ate supper. Then Steve retired to his
room where, surfing on the Internet through a neighbor’s open network, he
watched a couple of his favorite TV shows.

He emerged sometime later to get a snack before bed and found Aunt Shannon
sitting in the dark living room, studying the tree, which blinked and glowed
like a disco. She appeared to be in some kind of trance, and didn’t notice as
he walked into the kitchen. Uncle Edward was sitting in the kitchen, reading
deeply.

“Why’d you set up that infernal tree?” he asked abruptly.

“I didn’t—I mean, I did set it up, but not because I wanted to. I was
helping Aunt Shannon.”

“I don’t like it, in case you’re wondering,” he growled.

“Sorry about that. I guess we could take it down.”

“Shannon won’t have it, I’m sure.”

“Well, why don’t you talk to her about it? She’s in the living room right
now.”

“I know.” He got up out of his chair, swatting his book onto the table.
“Shannon, we’ve got to talk,” he announced firmly as he walked from the kitchen
to the living room.

“Oh, Edward,” Shannon replied, ignoring his gruff tone. “Come and sit with
me.”

Steve shook his head and began to search the cupboards for a good snack.

There were muffled tones of discussion from the living room, but he ignored
them. He was looking for something: marshmallows, chocolate chips, even raisins—he
was that desperate.

With Uncle Edward out of the way, his search was detailed and undisguised.
He found a bag of shredded coconut. He poured a little into his palm and ate
it. Rancid. He bent over the sink and spit everything out. Sticking his mouth
under the kitchen tap he ran some cold water in, swished it around violently,
and spat into the sink.

He examined the package—Best before October 19, 1984.

Nice. Antique coconut.

Steve slammed the package into the garbage.

He continued his search and found a bag of raisins. He checked the
best-before date: two and half years past their expiry. But he tried one just
the same.

“Hmmm.” A little hard and dry, but otherwise tasty.

He took a small handful and threw them into his mouth. Hard, like gravel.
Sweet, like sugar, sort of. His jaw was sore after a few handfuls, and he
headed back through the kitchen to go back to his room. As he walked through
the living room into the hall he noticed Aunt Shannon and Uncle Edward. They
were now both staring at the tree, holding hands. It looked like they were
crying together, as the shiny streaks of tears blinked different colors with
the Christmas-tree lights.

“Good night,” Steve called softly, as he made off with the raisins down the
hallway. “See you in the morning.”

There was no reply.

Chapter 6